Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Web of Fate ❯ a meeting of like minds ( Chapter 8 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: Same as previous. In no way or form do I own YuGiOh.

A/N: Another update! Shock, horror! Joking aside, I've been slowly getting back into the writing groove, so to speak. After many months of nothing but technical, report-style writing, I felt a tad concerned about how to continue this chapter. But here it is, with the plot thickening, but no Seto/Yami flashback. That would be the next chapter, where in Yugi and Yami have lunch (accompanied their shadows) and Bakura does a little eavesdropping (he's sneaky like that).

As always, comments, reviews, and constructive crit are very welcomed.

Responses to reviews are below.

Thanks to Moe for beta-ing.

13 July 2006

a meeting of like minds

The school was empty, devoid of the bustling life and chatter that would usually permeate the grounds. The wind chimed against closed windows, whistling through small openings and giving off a cool breeze. A breeze that Bakura leaned into while puffing out ribbons of smoke, the weight of the cigarette in his mouth settling his nerves and soothing his wild, feral thoughts.

The first day of school; who knew it would start off with an explosive bang instead of its usual dull boredom?

Certainly not Bakura, who had been blind-sided by the discomforting, uncontrollable need to possess a necklace he had never seen before. Bakura exhaled slowly and wondered if he had been a thief in a past life. He had a skill for it, sure enough, although he had never used it much in this life. Ryou had a heavy hand and a very honest mind; his morals usually bled onto Bakura by virtue of proximity, despite Bakura's resistance, and if Ryou ever found out...

Bakura inhaled one last time before dropping the cigarette butt onto the ground and smothering it with his foot. He leaned onto the wall of the west wing and stared bemusedly at the sky. The afternoon sun was mild and lukewarm at best, its rays barely lightening the greyish atmosphere. It might rain soon, Bakura thought, and wondered if he would be able to make it home before it started. Ryou had their only umbrella and he had gone home straight after their last class, frowning a little more with each step he took. Bakura knew Ryou was more than a bit miffed; there were not many things they didn't share, and when he had refused to go home with Ryou then, it was almost like waving a banner titled Bakura is hiding something right under his nose.

He was going to pay when he got back; he just knew it. Which made stepping away from his nice, comfortable spot all the more difficult. Why leave, if he was only going to be bombarded with questions he couldn't answer? And if not bombarded, then faced with hurt silence that made it all the more unappealing.

He sighed and made a face, fingers itching for another cigarette. Maybe if he went home stinking of smoke Ryou would start his lectures on lung cancer and death, and end up distracted enough to forget about the entire day. And maybe, Bakura thought wryly, he was just going to have to keep dreaming. As if Ryou would get sidetracked so easily and conveniently.

Almost instinctively, he turned towards his right, a spark of something rushing through his veins. It was familiar, similar to what had happened when he had seen the Puzzle necklace, but unlike earlier, it was less urgent; less brutal. It was more like slicing into warm butter, instead of the pounding sensation of chopping wood, for which Bakura could only be relieved. It hadn't been pleasant.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he drawled, looking over the strange boy with a frown. Golden skin, light—no—blond hair, and unusual jewellery.

Foreigner, through and through, Bakura snorted. He was an exchange student no doubt and had probably only just arrived here from the look of him.

“Looking around,” the boy said casually, looking over Bakura intensely. His eyes had hovered near Bakura's chest, and Bakura fought off the urge to cover and shield his Ring. It was stupid and irrational, but Bakura couldn't help it. There was a hidden danger in those eyes, and he needed to effectively ward against it. From what, he didn't know.

“What are you looking at?” Bakura snapped, staring suspiciously at the new student. He received an enigmatic smile in return, and Bakura narrowed his eyes.

“Nothing,” the new student said contemplatively; he tilted his head to the side, studying Bakura intensely for a moment before he took a step back. “My name is Marik,” he suddenly said. “You?”

“Bakura,” Bakura gritted out and turned away. The uneasiness which had settled around his stomach was now spreading through his entire body like an epidemic: quick, fast, and fatal. His Ring was tingling in warning, and Marik's intense gaze was more than discomforting—it was too thorough, too deep. It seemed as though Marik was staring straight through his soul, past the walls and traps and right into the centre, where his deepest thoughts lay.

He didn't like it, and the urge to make his displeasure known was strong. “Enough,” he growled, and felt a small tinge of satisfaction when Marik's gaze turned away briefly.

The satisfaction didn't last long.

“I guess I'll see you tomorrow,” Marik said, tilting his head strangely. “I think it'll be interesting.”

