I gotta work on start making Ryou less feminine. Well..I think he gets more manly as the story progresses...at least he gets angstier. Oo
I felt bad that I couldn't update at least once more before hiatus, or at least partial hiatus, usually hiatus just means I don't update for a really long time but I still try my best to. –sighs- Anyways, this was eight pages long, I didn't write it recently as it was intended for a future chapter. But for now, MalikxBakura!
The next chapter of Ryou and Marik is still in the works, as it is much longer and a bit more complex.
"I must not chase the boys" –lyrics altered slightly but it is the song from 'Play'. Don't own it.
Please read and review!
Chapter Eight
10:30 AM, Saturday
Room 517
Staff Dormitories - History Department
(very tired) Malik Ishtal
It was a bright and early morning, the kind that Malik liked the most. He stretched, not moody at all from being awakened from the bright rays that penetrated his room. He liked the sun, after all. Better to be warm and bright and sunny than to be cooped up miserably in a dark labyrinth for all eternity.
He groggily got up, shuffling in his light lavender pajamas. (They were decorated with darker purple ankhs, his favourite.) His one-room / living room/ bachelor suite was a total mess - a CD rack stood in the corner, when really, all the CDs were on the floor, scattered about. A small TV stood in front of the bed, but it was overshadowed by the super-big-massive sound system that had a tray to play five CDs, two cassette players beneath, incredible sound quality from the radio, and booming speakers that amplified at so many kilowatts per something. Basic idea was, Malik had a kick-ass stereo system.
He also had a karaoke machine. That stood on top of the stereo machine. Ryou had often noted how precarious it looked and insisted Malik change the feng-shui of it all in case it one day fall off and break Malik's neck.
But Malik liked his karaoke machine. And he liked it with his CD player. Then he could play all the songs he wanted - even when the karaoke machine didn't have it.
Rubbing his eyes, Malik shuffled his way into the kitchen. The wall between the kitchen and the living room had a wide window in it, so anyone from the kitchen could see whoever was in the living room. Yawning, Malik found some bread and shoved them in the toaster, before finding the butter. He slumped onto his kitchen table, a small thing from IKEA. Malik liked that guy who did the IKEA commercials. He was funny. Malik even had the porcelain cow from the commercials. Whenever Ryou questioned it, Malik assured it serverd a very valuable purpose: whenever it crashed, it was a sign of Malik's victory - he was making out on the table, just like in the commercial.
The little porcelain cow hadn't crashed in a while.
While waiting for the toast, Malik shuffled back into the living room, where his laptop was standing on a small desk under the window. Malik flicked it open and ran a hand through his messy blond hair, checking his e-mail.
YOU'VE. GOT. MAIL.
Malik clicked on the flashing little envelope.
Junk, Malik thought to himself, scrolling through his latest inbox. Junk, junk junk...
Among all the junk, Malik found one from the Historical Gala from last night. He clicked it open and scanned through it. Attached was the music sheet from last night's performance, and an compressed file that described the historical investigation Malik was required to do. Malik sighed. French history was not his best area, but since he was asked to do, he may as well.
Suddenly a little twinkling sound came from his speakers. A flashing envelope blinked up at him.
NEW MAIL.
With surprise, Malik opened the new e-mail What he saw made his breath stop.
Sender: B.akako (at) m.ishtal (at) Historical Gala
Breathe, Malik told himself. Immediately, staring at the name, it brought tendrils of musical whispers to his ear. He shook himself off and scrolled down the screen determinedly.
Ishtal –san.
As you probably have not forgotten, I am your appointed partner, Bakura Akako. Yoroshiku. (A pleasure to meet you.)
To be succinct, I am a very – if not a little impatient –busy man, and as I have recently received the French works and have looked them over, it will take a while to recompose and research the piece, and I would like to get it down as soon as possible.
I will be in the music room at 4:00PM sharp.
A.KA.KO.
Though quite polite in essence, there was no hiding the obvious command that it ordered. 4:00PM. Sharp. Don't-mess-with-impatiently-busy-Bakura-Akako. 'Else he bite you, that vampiric demon.
After skimming down the e-mail, whatever musical fantasy that had been floating in Malik's ear was rudely shredded away. He scowled at the screen and closed the browser without even logging out.
The nerve of him, Malik grunted as he shoved away from the desk and got up. Imagine. Not even asking my consent – or whether or not I'm busy, or anything like that – that arrogant, cocky bastard!
I should just ignore him, Malik smiled to himself. See how he takes that.
But something in Malik knew that he probably wouldn't be able to ignore the musician. And it was this nagging feeling – this twinge of curiosity that made him look back to his computer.
