Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ How to Save a Life ❯ How It Is: Typical ( Chapter 6 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

... Do you know? I never stopped loving you.
 
The left shoulder of Malik's fitted crimson sweater was thoroughly soaked with tears in a matter of seconds thanks to Ryou's inconsolable sobs. The Egyptian continued to hold the smaller male, the expression on his face revealing that he was anything but comfortable at the moment. Still, despite the awkwardness, Malik kept his arms around the narrow waist of his former-lover, holding the shaking man and whispering little nothings into his ear in hopes of making him feel better.
 
“It's okay... It's okay...”
 
Ryou shook his head back and forth, his fingers digging into the fabric of Malik's shirt. His words came out as incoherent mumbles.
 
Malik sighed, rubbing his hands up and down Ryou's back almost robotically. “Ryou, come on. Stop crying now. You're breaking my heart.”
 
Another practiced line - another sweet phrase to hook him in. And Ryou was just about to fall for it, the tone of the Egyptian's voice was that persuasive. The fraction of his mind that was not overwhelmed by the confusion of seeing Malik Ishtar after so long seemed to be the only part of the young waiter to recognize this. Luckily, this reasonable side was strong enough to surmount the irrationalities.
 
Ryou's hands clenched into tight fists before releasing Malik's shirt, and he pushed himself away from the Egyptian. Mocha eyes stared up at the taller man in quiet disbelief.
 
“I'm breaking your heart? I'm breaking your heart?” he said, finding the idea absolutely ludicrous.
 
Seeing the error in his words, Malik quickly tried to cover up the mistake, beginning to stutter out a response only to be silenced by Ryou hysterically yelling for him to shut up.
 
Without thinking twice, the white-haired male raised his arm and greeted Malik properly with a ten-year belated slap in the face. The sound of his palm connecting with the perfectly tanned cheek resonated throughout the bathroom - an impetuous crack that briefly swelled Ryou's heart with pride.
 
Malik blinked, having trouble comprehending what just happened. Skeptical lavender orbs stared down at the smaller male in shock. Ryou, getting over his moment of smug satisfaction, seemed both surprised and awed over his own actions, as he was gazing in wonder at his hand, mouth forming an `O'.
 
As the realization sunk in - the stinging sensation finally making itself known in Malik's cheek - the Egyptian growled lowly and made to strike back.
 
A sudden image came rushing to the forefront of his mind. He was sixteen, standing in the hallway of his old high school, with Ryou backed against the lockers holding his cheek and crying so, so hard...
 
“Malik, you're hurting me!” the meek voice of a teenaged Ryou cried.
 
Father, you're hurting me!”
 
Malik gasped, recalling an incident in his childhood when his very own father beat him. Lavender eyes lowered to stare at the ground and gradually the man brought his arm back down to the side, unable to act upon the urge to fight back. Instead, he took a step closer to the waiter, causing Ryou to blink up at him in a manner similar to a frightened animal.
 
Ryou, overcome by a sense of dread, took a step back - only to be stopped as a hand shot out and grasped his upper arm, preventing him from moving. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he made to say something. Softly he apologized, not quite knowing what else to do.
 
A warm hand cupped his cheek, a calloused thumb brushing away the tears staining the immaculately pale skin. Ryou sniffed and hesitantly raised his eyes to lock with the breathtaking lavender orbs he still adored.
 
... Why'd you have to come back?
 
They were silent for several moments, just gazing at each other with a mixture of different emotions - fear, regret, sadness, anger, concern, confusion, devotion.
 
Malik's hand remained on the other's smooth face, gently caressing the petal-soft skin and every once and a while daring to brush his fingers across those thin rosy lips that had been missing his touch for ten long years, while his other hand slid down to Ryou's narrow waist to keep him close.
 
Ryou, seeming unconfident, kept his own arms down by his side; his breathing calmed for the most part.
 
Malik smiled - that perfect, charming smile that could make anyone (man or woman, young or old) blush. Ryou's cheeks reddened involuntarily and he looked away hastily, ducking his head in order to hide the evidence of his embarrassment. The perfect smile widened a fraction; Malik rubbed the other's hip affectionately.
 
... How...?
 
