Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Butterfly Wings ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

DISCLAIMER: Nope, don't own Yugioh, chilluns. If you honestly thought I was Takahashi-sensei, you have serious issues

AUTHOR'S NOTE: No matter how many times I go over this fanfic, it still feels flawed. I've rewritten it multiple times before it ever saw the light of day. Ah well, if you people like it, I suppose that's all that really matters.

WARNINGS: In the prologue, there really aren't any warnings. The bad stuff's in later chapters. ...Except for Yami Malik-sama's smoking... (sob.) Please quit smoking, Yami Malik-sama! Iwanaga Tetsuya did such a wonderful job with your voice!

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At the moment, he felt excited. His breath was harsher that normal, his heart was pounding. The euphoric rush was sending him to the brinks of psychotic bliss. Yet, he shouldn't be feeling like this. Not behind these solid walls of doctor white and the no-nonsense furniture. He should be feeling nervous, clawing for escape from the maturity of the madness. But there was no terror, no anxiety, no clawing. The man, about twenty or so, shifted on the couch as though it was taking a hell of alot to remain seated and not escape into a wild paradise that his mind insisted was there.

He should, if anything, be uneasy, so why was he acting like he was in an amusement park of sorts? No, he wasn't as mad as they thought he was. He was simply overjoyed by the new atmosphere and the lack of the more violent side of reality.

"Fuck, you're acting like a ten year-old brat."

Now, that voice was not his own, but it wasn't the voice of a stranger, either. The man breathed in. It had been about four years since he had last heard the deep voice that vaguely resembled his. "It's been awhile," he remarked, leaning back into the plush chair.

This person from the past walked over to the cherrywood desk in the room, presumably the psychiatrist's desk. He picked up a picture frame from the desk, cringing at the photo of the horrid-looking child, and sat it down. Finally, he looked up at the other man, with his darkened violet eyes. "You've changed. You never used to act so strangely."

This man framed as psychotic, Malik, blinked at the other. "Because you left." The hyperactive attitude had vanished, replaced by something of a sadder sort. "If you stayed..."

The other sighed. As Malik's darker counterpart, he had been ripped out of the once-teenager's body and tossed into some place unpleasant by... no, he didn't really want to think about it. "Even if I could've stayed, you hated me. Even now, I feel that you hate me."

"What are you doing here?" Malik asked sharply, not deciding to carefully change the subject. He was now in no mood to be anything but blunt. "You fucked up my life enough. I'd rather you not make things worse."

The darker, Yami Malik, sat in the cushioned chair next to the light. "I come back and this is the welcoming I get?"

"Because you ruined my life."

"Bullshit," Yami Malik snapped, reaching into his jean pockets. Finally producing a package of cigarettes and a lighter, he lit up one the sticks before putting both objects away. He took a puff of the cigarette before continuing. "Don't you dare start blaming everything on me because you don't want to accept goddamn responsibility. You're as guilty as I am!"

Malik looked away. He didn't want to admit it, but there was some truth to that--wait, no there wasn't! Damn his counterpart for trying to send him on a guilt trip. "Not true," he whispered, "you're the monster."

This earned such a cruel laugh indeed. "Monster, am I? Maybe I am a monster, maybe I'm not. I've killed your father and..." he trailed off, grinning like the sadistic bastard he was, "it seems that you've killed someone too." The words were followed by a long, tense silence and then, a choked form of crying. That, Yami Malik didn't expect. What did he expect? Another spiteful comeback, probably. Maybe even shouting if he managed to push his light that far. He took another puff of the cigarette, waiting for a decent response.

Finally, Malik managed to speak, though it was a tone of a broken person. "What would've happened? I-if I hadn't pulled the trigger, he would've been alive..." A sob broke out. "I'm a murderer. Stupid, stupid, killer." The crying grew worse, causing Yami Malik's frown to deepen. "I loved him, but I killed him! I-I'm such an idiot!"

The darker counterpart didn't say anything for awhile, simply took another hit of his cigarette. "Malik." His voice was stern, maybe even a little... worried? Nope, that was impossible. "What happened?"

The crying grew less and less in intensity, leaving Malik with soft sobbing. "What didn't happen? He was such a bastard, but he was so... fuck, I seriously did love him. I said I would die for him..."

"Looks like he died for your instead," Yami Malik remarked with cruel amusement that earned him a hurt look. He sighed deeply, running one of his tanned hands through his pale hair, skin and hair so very much like the other man's. "Just... tell me, what happened? Unless you'd rather I leave you to whine about your sucky life to the crackpot psychiatrists they have running around here."

"They're saner than your are, Ishtar."

"They'd also probably load you up on pills and toss you in a padded room. Even if I wanted to do that to you, I couldn't."

Ah, there was a point proven. It was Malik's turn to sigh. "What do you want to know?" he asked, the sobs gone at last. Telling him couldn't be that bad, right? Atleast the yami wouldn't asked anymore.

"Well, let's say after the Battle City tournament. Gods know I haven't the faintest idea what's going on."

Malik took a deep breath, then started at the beginning of something no one should have to go through.