He stared at it for a while. The wallpaper had once sprawled a happy image between two blonds. A music player was open and various soft pop and rock were playing.
But the wallpaper was now an empty lavender, and the music player only bore sad and depressing music. Malik sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
And deep within him, something wanted to go and see that musician one more time.
And it was this twinge that forced Malik, rather reluctantly, to run back to the computer and print out the French documents.
4:00PM, Saturday Afternoon
Music Hallway.
Malik Ishtal
Lacking its usual buster and business, the school felt very empty. Slow footsteps echoed in the coolness of the halls, each step sounding more lonesome in the vast resonance of the halls.
Slowly, Malik walked down the hallway. He had never been to his part of the school. For so long, he had kept just to himself - himself and his companions in the History department...and of course, Ryou. For the longest time, he hadn't felt the urge to befriend someone new - to be with someone new. Both he and Ryou had been such good friends for so long that any type of significant other simply didn't seem...significant anymore.
Then again, Ryou didn't know...all the details of Malik's life...
For whatever reason, Malik couldn't get that voice out of his head. Even on his way from his dorm to the hall, he kept on telling himself that this - feeling - would go away soon, that it was just pure interest and nothing else.
This was business after all, but the feeling didn't quite go away.
This feeling of - this needing - to be… attached, to get closer. Every moment his mind wandered, it would remember the cool aura of the musician, the smooth presence, the silvery hair that flickered in the darkness. Even worse, that voice remained in Malik's head - not even when it sang. It remained, even in its cold, sarcastic demeanor, even from its rudeness from the e-mail. But there was something velvety about that voice that didn't want to quit echoing in Malik's head. Something so distant, so detached, so dreamy.
Something truly artistic...
Malik stopped and clenched his fists. He fell against the wall, his suit jacket hanging open slightly as he gazed up at the ceiling. He gripped the documents hard in his hands.
Why is this happening to me?
He sighed and closed his eyes.
Won't someone tell me what has happened to me?
A certain other voice rang in his head from so many years ago. Blond hair briefly flashed through his eyes - blond hair and beautiful, energetic brown eyes. That energetic smile.
Malik muffled a sniffle.
Or am I so misunderstood...
Why can't they see?
Distractedly, Malik fingered his gold armbands under his sleeve jackets. Though he never showed it to anybody, he too, had a special pendant - that silver chain, that little golden lock. On the back, read the name of his former lover...
Now I'm caught between the devil and the angel
That I used to be
Malik sighed again. Raggedly, he got off the wall, his head bowed and tired.
He remembered those shattering words of 'advice'. He remembered how he tried to teach him - the prejudice, the hatred against people like them. He remembered how he tried to explain - that in order to live in a society like this - they had to act, they had to pretend, they had to go against Malik, for the longest time, believed was right.
They say I'll understand all in good time
But age ain't nothing but a number in my mind.
Malik didn't understand. He still didn't understand. Regardless of any type of prejudice, what type of hatred could possibly drive him into the arms of another?
"You'll understand," Malik repeated hollowly. "Understand what, Jyo? You just left me...just left me like that. What was I supposed to think? I know no one likes us for who we really are...but why would it have mattered? As long as we had each other?"
I'm goin' crazy with this push me- pull me
Clenching his fists again, Malik gritted his teeth. His blond bangs fell into his eyes.
Caught between...
"What was wrong with it...?"
His lavender eyes slowly opened. Faintly, they shimmered with tears.
"What was wrong...with our love?"
Wrong and right.
Weakly, Malik opened his eyes. Just a few feet away, the band room doors stared back at him. They were closed, but Malik could imagine what was behind those doors - a shadow, a marvelous shadow - someone that Malik wanted so badly to know, to get to know, to understand, to be near.
I wanna give in to the man in me
I wanna be someone they don't want me to be
The moral of the story is I got no choice..
Malik's shoulders sagged. "...I don't want to pretend," Malik whispered. "But I have no choice..."
I must not chase the boys.
That hollow, cold, cavernous room. A mattress for a bed. A few boxes for a kitchen table. The wallpaper were peeling, there were cracks scaling the walls. A heater stood in the corner, clanking.
In the middle of this miserable room, Malik was on fire. A purple tank top, ripped, hung from his chest. His wrists were covered in gold bracelets and black bands, studded with metal spikes. A mike stood in front of him; his legs were parted, embracing the pole bracing the mike; his pants were hanging from his hips, hugging his thighs ever so tightly. His blond hair flew in the air lightly as he bobbed his head to the music. His gloved hands twirled a small, cracked pencil.
