Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Insignificant ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: shiju333 
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.27.2009 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 375 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.27.2009 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 375 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer in first chapter.
Insignificant
XX
Bakura was the first to awake, shivering in the brisk autumn air. Ah, the balcony door had been left open, thus the cold breeze. Bakura was not a morning person. While he could form coherent thoughts, they rivaled that of a six year old.
Bakura stared emotionless at the sliding doors that separated the living room from the balcony. Blood stains marred the grey carpeting, but they would finish coagulating within a few hours; Ryou would never notice and nobody would have to scrub.
He placed a hand to his stomach as it growled loudly, embarrassingly. Hunger is a mortal weakness, Bakura told his stomach sternly. He, a great and evil spirit, did not require sustenance. His stomach, however, seemed to disagree. Unrelenting, useless organ, thought Bakura. As he stood, he caught sight of the soundly sleeping Pharaoh.
Damn, thought Bakura dully as a maelstrom of thoughts whirled through his mind, damn. He felt his knees buckle; his vision fading. A bright light flashed through his daze, and Bakura regained some of his balance. This left him in a compromising position, however...
Bakura did not notice his odd stance; his mind reeled from the revelation. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...
Bakura felt he could curse into the next millennium if it would lessen the severity of this. The Pharaoh knew. He continued, subconsciously with his mental cursing, unaware Yami was awake.
He was freezing. That was the first thing Yami realized as he slowly regained consciousness. The next was the very bright light the sun? Yami cracked an eye and almost recoiled. Bakura? The thief king was in an ...awkward position. While his knees were bent as to sit, his rear remained about three feet off the floor, the couch also about three feet behind the sitting Bakura.
Actually, the closest piece of furniture, which oddly enough, was just underneath him, was the easy chair that Yami had slept in. In other words, the first thing Yami saw that morning was a, thankfully, covered, moon of sorts.
"Thief!" he yelled, or tried to yell, but the effect was entirely ruined due to the fact his voice cracked, twice, "That is not a sight fit for this time!"
"Auuggghhhh!" another scream, that time a little more girly, filled the small apartment. Bakura clutched his chest, eyes glared daggers at the Pharaoh. The reason for Yami's stay was forgotten. But only for a moment; the humor quickly faded, as Yami fixed Bakura with a cool gaze. His eyes were now a deep purple.
"Tomb robber."
Bakura smirked slightly; the Pharaoh s deep seated grudge was something he could deal with. If not, well there was always the blade... His smirk widened into a devious smile.
"Pharaoh, what a pleasure..." he trailed off, thinking of an appropriate response. He smirked once more; he would have cackled, but why waste energy when there was no one important around to hear? "How may I be of service to you, oh great slave whipper?"
Yami growled softly. He would not be distracted by the thief s insignificant insults. "Please stop with the petty insults, Bakura. You and I know it would be a mere waste of time," Yami commanded, voice reeking of pride. Yami quickly forgot that it was he who had started with the petty insults.
This only enraged Bakura, but he turned sharply, face still twisted with hatred, and headed for the kitchen. Might as well make the blasted Pharaoh breakfast and find a sharp knife, perhaps?
Bakura stared blandly at the refrigerator. What to make? His appetite had disappeared; the precious Pharaoh would have to keep his highness company for this meal. Bakura snorted, I bet that brat Yugi is his bitch... Oh what else can I do for you, my liege...
What would you like?" Bakura s voice sounded fake, even to his ears. To avoid questions from the concerned looking Pharaoh, Bakura busied himself with frying pans and other things that made noises when one accidentally banged them together. Concerned, my foot, thought the thief rudely. Or better yet, my bleeding fucking wrist!
"Sausage and eggs?"
Yami nodded slightly in affirmation. Sure... he responded to a very ticked off thief. Suddenly Yami felt a bit uncomfortable, for more reasons than his occupying the same house as an irate Bakura who had access to fire and a few explosives... Perhaps he had something wrong? No, most likely, the thief was just throwing a temper tantrum of sorts. Yami's over swelled ego could not fathom as to how he could possibly factor into this equation. Bakura was acting the child. Yes, that s it, Yami reassured himself.
"Bakura," drawled Yami, deciding to finish the conversation from yesterday. The slightly thick headed Pharaoh did not realize there could be consequences for his actions. Something he was going to learn in a few minute's time.
Bakura rapidly stirred a couple eggs and pointedly ignored his guest. The sausage was almost done and the egg pan was heated fully; Bakura carefully poured the egg mixture into the sizzling pan. A loud popping noise signaled that the sausage was ready to be flipped a last time, and then the Pharaoh's breakfast would be done; the Pharaoh was merely a distraction to the perfect eggs. Ignore him.
Yami paid Bakura's antics no heed and continued, unrelenting in a new form of verbal onslaught, "Why do you feel the need to harm yourself, Bakura?"
