Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Wet Cement ❯ Wet Cement ( One-Shot )

Wet Cement

 

 

I stared at the messily written characters; they stared back.

 

Bakura loves Ryou loves.

 

It was written in a circle, so that the message was unending, unbroken. It was a symbol of forever, as permanent as the cement it had been written in, back when the driveway had to be repaved. It was a long time ago now, a year at least.

 

I traced the gentle lines with my fingers, ignoring the way the pavement cut into my legs.

 

Our declaration of love meant little now. That one golden summer faded, the crisp flame-tinted leaves fell, the snow melted away and…

 

And it ended.

 

I want to hate him—to hate him for what he thought was his kindness. For trying to protect me when he didn't know a thing, didn't understand a thing. He didn't think of what it would do to me, I suppose. He never considered how it would feel for the same thing to happen to him. He only thought of his anger and his misguided heroism. Yami, you bastard.

 

Bakura refused to give up… blinded by hubris, I suppose. That pride I had grown to loathe was his undoing.

 

It was cold outside, and I shuddered, but didn't get up to go in. It seemed pointless, now, to protect myself from the cold. Most things seemed pointless now.

 

I watched as the moon slowly rose, a fingernail-shaped slice of ivory in the sky. It was dark outside; there were no streetlights around, and I had left all the lights off when I'd left the house. Desperately I stretched my fingers forward, questing along the concrete for the beloved little imprints—

 

But I couldn't find them.

 

“Gone,” I mumbled dully to myself, gazing at the sky once more. The wintry air bit at my skin as a breeze kicked up. Maybe I should have been worried—the weatherman had warned this morning of an impending ice storm—but I found myself to be surprisingly lackadaisical about the whole thing.

 

I barely noticed when the snow started to fall— landing in my hair, forming a fine carpet on my cheeks, lazily coming to rest against my legs and torso. My body was numb, I guess; the cold left only a pleasant, pleasant feeling. It soothed me, made me want only to lie down and take a nice nap—and then when I woke up everything would be all right, because that was the magic of the cold.

 

The snow's mystic fingers caressed me gently and I fell into a deep, soothing sleep. Just before I slumped on the ground, eyes closed, my fingers blindly found the circle: Bakura loves Ryou loves. I felt my cold, blistered lips crack into an uncomfortable smile against the bare concrete.

 

And I was correct in my assumption—once I surrendered myself to the cold, snow-wet cement, everything was all right. I just didn't wake up.