Modern Day Narcissus
by Shadowesque13
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Horror/Drama
Summary: One-shot. Oh, dear reflection, how I long to be with you; let's spend our time so close, so far away. Seto/Seth
Dis: YGO! (c) Kazuki Takahashi
-----
He pressed a palm up against the mirror, leaning closer, wanting to pass through it. It was cold. Like the both of them. Both were cold, both were prideful, both were similar in personality (he assumed, at least) and physical appearance. He glanced at their hands, so close, separated by one pane of glass andthree thousandyears of time. So close. So very close to the only one that was his, that he belonged to. He gazed back into those sharp, identical eyes, forever blue skies and oceans and ice held inside, deep within the intense glare, exactly like his own. And yet, there were differences one could note. Each and every difference was documented and noted in his mind, each dissimilar feature completely obvious when he stared at his supposed reflection.
Not that he was obsessed, no. He would only scoff at the idea. Many people thought him obsessed with many things. Himself included on that list. Obsessed with himself, how ridiculous. They didn't know about the man that haunted visions and dreams as of late, intruding into his thoughts every other moment. They didn't know about the mirror. The many mirrors he would spend endless time in front of. Not looking at himself, not examining his skin for blemishes or combing his hair just so. It wasn't an obsession. But just what was it?
Well, it was love, obviously. Lust, maybe. He had to touch this person from the past, just had to feel him, see him in his own reality. If only he could pass through. He pressed himself closer against the reflective surface.
The body was delicious, lanky and thin, yet toned and defined muscles. Just like his own, just like his own beautiful body. A bit of a sneer upon those lips he wished to taste, if only for one precious moment. Calm gaze making him shudder. Is this how others felt when he shot them a look like that? Smooth, silky skin, perfect in every way. And what wasn't perfect with him was also wonderfully imperfect with his other self.
But it wasn't him. He'd convinced himself that this high-ranking Egyptian man was not himself in the past, as similar, as perfectly alike as they were. It was just some man who he could not dare spend a moment away from.
He loved this man. He loved himself. He had an infamous ego; he knew that. And he cared only for himself. He was perfect; he was almost to be worshipped. He had unmatchable pride. Did his reflection have the same? Did people adore him, too? And what did the man think of his reflection? Did he love Seto as much as the teen loved Seth?
Thin lips brushed tentatively against the mirror. He could almost taste the one on the other side. It was so tempting, so unfair that he could not join the man where he was, to spend eternity together, to do more than just stare at each other.
Did his reflection care about the sin? Did he uphold such morals, or had he thrown them away when he caught a glimpse of the desperate present self just like he himself had? Pride, such pride, like the mighty dragons they loved so much. Were they dragons inside, wanting to release the fury, the passion, all that was kept under lock and key inside? But pride, who cared about that sin, it wasn't important. What about the vanity, the love for themselves, for their reflections they spent hours with? Also unimportant. Many people were vain in the world. Why should they be any different? Admiring the man in the mirror, alike in most aspects; their bodies would fit together so perfectly; damn the mirror, getting in their way. Then they would burn in hell together, so long as they would be together. Who cared? Nobody would pull him away from the mirror, nobody. Not even the devil himself. He would adore the man, his exact copy, his duplicate.
He never saw himself anymore. Every time his eyes gazed across a mirror, he saw the wondrous priest. It was tearing at him, slowly driving him insane. Why couldn't he get across? They were touching, nearly touching.
They never spoke. No words had ever been said between the two. They merely glanced at each other, over their bodies, sometimes shuddering at the thought that the one they loved was looking at them with such a look of lust and desire. It was almost too much. He needed more. He desired so much more. Why had he been reduced to this, pining away at something he just couldn't touch? It was absolute torture. He hated it. He wanted to break the mirror, see if there was a way to get through. But he refrained. For only one reason. He never beat his fists into the many mirrors only because it would ruin his beautiful priest. He would be hurting, they would be hurting.
He reached up a hand to his cheek. The man in the mirror did the same. Smooth skin, pale white and deep tan. It was the closest they could come. The hand was placed delicately on the mirror to stroke the cheek of the other, but once more, only hands on glass.
They belonged to each other. Nobody would tear them apart.
Seto would stand in front of that mirror until he was dragged down into the pits of hell to atone for his sins, and even then, he would love the priest. He could do nothing but love himself, love the reflection, forever to remain a modern day Narcissus.