Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Seeing in Color ❯ Ryou ( Chapter 2 )

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. I was honestly afraid to post this story because if the feedback I might get from it, but I'm glad to see that it has been well-received. I hope everyone likes this chapter as well. It told from Ryou's point of view this time. Enjoy! And don't forget to leave a little review... they make me feel good. :)

 

Warnings for the chapter: Usage of the word "nigger", but only on one occasion. (Please see the note in chapter one regarding racism if you haven't already.) Shouneni-ai/yaoi and implied sex between to young boys.

 

Here's some Q & A for the first chapter:

 

Q & A

 

Q: How old are the characters?

A: There ages vary in each chapter, though they are all speaking as adults (or at the age when they died) in the sections written in italics. In the previous chapter their ages were… Akefia: 8, Ryou: 6, Mariku: 9. In this chapter the ages are… Akefia: 14, Ryou: 12, Mariku: 15.

 

Q: Is Ryou's father Yami Bakura?

A: No… Yami Bakura doesn't really exist in this story - unless you want to count him as Akefia, which could be correct considering they're almost the same person. Ryou's father is his own character, but since I didn't know the real name of Ryou's father, I just gave him the name William. If anyone does know Mr. Bakura's real name, I would love it if they told me!

 

Q: How could Mariku and Bakura be captured as slaves? They're Egyptian!

A: I'm sure there were slaves taken from Egypt. After all, Egypt is a part of Africa. I have tried to make this Fanfic historically correct, but I wanted to keep some things the same as they were in the Yuugiou series (such as the fact that the characters are Egyptian/from Egypt). So, um… practice a bit suspension of disbelief, please!

 

 

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Seeing in Color

- Chapter Two.

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The life of an estate owner's son is not as glamorous as one might imagine. Actually, it was quite boring in its strict normalcy.

 

I had a beautiful mother who, by nature, was rather quiet and reserved, but every bit as authoritarian as the schoolmasters who tutored my sister and me. My sister, Amane, was three years my senior and should have been born male, for she truthfully preferred playing in the dirt than learning to sew and sit like a proper lady, and she detested the dresses and petticoats and bonnets mother forced her into. My father was a kind-hearted soul, William Bakura - one of the wealthiest men in the South - and I his only son.

 

From an early age I was schooled in the basics of management and trade (among many other things, of course: writing, arithmetic, and French) in order to prepare for the day when I and my future wife inherited everything of my father's - the land, the money, the good reputation... and the slaves who helped maintain it all.

 

They'd frightened me as a child - the slaves, I mean.

 

Who were these people? I'd always wonder, clutching on to the hem of my mother's fashionable hoop skirt and attempting to hide within the voluminous folds: Who were these people in rags, with their dark skin, wearing chains?

 

“Father, send them away,” I remember pleading, which had earned a hearty laugh. “They frighten me so, the devils.”

 

Another laugh, and he ruffled my hair affectionately - he always said he loved my hair; it was so identical to my mother's - and leaned back to light his cigarette to smoke.

 

We did not speak of them any more than that. Father would tell me the slaves belonged out in the fields and I dared not disagree. I would nod my head and cease cowering like a child, then rush to join my sister in a game of scotch-hoppers.

 

As time passed and I became a small adult, my fear of the slaves was replaced by an insatiable curiosity. I found myself fascinated with everything about them and never missed an opportunity to observe one. Of course, all my investigations had to be done privately and from a distance; if father or mother ever caught me near a slave I would be seriously punished, and I knew father would not have been merciful enough to spare the leather belt. Once he hit me with a birch rod when he found me and the neighbor's son Duke fist-fighting; he only hit me with it one time, but it still left a scar, which never faded.

 

I had a difficult time keeping away when he arrived at the estate.

 

I don't even know what lured me to him. He was not exceptionally attractive - in fact, he was rather ugly, with the frightening scar that mangled half of his face and his several missing teeth - but he intrigued me nonetheless, especially after discovering his hair would match the color of my skin almost perfectly if not for the fact that it was always caked dust and dirt, making it seem more gray than white. His skin was darker than the skin of the boy he arrived with, yet extremely light when compared to the other slaves.

 

I couldn't maintain a distance from him very long. As the days passed, I grew more and more impatient, and developed the desire to meet him - speak with him, if he could speak, and touch his rich brown skin so dissimilar to my own. I wanted to hear his voice and feel his hair and his horrid, ugly scar.