His fingers were tingling; it was happening, right now, in the kitchen. Bakura looked around madly, for the first time, taking his eyes off the eggs. The warning signs were happening... with the Pharaoh.
His fingers flexed rapidly and his hands were sore. The eggs will burn soon, thought Bakura uninterestedly. He needed something sharp, now. As his right hand curled into a fist, Bakura felt his naturally long finger nails plunge into his palms. There would be crescent shaped wounds on his palm, Bakura realized, but the sense of relief was just enough to make Bakura unwilling to stop.
He could respond to the Pharaoh then so he did, "That is none of your damn business, Pharaoh." Bakura had scooped out a couple sausages onto the two plates, before Yami managed a coherent sentence.
"There is no need for your senseless arguing, Bakura! I just want to know why... Yami trailed off, completely oblivious to the harsh words he had just uttered.
Bakuras eyes narrowed dangerously, his facial expression betrayed his anger, and his fingers flexed wildly. I'm going to kill that fucking Pharaoh, he thought in a sane moment, before his need to hurt himself grew too great.
"So you really want to know why, Pharaoh? Perhaps I just like the feel of the blade ripping my skin to beautiful fucking shreds! Maybe it s the lovely blood pouring out of me! Or maybe, just maybe it's," Bakura paused in his pseudo confusion to utter a mock gasp, "Gasp! You! Could it be? The almighty, fuck-me-I'm-so-damn-holy, Pharaoh!?"
Bakura turned towards the eggs, cursing softly at the small flecks of brown that marred their yellow coloring. During his rant, the eggs had overcooked.
He scraped some eggs onto the plates beside the sausage, and proceeded to clean his small mess while the food cooled enough to be eaten. After placing one of the plates into the fridge, Bakura turned toward a quieted Yami, then continued, this time his voice softer, sadder.
"Don't play counselor with me, Pharaoh. Just, don't." Bakura placed the plate with a fork in front of Atemu.
Atemu stared at his plate. Only one? "Bakura," he called, his voice lacking its usual mocking triumphant tone, "aren't you eating?"
"No," stated Bakura with a sense of finality, his hands still flexed slightly. There would be a beautiful disaster... But later, for now he would restrain himself; he had to.
He continued in a sullen manner, "I've lost my appetite. Tell Ryou that there is a plate in the fridge for him." Bakura turned, without another word, and headed to the front door.
Yami s eyes widened at the sound of the door closing. He hadn t thought Bakura would have taken his normal manner so badly... Bakura was usually fine with it right? The more Atemu pondered, the more his world seemed to shift. What have I done?
Insignificant
XX
Bakura was the first to awake, shivering in the brisk autumn air. Ah, the balcony door had been left open, thus the cold breeze. Bakura was not a morning person. While he could form coherent thoughts, they rivaled that of a six year old.
Bakura stared emotionless at the sliding doors that separated the living room from the balcony. Blood stains marred the grey carpeting, but they would finish coagulating within a few hours; Ryou would never notice and nobody would have to scrub.
He placed a hand to his stomach as it growled loudly, embarrassingly. Hunger is a mortal weakness, Bakura told his stomach sternly. He, a great and evil spirit, did not require sustenance. His stomach, however, seemed to disagree. Unrelenting, useless organ, thought Bakura. As he stood, he caught sight of the soundly sleeping Pharaoh.
Damn, thought Bakura dully as a maelstrom of thoughts whirled through his mind, damn. He felt his knees buckle; his vision fading. A bright light flashed through his daze, and Bakura regained some of his balance. This left him in a compromising position, however...
Bakura did not notice his odd stance; his mind reeled from the revelation. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...
Bakura felt he could curse into the next millennium if it would lessen the severity of this. The Pharaoh knew. He continued, subconsciously with his mental cursing, unaware Yami was awake.
He was freezing. That was the first thing Yami realized as he slowly regained consciousness. The next was the very bright light the sun? Yami cracked an eye and almost recoiled. Bakura? The thief king was in an ...awkward position. While his knees were bent as to sit, his rear remained about three feet off the floor, the couch also about three feet behind the sitting Bakura.
Actually, the closest piece of furniture, which oddly enough, was just underneath him, was the easy chair that Yami had slept in. In other words, the first thing Yami saw that morning was a, thankfully, covered, moon of sorts.
"Thief!" he yelled, or tried to yell, but the effect was entirely ruined due to the fact his voice cracked, twice, "That is not a sight fit for this time!"
"Auuggghhhh!" another scream, that time a little more girly, filled the small apartment. Bakura clutched his chest, eyes glared daggers at the Pharaoh. The reason for Yami's stay was forgotten. But only for a moment; the humor quickly faded, as Yami fixed Bakura with a cool gaze. His eyes were now a deep purple.
"Tomb robber."
Bakura smirked slightly; the Pharaoh s deep seated grudge was something he could deal with. If not, well there was always the blade... His smirk widened into a devious smile.
