Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Chance Meeting ❯ Chapter 3
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Kingslayer 
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Romance / Psychological / Fantasy / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.12.2007 | Updated On: 01.12.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 271 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Romance / Psychological / Fantasy / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.12.2007 | Updated On: 01.12.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 271 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: Same as previous. Don’t own YuGiOh and never will.
Author's Note: The next set of ficlets/drabbles... Only ten more to go. -flails-
And because I forgot to mention this before: 9. Knockin’ on your door is an X-Men crossover and 10. Looking for trouble was inspired by the setting and universe of the a young adult series titled Night World by L.J. Smith. I kind of just assumed everyone knew. -sheepish-
Many thanks to Moerae for beta-ing, and thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback!
Completed: 12 January 2007
11. Lovers and Players
He wanted a fight. He wanted to bleed, to make someone bleed; to taste the fury and pain of mindless violence.
He wanted…him.
Ruby-red eyes, careless and confident. Grace and arrogance, and a smirk for every victory, every show of invincibility.
Seto had never lost before, had never tasted defeat quite like this. It made him rage, made his blood boil and his fist clenched. Made him sit up and take notice; made him want.
Seto watched him walk away, before he stood to follow. Others might have missed it, but Seto had seen the beckon, the carefully hidden smile.
12. Mirror, mirror on the wall
Once upon a time, a time long, long ago, he had been human.
Human.
Alive.
Mortal .
He had lived and breathed and grew, blood and flesh and warmth—so warm—with the sound of his little brother’s laughter ringing like silver bells near his side. They had been happy. Seto was sure of it—even if his memories dulled and the years (hundreds, thousands) went soundlessly by, he was sure they had been happy.
He couldn’t bear the alternative.
——
Once upon a time, a time long, long ago, Seto had struggled for his life against a foe he now knew could never be beaten. The demon with the crimson-red eyes and the sharp teeth had ensnared him, had wanted him, and Seto, despite his strength and will, found himself ensnared. He had never expected to lose then—yet, lose he did. He rose from his dead body—fighting all the while to remain—as the void called to him like a siren, its deadly, beautiful song sweeping away his will and mind until all that was left was a spectre of want.
Then, the demon had pulled him away and tied him to himself, leaving Seto bounded and caged and forever entwined with his killer.
He had watched his little brother grieve, had watched him grow, fall in love, marry, and then, he had watched his nieces and nephews and their children…until one day, he saw his little brother leave—his body had remained still and peaceful on his bed, but his spirit…his spirit…
And Seto was alone, except for the demon who would never leave. Bounded and entwined…for years upon years…until Seto couldn’t remember a moment when he and his demon weren’t together.
He would have been angry long ago. He would have raged and cursed and struggled for freedom.
But the years (hundreds, thousands) made a difference and when loneliness bit into him like a never-ending chill—sometimes it was better to have company than not. Anger lessened over time, hatred could be buried with enough earth, but loneliness and need could never fade.
Sometimes, it was better to not be alone.
13. I’m human
There was always risk involved, of course. Without risk, without danger, living would be boringly bland; each life time would be filled with the same predictable routine—something Seto disliked intensely. He liked his freedom too much to stifle himself with the confines of society, especially with such a repressed, fearful society. To view differences as a disease, to tolerate only the norm, to confine themselves into what was expected—Seto could never abide for such restrictions, and nor was he going to now.
The air was heavy and dense, filled with perfumes and sweat and the stink of decay that couldn't be concealed. Mixed in with that stink was the smell of fear and exhilaration, happiness and grief, nervousness and confidence—all extravagant signs of the bustle of a large city, growing larger every day as more people settled in.
Seto's nose twitched, and he grimaced. He hated the smell of humans. He hated it even more in cities, where they converged into one convenient location, merging their scents into one large heavy fog that clogged his senses.
And Terrah had to ask why he hated going into cities, Seto snorted. Who didn't? Bad enough the place stank—did Seto really have to mill around, pretending to be one of them when all he wanted to do was snarl and growl and maybe, just maybe, literally bite some fool's head off?