 

One day my curiosity got the better of me and I left Amane alone to the afternoon chores, very conscious of the impending punishment upon my arrival home, and ventured into the fields where the giant shoots of corn soon swallowed me whole and concealed me from the vigilant eyes of my guardians.

 

Able to only hear through the thick stalks, he mistook my approaching presence for that of his brother's and jumped out at me, startling me and tackling me to the floor. We landed in a clearing, just the two of us, and when he was no longer afraid of my presence - surely he knew who I was, after getting a look at me - I was finally able to receive my wish. Though I hadn't the opportunity to speak with him, I learned upon the arrival of his brother that his name was Akefia.

 

A strange name, foreign on my tongue and difficult for me to pronounce at first.

 

Ake... Akiefya... Akee-fyaaaa

 

I practiced alone in my bedroom that evening, after I was certain Amane was fast asleep.

 

Akee-fya... Akee-fee-ah...

 

And soon my mouth could form the word without difficulty, the smooth syllables rolling past my lips easily and melodiously.

 

Akefia. Akefia. Akefia.

 

I loved his name, and as the years went by I grew to love much more than just that.

 

We spent as much time together as we could, sneaking around in order to see each other when we had the time, causing mischief for his fellow slaves, which we always felt guilty for later on. We played scotch-hoppers and cratch cradle, and dueled with sticks, and rolled around in the grass.

 

Our favorite spot to play was in the corn fields where we had first met. Sometimes, if I snuck out at night to see him, we would lie there beside each other and watch the sky, pointing out certain shapes the stars made.

 

I told him stories - fairytales, mostly; the sort my mother told Amane and me when we were little - and he loved to listen, and so did I whenever he felt like talking, which in all honestly was not very often.

 

Akefia preferred to keep to himself, always afraid he might say the wrong thing to me. When he did speak, he tried to be proper, but there was crudeness to his language that always wormed through despite his attempts to suppress it. But I didn't mind. In fact, I found it refreshing; he spoke so coarsely, without the cordiality I was used to.

 

Over time he opened up more around me, enough so that he spoke his mind and told jokes. He was quite funny when he wanted to be and his jokes were easy to laugh at in their simplicity. I found I wanted to school him, so he may grow to be more intelligent than even the adult slaves on the plantation. This took years, of course, and many times I ended up losing my patience with him and storming away from the lesson. But I did have success in the long run, and it was worth it, I believe, for he was quite an eager student. When he was ten I taught him to count to twenty; by the age of twelve, he knew how to recite the alphabet perfectly.

 

On certain occasions I brought him books to read that were no longer of any use to me, as I was far beyond them in my reading level, but he could never read them no matter how diligently he studied the markings on each page.

 

Sometimes Mariku - not his biological brother, as I'd assumed, but still close enough to be - joined us when we played. Mariku was handsome, much more handsome than Akefia, but there was something about him I did not like - something I could never put my finger on, even when I thought long and hard about it.

 

I think he only tolerated me for Akefia's sake, and because he was afraid of me and the power I, as his master's son, had over him. Every time we met he would glare at me with his pretty lavender eyes and tell me he didn't want trouble. I never wanted trouble, either; I only wanted to spend time with Akefia.

 

But I saw the way he looked at him - at Akefia. Not in the sort of way a brother should. And I know they weren't exactly brothers, but Akefia thought of them as such. Mariku clearly did not and that became more obvious as we grew older. I began to recognize the sparkle in Mariku's eyes as jealousy. He was jealous of me, of the time I spent with Akefia; the time he wanted to spend alone with his cherished friend, I stole away from him. I was taking Akefia away from him a little bit more each day, and he hated it, and hated me because of it.

 

I was blinded by any sinister plans he may have been formulating. Blinded by the love that overwhelmed my heart - my heart that would beat so, so rapidly whenever Akefia leaned close to me, touched me, whispered into my ear.

 

He liked to run his hands through my hair, and the gentleness when he did so reminded me of a toddler. I imagined someone, a child - a child that probably resembled Mariku, small and blonde with beautiful lilac eyes - used to run their hands through his hair in a similar manner. I liked his hair as well because, unlike my own, it was bushy and its texture rough; I enjoyed twining my fingers in the rough, thick tresses, holding them to my lips.

 

One evening when I was twelve, a rock hit my bedroom window. The noise was not too loud, but it still managed to wake me from my slumber and draw me to the pane.

