I usually upload to wattpad...and now I'm here. I wonder why o-o

My friend requested something like this and I decided to give it a bash; see what I could do. A Tendershipping fanfiction was requested...yaaaay...

Let's get started~

If it wasn't enough that the birds were noisily gawking outside, a new arrival had appeared in the block of flats. The noise of the van was devastating, and it hurt to listen to. They couldn't have been louder, and it wasn't necessarily that late into the afternoon either. It was a Saturday morning, and basically it was too loud.

On the second highest floor, in the furthest room of these flats, was where a young man resided. His name was Bakura. He was particularly high-standard, and his ratings for most things were high. He didn't rate something over a five, unless he absolutely and certainly was sure that he could face his rating with the utmost content and happiness.

But it wasn't objects that Bakura usually rated. It was people. And right now, at this moment in time, he was about to rate the movers and the person moving into the flat, a very low score of naught.

His dark, rusty eyes scanned the window, out onto the messy grass below. It was unusually sunny for this part of town, and Bakura wasn't happy with that. He liked the dark atmosphere, and the pitch of the night. It was soothing. It was also one of the things he rated that wasn't a person, and he rated the dark with a magnificent nine.

He slowly looked into the window, now distracted by his own reflection. He frowned. If Bakura was honest, he looked like a serial killer right now. His hair was messy, and his demeanour was all wrong. But he somehow enjoyed the creepy look. Heck, he may be able to go have some 'fun' by scaring the new resident.

The flat itself was a cheapskate in the making. People hardly ever moved in, and when they did it was because they knew the area well and wanted to join in with the gangs that hung about, or it was because the rent was cheap.

Bakura was the latter of those two options. He assumed the new resident was too, as when he spied on their belongings he didn't see a lot of things. One thing he did notice though was a distinct colour range in objects. It was very subtle. Usually residents had bashed, old green minty things, along with some red ornaments or some odd shapes here and there (sometimes the random weapon), but this time it was different.

All of the objects ranged from modules of people, and they were tiny too. The main themed colours were black and white. This confused Bakura - he had never seen anything like this before.

Letting out a deep sigh, he ruffled his white mane before deciding to make himself known. If this person was as innocent as their array as objects suggested, why would they be moving in here? Surely, Bakura thought, they must know of the dangers in this area?

He walked to the door of his flat, his eyes now semi-closed in confusion. This was going to be a long, exhausting day. And it was a Saturday. Bakura would have better things to do right now, like shower, or watch as a bloody fight erupted in the gardens of this block.

Nevertheless, he continued out the door and down the corridor to the elevator. The whole block was old, and rotten, and with it's bad reputation it was no wonder gangs had decided to make it their homeland.

Not that Bakura gave much attention to them, anyway. He didn't care about them, but what he did care about was the damage they caused. It annoyed him to see cuts and things in the wall, and it also annoyed him to see bloodshed in the elevators and on random floors. He could never quite understand how this building was still 'alive'.

He slowly pressed the button, and waited for the elevator to arrive. To Bakura's knowledge, the elevator hadn't had any renovations since this block of flats had been built, and it was extremely unstable. For the new resident's sake, Bakura hoped that they weren't using the lift. But when it opened up, he wasn't surprised when he saw boxes piled up. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head.

"Poor thing...oh well," Bakura smirked slightly before getting in the lift. He was going to go wherever the boxes were headed, and apparently they were headed with a worker upstairs.

To the top floor.

Bakura was almost reluctant to go up there. He had lived in this building for over five years, and he knew of the people on the top floor. Recalling his memory, they were mostly drunks and some hideout criminals. This was not an area for someone to just be gladly moving into.

He let out a small sigh, allowing the elevator to take him and the worker to the floor in which he could already smell the dampness coming from. Once there, he slowly stepped into the hallway to see an open door in the room above his. He frowned slightly. If it's one of those people, I may as well just try and convince them to move out. I don't want noise above me.

It was a selfish thought, but Bakura would do this occasionally. If he didn't like the person above him, he would convince them to move out. The space above his flat was usually always empty because of this. That was how he liked it.

Bakura walked in front of the worker, moving his way into the flat. He was surprised when he saw a dull living room, the tones of black and white clashing. Bakura had never been in this room himself, but he had been standing outside it, hence how he convinced people to leave the room before.

The worker shoved past Bakura, and a glare was given. But then something changed. The whole atmosphere changed as he heard something, someone, talking.