Bakura stared at him unblinkingly, but Marik just smiled and walked away. He gave a little wave just before he was out of school grounds, and Bakura scowled. Foreigner speaking nonsense, Bakura sneered, and tried to shove away the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted another cigarette, but didn't dare.

*`*`*`*

“Yug, are you sure that's a good idea?” Joey said, pacing along the length of Yugi's room tensely. “I mean, after all the things they've said about the Kaibas... you still want to do this?”

Joey cracked his knuckles; the sound made Yugi wince. “Yeah, I'm sure. I mean…he could be my brother. You know about my father; you know he could've done the same thing to someone else. And can you stop doing that?” Yugi frowned and rubbed his own knuckles in sympathy. “It sounds painful.”

“Huh?” Joey stopped pacing and looked down at his hands. “Oh, it doesn't really hurt.”

Yugi rolled his eyes. “I know that, but it just—sounds painful.” He made a face. “And anyway, you're gonna get sore hands when you get old.”

Now Joey frowned; he held up his hands and squinted at them in confusion. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Yugi said, nodding earnestly.

“Well, I—stop distracting me, damn it!” Joey said, nearly stomping his feet like an exasperated two-year-old.

For second, Yugi looked so confused and innocent that Joey felt guilty. Really guilty. Like he'd-just-run-over-an-old-lady guilty. He was about to apologise when he noticed the widening grin on Yugi's face.

“Sorry, Joey,” Yugi said, unrepentantly still grinning. “You're just so easy, and I really don't want to talk about it. It's done and I'm going, and you're not going to convince me otherwise. Why waste time?”

“Yug! I'm serious. I really don't feel good about this. About them.” He sighed and sat down on the edge of Yugi's bed and fiddled with the worn blanket. “And I know you'll probably go anyway—and they call me stubborn—but, I don't know. I just felt like I had to say it.”

“I know,” Yugi said, looking at him seriously now, their earlier play forgotten. “I know you're trying to help me, and that you've got, like, great instincts for things, but I really don't think there's any harm in a little meeting. Sort of like meeting for lunch or something, if we were in school.”

“Which you did,” Joey pointed out, feeling slightly petulant, “despite what I said.”

“Yeah, I know that too.” Yugi smiled and sat next to him. “But you're still my friend anyway. Forgiven?”

Joey sighed, but couldn't help smiling back. It was Yugi, after all, and Joey couldn't really resist following where Yugi led. It might have been leftover guilt from back before, when he was far from being friendly, or it might just be the fact that he knew Yugi would do the same for him if their roles were reversed. Either way, Joey knew he didn't have a chance of stopping Yugi when he'd made up his mind. He supposed he probably shouldn't have even tried, but hey, he wasn't Joey Wheeler for nothing—and Joey Wheeler always tried, no matter what.

*`*`*`*

Marik wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill. He was still adjusting to the climate, but with more visible progress than the past few weeks; whether this was because he'd finally accepted their mission in life, he didn't know. And he had all but accepted it—he had—until he found an intriguing, unexpected player, unforeseen even by Ishizu. He knew this because Ishizu would have told them otherwise, so determined that everything would go as she prophesied that she would have never, ever allowed room for any errors. Any complications.

And if Ishizu hadn't foreseen... then that meant Bakura had a Millennium Item in his possession. Marik shivered, and this time, it wasn't from the cold. It was impossible—it was incredible—and nobody knew. Nobody, except Marik.

At first, when he had felt a familiar-yet-not presence, he had looked around disbelievingly. He had lived in the presence of two Millennium items all throughout his life—it would be impossible for him to mistake it for anything else. And yet, it was also impossible for another Millennium item to be here. The Puzzle was here, certainly, but Marik knew this was no Puzzle.

It soon became clear to Marik that he was apparently living in a world of impossibilities, because once he'd seen Bakura, had felt the presence of his Millennium item, he knew everything in his life wouldn't be the same again. What was rife with impossibilities now seemed achievable; hopeful. They didn't have to follow Ishizu's prophesy—they weren't governed by ancient rituals and ancient curses and ancient laws. They could change. And that, perhaps, was the most exciting discovery Marik had ever made. For someone who'd lived with a seer who saw past, present, and future; for someone who was trapped within his own destiny first by fate and then by family, it was almost like finding heaven.

Marik shivered again, but he barely noticed it. The sun was warm and the wind had calmed to a soothing breeze, and the future—the future looked more promising by the minute.

*`*`*`*

Seto watched Yami evenly as he paced along their bedroom, an intense frown on his face.