"Pharaoh, what a pleasure..." he trailed off, thinking of an appropriate response. He smirked once more; he would have cackled, but why waste energy when there was no one important around to hear? "How may I be of service to you, oh great slave whipper?"
Yami growled softly. He would not be distracted by the thief s insignificant insults. "Please stop with the petty insults, Bakura. You and I know it would be a mere waste of time," Yami commanded, voice reeking of pride. Yami quickly forgot that it was he who had started with the petty insults.
This only enraged Bakura, but he turned sharply, face still twisted with hatred, and headed for the kitchen. Might as well make the blasted Pharaoh breakfast and find a sharp knife, perhaps?
Bakura stared blandly at the refrigerator. What to make? His appetite had disappeared; the precious Pharaoh would have to keep his highness company for this meal. Bakura snorted, I bet that brat Yugi is his bitch... Oh what else can I do for you, my liege...
What would you like?" Bakura s voice sounded fake, even to his ears. To avoid questions from the concerned looking Pharaoh, Bakura busied himself with frying pans and other things that made noises when one accidentally banged them together. Concerned, my foot, thought the thief rudely. Or better yet, my bleeding fucking wrist!
"Sausage and eggs?"
Yami nodded slightly in affirmation. Sure... he responded to a very ticked off thief. Suddenly Yami felt a bit uncomfortable, for more reasons than his occupying the same house as an irate Bakura who had access to fire and a few explosives... Perhaps he had something wrong? No, most likely, the thief was just throwing a temper tantrum of sorts. Yami's over swelled ego could not fathom as to how he could possibly factor into this equation. Bakura was acting the child. Yes, that s it, Yami reassured himself.
"Bakura," drawled Yami, deciding to finish the conversation from yesterday. The slightly thick headed Pharaoh did not realize there could be consequences for his actions. Something he was going to learn in a few minute's time.
Bakura rapidly stirred a couple eggs and pointedly ignored his guest. The sausage was almost done and the egg pan was heated fully; Bakura carefully poured the egg mixture into the sizzling pan. A loud popping noise signaled that the sausage was ready to be flipped a last time, and then the Pharaoh's breakfast would be done; the Pharaoh was merely a distraction to the perfect eggs. Ignore him.
Yami paid Bakura's antics no heed and continued, unrelenting in a new form of verbal onslaught, "Why do you feel the need to harm yourself, Bakura?"
His fingers were tingling; it was happening, right now, in the kitchen. Bakura looked around madly, for the first time, taking his eyes off the eggs. The warning signs were happening... with the Pharaoh.
His fingers flexed rapidly and his hands were sore. The eggs will burn soon, thought Bakura uninterestedly. He needed something sharp, now. As his right hand curled into a fist, Bakura felt his naturally long finger nails plunge into his palms. There would be crescent shaped wounds on his palm, Bakura realized, but the sense of relief was just enough to make Bakura unwilling to stop.
He could respond to the Pharaoh then so he did, "That is none of your damn business, Pharaoh." Bakura had scooped out a couple sausages onto the two plates, before Yami managed a coherent sentence.
"There is no need for your senseless arguing, Bakura! I just want to know why... Yami trailed off, completely oblivious to the harsh words he had just uttered.
Bakuras eyes narrowed dangerously, his facial expression betrayed his anger, and his fingers flexed wildly. I'm going to kill that fucking Pharaoh, he thought in a sane moment, before his need to hurt himself grew too great.
"So you really want to know why, Pharaoh? Perhaps I just like the feel of the blade ripping my skin to beautiful fucking shreds! Maybe it s the lovely blood pouring out of me! Or maybe, just maybe it's," Bakura paused in his pseudo confusion to utter a mock gasp, "Gasp! You! Could it be? The almighty, fuck-me-I'm-so-damn-holy, Pharaoh!?"
Bakura turned towards the eggs, cursing softly at the small flecks of brown that marred their yellow coloring. During his rant, the eggs had overcooked.
He scraped some eggs onto the plates beside the sausage, and proceeded to clean his small mess while the food cooled enough to be eaten. After placing one of the plates into the fridge, Bakura turned toward a quieted Yami, then continued, this time his voice softer, sadder.
"Don't play counselor with me, Pharaoh. Just, don't." Bakura placed the plate with a fork in front of Atemu.
Atemu stared at his plate. Only one? "Bakura," he called, his voice lacking its usual mocking triumphant tone, "aren't you eating?"
"No," stated Bakura with a sense of finality, his hands still flexed slightly. There would be a beautiful disaster... But later, for now he would restrain himself; he had to.
He continued in a sullen manner, "I've lost my appetite. Tell Ryou that there is a plate in the fridge for him." Bakura turned, without another word, and headed to the front door.
Yami s eyes widened at the sound of the door closing. He hadn t thought Bakura would have taken his normal manner so badly... Bakura was usually fine with it right? The more Atemu pondered, the more his world seemed to shift. What have I done?