Happy Accidents

This was written while I was half-asleep. Enjoy the errors and poorly written bits.

@sglily: Fear not, for Bakura's character shall start to build further than just a chauvinistic homophobe! And that pleases me greatly to know how amusing you found his advice. xD He's make a great career instructor. Ha!


.: Chapter three - The Big Bang :.

Bakura, who was clearly not a very blissful person, felt anger bubble up into his mouth like molten bile. This kid was fucking with him! He thought it was absolutely fucking hilarious! “Shut the hell up!” he snapped again, ignoring what Ryou had said. Those who had previously been smirking at the sight of Jounouchi, or perhaps even Bakura, dealing with the creature quickly deadpanned and either continued watching the verbal fight, or turned back to their work.

Ryou, who had taken the first irritated set of words lightly, was shocked by how absolutely furious the older male looked now. All he had done was laugh! He wasn’t even holding the damn incident against the guy!

“You think it’s funny?” Bakura cut in, sneering over at the green-eyed male, “Well I’m sure you’ll think it’s fucking hilarious when I stop being so nice to you.”

The agent was now out of his own chair, standing as well and facing the other man off in a glaring war. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t laugh at you if you hadn’t made such a fool of yourself!” Hadn’t he decided not to fall down to Bakura’s level? Well, whatever. He was past really caring too awful much about his image. Of course, once his mind caught up with his mouth, he realized that now he would never be free from the guy. Bakura would always hunt him down and make every single moment of his life Hell. He might have just gotten off with a week of “initiation bullying”, but that would never be any longer. But then, Ryou wondered what exactly could be done to him – surely the older male would get fired after pulling off one-too-many childish pranks taken too far, right? And that was what he deserved – to be thrown out of this professional business. Who in their right mind would hire Bakura, anyway? He was a good-for-nothing slob who didn’t even do much of his own work. Ryou even questioned himself as to whether or not the other even wrote the article that he had been editing.

Ice burst into a roaring inferno as Bakura bristled, teeth gritting, mouth open enough to see the slightly elongated eye-teeth. “Fool?” he asked, his voice a deadly tone. How dare that little nobody talk to him like that. How fucking dare he! The brat had only been here for a single day, and Bakura for years. Hell, the other looked quite a few years younger than him, too! The blue-eyed man expected some respect, even though he was a royal asshole and knew it. Ryou wasn’t supposed to bite back when he was bitten. He was supposed to back down, to cower.

The hateful sneer upon the older’s lips quivered and turned into a more spiteful one, the owner’s eyes flashing dangerously. “Better to be a fool than a fag.”

A low blow though it was, Bakura knew that no one who ever fought a clean battle won.

Ryou flinched slightly, but he refused to avert his own emerald orbs from the other’s. A fag? At least he wasn’t terrified of spiders more than one-hundred times smaller than his own body. ‘Better to be gay than a sissy against insects,’ he thought bitterly and pondered over speaking that aloud before someone suddenly broke the thickly lain tension by getting up, coat and wallet in tow, and left the room.

After only a moment, the rest of the others followed suit.

Thank God for lunch break.

Ryou, keeping the gaze, stood up, making his way to the elevator. He had to get out of this building and away from Bakura. He just couldn’t be around to do his job right now, and it was just an hour. Nothing could happen in an hour. Besides, even if someone got to the guy, Ryou wasn’t really sure he’d be too upset. Lose his job status, yes, but he wouldn’t miss Bakura at all.

But instead of following the herd, the writer stood where he was, glaring at the spot where Ryou disappeared to. ‘That little bitch...’

Oh, he would most definitely make sure the new kid got the fucking message.

After everyone had gone, he walked from around the side of his desk before moving to sit behind Ryou’s own. There was nothing special about the desk, computer, or chair. There was nothing special about Ryou. He was just some fruit that Kaiba must have been a little drunk while picking out. Of course, if the guy was an editor, he wouldn’t have to like sports much, or be very manly at all. Fuck, he was practically a woman! Like a secretary. Sitting around and doing what everyone else asked him to.