The waiter's heart fluttered in his chest, breath catching in his throat, and leant closer to the Egyptian - falling victim once again to the all-too familiar touches; Malik Ishtar possessed an irresistible charm that even Ryou could not fight against no matter how hard he tried to.
 
... How can you do this to me?
 
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And I want you to be there, `cause I miss the things that we shared.
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Ryou sighed for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day, his wearing eyes staring uncertainly up at the arched sign in front of the park. Half shrouded by vines the faded black letters spelled out `Kissimmee Park' - as did the crumbled piece of loose-leaf paper held in the white-haired man's trembling right hand.
 
“Meet me at Kissimmee Park at seven,” Malik's strong voice, laced with a watered-down Arabic accent, resonated through Ryou's mind.
 
Standing on the walkway leading into the park, Ryou envisioned himself in Malik's arms. Those protective, warm arms. The previous evening Malik held him for almost an hour, waiting patiently for all of the waiter's tears to subside.
 
Gently, so gently, the dark full lips had pressed a tender kiss to his brow as the embrace was finally returned. At some point during the comforting process, the pair wound up on the bathroom floor, Ryou practically in Malik's lap, their faces close together close enough to allow them to feel the other's breath wash over their lips.
 
“I've missed you,” Malik had realized after a minute or so of staring into the waiter's chocolate-brown eyes.
 
Ryou hadn't said anything for several moments, allowing a silence to settle between them before breaking it again. “...What are you doing here?” he'd asked the Egyptian, their lips millimeters apart as he spoke, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine. What if Malik kissed him, right then and there? Kissed him passionately and laid him on the floor and made love to him right then and there in the men's bathroom?
 
But, alas, Malik had only said he missed him... not that he still loved him. Though, by the closeness of their bodies, one could presume otherwise.
 
Ryou mentally berated himself for even thinking such a thing. They were not lovers. After so many years, they could not even be considered friends any longer. They were just... two people who knew each other from high school, meeting up after a long time. And Malik's comforting him... well; it was a basic humanity to feel the need to comfort those in need of condolence.
 
“Why are you here?” he'd asked, after he'd managed to push himself away from the blonde.
 
“Meet me at Kissimmee Park... in front of the swings... I'll tell you everything.”
 
Long, slim legs guided the twenty-seven-year-old down the cobblestone path. Doe-brown eyes darted around the area in desperate search for the familiar head of blonde hair, the memory of the previous evening - and all that had been left unsaid - still fresh in his memory.
 
Nothing.
 
Sighing again, Ryou moved over to the swing set and heavily situated himself on one of the rubbed swings. Frail hands gripped the chains attached on either side of it and he used his feet to slowly move the swing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
 
In the recesses of his mind, the white-haired predicted that he would be stood up that evening - but he never allowed it to get to him; he attempted to remain optimistic despite the fact that the situation seemed hopeless. During their chance meeting after ten years, Ryou had come across as a blubbering fool, an emotional wreck - not the ideal first impression; honestly, Ryou didn't blame Malik for standing him up - he would have stood himself up too.
 
Back and forth, back and forth... The repetition was beginning to annoy Ryou. Disappointment began to melt into frustration.
 
Why couldn't he just be honest? He wondered, releasing a whistle of air. If he never wanted to see me again, he could have just said so. It's not as if I would have forced him into meeting... I didn't even want to see him that night; I tried to get away from him. And I only agreed to come here because he asked me. I should just leave. Who cares if he shows up and I'm not here? Serves him right. I had to wake up to an empty bed.
 
Making up his mind with a firm nod of the head, Ryou stood from the swing, fully intent on leaving Kissimmee Park that very instant. However, before he could release the metal-linked handles, a larger, warmer pair of hands settled over his own. Ryou froze in place, staring wide-eyed straight ahead of him.
 
How had he not noticed Malik's presence sooner?
 
“Need a push?” the Egyptian asked. Ryou could tell he was smiling even though he could not directly see the other's face; he could just feel it.
 
Wordlessly, the young waiter lowered himself back into the swing. “... Malik,” he whispered.
 
“Didn't think I'd come?” Malik chuckled, letting go of his ex-lover's hands and giving the swing a light push.
 
“Honestly? No, I didn't.”
 
“You should know I wouldn't stand you up.”
 
