The punishment, as it seemed so far, was eternal, featureless desert. He walked on and on, in his modern clothes, unfit for the heat, or for long marches, or for a former deity.
A former deity. Bakura wasted the precious little moisture in his mouth to spit every time he thought of Zorc. Damn him, for shaping a part of himself in the form of that... that disobedient brat! Damn him, for giving him separate consciousness! Damn him, for simply crumbling apart into nothing while he got the treatment of a mortal, in the mortal afterlife!
Bakura thought the desert was also empty, apart from neverending and nondescript. But even these factors didn't apply anymore. He was sure his eye caught up something shimmering in the distance. But he knew from what little school he- no, the boy had attended that the atmosphere could play tricks on the eyes.
It would sure be befitting for hell.
No, no, it was real! An oasis, almost picturesque, palm trees and all. He started running, he fell to his knees, clutching at the sand to reach the water faster, life saving water, or so dictated instincts long rendered obsolete. It wouldn't have any impact on his body, but his soul still craved it, after all this time.
But just as he reached the surface, crawling now, on his belly like some critter (how humiliating!) he saw. A man was resting under the shade of a tree, one he immediately recognised. Underneath a bright red robe, the man wore naught but a loin cloth and his scars, and above those, a face much like Bakura's own.
The man - Thief King, Bakura remembered, Zorc (he held his spit this time) called him Thief King - hadn't noticed him until that moment. He raised his head calmly, but after a brief moment of studying Bakura's face, his eyes glimmered with something akin to... hope?
He got to his feet right away and walked in long strides towards Bakura. He knelt beside him, and from the inside lining of his robe he pulled out a gourd. "Here, let me make it easier for you," he said and offered him the gourd.
Yet more now useless instincts kicked in, and Bakura turned suspicious, narrowed eyes at the Thief King. Why would he extend such kindness? This was hell! Perhaps he was some demon. Or even if it was the Thief King's own soul why would he-
Who cares? Bakura sure didn't. This couldn't get much worse, anyway. He accepted the offer, with a nod that warned as much as it thanked.
A flash passed through Thief King's eyes when he caught the look in Bakura's own. "I was waiting for you," he yet said without malice.
Bakura's eyes widened. "For me?" he asked breathlessly, having downed nearly half the water in the gourd.
"Yes, for you," Thief King confirmed. "I will tell you when you've rested."
"Consider me rested," Bakura replied and sat up, pretending he could keep upright. He could not. He fell back against the sand, too tired to even close his eyes against the blinding sun.
Thief King let out a bellow of a laugh, and it went on and on longer than any possible impact Bakura's fall could still have had on him. "You're way out of your waters, kid." He extended a hand to Bakura. "Come on."
Bakura reached out and grabbed it, and the King of Thieves brought him to his feet in one swift movement. As they were brought (almost) face to face, he said, his voice low and hushed, but not quite a whisper: "Our suffering was not meant to last."
Bakura wanted to retort with something sharp, because Thief King sure didn't look like he was suffering, but Thief still held him too close to find the courage, or even much desire.
They broke off contact slowly, step by step, and with each motion there lingered a question: do we push further? Bakura, a chip of Zorc's own heart, always answered "yes". Yes, take your hand off me, yes, step away from me, yes, walk to your own side. But with each step, he felt less sure it was an improvement.
They sat under one of the palms, almost on opposite sides. But that did not last long, as Bakura's pride was nothing compared to the scorching heat, so he found himself beside Thief King in the shade. "So, do you know who I am?" he asked, not meeting his eye.
"You are... it is fairly complicated. You're the being Zorc created to possess my modern counterpart, right?"
"Aaah, yes, my Landlord." Bakura sighed and stretched out his hand towards the sun, glancing at it through his fingers. He let it fall. He let everything fall. "I almost miss him. I miss the little tidbits of life I lived through him. You see, I was no human of my own. Although..." He turned to look at Thief King. He saw that he was watching him out of the corner of his eye, feigning disinterest, and yet his look was persistent and eager.
At least, until he saw he was watched. At that moment, Thief King turned his gaze to the horizon. "Although?" he asked.
"Zorc, he - how to put it? - used a lot of pieces of you to make me, so, it's kind of... like I know you. Like I have lived, if only by proxy."
"You haven't lived, but yet you get treated as if you had-"
"As if I asked to be created," Bakura interjected.
"Yes, it's tragic. Those above always seem to favour these sweeping judgements, don't they?" Thief King mused, grinding some sand between a finger and a thumb.
"They do. But we spat in their face, didn't we?" Bakura asked, brimming with pride. It felt so satisfying to continue to be defiant, even when the gods had struck back at his insolence, as he could easily confirm, again, with just a brief look around. The rush of hybris was the closest thing to happiness. And so easily achievable, he noted, glancing at the scar in his left arm.
