A/N : ... this all started with Marik calling his hikari "Hikari-pretty" Warning... lots and lots of pointless Ryou angst.
Hikari-pretty.
That's what we are.
Or at least that what they are.
Not me.
Not the broken hikari.
Not the pitied hikari.
Not the unwanted,
The unneeded,
The unpretty hikari.
When think of the light, you think of innocence and purity and cleansing. You think of sunshine and happiness and laughter and everything that's good and right in the world. Not of fallen angels and life longing for darkness. You think of everything but that.
You think of Yuugi, his small petite frame emanating innocence and pure unbridled love. You see his eyes sparkle and shimmer and glow when he's happy, you never see them dull or lifeless or sad because his yami won't allow that. His hikari pretty must be happy. Always. So the occasional evening when Yami comes back haggard, but with satisfied smirk to Yuugi, we know his hikari will be happy. One less bully at school, but Yuugi gets to be happy.
Or you think of Malik, tan and fit after chasing his darkness countless times. Long blonde hair, clean and bright, no matter how dirty and bloody the rest of his body might be from his previous activities. Marik calls him his "hikari-pretty". His pretty. Only his. And he's proved that more times than most would like to admit. But no, he proud of the lives taken to protect his hikari. Even though Malik's perfectly capable of doing it on his own.
So what about me?
Pale, sickly skin on a too skinny frame. Long white hair, too thin for anything other than tangles and matting. The occasional bruise from school thugs thinking me to be some "pansy assed fag" if I recall correctly. Oh of course, beat up the one who's yami isn't there constantly. Beat the boy who could do nothing to you. Add to the rejection of my darkness. The few bruises help to cover old scars on my arms and chest. The scars on my chest, the only reminders of the yami I once had. The scars on my wrist, trying to remember more, never wanting simple things such as memories to slip from my grasp. It adds to the ugliness of the hikari who was never meant to be.
Hikari-Unpretty.
The one who aches for some form of darkness to reside in his soul, neither helping nor hindering, just there.
The one who wishes for something to take him away from this world with every blown-out dandelion and every burnt out star.
The rejected one.
The one who looks to Yuugi and his yami just to catch a small glimpse of the love and the care and the bond they share and are not afraid to show the world.
Or to Malik and his yami, the slightly psychotic way they show their love and devotion to each other with the death and destruction but still… it's love.
Something I want.
Something I need.
Something I'll never get.
The other's seem to taunt me without realizing it.
Their happiness causes me to wonder.
Would life with my yami be that great?
I try to imagine it.
Life with my other half.
Life of a whole being separated between two bodies.
Life with evil.
Life with a madman.
A complete life.
A perfect life.
And yet… it seems beautifully un-perfect.
Anything has to be better than this life I lead right now.
Anything.
Anything other than this pitied existence that was cursed upon me. This life of laying awake at night praying and pleading to gods that seem to ignore me.
This life spent dreaming of slashed wrists and letter no one ever reads and drowning in the beauty and completeness of death that finally grants it's eternal cover.
This unwanted life.
This unimaginable life.
This life that no one should lead.
No one but the unwanted,
The un-needed,
The un-pretty hikari.