Chilled eyes rolled over to the photograph inside a ridiculous frame. It was obviously geared towards children, judging by the bright colors and the ridiculous image in the corner. The picture, however, was presumably of the kid’s family. Everyone looked almost identical, save for who could only be the father. And had the little girl not been wearing a sundress, Bakura would have had to stare or just take a wild guess as to which one was Ryou. Or, fuck, maybe that was him as a child and he had an equally gay brother who decided not to crossdress.

Reaching out, his long, slightly tanned fingers gripped the side of the frame, lifting it off of the surface, before bringing it closer to his face. They looked so happy. This kid probably had never had many problems at all. Financial difficulty or otherwise. The mother, though, was beautiful. He would admit that. The kid apparently got his eyes from her. Hell, he looked exactly like her, save the rack.

“Too bad,” Bakura murmured, the ill-intentioned smirk creeping up on his mouth again. “He probably would have been hot as a chick. At least he’d have something I could look at.” As the tall male said this, he pulled the thin, aged photograph from underneath the glass, revealing its slightly tattered edges which had frayed and turned white. The texture of the paper was obviously from an older print shop, which meant it wouldn’t tear as easily. Pity.

Standing up, he began walking towards the elevator, opening a drawer to his desk, dropping the picture inside it, and slamming it shut before making to leave the building for lunch. Being pissed off always made him hungry.

---

It couldn’t have been more than twenty-five minutes later when Ryou stepped out of the open doors which shut behind him and onto his floor. He felt much better now that he had been able to eat, and his full gut helped to ease his stress. He also had been able to think over the conflict from earlier, and he realized that it really was trivial. He should just grit his teeth and bear it – besides; even though Bakura was the largest, filthiest, and least attractive (personality-wise) assholes he had ever had the displeasure of dealing with, he still had to do his job. And if he let the bully get to him, then he was proving he was a push-over. And Ryou was, by no means, a push-over.

As he sat down in his less-than-euphoric chair, the wheels sliding back minimally as he did so, the agent caught a spot of white out of the corner of his eye. Glancing over without much concern, his face instantly changed, the color dripping from it and into his belly which was making him feel terribly sick. His picture...

Without hesitation, his mind instantly threw out an image of Bakura’s grinning face, and Ryou felt the anger that he’d let go flood back into him like water after the breaking of a dam. “That fucking prick,” he growled, seeing absolute red. And, if by nothing other than sick, twisted irony, the devil himself walked around the corner and into the green-eyed man’s line of vision. He looked rather normal as he held a black dish of noodles with one hand, and was shoveling them into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks with the other, though Ryou could sense the unspoken gloating. The satisfaction that he had fulfilled his duty to make someone absolutely hate him.

He wasted no time at all in practically leaping to his feet, an uncharacteristically innocent mask set upon his usually gentle features and walking over to the older male’s desk, as Bakura eyed him with a raised eyebrow, his full mouth barely hiding his amusement. How fucking immature could a fully grown man be?

And that malicious enjoyment lasted not much longer than a few seconds before Ryou, quite suddenly, bent over his desk, his expression not matching the look in his eyes. In a flash of second thought, Bakura wondered if this was the kind of silent psychopath that chopped people up after a certain distance of unkind pushing.

“So, you pompous dickhead,” Ryou began, his voice disgustingly sweet but the sugar only coated deadly acid. The words completely shocked Bakura, who swallowed his bite a bit earlier than he would have liked, seeing as how he hadn’t chewed quite enough to prevent a lump from clogging his throat. But it slipped down without giving him much problem aside from scratching at the muscles of his neck. “Where exactly did you stash my picture?”

The kid never missed a beat.

His hands shot out and instantaneously dug into the wrinkled collar of the other man, before, with unnatural strength for someone who looked so lanky, pulled Bakura up so quickly he dropped what was left of his meal onto his desk, his crotch banging against the sharp bend of the wood, wide and startled eyes looking up into hateful emerald ones.

