Well here's another update. The chapter's are starting to actually have a plot and a point. Things may seem OOC and weird now, but EVERYTHING gets explained in the last chapter! EV-ERY-THING.

This chapter is dedicated to my sister, the chase-shipper. (That word has given away the plot to a few people now, hasn't it?)

Marik hurried out of his house, clutching the friendship journal in his hand.

He stopped by his (obese) neighbours' letterbox and peeked in. She had received more brochures from Weight Watchers. Marik took out the brochure and a black texta, and wrote things like "it's not working, lard legs" and "give up, fatty" on them, then replaced the brochures in the letterbox.

It was the little things that showed he cared enough not to care.

Marik then continued on his way. His destination? The secret hiding place for his catapult. He was going to light the journal on fire and launch it at cats.

On his way, however, he heard a sound. Brumming, like Malik's motorbike.

"Oh no, he caught me!" Marik groaned, turning to the noise. "I'm sorry hikari, I didn't realize the curse would make your hair – what the?"

It was a motorbike approaching, but it wasn't Malik's. No, this one was a different shape. Marik knew the shape of his hikari's motorbike very well ever since the day he and Bakura had tried to paint it blood red (literally, blood red), and Malik caught them and made them lick the bike clean.

Bakura had jumped at the chance.

But, as this bike got closer, Marik saw – and recognized – the rider.

Tristan Taylor.

Marik was torn – hurl the journal at cats, or Tristan? Cats or Tristan? Tristan or cats?

As Marik thought desperately, Tristan got closer. He wasn't wearing a helmet. Marik couldn't resist.

WHACK!

Something hard and papery hit Tristan in the temple and he lost his balance. Swerving to avoid an oncoming truck, he drove up onto the footpath, hit an old lady and fell over.

After regaining consciousness, Tristan checked the damage. He was okay. The bike was fine. The old lady… er…

Her time was about up anyway.

Picking up his bike, Tristan wheeled it over to see what had hit him. He picked something up. It was royal blue, battered, tatty, stabbed, run over…

"This must be Ryou's friendship journal," he deduced, and pocketed it. Then, climbing back on his bike, he headed home.

Yo journal,

Hey there, it's Tristan. Kinda cool that I've finally got my hands on you. Now I'm like, classy. I can write about my thoughts and stuff.

But I have to do it organizedly. Ahem.

Thoughts-

Food is good. Y'know. And carrots are pointy.

That about sums it up… Oh, and I love my motorbike.

…

And Duke.

…

Shit, I wrote it. Now it's official and I'll have to buy him Valentine's Day presents and stuff. I don't wanna. What do you buy a 17-year-old gay guy who has lots of money?

…

I could buy him his very own street bum!

Aw, but then I'd have to attach a love note to him and say "I love you Duke."

I hate having to say "I love you" to Duke. This is why motorbikes are better. You don't have to tell them you love them.

…

But then they don't say "I love you Tristan." Unless you're on drugs. But I'm not, so my motorbike doesn't talk, so it doesn't love me, so Duke is better than a motorbike.

…

Wow, that was deep. Deep like Joey's stomach. Phew, that guy can pack it in!

Anyway, point is.

I love Duke.

Tristan

Well yeah, all this is for my sister. I don't support Duke/Tristan too much.

She pointed something out to me too. Marik's catapult. For cats. Get it? CATapult? Yeah I know, I bet you all figured it out before me. I never meant that pun!