Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Possession ❯ Circle ( Chapter 10 )

Disclaimer: No own, no sue. Is very simple, yes?

AN: You wanted Ryou/Bakura side story, I give you Ryou/Bakura side story. Perhaps it isn't quite what you expected - but blame the pretty mental images. They made me do it. Shounen ai, random fluffiness, Bakura has a dirty mouth.

* * *
-Hikari-

He likes holding me.

It's strange - he's so harsh and abrasive most of the time, even with me - but he likes holding me.

On quiet rain drenched afternoons, he'll sit and stare out the windows with a sort of bleak fascination - he was desert born and raised, and doesn't quite know what to think of the regular downpours that drench Domino City.

I can't read him then.

Oh, his emotions sing through my veins and shimmer down my skin like so much carelessly spilled blood, that is for certain. But the thoughts themselves he hides from me, distracting away my inquiries with a lazy wave of his hand, or the mental equivalent thereof.

I don't like those moments. He shouldn't brood - brooding is my department. I tell him that, and he just scoffs at me, tugging on my hair and scolding me like a rather demented mother hen.

Then he folds me in his arms and scoops me up onto his lap. Those are the moments when his thoughts are the darkest - when those thousand demons he should have left trapped back within the scorching sands of millennia past wrench themselves into the present and start tearing at his soul. I can never say what they are - but I hate them. I absolutely despise them all. When the blackness nibbles at the edges of his mind, and he gets quiet and tense and rigid, those are the times when I most want to know what he refuses to show me.

I can't count the number of times he's soaked my hair with his tears. It's so frightening - he shouldn't have to deal with this! I'm not a fool, I know what he's done... but I don't care. It doesn't matter.

Because those are the times when he needs me the most - the times when I'm sure that he loves me. Being the light isn't so easy as it seems, not when the darkness is starving for some form of salvation or going mad with past grief and past regrets, and you're the only one who understands.

In those awful moments he clings to me as though I'm the only thing in the world that can keep him from tumbling back into a terrible sea of darkness and decay. Maybe I am. Maybe that's the most wretched thing of all. As horrible as it is, there's a little part of me that's glad that the darkness still torments him so, for my own sake.

I need to know that he's human. I need to know that he feels. And if that's the only way... no. No. No!

He cradles me at night. I don't even think he knows he does it, for the thought of cuddling disgusts him, even though he does it on a semi-regular basis. It's not even a hug so much as a gentle clasp, the reassurance of another form at his side.

I've woken up in the middle of the night to the feel of gentle fingertips trailing along my face. He's so strange, sometimes... in the darkness of half past midnight, he looks at me with the oddest expression, something faintly puzzled yet far too gentle for someone like him. And he's so tender in those moments, petting my hair and running a thumb along my lips, all the while staring at me as if I'm some sort of peculiarly difficult obstacle some particularly obstinate pharaoh decided to inexplicably plop in between him and the treasure chamber.

On those nights he treats me like I'm made of porcelain, and sometimes he makes me feel as though I am. At other times, he makes me cry when he's not so gentle, and more his usual careless self, crueler and more demanding and cold.

But the sight of my tears drives him to a raging fury, which he then turns back upon himself in helpless frustration. I swear half the time he doesn't know what to do with me, and the other half he wants to give me a severe beating, and still another half he just wants to touch me.

And despite whatever they might think, he'd never raise a hand to me in anger, and we both know it.

He enjoys killing people who hurt me. He relishes the revenge and loves the taste of their blood. I know how he thinks. As far as he's concerned, I belong to him. Anyone who doesn't realize this is buying himself a one way ticket to the Shadow Realm. Anyone who hurts me... I don't want to think about it.

If he ever physically harmed me, I honestly think he'd maim himself in repentant retribution for the slight. My yami does have a sense of honor, albeit a very warped and severe one, and not one that many would recognize as such.

I know him so well. I don't know him at all.

I can feel his breathing when he holds me, deep and even and smooth, or jagged and raspy when he can't shake away the nightmares. It gives a sort of living humanity to someone who's been dead for millennia.

Our hearts beat in time together. The first time I realized it, I nearly died of shock. Whether it was because of the fact that he had a heartbeat or because he was holding my hand to his chest I may never know.

But I always exasperate him with my wonder - "Of course we're the fucking same, idiot! You complete me and I complete you!"

Or during a beautiful sunrise, "Ra rises every day, hikari. It's his job. Your job is to warm my bed. So get your scrawny ass back here."

He's so confusing.

He's not confusing at all.

Is it any wonder I love him the way I do?

No. Not at all.

* * *
-Yami-

Ryou's in one of his moods again.

His eyes have gone all soft and contemplative, and he's been gnawing on his lip for the past half hour. There's a certain vacancy in his expression that suggests either deep thought or extreme spacing out.

Knowing my hikari, it's probably the former.

Dammit. It's too fucking quiet in here. That leaky faucet keeps dripping in the kitchen, and we're in the living room. Ryou's father better get to work on it soon, or otherwise that leaky faucet won't be leaking anymore.

It won't be doing much of anything, anymore.

/Yami, you've got that psychotic glint in your eye again,/ the little one speaks up, apparently snapped out of his little trance by my not-quite-so-innocent grin.

Yup. He's giving me one of those looks of his, all weepy and vulnerable and girly and shit.

What the fuck did I do this time? I swear I haven't killed anyone in at least a week! The greengrocer doesn't count, he was asking for it, sizing up my hikari like he was a tasty treat. Hope the motherfucking bastard's having a good time in the Shadow Realm.

/Yaaaaami./

Ryou is now... sitting on my lap, staring up at me mournfully.

Damn, but he's beautiful. All soft and pretty and delicate, like a fucking china doll, so easy to shatter and grind into dust. I could do it, too. Take him and break him - it would be so fucking easy. Silly child doesn't realize how careful I am around him.

//Hikaaaaari,// I drawl back mockingly, resisting the urge to bury my face in his hair. He just washed it, so it's all silky and damp and warm. He uses girly-smelling shampoo, but he claims it keeps his hair shiny, and consequently mine as well.

Curious fingertips wind their way into my sweater. What do you want, little one?

/Yami, you know I love you, right?/ he asks earnestly, tugging on my sweater for emphasis.

What the hell? Idiot boy, of course I know. His soul all but screams it.

//Sure,// I shrug. Cute he might be, but the boy's a bit on the strange side.

Ooof. Now I can't breathe. Skinny weakling that he is, he still can manage a rib-bruising hug. Still, what brought on this sudden bout of affection?

Ah well, doesn't matter anyway. Not while he's kissing me, at any rate.

/You love me, don't you Yami?/ he giggles happily, cuddling up to my chest.

Little idiot. Precious, sweet, silly, perfect little idiot.

Mine. Pouty lips, sad eyes, pretty face, beautiful soul. All mine.

//Yeah. Yeah, I do.//

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AN: Please ignore the insanely large grin on my face. Am high on fluffiness at the moment, don't mind me. Also just saw the Harry Potter movie. Can we say "woo-hoo"?

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