Sorry that took so long. I've had lots of coursework, as well as Digimon on the brain. It made it difficult to concentrate. But it's done now, yes? So enjoy. I don't own Yugioh.

SMILE

Inevitably, both of us were slapped in a two hour detention for walking out of school. We were sat at opposite ends of the room (me at the front, Bakura at the back) and told to sit in silence for the first hour and write about why bunking school was wrong for the second hour. We weren't alone, thank God; although we were the only students, there was a teacher sat at the front of the room making sure we didn't exchange even a glance.

Not that I wanted to glance at Bakura at the moment. So far we were half an hour in, and I was staring out of the window in quite a rage. I wasn't even sure what I was angry at. I couldn't pinpoint it. It was a mixture of being angry at myself for losing my temper and therefore losing control of my mouth, being angry at Bakura for provoking me enough to lose my temper, being angry at Duke for acting as the catalyst for this whole situation and being angry at the faculty for putting me in this pointless detention that I didn't think I really deserved. It wasn't my fault I had to walk out of school; they could have just given Bakura my two hours as well as his.

It all just made me so mad. I took my pen, which I had been vaguely amusing myself with by balancing it on my fingers, and started carving a stick man massacre into the table. I couldn't believe I had blurted it out. In the middle of the street, no less. Was my self control really lacking that much? If it was, my life could end up being quite a disaster. For me, there was nothing worse than the image I had in my mind of myself at thirty, sitting in a poky, cluttered flat playing an acoustic guitar and having dirty hair. It was really, really unpleasant. I'd always thought that my life would be great, or at least above average; the house would have three storeys and a huge garden, and I'd have a job with a six figure income. If I managed to find a nice girl (and I was really beginning to hope that I would sooner or later) I'd marry her and we'd have a family. Three kids, maybe?

However, these dreams would not be achieved if I continued to exercise so little self control. Sorting out this problem would be difficult. I sighed quietly and concentrated on my doodling. When I paid attention to it, I actually quite liked my massacre. One stick man had a chainsaw, and there were many randomly placed heads and limbs surrounding him. I began to elaborate when a shadow fell over the table. It made it very difficult to see what I was doing.

"Ryou?"

I looked up to see the teacher looming rather ominously in front of me and looking very stern. "What?"

"Give me the pen."

I didn't want to. It was the only thing stopping me tearing my hair out in boredom. "Why?"

"Because you're drawing on the desk. You wouldn't like it if someone drew all over your desk, would you?"

"I wouldn't really care."

"Stop answering back and give me the pen."

I held my pen tighter. "I am not giving you the pen. It's not like the tables aren't already vandalised beyond recognition."

"That doesn't mean you should contribute to it." He held his hand out. "Come on, pen or you'll get another detention."

I was about to answer when a voice from the back of the room piped up, "Hey, Sir, this desk says you're a shithole."

We both turned around to look at Bakura, although our expressions were completely different. Mine was a sort of 'what the hell?' look, whereas Sir looked as if he'd just been smacked in the face. He spluttered before managing to gasp out, "A what?"

Bakura looked far too happy. "A shithole."

Sir seemed to completely forget about taking away my pen as he stormed over to where Bakura was sitting. A battle of words ensued, ending badly on Bakura's part as Sir rushed away in a single person stampede to fetch a member of senior staff. I was glad he was gone; it meant I was free to draw again of my own free will. But then in a way I hoped he'd come back quickly, because as long as he was gone I was alone with Bakura. Which was bad.

I had turned back around and was facing the front again. The both of us sat in a rather awkward silence for a few moments before he decided that something had to be said. "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"What the hell could I need to thank you for?"

"I stopped him giving you another detention."

"You only postponed it."

He didn't reply, and I went back to my massacre. At first I couldn't decide whether I wanted a stick man with a sword or a stick man with a rifle, but this was before I realised how stupid I was being and that I could just draw both.

"You know, you never told me you were gay. We could have gone out."

I slammed my pen down but managed to resist the urge to turn around. "I'm not gay."