Ryou lowered his head, watching the snow-speckled dirt beneath the swing blur together as Malik continued to push him. The words caused a surprising pang in his heart. He wondered how the Egyptian had the audacity to say such a thing to him, after what he had done - after how he left.
 
Pale fingers gripped the painfully cold chains, knuckles turning a pinkish white color. Ryou brought his feet down to stop the swing in motion. Malik blinked, startled, and edged closer.
 
“Ryou?”
 
The whitenette was silent for a moment, causing Malik to become even more curious. Puzzled, he walked around the swing so that he now faced the other, kneeling down so he could be at Ryou's eye level.
 
“Ryou, what's--”
 
“How?” Ryou interrupted him.
 
Malik noticed the thin form had started shaking, the chains rattling slightly as Ryou gripped them so tightly with his trembling pink-white fingers. Malik once again placed his dark-skinned hands over Ryou's, this time as an attempt to calm the older male.
 
“How can you say things like that to me?” the whitenette wanted to know. “How can you come up to me... talk to me... t-touch me... as if... as-as if nothing ever happened? How can you pre-pretend that we're friends?”
 
Malik carefully considered his words, not wanting to say anything rash. But he didn't quite know what to say. Truthfully, he never expected to run into Ryou when he came to this town; he hadn't even thought it a possibility. Of course he did want to see the young man - he thought of Ryou quite often, wondering what it would be like if somehow the two of them ever hooked back up after all these years. But seeing Ryou the previous evening at the restaurant came as a complete surprise; he was unprepared, and knew not how to deal with the other male. He figured approaching him as merely a friend would be the best way to go about things. After all... why couldn't they be friends? They used to be such good friends; they shouldn't let conflicts of the past get between that.
 
Swallowing the lump in his throat, the Egyptian inquired, “Aren't we?”
 
Ryou's head snapped up, his mocha orbs staring straight into the perfect lavender orbs with incredulity. Malik could clearly see the tears lining his eyes, threatening to overflow at any given moment.
 
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head vehemently as if that could physically remove the prospect from his mind. “No, we're not friends, Malik. How can you even think such a thing? You especially, after what you did... How could you ever think I would consider you a friend after you left me like that? I mean... you just left... no warning, no explanation... not even an apology.”
 
“Ryou, you don't understand... I had to leave.... I-I was too scared... That was my first serious relationship and things were just moving too fast for me...” Malik's voice trailed off.
 
Ryou didn't give him any time to realize the error in his words.
 
“Too fast for you...?” the whitenette repeated, his voice very still and quiet.
 
Despite the cold air around them, Malik felt a trickle of sweat slide down his neck.
 
Again, Ryou repeated the words, his frame growing rigid. “Too fast for you? Well, Malik it was not too fast for you when we first made love, was it? No, no... Of course not. You wanted that - you initiated that. But a deeper relationship... I guess you didn't really want that after all. I guess asking for something more - love, commitment - ...I guess that was asking too much from you. I guess that was moving too fast.”
 
Closing his eyes, Ryou took a deep breath. Then he pushed Malik away from the swings, not caring as the Egyptian fell back onto his butt. Raising himself to his feet, he shot the blonde a fierce glare - all feelings of earlier giddiness buried in his mind as he allowed the hurt and the pain he'd kept suppressed for so long to finally overwhelm him completely. Had Malik been standing up beside him at the moment, the whitenette had no doubt in his mind that he would have socked the prick right in the jaw.
 
“I just... I hope you know... it's not even your leaving me that so much, Malik,” he said, the angry tears leaking into his voice, causing it to crack slightly.
 
Malik stared up at him, too stunned to say anything or even move from his position on the ground.
 
“Just... just knowing that the whole thing was... was nothing more than a lie. That you used me... that I let you use me...” He let out a long, heavy sigh, brown orbs falling shut once again; a strong sense of shame filled him. “That hurt more than anything.”
 
Silence fell. Malik couldn't say anything to that; anything he said would be untruthful.
 
Slowly he rose to his feet and took a cautious step towards the whitenette. Ryou flinched as Malik placed a hand on his supper arm, attempting to lurch away from the contact. But Malik moved to grip both of his shoulders and pulled him close so that his back pressed against the Egyptian's torso.
 