I started writing down my deepest secrets
Seven days a week of truth and fantasy
Behind him, Jyo was crashing his head to the music - he ran his fingers crazily down the guitar. Malik vocalized lazily and scrawled a line of lyrics on the scratched walls.
Smiling for no reason, Malik left the wall, staring at his messy lyrics. Even this memory - nearly a dream, felt detached. As though, even though he had only been sixteen - seventeen - he knew something had been up, that something was coming.
The rejection was coming.
Even though he didn't understand entirely...maybe at some point, Malik knew it was going to happen. Things like that never ended happily ever after.
Got the feelin' that the way my life is
Got to be prepared for changes
Reality surged back. Wooden frames and light yellow walls stared back at him. The granite floor shone below his feet. The band room doors beckoned to him. Malik's shoulders sagged, as though almost exhausted. A watery image of that faint, strange shadow rippled before him - as though a ghost of that beautiful musician was walking towards him.
Malik groaned and held his head sadly. "I must be nuts..." he whispered to himself. "This is...just borderline...obsessive." He re-directed his lavender eyes back at the doors. "...What's happening to me?"
He clenched his fists again and bowed his head. His legs trembled, as though straining to leap at those doors.
Maybe we can be friends, Malik thought desperately. But you know that you want just a little more than that - as wrong as it is...
Malik closed his eyes again. He tried to bite his lip to keep in that little sniffle that threatened to break free.
Won't someone tell me what has happened to me?
Or am I so misunderstood why can't they see?
"Big sister..." In the back of his mind, his childish version echoed that scared little whine. He had left everything...his older sister, his older brother...Isis, Rishid...for someone that - that he thought had been worth it. He had changed sides. From the innocent little brother to the abomination of mankind he was now.
Now I'm caught between the devil and the angel
That I used to be
Rock music. It surged through his ears. Malik cried out and covered his ears tightly. That room kept flashing back, taunting him. He was flinging his hair back and forth, his lips nearly carressing the mike. His hands made love as they tenderly stroked down the pole of the microphone, gripping it here, pressing it there, stroking it there.
His voice echoed, vocalizing, at its loudest and most powerful. HIs eyes were closed - shut - tightly, passionately. HIs hair flung back and forth along with his voice, his fingers, the thrust of his hips.
I wanna give in to the man in me!!
I wanna be someone they don't want me to be!!
In reality, Malik was gripping his hair. That terrible truth was going to ring in his head, and he knew it. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear Jyo say it.
The moral of the story is I got no choice
I must not chase
In his memory, his head was flinging from side to side. In reality, he was staring down the hallway, noticing the two corners - he could go left, he could go right, or he could go straight.
Straight?...Into that band room...?
I wanna go left but they tell me go right!!!
Don't wanna be the little boy they're kissin' goodnight!
The moral of the story is I got no choice...
I must not chase the boys.
Malik raggedly got to his feet again. His hand gripped the folder of musical sheets - his only excuse to see that musician again.
They can try to make me write a thousand lines
But that won't ever change the way I feel inside.
He took a step forward. He tried to ignore the voice of Jyo in the back of his head...
They've got their opinions but I just don't care
Cause that's not what I wanna hear.
He took another step forward. As though on adrenaline, they began to quicken their pace, without his acknowledgement. The yellow walls flew by him in a blur. His mind echoed that terrible mantra that he didn't want to remember.
The door approached with each chant.
I, I must, I must not chase the boys.
Closer.
I must, I must, I must not
Malik skidded to a stop. As though seeing it for the first time, he raised his head to the thick oak doors. His eyes fell upon the gold nameplate on its front.
chase
BAKURA AKAKO.
the boys.
His hands trembling, Malik threw his head up to the ceiling, as though renouncing his whole soul. The folder nearly flew from his hands, but he didn't care. The music blared in the back of his head, but he embraced it this time.
The voice of Jyo slowly faded...
I wanna give in to the man in me!!!
I wanna be someone they don't want me to be!!!
The moral of the story is I got no choice!
I must not chase ...
He closed his eyes, his voice inaudible to the empty hallway, but echoing passionately, loudly, powerful in the recess of his mind.
I wanna go left but they tell me go right!!!!
Don't wanna be the little boy they're kissin' goodnight!!!
The moral of the story is I got no choice!
Taking a deep breath, Malik reached out a hand towards the handle.
I must not chase...
His fingers slipped. The door opened on its own.
Malik's mouth fell open.
...the boys.
Before him, wearing a white work shirt and tight black pants, stood Bakura Akako.
screw plot chapters to bridge the gaps. I heading right into plot.
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!