"You're bi?"

"No!"

"You must be one or the other."

"Well I'm not."

"Then how can you fancy me?"

"I just do."

"It's because I'm special, isn't it?"

"You're the most non-special person I've ever met."

"Then you must just be bi."

"I'm not!" I picked at my drawings with my nails. Bakura really knew how to get on my nerves.

"It isn't anything to be ashamed of, you know. If I were you, I'd fancy me too."

"Well, you're not me."

"But you still fancy me!"

I, once again beginning to lose my temper, turned around in my chair. "Look, are you just going to poke fun at me? Because if you are, I'm not interested. I can't help fancying you; it's not like I chose you out of everyone. And besides, I could survive perfectly well without talking to you at all. Or even seeing you. So it's not like you're all that important anyway."

The happy smirk never left his face. "I must be a bit important. If I wasn't, you wouldn't fancy me."

I turned back to the front, having decided that I wouldn't even bother anymore. So he was good looking and he'd grown on me, that didn't mean he was tolerable all the time. From where I was standing I thought I was dealing with the whole situation rather well. It wasn't like I'd tried to kill myself or anything. And besides, I was sure I'd get over it sooner or later. But still, it would have been nice if Bakura stopped being so uptight about it. I wasn't easily bothered by other people's opinions, but when it was Bakura making fun of me because I fancied him it got on my nerves more than just a little.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't sound very sorry, so I didn't reply. Picking at the table was more interesting than listening to him anyway.

"I shouldn't be so horrible. It's not your fault I'm that irresistible."

I gritted my teeth. I didn't even think he was trying too hard, and he was annoying me immensely; I really didn't want to imagine how pissed off he could make me if he tried.

I heard him laugh quietly, then, "Ok, I'm properly sorry this time. Really. Forgive me?"

Shaking my head in disbelief, I nearly had to laugh at his ignorance. My face must have been a picture. I still didn't turn around, but at least I replied this time. "You've got some fucking nerve. Who do you think you are, exactly?"

He sounded like that wasn't quite the reply he'd expected. "Don't start swearing at me. I apologised, what more do you want?"

"I want you to get out of my face and leave me alone. I have no need for someone who's going to mock me without having any idea how I feel."

"Who says I have no idea?"

"I do, because if you did you'd have known not to laugh. At least not as much."

If nothing else, that shut him up for a minute or two. I was pleased about it. I really was not in the mood for him or any of his jokes, especially under the circumstances. Why he thought it was alright to ridicule someone for something that wasn't their fault, I didn't know. It wasn't even like he had a clean slate, either. He was gay, which hardly qualified him for putting me down when I fancied one bloke. He was the kind of guy who you'd see jumping in front of a bus for fun, the kind who'd dress up as a woman and go out on the pull. Hardly qualified for anything, actually. Especially making fun of people.

Noticing that I'd scratched off the head of one of my stick men, I picked up my pen and began to draw it back on. It was one of the better stick men too; he had a crazy gleam in his eyes and a battle axe in his hand. I imagined what it would be like to be a stick man with a battle axe – no worries, no conscience, no morals, no putting up with Bakura making sarcastic comments. I'd just be able to do what I want, and cut down anyone who disagreed. I grinned a little and felt silly as I realised I was envying a something that I'd carved into a table. I really was pathetic sometimes.

"I do know, you know."

It was a mumble, so I wasn't sure that I'd heard him right. "What?"

"I said I do know how you feel."

I stopped scribbling on my stick men so I could listen properly to the excuse I was sure he would make, but I didn't look at him in case he thought I was taking him seriously.

"It happened to me, once. When I was your age. No one knew I was gay then, and there was this guy I really liked. I didn't tell him for ages, and when I did he laughed and spat in my face. Said I was fag scum."

Tapping my pen on the table lightly, I wondered if he was telling the truth. He sounded sincere, but then he had laughed at me earlier. Why would he have done that if he knew how I'd feel?