Ryou couldn't help himself; he started to cry.
 
Malik's arms wound around his shoulders loosely and the dark-skinned male buried his face in the back of Ryou's long neck. Silken strands of silver-white tickled his nose but he didn't dare move from this position, less Ryou break away from him.
 
“Let go...” the waiter was sobbing pathetically. “Please let me go... just leave me alone... leave me alone, Malik...”
 
But Malik couldn't. Part of him wanted to. Part of him wanted nothing more than to walk away and never come with in a one-hundred mile radius of Ryou Bakura again. And yet, at the same time, he wished to never let go of the small, shuddering body.
 
To his own surprise, the Egyptian found tears spill over the rims of his eyes - Ryou's sadness having rubbed off on him. He squeezed the thin male tightly, nuzzling his neck and shedding tears into his colorless hair.
 
“I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Ryou. I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt you by it,” he said, and that was the truth. “I didn't think... I didn't even think of what it would do to you. I thought... I thought it would be easier for both of us if I didn't draw it out. If I just left... maybe you could forget me easier.”
 
Ryou sniffed, bowing his head, bringing his hands to grasp the finely-muscled arms around his neck. “How could I forget? How could I ever forget? I loved you so much, Malik... so much. I would have done anything for you. I gave you all that I could. Why-why wasn't that enough for you?”
 
“It was enough. It was enough, baby.”
 
The whitenette's cries only seemed to grow harder at the old pet name.
 
“Then-then why did you l-leave me?”
 
Malik shook his head. He continued to nuzzle the other's neck affectionately, hoping to bring comfort to the distressed male. “I... I already told you. I was scared. I was scared of being in such a long-lasting relationship. I was scared... something would happen. Things would change. That, somehow, I wouldn't be free anymore because of it. I... I didn't want to lose my freedom.”
 
Ryou was hardly even paying attention to the words being spoken. He continued to sob, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, turning cold after a certain amount of exposure to the crisp November air. He turned in Malik's arms, burying his face in the broad chest and wrapping his arms around the other's neck.
 
“I loved you...” he whispered, voice muffled do to his mouth being pressed against the Egyptian's collarbone. “I loved you... I still love you.”
 
Malik's body stiffened. Uncertainly he tightened his grip around his former boyfriend.
 
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And you're sad, `cause you miss the love that we had.
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He left for work a few minutes early that day. Malik had offered to drive him - turns out he never outgrew his motorcycle fetish, and he now owned the newest model of the one he had cherished when they were teenagers. Vehemently Ryou denied the offer - never wanting Malik Ishtar with his perfect life and perfect handsome body to discover where his only-perfect-looking ex-boyfriend employed himself after sunset.
 
Slightly disheartened that his offer had been rejected, the Egyptian hailed the whitenette a cab in compensation.

“I'll see you around?”
 
Ryou looked at him longingly but did not make any effort to respond, only climbed into the back seat of the cab and closed the door in the Egyptian's face. The taxi pulled away from the curb. Ryou could hear an accented voice calling his name.
 
Resting his forehead against the window, his red-rimmed eyes closed to the world, the whitenette tried not to think of anything during the trip downtown.
 
The taxi screeched to a halt in front of a small, rundown building labeled by a tawdry neon red sign - Room21: Adult Entertainment.
 
The cab driver sent a leering grin in Ryou's direction, seeming to guess the whitenette's line of business. The brown-eyed male ignored it, no longer up to flirting even if it meant losing a possible client. He merely tossed several bills in the man's grubby hands and exited the vehicle, making his way into the already crowded club via the back entrance.
 
“Evening, Vivian,” he greeted softly as he passed a busty young black-haired woman on the way to his dressing room.
 
“Ryou!” Vivian ran over and hugged him, nuzzling his neck. “Oh, duckie, you look awful!” she exclaimed as she pulled away and took in his ruffled appearance. “Have you been crying?”
 
Ryou was quick to deny it. “N-no, I... of course not.”
 
The bloodshot eyes proved otherwise. Vivian sent him a sympathetic smile, hugging him yet again and gently demanding that Ryou tell her of his dilemma.
 