"There's one more box, should we just leave it downstairs?" The worker asked.

"Yeah, thanks, I'll get it in the minute."

It was a completely unexpected voice. Bakura could identify that a male was talking, but it wasn't the usual alcoholic or drug user's voice, it sounded completely different. He was astounded, and stayed silent as few workers left the flat, leaving the male to pack his things.

Bakura waited until he saw the person. He already identified the person as male, and was ranking him a generous six already. This was highly unusual for Bakura.

When the male came into view, Bakura was even more shocked than before. The person he had thought to be male didn't even look much like a guy, but it surprisingly was. His hair was the same white as Bakura's, and he looked a lot more feminine and...soft. Almost as if the box he was holding was not supposed to be there, if too heavy, it might break him.

The male was wearing a white t-shirt, followed by light-blue jeans and a jumper. The t-shirt was longer than the jumper in size, apparently a lot more baggy too.

Bakura met his gaze.

"Um...hi?" His eyes were a soft brown.

"Hello," Bakura was already raising his rating by a few numbers, "I'm Bakura. I live downstairs from you."

"Oh, right!" The male put the box down with a small grumble and went over to Bakura. "My name's Ryou."

Ryou... "That's a nice name."

"I think it's too light," Ryou mused, giving a small smile, "I like yours better."

Bakura scoffed slightly, "I came to see the new arrival - you. So why did you move here? The area's terrible you know."

"I know," Ryou replied with a small sigh, "but I had to move here. I'm sure it will be fine."

"You're sure?" Bakura frowned slightly, "I mean...there's a lot wrong with this area-"

"You seem high-class..." Ryou observed. Bakura's eyes widened a little as he went on, "I'd say you want me to leave. Well I'm not noisy and my hobby is crafting clay. How does that sound?"

Bakura was shocked again. Never before had somebody realised what he was doing before he even began to be a little bit persuasive. He frowned and let out a small cough before crossing his arms over his chest.

"...Want some help with the last box?"

"Sure!"

Ryou seemed very elegant as he lead Bakura to the elevator, and that was all Bakura could think about. He walked into the lift with Ryou and waited for the doors to close. As soon as they did, a small silence fell between the two.

Bakura broke it, "Well...why did you move here?"

"It was cheap, and I felt like I needed a space to my own," Ryou shrugged, dropping his ratings to six again, "but I was interested in the area."

"Interested? In a dump like this?"

"Yeah. I like coming to bashed up places. It's kind of funny to watch people argue with each other. If they come up to me for a fight I can always give them one..."

Bakura found himself laughing, "You?"

"Despite my looks I am ver-"

Suddenly the lift jolted to a halt. Bakura stumbled slightly, but kept his ground. Ryou was trying to push the button again, but the lift was not responding. It became apparent all too soon that they were stuck when a noisy alarm rang, and the back up generator had started to buzz and hum, but nothing happened.

Bakura let out a small groan. He sat down in the corner and stared at the doors, as if waiting for something to happen, "This was bound to happen sooner or later."

"The building is very old, isn't it?" Ryou mused, "I'd have thought the elevator would have went out a few times."

"Yes, it has," Bakura now sounded grumpy. He was usually not as hoarse, but today he felt like putting down his wall of upper-class for a bit might do some good, "But not while I've been in it."

Ryou nodded a little bit, suddenly sitting down beside him. Bakura perked up a little at this, and then decided it was time to put up the wall again. He shuffled a little bit away from Ryou, and let out a deep sigh. "People won't be here for another few hours, maybe longer. Did you press-"

"I pressed the emergency button..."

"Ah. I didn't notice."

An awkward silence enveloped the two. Bakura glanced at Ryou every so often, amazed at his ability to stay calm.

Bakura felt that this wouldn't be the last awkward situation he would find himself and this new arrival, Ryou, in.

Originally, this was supposed to be a big story, but I can't continue it. I've lost the will, you see.

Writer's block can do that to a person, and the plot was kind of rushed because my friend pressured me into writing and keeping to a schedule. So, let this be a lesson to him - do not pressure a free, wanna-be writer into writing because they will:

1) Rebel, and not write.

2) Not have the will to write any more.

3) Blatantly...do stuff like this.

I'm sorry that this isn't going to a be a continued series. It's just going to be a one-shot. Probably a bunch of little Tendershipping one-shots. I think that'll be better.

- Kiwikida -