Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Butterfly Wings ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Yugioh. If it's that much of a surprise, then you are officially an idiot.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ...No comment.

WARNING: There still isn't anything to be scared about, peoples. Don't worry, it comes soon.

Rishid had returned to Egypt where he truly did belong. He was not fit in the buzzing city of Domino, even if he truly wanted to. Isis had left too, but she also belonged in Egypt with the Grave Watchers and the ancient desert lands. Sure, Malik went back, but it wasn't long before he returned to Japan. It suited him better and he'd be happy never living underground again for hopefully obvious reasons.

Ah, but that's where the problem began. It had appeared that a nearby business had decided to lay off a good portion of its employees, so it was them who had devoured all of the job openings. And with no available jobs and his savings dwindling to hardly anything, it seemed that the shit had hit the fan. The conclusion of that was Malik laying on a bench in the park, covered by sheets of cardboard and newspaper just like in the movies. It was kind of strange, thinking of himself as a bum, and he hoped someday he'd never have to be one again.

"Looks like you've seen better days, Ishtar."

Shit. He knew that voice, but wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or a good thing. He sat up, sheets of newspaper and cardboard falling off of his body into a mess on the ground. Malik faced the person with the familiar voice, and it didn't take long for the recognition to set in... "Bakura...?"

The other person, white-haired and dark eyed, grinned to the point of look a bit like some wild animal. "Since when did you decide that sleeping on benches was more comfortable than beds?"

"Asshole," Malik swore, but he couldn't deny he wasn't happy to see the former tomb robber, considering where this fanfic is heading. Bakura cackled like the sociopath he was, feeling that it was his best reaction. The Egyptian raised an eyebrow at that. "Shut up and go eat a cookie or something," he said, "anorexia gets you nowhere."

Bakura snorted at that remark. "Actually, I'm surprised. Sleeping on a bench in the middle of a park without your cronies creeping around. Couldn't pay them anymore?"

"Don't make me hit you."

"Whatever."

Malik sighed, running a hand through his hair. Bakura was definitely Bakura, he couldn't argue with that, even if he wanted to. The guy's personality was the sort that would someone want to knock him out, but it did have certain lovable charms. Oh, like bloody hell he'd say that out fucking loud! The former tomb robber would simply crack up if he heard that.

The white-haired man had said something, but Malik had also been spacing out at that moment. "Huh?"

"I said 'you don't have to sleep on a damn bench.' If you had asked, I might've been nice let you stay at my house."

"Um..." Wait, why was he being insecure about this? It wasn't like Bakura was asking him to have his children. "Sure. It's cold at night."

The house was definitely shabby. It seemed to be only seconds away from being condemned. Two broken windows, couldn't tell what color it originally was, patches of dead grass... The interior was a bit of an improvement, but it still looked the run-down pride and joy of a slum lord. The worn carpet, scratched wooden floors, walls covered with chipping paint, and the mess everywhere. Well, it was a very Bakura-esque place.

Malik closed his eyes, and looked as though he wanted to scream. He wasn't a filthy person, and walking into something that looked as though it was the beginning of a junkyard wasn't exactly something he wanted to do. "How can you live in a place like this?"

The other person shrugged, immediately making his way towards the couch. He flicked on a light, its dull glow flickering in the livung room. "This is coming from someone I found on the streets." Bakura sat down on the maroon and olive green couch, unaware of how it looked as though it was seconds from falling to pieces. "There's an extra room upstairs. Enjoy yourself," he stated simply, finding that he had ended up sitting on the remote and turned on the craptacular television. Seriously, the television show was in black and white.

The Egyptian shook his head, realizing that the conversation was over for now and made his way up the rickety stairs, listening to the groan-like sounds they made and the echoes of the gunshots on the television.

The spare room was dim, even with the light turned on. Malik had tossed the backpack of about the only things he had on the daybed, almost expecting it to cave in. He sat down on it, cringing as he saw a spider dash out from under the daybed for the last time. After killing the spider with a book lying on the scratched floor, he decided to go back downstairs. Hell, it wasn't like their was anything interesting up here unless you found a dead bug fascinating.

He was making his way back downstairs when he heard Bakura shouting at someone who was speaking quietly. Hell yeah, another familiar voice. The voice was alot like the former tomb robber's, but it was gentler and friendlier. "Ryou?" Malik couldn't say that surprised him, considering the boy was Bakura's hikari.

Ryou was, in fact, downstairs with Bakura, looking as though he was a combination of emotionally hurt and distressed. The yami seemed to be agitated with his counterpart, probably contemplating on how he should react.

"Ryou?" Malik asked, showing one of his gentle smiles. "Do you live here too?" Bakura's hikari looked up at the Egyptian, a quick half-smile flashing on his face before he nodded.

"Like Ryou would be able to live by himself," Bakura snorted. "Idiot can't even cook without breaking something."

"That was an accident," Ryou stated weakly, earning a glare from his yami. "I'm sorry, yami."

Malik simply stood there, watching the insecure hikari and the upset yami. He didn't say anything, not even to side with someone. If they were going to bicker, that was their problem.