 

A small, powder-white hand rose to meet a foggy pea-green eye and gently the appendage rubbed away the sleep clouding the young boy's vision. Ryou focused on what lay beyond the glass of his window, a silent gasp escaping him as he spotted none other than the slave boy who unknowingly owned a sizeable portion of his heart. The white-haired boy blushed, wondering what Akefia could want at this time of night. Typically he was the one who suck out to meet with his slave friend, not the other way around. This was the first time Akefia had ever called on him.

 

Akefia stood, looking quite nervous, directly below the window, his ice-blue orbs wide with excitement and anxiety. When he noticed he'd captured the younger boy's attention, he waved a beckoning arm. Ryou appeared uncertain for a moment, before he nodded his head and set to work on unclasping the locks to the window.

 

After several moments, the window was pushed open and Akefia was helping his master's son to the ground, keeping a hold around the thin waist until he was certain Ryou was steady and balanced on his feet. Then he gently grasped the fair, thin wrist in his dark hand and started to lead the younger boy to their usual spot, moving quickly and quietly so as not to be seen or heard.

 

“Akefia,” Ryou panted as he ran as fast as his short legs could carry him.

 

Akefia pushed aside the stalks of corn, still leading Ryou by the hand, until they reached the clearing. Releasing the boy, he smiled and turned to look at the sky. Ryou stared at him, wondering in the back of his mind what this was all about. Why had Akefia brought him to their clearing?

 

“Akefia,” he said again, this time louder.

 

The older of the two children sat down in the dirt and then glanced to his friend, an unreadable expression in his foggy blue eyes. Ryou tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out what was going on. Why was Akefia acting so strangely? It was beginning to scare him, how serious the slave boy appeared all of the sudden. Weren't they going to play? Weren't they going to lie next to each other and point out shapes in the sky?

 

“A girl came by today,” Akefia suddenly spoke, turning his focus to his bare feet, wriggling his toes.

 

Ryou's eyebrows furrowed together as he thought back on the day, remembering the Wheelers, friends of his family, had stopped by that day, and they had a daughter. “That was Serenity,” he explained, easing himself onto the ground across from where Akefia sat. “She's my sister's friend.”

 

Akefia nodded in understanding. “Is she your friend, too?” he wondered, peering over at the smaller boy through his white bangs in a manner which could be considered shy.

 

“I don't know,” said Ryou, scratching his arm. “She's a girl.”

 

“You were holding her hand,” the slave boy pointed out, “in the garden. I saw you together. She kissed your cheek.”

 

Ryou's face flushed involuntarily and he placed a hand over the spot Serenity kissed him earlier that afternoon. “That was nothing. My father wanted me to hold her hand.”

 

Akefia was silent for a moment, continuing to stare broodingly at his feet. Ryou felt rather uncomfortable with all the questioning. What did it matter if Serenity Wheeler kissed his cheek? She was just a girl, just a friend of his sister's. Ryou felt nothing towards her. And even if he did, it was nothing compared to the love he held for the boy sitting before him.

 

“Will you marry her?” Akefia unexpectedly inquired, slowly, despondently, as if the mere thought killed him inside.

 

Ryou opened his mouth to reply, but snapped his jaw shut before any noise could escape. He released a quick breath through his nose, turning his head to the side so he wouldn't have to stare into Akefia's dejected gray-blue eyes.

 

The truth was... his parents did wish for him to marry Serenity Wheeler.

 

The Wheelers had always been close friends of the Bakuras, and they owned a large plantation which brought in large profits yearly. His parents wanted to join the two families together; they said it would be a wise decision, a smart match. But Ryou did not think so; he did not love Serenity - no matter how pretty or kind she was, or how well she spoke- and he certainly did not want to marry her. Nor did he want to marry any girl.

 

The only person he wanted, the only one he would ever consider wishing to spend his life with, was Akefia. Akefia, a slave. One of those his parents and peers called nigger; someone who could offer him nothing, nothing - not even a family.

 

Ryou took his time in answering. “...I don't know.”

 

Akefia seemed to understand all the words left unspoken, and he hung his head in defeat, recognizing the fact that he held no place in Ryou's future.

 

Ryou watched him, chewing on his bottom lip fretfully and picking at the loose threads on his nightgown. He hated to see his friend so sad, and knowing that he was the cause of Akefia's anguish tore Ryou apart within. He wanted Akefia to smile, to see how much Ryou cared for him, to know that Ryou would never willingly leave him; they were friends - couldn't Akefia understand that Ryou would never leave his friend behind?

 

“Mother and Father want me to,” he continued. “But I don't want to. I don't love her. I don't want to have a family and grow old with her.”