"Of course, it's all good now. He went to a different college, and these days no one cares about your sexuality. That doesn't mean it didn't hurt at the time though." There was a pause, and I heard two of his chair legs hit the floor. He must have been balancing on the back legs. "I'm sure you probably don't care, but I just thought I'd tell you. Just so you don't accuse me of something like that again, and so you can stop with your whole 'no one understands me' charade."

It was a short story, but it was also an unexpected one and it caught me off guard. I wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish, as it must have taken quite a bit of courage to tell me. He couldn't have just been referring to my attitude. But what else could there be? Then again, maybe he just didn't care who knew. Like he said, no one really cares about anyone else's sexual preferences anymore.

Either way, I figured I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. It didn't sound like the kind of story you'd just make up like that. Fiddling with my pen, I found myself unsure of how to reply. After he'd told me that painful truth it would have seemed more than a little insensitive of me to treat him the same way I had been doing a few minutes prior. But that was how I'd always treated him, which left me in a tricky position.

I stared at my stick men while I thought about what to say. "Did you go back to being friends?"

"No. But after a while it was like he got bored of taunting me and we just stopped talking. His loss."

"Oh."

I didn't know what else to say. It was a tad awkward; he'd managed to turn the tables so that I was the one who didn't understand. I actually felt a bit guilty about saying he didn't know how I felt. He seemed to know how I felt better than I did.

The more I thought about it, the stranger it felt. Because of that story I was far more aware of Bakura's point of view. It wasn't an experience I'd pay money for though, as I wasn't sure I wanted to be able to see where Bakura was coming from. I'd only end up feeling selfish for having my own problems. On the other hand, it helped. Only in a small and not very useful way, but it helped nonetheless. At least he had a decent excuse for some of the ways he treated me.

I drew another stick man. This one was holding a dagger to his own throat. I'd never considered suicide before and I suspected that I never would, but I had thought about what it might be like. How would it feel to know you were dying because of your own hands? What could possibly feel so hopeless that you absolutely have to escape from it? Whatever did, I hoped to never experience it. As I coloured the handle of the dagger, I vaguely wondered whether Bakura had felt like that when the boy had called him scum.

"Hey Ryou?"

I answered absently, still a bit absorbed in thought and leaning on the back two legs of my chair. "What?"

"Do you want to go out with me?"

The shock was so bad that I sat up quickly and caused my chair to topple backwards. I had hit my head on the leg of the table behind me when I fell, so I curled up, half on the floor and half on my chair, clutching my head and moaning in pain. I wished I had heard him wrong, but when there was so little noise in the room and when he had spoken so clearly I knew that it was near to impossible. Go out with him? I hadn't even considered it. He was obnoxious, arrogant and a complete pig; I hadn't missed seeing him devour an entire Swiss roll on his own earlier that week.

"Just because I fancy you, it doesn't mean that I want to go out with you."

I heard a small laugh. I was surprised he'd heard what I'd said, what with me in a ball on the floor. "Oh, go on. We're not so different, you and me. You can always dump me afterwards if you hate me that much. What do you say?"

In a completely uncharacteristic move on my part, I took pity on him. I just couldn't bring myself to say no, mostly because of what the other boy had done to him before me. It seemed too cruel. Besides, he'd just said I could feel free to dump him if I wanted, so where was the harm in it? And I knew him better than that; if I did say no, he'd pester me until I changed my mind. I sighed. "Alright then. Why not?"

"Hooray!"

"Bakura! And Ryou, get up!"

It was the booming voice of the deputy headmaster, so I wasted no time in getting up. Bakura was going to get into trouble anyway; that was his problem. I, however, had no desire for another detention. I just sat and listened as Mr Sir and the deputy head scolded Bakura for yelling obscenities at teachers earlier, and I realised what I had agreed to a moment ago. In fact, it made me feel a bit nauseous. What was I thinking?

I held my head in my hands and stared jealously at my stick men and their stupidly easy lives. I guessed I would just have to sit back and hope for the best.

Yes? No? Maybe? I'm already well into the next chapter so that shouldn't take so long to get up. Review and I'll love you.