Not that he could do so without some kind of excuse—Marreth would never stand for it, him and his bloody soft heart—but still. Seto was tempted. Very tempted.
He glared at a merchant who had been edging towards him, face full of insincerity, and tried to sniff for the elusive scent again. At once, he grimaced at the foul mingled smells. It was no use—Seto couldn't track down the other wolf like this, not when he was bombarded with humans at every turn. Marreth could take his damn plan and eat it with his raw meat—Seto wasn't going to wait patiently among the loud noises and foul stench, impatiently searching for someone who may be one of their own.
No. He wasn't. He was going to leave right now. Forget wandering around in this noisy crowd, hoping to track the ever elusive one—he'd just bide his time in the forest. If this was one of theirs, then it was only a matter of time before Seto found him. Seto took one last look around, grimaced, and then quickly walked away, towards the appealing sight of the dark forest. Seto could almost smell the refreshing scent of pine, wood, and dew; he could almost feel the cool wind skirting through the trees and sliding along his skin like silk.
Abruptly, Seto stopped, nostrils flaring as a new scent suddenly made its presence known. Known. Familiar, but not—someone he didn't know, but who had the familiar scent of one of theirs.
Stiffening, Seto stood straighter and began scanning the people around him. This one's scent was strong. Close. He couldn't be that far away — and Seto would lay bets that he wouldn't be trying to hide. No, Seto thought bemusedly, as the smell of curiosity became clear.
Closer. Seto tilted his head when the scent became stronger, and the sudden realisation that this one was coming to him and had been aware of him all along made his eyes widen in surprise.
Well, well, well. Either he's very brave or a reckless fool.
Even as Seto's disparaging thoughts lingered, he couldn't help feeling impressed. It wasn't often someone took him by surprise; it was doubly rare for anyone to track him for this long without alerting Seto, but this one had. In a large crowd of loud and bewilderingly strong scents and noises, true, but Seto wasn't going to make excuses for his own lack of awareness.
His sight fell onto the only person—a youth, male, around the same age as himself, with curious crimson eyes—who was standing still amidst the jostling movements of the crowd. Seto stared back, fascinated and annoyed when the youth tilted his head and smirked.
14. Everyone wants you
He was there again.
Of course he was there, Seto thought wryly, because that's why you're here, isn't it? Genius by day, stalker by night—and Seto didn't really have an excuse for it. There was no linear relationship between genius and madness, but there probably was a correlation between genius and obsession.
Obsession explained a whole lot. It explained why he came here—three nights a week, sometimes four. It explained why those three nights a week (sometimes four) were based on the clubbing patterns of a certain someone (blonde, possibly, with dyed red-purple streaks; crimson eyes; and a lot of leather). It explained why Seto could never take his eyes off him, as he danced, drank, seduced. It explained why Seto didn't even try.
But what it didn't explain was why, on this certain night, Seto found himself face-to-face with his current object of obsession.
"Yami," he'd introduced himself, looking all too amused when Seto stared.
15. Earthy Paradise
Yami woke up gasping and cold, his skin pebbled with goosebumps. Darkness shrouded his vision as the wind whistled through leaves and branches that swayed in rhythm. Moonlight streamed through the trees in patches, weak and pale and not nearly enough to give Yami a good idea of his surroundings, of where and when and why—especially the why, because Yami couldn't remember anything, anything other than his first name, he amended—but at least he had some source of light, no matter how dim. He didn't want to think about how it would have felt, to wake up alone and cold and blind.
Shivering, he started to sit up, but his arms wouldn't hold his weight; he felt weak, like he had never moved a single muscle in his entire life. Breathing took more effort than he had expected, and Yami scowled, frustrated and cold and bewildered. Carefully, he sat up, straining muscles and gripping the soft ground determinedly. He shook his head once, twice, and blinked at his surroundings, hoping for some familiarity, for some hint, some inkling—no matter how small—but his mind came up blank. He knew his name—that was obvious. Anything else, however, and he came to a standstill. No memories, nothing.