The whitenette shook his head negatively, breaking free of the embrace. He wiped at his eyes frantically to rid his face of the tears. “N-nothing... Just... Something at work,” he half-lied.
 
Vivian made a sound of comprehension in the back of her throat. “Did the restaurant let you go?”
 
“N-no, not exactly... But I-I think I'm going to have to quit.”
 
“Why? I thought you liked it over there.”
 
Ryou sighed, not exactly prepared or willing to retell the story - especially to Vivian, who (as she was unfamiliar with the story of Malik Ishtar to begin with) would need to be told the crisis of his first and only love.
 
“Things aren't working out,” he said, voice hollow.
 
The words brought with them a fresh onslaught of tears for some reason unknown to the female dancer. She looked over at her dance partner, red-lined lips set in a concerned frown. “Oh, Ryou…” she brought her arms around his too-thin waist, squeezing him in what was meant to be a comforting manner. “Don't worry... I'm sure everything will work out for you. You can always take more shifts here if you want. You know Alistair loves you - if it was up to him, you'd be entertaining twenty-four-seven.”
 
“I know, Vivian, I know. I just...”
 
The light voice trailed off, Ryou's mocha orbs falling to stare at his feet. He didn't want more shifts at the club. He hated working so many shifts as it was - hated the immoral, disgusting acts he performed on a nightly basis, hated the looks his customers gave him, and (most of all) hated the immense feeling of shame that overcame him at the end of every day.
 
Ryou was just so sick of it all. He was so sick of this life.
 
But this was the only way... And sometimes it wasn't too bad.
 
The men who paid for him every night treated him as if he were a divine deity, fallen from the heavens. He was their treasure. They worshiped him, paid for him - for his company. And no matter how much Ryou hated performing the services that came with his company, he couldn't help but feel a little happy at the same time - for he knew that, even if only for a one night stand, someone wanted him.
 
No... He could never quit his job at Room21. This profession chose him, not the other way around. Pleasing people... It was the only thing Ryou knew he was actually good at; he'd never be able to survive anywhere else.
 
Softly Ryou whispered, “I need to go get ready.”
 
Vivian nodded her head and pulled away. “I'll meet you on stage,” she promised, kissing his cheek before making her way towards her own dressing room.
 
Ryou entered the third door on the right - designated by the small strip of purple paper as his own private room. He locked the door behind him and then set to work on changing into his custom-made dancing outfit.
 
Every week, Alistair (his boss) presented both him and Vivian with new, typically matching costumes. That particular week was Arabian themed, and his clothing consisted of a long sheer powder-blue skirt with a slit that ran all the way up to his thigh and a matching headdress and veil, accompanied by an assortment of jewelry - golden bangles on each of his wrists, a navel ring for his bare torso, and gold anklets on his shoeless feet. It was one of the more modest attires.
 
After fully dressed - though what he wore actually did not fully cover anything - Ryou spent several long minutes gazing into his reflection in the mirror over his makeup counter. Disconnected brown eyes stared back at him, causing the entire appearance of the beauty in the mirror to become rather lifeless. Even the perfectly applied smudges of rouge on each of his glowing white cheeks did nothing to regenerate the alluring sanguineness that normally made up his aura.
 
Delicately he picked up the eyeliner resting on the fake white marble countertop and uncapped it. Raising the pencil to his powdered face, he set to work on applying it, not even paying attention as he continued the daily routine. As he set the eyeliner back down on the counter and glanced back up at his reflection, however, he realized that subconsciously he had drawn a familiar pattern under each of his eyes.
 
For a moment, Ryou felt as if Malik Ishtar's eyes were staring back at him, with those kohl-lined scars.
 
He left his dressing room, not bothering to wipe the design away.
 
Vivian was waiting for him in the hallway, and tilted her head to the side in confusion as she saw the crude patterns on his eyes. She raised a questioning eyebrow, but Ryou ignored it - not wishing to explain himself, considering he knew not the reason behind his own actions. Vivian took his hand and led him to the small stage set up for them.
 
Music was already playing, men and women of different nationalities and ages already gathered by the ledge expectantly, drunk and awaiting the start of the next show.
 
Ryou took a deep breath and stepped out under the lights. Hands grabbed at him. Eyes burned into his pale skin.
 
Just a typical day.