Ryou only hoped he was choking the guy, which Bakura verified with the touch of flush that was slowly blotching around his face, but the guy was too shocked to react as of yet. He’d obviously never been manhandled before. Funny that the “Fairy” was the only one who had the balls to do it.

‘If he thinks I’m actually scared of a dumbass like him, then he’s sorely mistaken.’

“So,” the shorter male continued, looking very much like a serial murderer from a cheaply made horror movie before he sliced his victim up; overly cheerful smile, but grotesquely dark eyes. “Speak up Bakura, before I make that fat mouth of yours do it for itself!” The mask dropped and his fingers tightened until his knuckles faded white, his teeth gnashed together tightly.

Ryou Hikari, or, in this particular case, Ryou Tamaki, rarely ever lost his temper. No, he was a good boy, a clean-cut one who was never late and always did his best. He wanted to help others and impress his boss. But he also would not stand for someone acting like this without having anyone to stand up to them–

His rant was cut short as he heard the elevator ding, signaling that it was about to open. As quick as he had lashed out, he threw the other back into his chair, causing it to roll back and slam against the wall behind it, Bakura still looking as though he had been utterly frozen.

The said older man hardly even heard the footsteps coming their way, and didn’t pay Jounouchi any mind as his caught up to what had actually just happened. ‘What the fuck! This kid’s a fucking schizo!’ Getting to his feet abruptly, he lifted an accusing finger at the other, blocking out all that was around him. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” he shouted, causing the soft thump of shoe heels hitting the flat carpet to pause.

Jounouchi stood awkwardly, having had a pleasant lunch hour (but then, he enjoyed eating quite a bit – how could someone not love it?), eyeing the two men who had clearly not gotten over their fight from before. Ryou looked almost... scared. Guilty? And Bakura was snapping at him like he’d just shot the town cow. “I will... go check up on Mai,” he finally said, knowing that neither of the two had even acknowledged his words before he, in record time, made it to the ground floor.

“Are you fucking insane?” Bakura continued, having only spared the blonde a quick glance. Never in his life would he have even thought in some wild, fucked up acid trip that Ryou would ever turn into the cold, dangerous thing that he had become for a brief moment. But it had been broken, and the kid was back to look skittish, hand having been almost caught with the cookie jar.

“And what the fuck is your problem!” he continued, his furious and unnerved rant never seeming to end. “What, just because I’m a royal fucking prick, you think it’s okay to fucking accuse me of shit right-off? Does that give you the right to assault me?” He could really get this guy fired! Of course, knowing his luck, Kaiba would stare them both down before tossing them out and telling them to either solve this like men or pack their things.

Ryou, however, seemed to be more affected by these words than he had been the cruel teasing. He almost visibly flinched, his head turning away. He felt so disgusting, so horrible. Like the lowest form of filth on the planet. Even lower than Bakura, and that was pushing the envelope as it was. He had no right to act out like he had. And even though he knew Bakura had taken his treasure (after all, who would travel across a building to deal such a low blow to someone they didn’t even know?), he still was ashamed. That picture had been the only thing left of his mother and Amane, and just thinking about what they would have said or thought of him lashing out at anyone...

It made him sick.

He could see the disappointed look resting on his mother’s normally peaceful features, before she would shake her head and turn away. That was what brought the sting to his eyes, and the unsettlement to his stomach. He was supposed to be protecting Bakura, not being downright ferocious to him...

That one photograph was his most prized possession over anything else. Why, out of everything, did Bakura have to take that?

He finally lifted his head, morose eyes meeting the taller male’s only for a second. It was hard to look at him. “I’m sorry, but...” He trailed off, his lithe fingers wringing at each other. “Just please, give me that picture back.” He just felt so horrible. Sure the guy was cruel, but it was no reason to act victimized. Surely Bakura couldn’t know that it meant quite this much to him.

The said male, however, didn’t seem to be buying into this act. Anyone who went that quickly from one extreme to the other and weren’t bleeding from a vaginal cavity were faking. There was just no fucking way... even a bipolar nut, which Ryou clearly was, wouldn’t be quite this intense. The kid must have realized that he wasn’t going to get the stupid photograph back by force, so he was trying another route: pity. He was trying to get fucking pity, to make Bakura feel guilty and then, by some act of redeeming kindness, patch things up.