And he was naked. No wonder he was so drenched in the cold.
Sighing, Yami stood up slowly and carefully, testing his leg muscles now that he was aware of the consequences of moving without a care. His body, like his mind, seemed blank too; as if he had been reborn with a blank sheet, memory gone, body unused, untested. Subconsciously, he shivered again. Oh, he thought. That hadn't felt good, that combination of uneasiness and nausea—hadn't felt good at all, and yet, yet Yami could feel it was somehow...right.
What the hell happened? he wondered, feeling too much like a lost soul—or maybe, like a lost guinea pig.
His stomach tightened again, but before he could contemplate any further, there was a loud rustle and a loud snap of breaking branches. Yami tensed, fear and adrenaline combining and turning into a heavy weight inside him; he clenched his fist, but thinned his lips when evidence of his still slack and weakened muscles became even more apparent. Still, he wasn't about to give up—if there was a threat, then he was going to eliminate it.
Yami thought he was prepared for anything; had believed it so utterly, that when a pale figure, naked as his own appeared, he started.
"Wh—" he stumbled over his first word clumsily.
"Yeu—" the stranger stumbled over his too, and for a moment, Yami was glad he wasn't alone in this.
"I...mean..." the stranger started again, awkwardly. His blue eyes looked annoyed, and he seemed even more frustrated than Yami had been. "I...you were here too?"
Yami nodded and asked as his mouth moved awkwardly, trying to get use to the twist of each word, "Do you rebr—remember?"
He shook his head and frowned. "You?"
Yami shook his head and sighed. "No."
Well, at least we're getting used to talking, Yami thought as they stared at each other uncomfortably, aware of their nakedness and the chill of the night. Yami wondered how they were going to get back to—well, to where ever they were from and whether they were going to regain their memories and where they were going to go for the time being, when abruptly, the stranger said, "Seto."
When Yami blinked, the stranger glared at him with a look that said, just how dumb are you? and then pointed at himself. "Seto."
Oh, Yami thought before he scowled and glared with a look that said, I was just startled, you arrogant ass before he said, "Yami." And then, for good measure, mockingly pointed at himself.
The glare he got back was almost worth the shaky movement of his hand.
Author's Note: The next set of ficlets/drabbles... Only ten more to go. -flails-
And because I forgot to mention this before: 9. Knockin’ on your door is an X-Men crossover and 10. Looking for trouble was inspired by the setting and universe of the a young adult series titled Night World by L.J. Smith. I kind of just assumed everyone knew. -sheepish-
Many thanks to Moerae for beta-ing, and thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback!
Completed: 12 January 2007
11. Lovers and Players
He wanted a fight. He wanted to bleed, to make someone bleed; to taste the fury and pain of mindless violence.
He wanted…him.
Ruby-red eyes, careless and confident. Grace and arrogance, and a smirk for every victory, every show of invincibility.
Seto had never lost before, had never tasted defeat quite like this. It made him rage, made his blood boil and his fist clenched. Made him sit up and take notice; made him want.
Seto watched him walk away, before he stood to follow. Others might have missed it, but Seto had seen the beckon, the carefully hidden smile.
12. Mirror, mirror on the wall
Once upon a time, a time long, long ago, he had been human.
Human.
Alive.
Mortal .
He had lived and breathed and grew, blood and flesh and warmth—so warm—with the sound of his little brother’s laughter ringing like silver bells near his side. They had been happy. Seto was sure of it—even if his memories dulled and the years (hundreds, thousands) went soundlessly by, he was sure they had been happy.
He couldn’t bear the alternative.
——
Once upon a time, a time long, long ago, Seto had struggled for his life against a foe he now knew could never be beaten. The demon with the crimson-red eyes and the sharp teeth had ensnared him, had wanted him, and Seto, despite his strength and will, found himself ensnared. He had never expected to lose then—yet, lose he did. He rose from his dead body—fighting all the while to remain—as the void called to him like a siren, its deadly, beautiful song sweeping away his will and mind until all that was left was a spectre of want.
