Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ MY LITTLE SHINNING STAR ❯ 2 ( Chapter 2 )
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By: sadistic_siren 
Bakura alone with Ryou in his hospital room
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Songfic | Uploaded On: 12.06.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 621 | Visits: 319 | Status: Work In Progress
Bakura alone with Ryou in his hospital room
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Songfic | Uploaded On: 12.06.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 621 | Visits: 319 | Status: Work In Progress
Bakura sat completely still, holding the very thin hand of his very frail, sleeping hikari in both of his hands and pressing the nearly transparent, chill fingers against his forhead as he leaned with his elbows on the bed and the bed's guardrail down; he was there in case Ryou rolled over, which was highly unlikely because of the energy required. "You're going to be fine. You're going to make it. You're going to be fine." The spirit whispered the words he'd told Yami, told Ryou, told himself countless times; so many times, even he nearly beleived them. Tears slipped past his closed eyes and dropped onto the scratchy, thin woolen blanket.
Ryou couldn't be relapsing now. Not now, when he had just healed all the bleeding wounds inside him. All of his harbored hatered, mistrust, and anger were still with him; those scars would forever marr him, but he had learned to cope. That friendship and love thing, there really was something to it. Anger and hate were very easy emotions to embrace; they were stronger and gained sway easier. But love is a really funny thing. It binds a person, wrapping around their heart. Anger and hatred may cover it, even severe it, but a deep love was always there, and it healed. It never healed completely, but it gave one the strength to cope, the strength to endure. He had always called his hikari weak, but this love and hope thing had given him the power to endure. It was he, Bakura, who was the weak one for giving in so easily to the baser emotions. And Bakura was just beginning to learn about these new feelings. They didn't make him go crazy as the familiar ones did, and they weren't as safe; with these new ones, one could be hurt so easily. Yet these new ones didn't hurt or burn as the old ones did; they settled one down, made one feel...........different. Maybe that was why he no longer despised the pharaoh, his brat, or his own hikari. His temper and defiance were still there, though, much as Yami still had his arrogance and firm self assurance; the scars never wore away. The wounds healed and became scars, but the marks were always there.
And now, all these new, untried feelings were being put to the test. Ryou lay in a sedated sleep; after he'd snuck his hikari, who wasn't supposed to be out of his bed, back in, a grumpy new nurse had come in and changed one of the IV bags, administering the ill mortal's medication. Bakura did not like this medicine at all. Ryou was only given it once a week, and it made his thin, nearly transparent skin turn an awful, sickly yellowish color, drained him of what little energy he had, thinned his hair, and seemed to make him only feel sicker. This medicine seemed to be doing more harm than good. His precious hikari, his little light, was slowly slipping away from him, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it, despite all of his powers.
The tears burned shameful tracks down his cheeks. If his old friends, Malik and Marik, could see him now, they'd laugh their asses off. The great, independent tomb robber reduced to tears because of one weak, sick boy. Bakura laid Ryou's limp hand by his side, then buried his face in his folded arms and cried into the flat mattress. Damn them, he didn't care. He didn't give a flying fuck what anyone thought; he'd shed a million tears if it would heal Ryou. Anything to heal his hikari.
Ryou couldn't be relapsing now. Not now, when he had just healed all the bleeding wounds inside him. All of his harbored hatered, mistrust, and anger were still with him; those scars would forever marr him, but he had learned to cope. That friendship and love thing, there really was something to it. Anger and hate were very easy emotions to embrace; they were stronger and gained sway easier. But love is a really funny thing. It binds a person, wrapping around their heart. Anger and hatred may cover it, even severe it, but a deep love was always there, and it healed. It never healed completely, but it gave one the strength to cope, the strength to endure. He had always called his hikari weak, but this love and hope thing had given him the power to endure. It was he, Bakura, who was the weak one for giving in so easily to the baser emotions. And Bakura was just beginning to learn about these new feelings. They didn't make him go crazy as the familiar ones did, and they weren't as safe; with these new ones, one could be hurt so easily. Yet these new ones didn't hurt or burn as the old ones did; they settled one down, made one feel...........different. Maybe that was why he no longer despised the pharaoh, his brat, or his own hikari. His temper and defiance were still there, though, much as Yami still had his arrogance and firm self assurance; the scars never wore away. The wounds healed and became scars, but the marks were always there.
And now, all these new, untried feelings were being put to the test. Ryou lay in a sedated sleep; after he'd snuck his hikari, who wasn't supposed to be out of his bed, back in, a grumpy new nurse had come in and changed one of the IV bags, administering the ill mortal's medication. Bakura did not like this medicine at all. Ryou was only given it once a week, and it made his thin, nearly transparent skin turn an awful, sickly yellowish color, drained him of what little energy he had, thinned his hair, and seemed to make him only feel sicker. This medicine seemed to be doing more harm than good. His precious hikari, his little light, was slowly slipping away from him, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it, despite all of his powers.
The tears burned shameful tracks down his cheeks. If his old friends, Malik and Marik, could see him now, they'd laugh their asses off. The great, independent tomb robber reduced to tears because of one weak, sick boy. Bakura laid Ryou's limp hand by his side, then buried his face in his folded arms and cried into the flat mattress. Damn them, he didn't care. He didn't give a flying fuck what anyone thought; he'd shed a million tears if it would heal Ryou. Anything to heal his hikari.