Yeah-fucking-right.

The blue-eyed male didn’t enjoy getting fucked with.

“I don’t know what ‘picture’ you keep going on about, but I sure as hell don’t have it.” And he turned, grabbed his chair, and sat back down in it, glaring at the feminine man. “Now if you’ll kindly get away from me, I might be able to actually keep my lunch down and do some work.”

Ryou, after all, had no proof whatsoever. And though that was a big problem in getting help, he knew Bakura had done it. There wasn’t a doubt in the young agent’s mind about that much.

But how was he going to get it back...? Tears were bubbling up around his eyes, and he felt so damn hopeless... He didn’t have a copy of that picture. It had been given to him, along with the frame that his sister had picked out, on his birthday. She had shoved it into his hands just before he stepped onto the bus headed for a summer camp, saying that it was a way to remember her while he was away.

That was the last time he ever saw her alive.

He had come home far too late, and now that photograph was all he had of them left, and he treasured it as he did their memory.

He couldn’t speak a word of this to Bakura, though. He already looked so weak in front of the other, and he hated himself for coming off that way, but this was the real him, pain included. He was strong, and brave, and scared, and weak all at once. He was human, which was more than what could be said for the taller male before him.

His heart ached, and he felt as if he had no other choice than to give up. Bakura was so terrible... he was such a monster... Pleading didn’t work, nor did anger. Nothing would. The older man was just... just absolutely horrible. Nothing, it seemed, would change that fact.

With a solemn nod, Ryou turned, going back to his desk, trying to hide his tears. God, men didn’t cry. They just didn’t, especially not in public. But he couldn’t help it. That was the biggest wound he had, and Bakura had just dug a knife into it and then rubbed salt on afterwards.

Sitting down in his chair, the green-eyed male stared at the papers on his desk, only half-finished being edited, but he couldn’t find the strength to continue right now. Any other prank he could have tolerated so easily... Hell, he wasn’t even asking Bakura to apologize or to make it up to him, no – he was only asking for the picture. But he wasn’t about to start searching for it, as badly as he wanted it – no, needed it – back. It could have been anywhere, and he had nowhere to start, save for perhaps the other’s desk. And going through a coworker’s desk was not only against policy, but it wasn’t right. Shifting, he set his arms on the tabletop and let his head move to sink into them, hiding from the world the only way he could right now. He honestly was no longer sure if he could even stay on the case. Sure Bakura made everything fly to Hell in a handbasket at a second’s notice, but Ryou was truly considering just quitting. This wasn’t benefitting anyone, and he was no longer certain at all that he even would save the other if or when it came down to it – not if this kept up. And he didn’t want to be that person. He didn’t want to lose the kindness his heart held for every living creature. He didn’t want to lose part of himself just to put up with someone else’s shit.

Throughout the entire show, Bakura had started fidgeting irritably, unable to keep his eyes on only the computer screen. They kept flicking over to the younger male’s desk, and every single time they saw a more despondent person slowly breaking down. As pathetic as the attempt was, he began to feel that filthy sort of nagging somewhere in the back of his mind, asking if he might had possibly gone just a tad too far this time. But no, he was too far into the game, now. He couldn’t go back, and he wouldn’t. Besides, Ryou must have other pictures! This whole thing was just so... so stupid!

And yet, he’d initiated the entire thing, hadn’t he?

No, the guy deserved it for being such a pussy! If he didn’t start to grow a backbone...

But he had one. And he had no problem in lashing that into the pale-eyed man’s face only a few minutes ago.

Though, now, people were beginning to file back in, some alone, and others chatting amongst themselves. And every single one of them cast Ryou a glance, and it was only a matter of time before someone asked what was wrong. And as much as he was an annoyance, a bastard...