Then, the demon had pulled him away and tied him to himself, leaving Seto bounded and caged and forever entwined with his killer.
He had watched his little brother grieve, had watched him grow, fall in love, marry, and then, he had watched his nieces and nephews and their children…until one day, he saw his little brother leave—his body had remained still and peaceful on his bed, but his spirit…his spirit…
And Seto was alone, except for the demon who would never leave. Bounded and entwined…for years upon years…until Seto couldn’t remember a moment when he and his demon weren’t together.
He would have been angry long ago. He would have raged and cursed and struggled for freedom.
But the years (hundreds, thousands) made a difference and when loneliness bit into him like a never-ending chill—sometimes it was better to have company than not. Anger lessened over time, hatred could be buried with enough earth, but loneliness and need could never fade.
Sometimes, it was better to not be alone.
13. I’m human
There was always risk involved, of course. Without risk, without danger, living would be boringly bland; each life time would be filled with the same predictable routine—something Seto disliked intensely. He liked his freedom too much to stifle himself with the confines of society, especially with such a repressed, fearful society. To view differences as a disease, to tolerate only the norm, to confine themselves into what was expected—Seto could never abide for such restrictions, and nor was he going to now.
The air was heavy and dense, filled with perfumes and sweat and the stink of decay that couldn't be concealed. Mixed in with that stink was the smell of fear and exhilaration, happiness and grief, nervousness and confidence—all extravagant signs of the bustle of a large city, growing larger every day as more people settled in.
Seto's nose twitched, and he grimaced. He hated the smell of humans. He hated it even more in cities, where they converged into one convenient location, merging their scents into one large heavy fog that clogged his senses.
And Terrah had to ask why he hated going into cities, Seto snorted. Who didn't? Bad enough the place stank—did Seto really have to mill around, pretending to be one of them when all he wanted to do was snarl and growl and maybe, just maybe, literally bite some fool's head off?
Not that he could do so without some kind of excuse—Marreth would never stand for it, him and his bloody soft heart—but still. Seto was tempted. Very tempted.
He glared at a merchant who had been edging towards him, face full of insincerity, and tried to sniff for the elusive scent again. At once, he grimaced at the foul mingled smells. It was no use—Seto couldn't track down the other wolf like this, not when he was bombarded with humans at every turn. Marreth could take his damn plan and eat it with his raw meat—Seto wasn't going to wait patiently among the loud noises and foul stench, impatiently searching for someone who may be one of their own.
No. He wasn't. He was going to leave right now. Forget wandering around in this noisy crowd, hoping to track the ever elusive one—he'd just bide his time in the forest. If this was one of theirs, then it was only a matter of time before Seto found him. Seto took one last look around, grimaced, and then quickly walked away, towards the appealing sight of the dark forest. Seto could almost smell the refreshing scent of pine, wood, and dew; he could almost feel the cool wind skirting through the trees and sliding along his skin like silk.
Abruptly, Seto stopped, nostrils flaring as a new scent suddenly made its presence known. Known. Familiar, but not—someone he didn't know, but who had the familiar scent of one of theirs.
Stiffening, Seto stood straighter and began scanning the people around him. This one's scent was strong. Close. He couldn't be that far away — and Seto would lay bets that he wouldn't be trying to hide. No, Seto thought bemusedly, as the smell of curiosity became clear.
Closer. Seto tilted his head when the scent became stronger, and the sudden realisation that this one was coming to him and had been aware of him all along made his eyes widen in surprise.
Well, well, well. Either he's very brave or a reckless fool.
Even as Seto's disparaging thoughts lingered, he couldn't help feeling impressed. It wasn't often someone took him by surprise; it was doubly rare for anyone to track him for this long without alerting Seto, but this one had. In a large crowd of loud and bewilderingly strong scents and noises, true, but Seto wasn't going to make excuses for his own lack of awareness.
His sight fell onto the only person—a youth, male, around the same age as himself, with curious crimson eyes—who was standing still amidst the jostling movements of the crowd. Seto stared back, fascinated and annoyed when the youth tilted his head and smirked.
