No.
A lifetime of bad was just fine. A lifetime of living the way you really wanted to, giving in to animal instinct, held back by nothing. Not the rules of society.. nor the nay-say of your friends and loved ones. The trick was to look back on it all sadly before dying, wishing it undone, and maybe doing a handful of nice things.
If you were lucky, you might even get an extra three thousand years to do it all over again.
A smoldering cigarette was held between his fingers, forgotten. He stood on the roof-top of the Kame Game Shop, the wind blowing bleached bangs out of his face. The old man was dead. They'd put him in the ground today, but all he could think about was going downstairs and ripping into every last toy or game they carried to make sure he wasn't somehow still clinging to the place.
He'd had enough of that haunting shit.
His mother had tried talking to him. He didn't even know what she wanted. He kept hoping she would leave, find another place to live. He didn't want to be the one to go. This was home. This was his place. The old man had left it to him for a reason. Sixty years from now when it was his own turn to die, he would do it right there in his room with the skylight, telling some miracle grandkid how he'd traveled the world and seen crazy things.
Finally a slow drag was taken of his smoke. Adopted grandkid maybe. Maybe he'd die talking to a house cat. Would it matter? He had been there for his grandfathers last words, but he could not recall them. He'd been entranced by the slow transformation that was death. It was after all the first time that he'd seen it. His mother had set his grandfathers hand within his own, and he'd felt the slow chill that set in. He was captured by the gentle fading of color from the old mans body, the rise and fall of his chest that had ceased.. it had all hypnotized him. What did words matter when the body itself spoke?
He wanted to see it again.
On the street a sleek limousine caught his attention. Kaiba? Who else would park just in front of the Game Shop's door. He'd seen him at the gathering, off in a shadowy corner, with Mokuba no less. He supposed it was only fitting that they come and pay their respects. Both brothers had known his grandfather. The elder had damn nearly killed him once. Did Kaiba ever think about that? He couldn't help but wonder, and curiosity made him move. Opening the door of the limo, he found only the elder Kaiba brother, his occasional lover.
Such a needy thing that he was.
" Come to give me your condolences? "
" Hardly. You don't need the sympathy. You're probably glad to have one less nagging voice around. "
" Come to give me something more interesting then? "
" Maybe. "
These days Kaiba isn't quite sure if he wants to know what Yugi considers interesting. He isn't sure, but he takes the risks anyway. So far they've paid off. Yugi is creative with his torture, an artist with a knife, a lover with a real bite. He's a willing canvas, open to it all, a junkie who can't get enough. So what if he keeps his cool facade while they talk and go through their small rituals? It's their manner of foreplay. Who's going to make them change?
" Play dead. "
The words leave him baffled for a moment. Not like he lets it show. Instantly a brow is arched, a question written across his features. What's this new game? Play dead. Does he mean .. like a dog? Is that collar of Yugi's soon to be wrapped around his own neck once more?
" Well? "
Right. They are still parked out in front of Yugi's place, he can either obey or go home alone. Slowly, he lays himself on his back, a sigh from his lips as if it troubles him greatly to give into the others demands. He gives a firm knock to the limousines partition before closing his eyes. He can feel the car start up and pull away. As long as they're moving, Yugi can't get away.