Where was the pride? There was none, not in this. Not in making someone fucking cry. It would have been fine if the other had just kept himself to-fucking-gether, but no! He had to go and take it so damn hard... It would have been amusing to watch him get into a fit, looking for the photograph. But he wasn’t. He had given up, and it wouldn’t take too awful long before everyone found out exactly what had happened, because Ryou would inevitably blame him. Everyone always did, and he deserved it nine out of ten times.

There was no bragging rights, no stories of this to laugh about in a bar later. Hell, he didn’t even want to tell anyone about this period. He wanted to keep it to himself and bury the memory.

This really was too far. He’d finally crossed the fucking line, and over something so worthless.

Standing up, Bakura stormed over to the stairs, not wanting to bother waiting for the elevator.

He needed a cigarette.

---

He really couldn’t say exactly how long he had been standing in front of the building he worked at, shifting between pacing mildly to standing still. Bakura, no matter what he did, couldn’t seem to shake those images of the other about to fucking cry after being so... so fucking violent-looking... And every single flash of Ryou he saw in his mind, the worse he felt. He actually was growing a fucking conscience because a damn little fruit couldn’t hold it together. All because he himself had done something stupid and immature. He should have just left the fucking thing alone, should have just gone to lunch. Should have just waited to bug the other later. Growling, he tossed the short stub of his cigarette down onto the gum-peppered concrete and roughly stomped it out, grinding it much harder than necessary. Then, almost immediately afterwards, he pulled a fresh one out, and went to light it, the soft click of his lighter bringing minimal comfort. As he breathed out a cloud of thin smoke, he sighed heavily, feeling so utterly discontented. He wanted to go for a walk, but he wasn’t sure when he’d be back, and he wasn’t exactly allowed much break time. And so, his foot simply began to tap, trying to let out the excess energy from his body.

What if the kid couldn’t take it and actually quit? Left the company entirely? That would be his fault. And everyone would know it. He wouldn’t get respected or feared looks any longer. No, they would be scornful, and it wouldn’t matter what he fucking did afterwards; he doubted any of those people in that place would forget an incident like that. He was no longer worried about getting fired for harassment, though, because the more he let his brain mingle on the idea, the more he seemed to find that the green-eyed male was one of those who kept their problems to themselves. He probably wouldn’t even tell anyone, but even then, they would know. They would blame Bakura.

And the thing that was possibly the worst about it was that they would be right.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the kid packed up and left because he couldn’t take mild annoyances or terrible co-workers. What would be bad is if he packed up and left because he had been broken and lost the will the live. But... Tossing the butt down onto the ground, Bakura smashed it just as violently as he had the first. It was a fucking picture. This was driving him up the fucking wall!

Storming up to the doors, he entered the main lobby, paying Mai no heed as she gave him a raised eyebrow, though she kept her mouth shut, going back to writing down numbers on a pad.

By the time he reached the third floor, he had decided that he would wait until after work hours to put the damn thing back into place. Sure, it might mean that he was the bigger man if he just handed it back, but he felt... he felt ashamed. And that bothered him too much to be a big fucking man. The fact that he was going to do this in the first place should have said something!

But as he stepped around the corner, he saw the other hadn’t moved from his spot, still looking absolutely crushed. And... Oh, Jesus-fucking-Christ...

The younger man’s shoulders were quivering slightly, and if Bakura listened closely, he could hear what sounded like a heavy, wet sniffle.

Suddenly, he felt the anger that he previously had aimed at himself turn outward, turn towards this person who was so weak and pathetic. Ryou needed to learn that the fucking world wasn’t amazing and happy, and that people were going to treat him like shit. He wasn’t any more special than any of the rest of the cattle, and he wouldn’t get privileges. He also needed to learn to suck it up when it came down to it, and that was what made Bakura the maddest.