14. Everyone wants you
He was there again.
Of course he was there, Seto thought wryly, because that's why you're here, isn't it? Genius by day, stalker by night—and Seto didn't really have an excuse for it. There was no linear relationship between genius and madness, but there probably was a correlation between genius and obsession.
Obsession explained a whole lot. It explained why he came here—three nights a week, sometimes four. It explained why those three nights a week (sometimes four) were based on the clubbing patterns of a certain someone (blonde, possibly, with dyed red-purple streaks; crimson eyes; and a lot of leather). It explained why Seto could never take his eyes off him, as he danced, drank, seduced. It explained why Seto didn't even try.
But what it didn't explain was why, on this certain night, Seto found himself face-to-face with his current object of obsession.
"Yami," he'd introduced himself, looking all too amused when Seto stared.
15. Earthy Paradise
Yami woke up gasping and cold, his skin pebbled with goosebumps. Darkness shrouded his vision as the wind whistled through leaves and branches that swayed in rhythm. Moonlight streamed through the trees in patches, weak and pale and not nearly enough to give Yami a good idea of his surroundings, of where and when and why—especially the why, because Yami couldn't remember anything, anything other than his first name, he amended—but at least he had some source of light, no matter how dim. He didn't want to think about how it would have felt, to wake up alone and cold and blind.
Shivering, he started to sit up, but his arms wouldn't hold his weight; he felt weak, like he had never moved a single muscle in his entire life. Breathing took more effort than he had expected, and Yami scowled, frustrated and cold and bewildered. Carefully, he sat up, straining muscles and gripping the soft ground determinedly. He shook his head once, twice, and blinked at his surroundings, hoping for some familiarity, for some hint, some inkling—no matter how small—but his mind came up blank. He knew his name—that was obvious. Anything else, however, and he came to a standstill. No memories, nothing.
And he was naked. No wonder he was so drenched in the cold.
Sighing, Yami stood up slowly and carefully, testing his leg muscles now that he was aware of the consequences of moving without a care. His body, like his mind, seemed blank too; as if he had been reborn with a blank sheet, memory gone, body unused, untested. Subconsciously, he shivered again. Oh, he thought. That hadn't felt good, that combination of uneasiness and nausea—hadn't felt good at all, and yet, yet Yami could feel it was somehow...right.
What the hell happened? he wondered, feeling too much like a lost soul—or maybe, like a lost guinea pig.
His stomach tightened again, but before he could contemplate any further, there was a loud rustle and a loud snap of breaking branches. Yami tensed, fear and adrenaline combining and turning into a heavy weight inside him; he clenched his fist, but thinned his lips when evidence of his still slack and weakened muscles became even more apparent. Still, he wasn't about to give up—if there was a threat, then he was going to eliminate it.
Yami thought he was prepared for anything; had believed it so utterly, that when a pale figure, naked as his own appeared, he started.
"Wh—" he stumbled over his first word clumsily.
"Yeu—" the stranger stumbled over his too, and for a moment, Yami was glad he wasn't alone in this.
"I...mean..." the stranger started again, awkwardly. His blue eyes looked annoyed, and he seemed even more frustrated than Yami had been. "I...you were here too?"
Yami nodded and asked as his mouth moved awkwardly, trying to get use to the twist of each word, "Do you rebr—remember?"
He shook his head and frowned. "You?"
Yami shook his head and sighed. "No."
Well, at least we're getting used to talking, Yami thought as they stared at each other uncomfortably, aware of their nakedness and the chill of the night. Yami wondered how they were going to get back to—well, to where ever they were from and whether they were going to regain their memories and where they were going to go for the time being, when abruptly, the stranger said, "Seto."
When Yami blinked, the stranger glared at him with a look that said, just how dumb are you? and then pointed at himself. "Seto."
Oh, Yami thought before he scowled and glared with a look that said, I was just startled, you arrogant ass before he said, "Yami." And then, for good measure, mockingly pointed at himself.
The glare he got back was almost worth the shaky movement of his hand.