See, not so long now was it?

It will probably take a couple of 'chapters' to get into this proper. But you'll live I'm sure


Bakura flicked the head of the Zippo lighter. Sparked the flint. Watched the small flame quiver in the morning air.

Fuck I don't know.

He looked over at Marik. As though there were a way he could provide answers.

"You gonna light up with that or waste the gas?" Bakura handed over the small metal casing without a word. "Thanks."

"Is that your response?" Bakura slipped the lighter back into his pocket. Leaned against the brick wall with a groan. It was chest-height, with rust-red bricks that wore away at the edges, the cement between them crumbling. Cheap, old masonry. He didn't like how it scuffed the back of his jacket. "That all you have to fucking say?"

"I don't know what else you want me to say." Marik spoke with the wisdom of age behind him, when in reality, he had only lived a handful of years. His mind was yet to emerge from childish infancy. Bakura didn't blame him for his uselessness. What else was he expecting? "You shouldn't have fucked his best friend. Bad place to start."

"He said he was okay with it." The ground was frosty, the scrubby tips of wheat-coloured grass dusted a silvery white. Bakura was reminded of handfuls of hair, the same colour, falling uselessly to the ground. Discarded.

"This might shock you," Marik exhaled deeply, a long plume of smoke that stretched for six feet or more. "But he may have been lying."

"Why." Bakura arched his neck sharply, looking up at the other male. He had drawn one knee up, resting the ball of his foot against the lip of the wall. "To make me feel better? After he said he didn't love me?"

"Again, lies." Marik's voice was cold, scraping against Bakura's voice uncomfortably. It was his words that made his voice as harsh as sandpaper. "He's fucking crazy about you. So much that he knew you weren't feeling it anymore and let you go. Then couldn't take it, and jumped."

"I was sure he went off me." Bakura muttered. "He went cold. Distant. Didn't want to touch me."

"An act."

"A damn good one then." Bakura snarled. "Fuck your theory. It's too contrived. Stop reaching for feelings that aren't there anymore."

"Why the fuck do you want to think the worst?" Marik sprinkled ash on the frosty ground. "He's not gonna make it. You heard what they said." He chuckled. "Guilt's catching up, huh?"

"He didn't do this for the love of me." Bakura spat. He ignored the question. "That's too strong, too dramatic for him. He wouldn't throw himself away for another human like that. You don't know him. If it was for attention it wouldn't have been the twenty-fourth floor."

"The kid's only seventeen years old." Marik pointed out. "You fucked with his head. Big time. Look at all the sick shit he did for you. And it wouldn't catch up?"

"Whatever." Bakura straightened. "You don't know shit, okay? What happened with us was just us." He started to walk back across the half-grown lot. The hospital was two blocks away. Why did he run in the first place?

"And when he goes, it'll be just you." Marik called through the pre-dawn air. Bakura paused. His face was grey. "The sooner you accept this shit and take the blame then the easier it'll be."

"How?" Bakura turned back, hands trembling. "How will it be easier on me if I accept that Ryou's death is my fucking fault!" Marik took one last drag of the cigarette, flicking the half-finished butt off into the grass. "Huh?"

"I wasn't talking about you, dumbass." Marik sighed. Bakura stilled, paralytic with defensive fury, until his words fully registered. Bakura's hands curled into fists. He wanted to push Marik down from the wall, to throttle him and stub out cigarettes in his eyes and burn his nose with the lighter.

Instead, he found a broken beer bottle in the frosty grass. Bakura threw it in the grey light, savage with rage but distanced, withdrawn. He wanted violence and blood, but didn't want to be near Marik. Not close enough to see his breath and feel his body heat. The broken glass hit its mark; he heard Marik swear loudly, lose his balance, and fall with a thud the grass.

Bakura turned away and began to walk, making his way to the hospital. He felt sick. He couldn't breathe. Marik was wrong, as wrong as fuck. They discredited Ryou. They didn't know what he was capable of. He wasn't a lovesick puppy, who followed Bakura with his nose jammed up his ass. Nor was he a delicate little fucking flower. Maybe if they knew they wouldn't so quick to pass their goddamn judgement. An odd, fantasy image sprang to mind, of Ryou, limbs stuck out at awkward angles, stuck with glass and fragments of metal, his hair, not white, but red from the skull fracture that stretched across the back of his head.

Except it wasn't a fantasy. Yesterday, Bakura had seen Ryou fall, had tried to move him off the car as the ambulances screeched, was held back by God knew, some passer-by who knew the danger of moving injured people. Something about the spine. His bone-white hands still looked and tasted rusty from Ryou's blood. Bakura paused, and pulled them from his jacket, holding his nails up to his eyes. The blood had dried underneath. They looked like a row of toothless, bloodied smiles. On an impulse, Bakura bit down on his nails hard, trying to chew the scarlet half-moons clean off.

Funny. He normally loved the taste of blood. Claimed Ryou's tasted the sweetest of all. Now, the coppery tang, the smell... Bile rose in his throat.

"Oh God." Bakura fell to his knees, stomach lurching. He pressed his forehead against the frosty grass, jaw set and teeth gritted. He could hear someone sobbing. Perhaps it was him. Bakura arched his back, forcing down another wave of crippling nausea. Gagged. He curled his fingers into the ground, wanting to burrow down into the earth. How cold was it out? Two, three degrees? He should return to the bright lights and central heating of the hospital. No.

No warmth there. Just cold condemnation and nothing more.


Also, temporal markers. What would you prefer, to have an indication of time to try and get it straight, or would you would rather I left it for you to figure it out? Not having them will include a lot of intrigue, especially as the story wears on, but it could be confusing. Everything would be explained in the end, though.

But if enough of you want temporal markers, then I'll include them.