Leaning down over the other, his hands gripping the edge of the wood so tightly his knuckles flushed all color out, Bakura hissed darkly above the kid’s head, “Stop acting like I shot your fucking mother.” The fact that he felt guilty about the situation and Ryou was the one causing it made this inner fury burn only brighter and more intensely. In a sudden burst of cruelty – wanting to make the other stop being a damn crybaby, as well as to hurt the guy – the taller man added in a low voice, “Look, I tore the damn thing up and trashed it! Stop thinking you’re going to get it back if you keep milking it!” The words left his mouth before he was even aware of what he had said, and when his mind did grasp onto them, he found them to be stupid. Stupid lies. And then, with a stutter of second thought, he wondered if he had just made it certain that those things he didn’t want to happen would. He backed up abruptly, standing tall, eyes unable to leave the slighter male as he finally lifted his head, tears pausing from his bloodshot and glassy-looking emerald orbs. It all happened faster than he could catch up on at the moment as he was suddenly pushed aside, Ryou bolting down the hall, throwing open the bathroom door and racing inside. It was followed by the sound of dry retching, and Bakura felt that every person in the office space was looking at him. It might have just been paranoia, and he would never truly know if it was or not, because he didn’t turn to look.

The F.B.I. agent felt as if his body was crumbling to the floor as he ran to keep from being sick on the beige carpet, mind replaying those horrible, terrible words over and over, haunting him without mercy. When Bakura had spoken them, Ryou had wanted to actually harm the other. Hurt him. Make him understand just what he himself was going through. But that passed, just as all his moments of cruelty did. It left him feeling weak and worthless, and as he kneeled there, bent over a toilet in one of the stalls, he couldn’t stop himself from regretting everything. Regret that went as far back as going to that stupid camp in the first place, all the way up to him bringing that picture with him to this office that wasn’t even his real job. He hated himself so badly for being so attached to something so easily broken, so easily taken from him, but he couldn’t help that now.

Amane had always hated cameras, and she hated being in photos more. And yet, she had put on her best dress and best smile, just for him. Just so he would remember her that way, not knowing that she would never get the chance to welcome him home. That she would be found dead and bloody, atop their mother who had been put through unspeakable acts before finally being shot while the men proceeded to rob the house. They were the reason he had even become interested in his line of work. He was fighting for them, fighting to keep others from having to suffer from the loss of loved ones the way he had. And now he didn’t even have that...

As he paid tribute to the porcelain god, his face damp, he wondered if he could find the pieces and tape them back together before he left. This was just too much. He might be physically strong, but he was so fragile when it came to things like this. That was what he’d always been told would bring him down, and it finally had.

What hurt the worst was that he hadn’t been able to save his mother and sister a second time. Now they were lying in some trashcan, next to filth they were so much better than. But maybe it was a fitting irony – that had been taken from him, just like his real family.

And so, he folded his arms over the toilet seat, the cool surface feeling good against his feverish and flushed skin, and cried.

After he’d gotten it all out, allowed his body to push away the stress of everything, Ryou stood up to wash his face, cringing as he saw just how bad he really looked. His hair was mussed, and his face was blotchy and covered in tears and snot. That and his eyes were strained and red. Of course, a good scrub down with a damp paper towel and some time to let the whites of his eyes creep back into place was a much needed, and very welcomed thing. The young man felt quite a bit better after getting all of that out of system. He was still upset, but not to the intensity he had been at.

He could tape the picture back together, and though it would still look bad, it would be whole again. He would stay positive, and even though he had decided that he would, indeed, be quitting this case, he would go back to working his way up just as everyone else had. Maybe it really was that he just wasn’t ready for something like this yet...

But as he found his desk, his head thumping lightly with the fist signs of an on-coming headache, something caught his eye, and, in a fleeting hope that he knew was utterly ridiculous, he glanced down quickly at what had, only minutes before, been a blank frame.

He almost teared up again, but he was more stunned than anything else. His photograph... it was... it was here. It was whole. It was...

His head shot up, face lit up amazingly from what it had been before – a broken shadow of his usual expression – only to see that the desk he faced was empty. The computer had been turned off, and it seemed as if Bakura had abandoned post, perhaps to go somewhere? Ryou was clueless, honestly, as to what the other would do, or where he would go when he was expected to be doing his work.