 

Akefia raised his head, hesitantly capturing Ryou's eyes. The younger boy was captivated by the many emotions swirling in the icy blue depths, unable to look away even if he yearned to. He crawled closer to the larger, darker form, stopping only when he sat directly in front of the slave.

 

“Would you marry me?”

 

Ryou was startled by the words and practically choked on air.

 

Marry Akefia?

 

No! He couldn't do that. It was impossible. Akefia was a slave. And even if he wasn't - even if he was a normal white boy like Ryou, he was still a boy. They could never be married, no matter how direly they wished to remain together forever as friends.

 

“D-don't be ridiculous,” Ryou negated the idea, shaking his head and releasing a nervous laugh.

 

Akefia screwed up his eyebrows at the unfamiliar word. He hated when Ryou used terminology he didn't know. “R-ridiculous?”

 

Yet another reason they could never be married. Akefia just wasn't as smart as Ryou, no matter how frequently the younger boy tried to tutor him.

 

Ryou suddenly felt frustrated with the older male - frustrated that Akefia needed explanations, frustrated that Akefia was making him repeat himself, frustrated that Akefia asked if they could be married when he clearly knew there was no possibility of such a thing ever happening. Most of all, Ryou was frustrated with himself for finding Akefia's proposition of their marriage flattering and agreeable.

 

Ryou nodded. “Yes, ridiculous,” he repeated, elaborating once he caught the look of confusion on the other's face. “Stupid. It means stupid - don't be stupid, Akefia.”

 

“Oh...”

 

They fell silent, both turning their attention elsewhere. After a while, Ryou's hand settled tentatively over the large, calloused hand belonging to his father's slave - who one day would belong to him. Akefia stiffened momentarily before relaxing under the familiar touch and he maneuvered his body - almost black in the darkness, next to Ryou's ethereal pallor - until he and Ryou sat hip-to-hip. He inclined his head to rest on the frail shoulder of his master's son, and Ryou shivered slightly as he felt the cracked lips against his skin.

 

“Will you leave me?” Akefia inquired. “If you marry her? When you're an adult... Will you forget me and leave me?”

 

Ryou decided the slave's eyes looked eerily beautiful in the moonlight, practically see-through and glowing blue-white. His own eyes, wide emeralds darkened to a forest green in the night, gazed steadily at the mouth against his shoulder, following the movements of Akefia's lips as he spoke and as he gingerly placed a kiss to the swan-like neck.

 

“No,” Ryou found himself saying, his eyes falling shut as Akefia placed another kiss where his neck and shoulder met. An odd whimper escaped his lips at the strange feeling. It was not entirely unpleasant, and the more Akefia continued to kiss his skin the more Ryou found he enjoyed it.

 

“I'll never leave you...”

 

Akefia moved slowly - prepared to stop at any time should Ryou wish him to - placing his lips to the full, pink mouth offered to him, pushing the younger boy on to his back and covering the fair, trembling body with his own. Ryou's unoccupied pale hand embedded itself within the thick white locks it had grown so fond of touching over the years.

 

Akefia breathed a sigh, breaking away and raising his head to look down upon the blushing youth. Ryou's lips were coated with a thin veil of saliva, which the slave boy wiped away as he traced the small mouth with his thumb.

 

“...You know I love you.”

 

Akefia...

 

Would you marry me?

 

“I know.”

 

I'll never leave you.

 

Ryou gasped quietly as his nightgown was parted and pushed aside, leaving him naked in the dirt beneath Akefia's muscular dark body.

 

Emerald orbs sparkled in shameless desire - desire for the slave above him, for the one he was forbidden to go near. A hundred beatings with the birch rod could not stop him from feeling this, from wanting Akefia. A thousand lashes from his father's leather belt could keep him from making love to Akefia.

 

Akefia's blue eyes welled with tears as a joy the likes of which he'd never felt filled his heart nearly to the point of bursting. He smothered Ryou with a kiss, touching the pliant pale body anywhere and everywhere his unworthy hands could reach. And after they broke for air, Ryou kissed away each of the older male's tears, holding the chiseled face tenderly in his hands.

 

That night, when I gave myself to him, I realized that I loved him - that I had always loved him, since the day I first saw him, and that I would continue to love him until the day I died.

 

And I guess I should have known that, because of this, I was marked for an early grave.

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A/N: That's all for chapter two. I feel as though I've made Ryou more masculine than Akefia, and certainly more of a brat. (-sweat-) Oh well.

 

...Can anyone guess whose POV is next? 8D