"We did. And they learned from it. That's why I'm not in greater torment. I wouldn't have let them. I would stand any torture, slip from any trap, break every illusion. I don't belong in hell, kid. I'll never believe that." The look on Thief King's face dispelled any speck of joy on Bakura's own. Thief was drawing circles in the sand, but at one he didn't seem to find satisfactory, he grabbed a handful and squeezed it so tightly, that his knuckles showed pale against his skin. He held it for one, two, three seconds.
Then he let go, dusted his palm, and Bakura thought that perhaps now he could ask: "Do you think I do?"
Thief King studied him from head to toe. "Now that I know you, I would have pulled you out myself. Aren't you one of my own, after all?" he asked. Bakura knew he didn't have to answer. "But, as I said, it's not forever. Not for us, anyway."
"Where are we going?" Bakura asked. As much as the oasis was a sight for sore eyes, he didn't want to spend eternity counting the shifting dunes.
"I don't know where. I don't even know if we are going somewhere," Thief answered, his eyes fixed on the horizon still. "But things have begun to change already. Do you see the sun?"
Bakura raised his eyes and looked at it, virtually only a few inches above a mount of sand in the distance. "What about it?"
"See how low it is? It's never been this close to the edge. It looks to me like we're about to see the first sunset since we came here."
Bakura turned to Thief, then back to the sun, then let his head fall gently back against the trunk of the palm tree. The very thought of night time, of an end to the burning, the constant burning, of a sense of time passing overwhelmed him. He had never appreciated enough, in his half-existence, just how important time was, how important change was. And now, after he'd lost it, it was handed back to him and he wanted to scream thanks to anyone who would listen.
Perhaps this wasn't hell after all.
"I'm telling you, any day now this lake will have fish and we'll get ourselves a nice meal," Thief King continued, but Bakura heard him as if he was miles away.
The sun was about to set in an hour or so, and Bakura found himself, for the first time in his life (or technically, his afterlife), childishly eager for something. It was a feeling he couldn't quite process.
He dipped his sore feet in the chilly water of the oasis. Maybe it would soothe him enough to let him think. It didn't work. Instead it numbed his thoughts entirely. But that wasn't unwelcome, either.
Thief King had taken a trip to a sand dune and had vanished behind it. Now Bakura could see him in the distance, making the trip back.
"It was still there, thank Luck!" Thief King shouted as he approached. He raised his hand to show off what Bakura could only make out as a sand coloured lump. Thief King sat next to him to present his find more clearly. "See this rock? Spotted it yesterday. It is the fiirst actual thing I found away from the oasis besides bloody sand ever since I came here. That's how I knew change was afoot. Something, call it gut, tells me that if I clean this up and polish it, we'll have a jewel. What do you think?"
Bakura took the stone in his hands and turned it to see it from different angles. "It looks solid enough, not some sort of sandstone or any other crumbly stuff. Could be." That was all the assessment he could offer, but he was amazed he even got this far.
"Trust me on this," Thief King insisted, and Bakura had no reason not to.
"Hey, look." Bakura pointed towards the horizon. The sky had started to get that telltale orange tint. The world, or whatever illusion of a world they were in, had broken through its stillness, their life, or whatever sort of existence they were leading, was moving on, and two souls, both named Bakura, whatever that made them, would make due.
"Beautiful, isn't it? I had almost forgotten how it was," Thief King said. He dusted the rock on his robe, and after a little work, he lifted it again, and a little part of it glittered in the gold light.
"I had never bothered to look," Bakura confessed. He watched as the halo sank deeper and deeper, glancing at the Thief King, who watched intensely as well, his mouth slightly parted as if left frozen after a sigh. The halo became a crown, then only a hint of its former glory, and slowly disappeared under the sand.
Thief King broke free of his trance and turned to Bakura. He put a finger under Bakura's chin, lifting it a little. "Sleep tight, I bet tomorrow we'll have lots to do." He finished with a little peck on Bakura's lips, a little towards the corner of his mouth, but Bakura still felt the kiss, soft and fleeting. Thief went back to his tree, took off his robe, rolled it, and used it as a pillow.
Bakura remained by the lake. He lay down on the soft sand close to the water. He closed his eyes, and felt rest overcoming him, real rest, which was also a first. This entire day had been a first. He looked over at Thief King, and the memory of his kiss danced on his lips again. He didn't quite feel the butterflies (Or was it ladybugs? What did humans say about crushes?), but he breathed in, and the air finally felt enough to give him life.
Maybe he'd walked long enough to reach heaven, after all.
(Edit: Thank you for the nice reviews! I'm afraid I don't have anything more to offer yet, because this was a work based on a specific prompt, about a first kiss, and my imagination ended there... Feel free to work on the thing yourselves, if you like!)