... I've been busy. I'm sorry. Really, I am. I've been working on other stuff, we leave for our school camp to Canberra (that'd be the capital of Australia, so we're doing the political rounds. YAYAY!) in 5 days... and there's been assignments and all sorts of crap. You know - high school.

Couple of weekends ago, Orange-Lemons had a disaster. She tried to go blonde again, and ended up dying her hair orange and yellow. My hair was like a walking tribute to my pen name. Thankfully, the hairdressers fixed it, but it has an odd green tinge to it...

Okay - If you haven't been to see the wonderful Xachro's fiction, and you enjoy a laugh, and want to see what kind of crazy people i hang with, then go find it... It's called 'Harry Potter and the Search for Saddam, NAKY!' i think. Also, I have a joint LJ (linked on my Orange-Lemons author biography page thingy...) We're all nutters, visit us!

Disclaimer: All characters contained herein are property of Kazuki Takahashi.

Chapter 4: In the Shadows.
It was raining. Little water droplets crept down the windows of the taxi, picking up momentum as they fell. Yami rested his star-ry head on the cool glass, breath fogging it in patches. There was an odd, nauseous feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He supposed it was nerves; Yugi had pratically kicked him out of the apartment, after half-an-hour's chit-chat.

Yes, Yami wanted to see Seto. Wanted to hold him, touch him, kiss him, so much that it physically hurt. But certain words from a little monster were haunting him...

And should he go, knowing what he did about Mokuba? Would it seem selfish, or unfeeling, not allowing Seto solitude in his time of grief? No, surely he couldn't let Seto be alone at this time?

All too soon, the taxi pulled up outside the mansion. Yami exhaled slowly, gathering his scattered thoughts and courage. He could feel his heart pumping blood through his body rather erratically as he walked the long driveway, water trickling down his neck. Remembering the security cameras, he cast a concealment spell on himself.

"At least Egypt was good for something," he muttered under his breath. His powers were kick ass.

He hesitated at the door. Knock, or ring? He mentally stabbed himself with a pitchfork, for being so stupid. He pressed the little button.

It seemed like an eternity to Yami, just standing on the marble entrance, heart thumping in his ears. Of course, knowing Seto, he was probably upstairs, working, blocking out the world. It was his way of dealing with grief - ignore it and it will go away.

With a start, Yami heard footsteps. The door unlocked with a small, sharp click. Blue irises fixed upon red, eyes widening slightly. Both stood transfixed, neither breathing, as a rush of emotions ripped through their hearts. Yami searched the handsome face of his old lover for any sign of... anything... Anything that told of what stirred deep within the other's soul.

The world stopped, it too waiting with bated breath.

"Seto?"

The moment shattered as glass, Seto recoiling as though branded. The door slammed shut, the harsh bang echoing in Yami's ears like a gunshot. He swayed slightly, his nausea reaching its peak. He crumpled to the cold, marble floor, slight form curling into a tight ball, shielding himself from the horrible misery clawing at him. Moonlight gleamed pale and pillars cast shadows upon the broken man. Tears fell freely and unrestrained from his cheeks, and gut-wrenching sobs tore from his heaving chest.

He would never, never forget the look in Seto's eyes, before the door slammed shut.

Pure hatred.
"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalik!"

"Malik! Make this transsexual unhand us!"

Malik raised an eyebrow. "Transsexual?"

"Yes! She was a man, and she's not anymore!"

The nice security lady gaped. "You know these two... people?"

"Yes, madam, I do indeed. They are good friends of mine," Malik replied politely, all smiles.

"Should've known, the freaks..." she muttered under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, 'I'll leave the three of you to catch up, then.'" She marched away. Malik, Bakura and Ryou looked at each other.

"Well... nice weather lately, hey?"

Ryou giggled. "It has been the most miserable Spring for years. Yep. Wonderful." The three laughed.

"You are both just as I remember you."

"You mean the women's clothing?"

"I mean the insanity. Although you, Ryou, are more stoned than I remember."

Ryou grinned. "How else could I put up with Bakura this long?"

Malik laughed. "C'mon, come meet the rest of the band! We're on in fifteen minutes, have you got tickets?" They walked into the room, comfortably arranged with lounge chairs and empty pizza boxes in every corner. The room had a faint smell of Guinness, which neither found surprising.

"No, actually. We were hoping you could get us in?"

"Oh, of course! Hey, Skip, RJ, Nympho, this is Bakura and Ryou, mates of mine from Japan!"

"Wow, Ma'k, they're kinkier than usual," remarked the one named 'Nympho', raking the silver-haired boys with dark eyes. He was scantily clad in leather, with pale make up and dark, spiked hair to rival the Pharaoh's. The other two had blonde hair and blue eyes, and looked Scandinavian. Skip had bottle-green tattoos over his cheeks, an elaborate design of flames. RJ had blood-red marks to match. They were obviously twins.

"No, nuthin' like that, Nym. They're here for the show." There was something of an unfinished air to what he said. Ryou put it down to his rock star calibre; famous people always seem to leave doors open, as if creating avenues to question them more, though they know full well they're not going to answer. Kaiba used to do it all the time, the bastard. Malik certainly suited the lifestyle, too.

"Oh, shit, man, the show!" Skip spoke for the first time. "When are we on?"

Malik checked his watch. "Seven minutes. So, you got some?"

"'Course."

Bakura's eyes narrowed, as small packets of white powder appeared from nowhere. "Smack, Malik? Should've known..." Malik looked up from his little line of powder, a small grin on his face.

"Yeah. I suffer from inverted vertigo."

Bakura, the psychologist, looked quizzical. "What's that?"

"When I'm not high, I'm scared." The room cracked up. "So, I take it you're not having any, Bakura. Or Ryou?"

Bakura and his light exchanged glances. "We didn't say that..."
Yugi looked up at the clock. It was late. Really late. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. On the one hand, Yami could be too busy... uh... catching up with Kaiba to even spare a thought for Yugi. But on the other hand... what if Kaiba hadn't opened up?

He knew Kaiba had old wounds that had never healed; knew that there was a lot of resentment towards Yami for leaving. Kaiba had never understood the hero thing. He was a businessman, and was all for one, and one for one. Except, of course, when it came to Mokuba.

Yugi felt so bad for the both of them. They had had the most beautiful, pure relationship - one of deep, unwavering love, and the cruel hand of fate had torn away the happiness both had craved and deserved. And maybe, just maybe, it had ruined them forever.
There is a quote in there I have been trying to work in for MONTHS, it's from Billy Conolly. The inverted vertigo one!

I know i've been using this as an excuse a lot, but once again, i was drunk while writing it, or at least the second half. I have vowed that from now on, i will stay off the drink. Yeah, i don't believe me either.

Oh, and can I have a review?!? And can my friend Night's Child have one too, please? her fic is way better than mine, and she doesn't get drunk while she's wrting it.