Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh. I have made no money writing this. It'll be alright.
Author's Note: Having realized I'd inadvertently begun a cherry theme with "Crack…" and "Cherry" I decided to cap it off and make a little trilogy. Things are always better in threes. Really. They are. Weirdness and lack of sleep abounds. Enjoy.
The Truth of It
The Domino lights glow red and waiver through the sheeting rain until they jitter. Convulse. Dance. Ryou wonders, briefly, if on the other side of the city, his own light is piercing through it all, a little speck of white on the move in its own small universe.
He rests his hand against the glass for a soft moment, looking past his own ethereal reflection. His glass self. An ambulance slices through the ally below, a sudden insistent disturbance, red brighter than the city lights could ever be. Ryou sighs. The world has become heavy with unsteady lights and hopping sound.
As a child, it had never bothered him, the urban chaos lullaby-ing him to sleep.
"Now," he murmurs, "it's all just noise."
His yami would have said it's always been this way: that the world is nothing but a low and constant scream. That human voices are little more than hiccups of sound, that he shouldn't trouble himself because in the grand scheme of things, nobody will remember little Ryou. He is too small and sweet to pierce anything.
His yami would say that, all the while believing his own ancient growl would be enough to silence it all.
Now, really, what hope is there? The Ring has been silent for days and weeks, a month, perhaps three. The ancient growl has been swallowed up and Ryou knows it. He presses his thumb against the window until the rim of his knuckle reddens. A small Bing. A Maraschino. He never really believed he would miss the pain, but some animalistic memory aches for it now and he peels his thumb away from the window in time to catch the knuckle between his lips and bite down.
Not as hard as his yami would have, but he does not have the conviction to make himself bleed. He frowns. The spirit of the ring had lied. Ryou's skin does not taste sweet. It is bitter and salt-sweaty. And the bones beneath it hurt his teeth.
-----
This yami stoops to conquer. He has never been noble. He has never truly been just. He simply exists, a shadow, the barometer of the world. No one can deny his shape. Not kings, not priests, not demons or monsters. Certainly not this pale little boy.
But, apparently, Ryou is trying. All this time and his hikari has not acknowledged him and he has been here forever, forever, hovering between the door jam and the hall. He has been watching Ryou. Ryou sitting, arms curled around his knees, at the edge of the bed. Ryou sighing, his pale hair limping over his shoulders as he tips his head to one side. Ryou standing and crossing the room and pressing his hand against the window and murmuring and pushing his thumb against the glass and biting the skin. A tiny, swollen red…thing. A Bing. Or a Maraschino.
But Ryou never turns around to see his yami hovering there. Idiot. Absorbed in his own reflection. Or his own misery. One or the other. One in the same.
The spirit sighs into the room, a cold breath, the remnant Egyptian night. He smiles. Let this little boy choose to ignore him. Let him, in these precious moments, believe he is dead.
This yami lives the truth. Resurrections are not so easy to kill.
-----
See this? Tiny light bouncing from sand to street and back to water again. Tiny light breaking its way to heaven and flirting with hell. Tiny light the color of blood and angel bones.
A secret bouncing from eye to eye to eye to eye. White rimmed. Red rimmed. Didn't you know the color was from lack of sleep? Insomnia is the cousin of Evil and these eyes have not slept three thousand years.
Bite down. Capture and break it all. There is a bed waiting and heavy eyes and arms to wrap around your tenacious soul.
You will not die alone.
/reviews arealways welcome/