“You think I'm doing the right thing?” He didn't pause, didn't even look at Seto—he kept moving, wanting to release the tension and uncertainty away in his relentless pacing.

“Do you doubt yourself?” Seto kept his face blank, his body motionless.

“No. I want to know. I need to know. I just…I just don't know what the price is for that knowledge.” Seto remained motionless, and Yami carefully didn't look at Seto. The pause was heavy, fraught with unsaid words and hidden meanings neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

“Is there a price?” Seto said, staring over Yami's shoulder.

“I don't know—is there?” Yami had stopped pacing; his words were casual, but with a hint of challenge and need.

“I wouldn't think so.” Careful, cautious—Seto, by force of will, kept the tension and doubts hidden within. The choice was Yami's—it had always been Yami's—and Yami needed to choose now with no external interference. Seto had never interfered. If he had, then it wouldn't have been a choice at all.

“You wouldn't think so or you wouldn't know so?”

“Is there a difference?” Seto asked, but he was stalling for time and Yami knew it.

“You tell me.” Yami sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“No. Yes.” Seto turned away. “There's no…price. Not one I want, anyway.”

And Seto could feel the tension drain away, leaving the room much warmer than before. He had said the right thing, and Yami had reacted in the right way—and if they had been a normal family (and Seto inwardly snorted at this), it would have been an open conversation with eye contact and visible body language—but because this was them, in Seto's dim-lit office, with shadows shielding every thought, every expression, with the silence and dark acting as a barrier between two opposing forces, each with enough power to change each other's course: this was the only way it could be.

“Come with me,” Yami said suddenly, a sudden burst of sound in the silent aftermath.

And Seto said, “Yes.”

Because it felt wrong to say anything else. Because Yami needed him—needed him—and Seto had never refused, could never refuse.

*`*`*`*

Yami's kisses were hot, but his hands were cold, and Seto hissed when they caressed bare skin. Tonight was not about want or need or comfort—or any combination thereof, like many other sultry nights, where nightmares were chased by pleasure and pain, where kisses and bites grew fierce and raw. Tonight was desperation, was possession and claiming and marking all compressed together into a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heavy breaths and moans filled with pleasure-borderline-pain.

Tonight was about fucking. About erasing anything—everything—that threatened their lives, their equilibrium, and their hearts. It was about marking (the back of Yami's neck, his right shoulder, the silky smooth skin between hip and thigh).

It was about possession.

It was about closure.

It was about desperation.

*`*`*`*

Screams rang in his ear, the heavy stomps of running feet, of bodies falling to the ground echoed again and again; each time with some variation—a woman's stricken cries instead of a man's baritone sobs, several thuds instead of just a couple, achild's weeping, a baby's wail…

And sand and light and the sound of spears and the smell of armour and horses—

And screams, more screams, heavy, hard, low, as the cries grew louder, as the stench of fear grew stronger, as the shouts grew more menacing…

And Bakura woke up in a sweat, panting even as the fear and anger slowly subsided. He wiped his forehead, grimaced when it came away wet, and looked for Ryou. For comfort, though he didn't want to admit it. They'd shared beds when they were little, both huddled under blankets and curled around each other like puppies seeking warmth. As they grew older, Bakura wanted more space, more room, and instead of bunk beds they each got new single beds; still, despite the want for independence and individuality, Bakura had never actually asked for another room. At sixteen years old, he still shared the same room as his brother—and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't really muster up the energy and effort into moving into a new room. A room without Ryou.

He got out of his sweat-soaked bed quietly and walked towards Ryou's side. Officially, they'd agreed that Bakura would take the left side while Ryou would take the right side (the side facing the window) when they had first moved into this house; but unofficially, in Bakura's version, what happened was Ryou wanted the right side and by god he would have the right side.

Just as Bakura was about to slide in, Ryou woke and blinked owlishly up at him. Then, he silently lifted up his blanket and without a word, Bakura settled in, letting the comfort of Ryou's warmth and the steady beat of their hearts lull him into a dreamless sleep, where nightmares fear to tread, and Bakura could forget the anger and urgency of an unfulfilled deed.

He wrapped his arms around Ryou, as Ryou did the same to him, and they curled into each until they were one and whole.

halowing4: Thank you. I'm glad you're enjoying the flashbacks—unfortunately, there aren't any in this chapter. Hope next chapter makes up for it!

azndr3amer: Thanks. ^^; I know how WIPs can be frustrating when there's no regular updates… I shall try for updating more. <g>