Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Crimson Visions ❯ Chapter 3

Title: Crimson Visions

Author: purkle dragon goddess

Rating: NC-17

Pairing(s): Kaijou/Joukai

Beta: kaibunnee

Spoilers: none

Disclaimer: I am constantly reminded of the fact that I do not own any of this…Damn.

Summary: 31,536,000 seconds have past, a long time by anyone's standard. One year since that day when two lives changed. For better or worse, who is to say? For only in their words and actions can you tell. However, can you truly know for sure?

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It was suddenly becoming harder than he thought it would be. How could he say the things he needed to without hurting the other more than he already would?

Sitting down at the desk, originally he intended to type out his words before realizing just how cruel that would be. How easily his words might be misinterpreted. Nothing he did would make this any easier, but from his own hand maybe it would hurt just a little bit less.

~You are not going to understand any of this and I am sorry for that. I cannot make this any less difficult for you. Know that if nothing else was ever true--I love you, in my way.

I have everything I could ever want, more than I ever thought possible. However, it is not enough. While I so want you to understand, I don't know how to make you.

You look at me and we both smile but it's only on the outside as I protect you from the emptiness I feel inside. I can't let you love me that much, can't let you fall into this pit I feel myself in.

No one has ever noticed the truth. I've never let anyone in that close. You have come nearer than you know. I'm tired of pretending, tired of faking it all.

Forgive me. Forgive me for the times I've dragged you down near the edge of my sanity, for the times I hurt you more than you let on.

Forgive me one last time for this. ~

He knew he had every reason not to, someone who loved him more than anything else, people who actually cared, a sibling he looked at with love and pride. Everything that should have made him happy.

However, the darkness he felt inside grew everyday, drowning him in a bitter wave of self-loathing and hatred for whom and what he had become. It was too much. And he was tired.

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"So how did you sleep last night?"

"Better. I slept."

"Good. So what you were saying yesterday was things got emotionally involved between the two of you, yes?"

"Yes."

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Somewhere along the way, things had changed. Little things held different meanings than they once did. Small touches, they way they spoke, the way they looked at each other--little things that held so much. Not to say they woke up less battered or bruised after their more intense nights, just that most mornings someone else was there.

The little signs were there, whether they spoke of it or not--they did not have to say it. Anyone could see the differences.

He was thinking of these changes when he arrived. Opening the front door he walked in and immediately noticed the place was too quiet. There were no lights on as well, another odd situation but one his mind quickly set aside as a potential setup by his lover.

Following the safety lights on the stairs, he climbed up to their shared room. Finding the door partially closed, he pushed it open enough to walk through. Reaching out to switch on the light, a hand upon his wrist stopped him before pulling him further into the room. The door closed firmly behind them, leaving the room in complete darkness.

The other came up behind him, their bodies molding together as their hands made quick work of his clothing. They fell to the floor, landing upon the rug in the center of the room. His hand, connecting with the hardwood floor, felt something sticky. Remembering to complain later about the mess, he put the incident out of his immediate thoughts, as other things were demanding his attention.

Gentle caresses, time taken to feel and care. Sex is sex, but there is a difference when emotions get involved. That was what had happened. They did not have to say it. They proved it with their actions.

Quietly getting up, so as not to wake the other, he headed to the bathroom desperate for a bath or shower. Whatever the liquid on the floor was now covered his body; it had not bothered him so much until it started drying. Now it was flaking and had started to itch upon his skin.

Closing the door, he turned on the light and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Raising a hand to wipe away what he knew had to be an illusion, he found it was not so. He threw open the door once more flooding part of the bedroom with light. Calling out to the other, and not receiving an answer he raced to the main door.

Turning on the light switch, he looked around the room. The once white rug, the usually spotless floor both were covered in a fluid that had congealed to a brownish-red, staining everything it touched including his body and that of his lover.

He was still screaming when the staff found them.

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