Tipping his head to the side, Ryou saw Jounouchi was boredly tapping the edge of the arachnid’s cage with his shoe, obviously having nothing better to do with his time. Feeling a little strange, especially after the emotional rollercoaster he had just been on, the lanky male stood up, looking around the office almost nervously, as if trying to spot someone. “Er,” he began, now standing beside his energetic coworker, feeling absolutely foolish that that was the best he could come up with the get the blonde man’s attention. But it did work, and he met the other’s dark-eyed gaze firmly. “Where... is Bakura?” he asked, noting the strange look that passed over the other’s tanned features. He seemed confused.

“I dunno,” Jounouchi answered, giving a shrug to accompany his words. “He just got up and left. I think he went home,” he added, almost as an afterthought. But why would Ryou care? Hadn’t they just been fighting?

The silver-haired editor blinked. ...Went home? Was he... was he sick? Or maybe he just felt embarrassed or something or...

Or maybe Ryou was thinking far too highly of the other. Bakura may have given his prized possession back and in one piece, but that did not make him a nice person. Though... it didn’t make him a monster, either. There had to be decency in there somewhere... he didn’t have to give Ryou’s photo back in the end, right? And yet he did... Of course, he’d taken it in the first place, and then lied about ruining it, but...

Believing that the older male had humanity in there somewhere was enough to give him the small amount of will to continue with the case.

Besides, he couldn’t just quit on the first day. He’d look bad.

---

Though he had told Mai that he felt like shit (physically) and was going home, Bakura made quite a long detour in getting to his destination. And, in the end, he had stopped at the park and tried to walk his conscience off. It was a damn annoying thing to have, and even though he felt stupid for giving the damn kid his fucking worthless piece of paper back, he also felt relieved a little. At least now if the other left, he could feel that it wasn’t entirely his fault.

With his hands jammed in his pockets, the tall male glared at the ground.

The main reason he had even done what he had was because... was because Ryou didn’t yell at him again. There was no punishment. It was the same kind of feeling he used to get when he was a child, where he knew he’d done something horrible, and his mother didn’t send him to his room or take away a privilege. She simply stood there, looking down at him with those eyes so damn full of disappointment, and then walked away. That was the worst feeling he had ever experienced to this day, and he doubted he would ever find a worse one. Did that make him selfish, then? To want to right a problem just to make himself feel better? ...Well, yes, it did. But did motives matter when it came to right and wrong?

Fuck, he needed another cigarette.

It must have been forty or so minutes before he finally did start towards his apartment, mind still crammed to the brim with conflicting thoughts. And even as he got out and slammed the door of the vehicle, making his way up the flight of stairs, it refused to quiet, and he felt that he would be driven towards the edge of insanity if he didn’t get some peace, some relief from it. So instead, he thought about his home, and how he needed to clean it a little. It was dingy and small, but he made it be enough. Besides, it wasn’t about space, it was about how well he put it to use, right?

He was mildly distracted by the sound of footsteps behind him, but he figured that it must have been that damn creepy neighbor who always seemed like he was following you, and even though you knew he couldn’t possibly be, he was always going wherever you were. Bakura was honestly surprised that no one had called the police on him for stalking yet. He was too tired to be paranoid though, and didn’t bother looking back. All he really wanted to do was get to sleep, and if he just walked a few more feet...

He felt something against his spine, and at first, before the realization hit, he thought that it was simply some rude asshole who wanted to get by. But the weight didn’t leave, and he opened his mouth, moving to turn his head to say something, when he was abruptly cut off.

“You’re going to walk to your apartment like nothing is wrong, and you’re going to let me in, too.”

...What was this? Was some jackass going to jump out and tell him he’d been punked? His right knee was already throbbing pitifully at the excess walking he’d done today, and now he was about to be fucking mugged? Was this fucking karma coming to finally kick his ass for everything he’d done? Apparently giving the damn picture back hadn’t been enough.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything worth stealing,” he hissed, more than just a little aggravated. This was just the perfect end to a perfect day, wasn’t it? He felt the metal dig into his back and he growled, whipping his head to the side to bark about how a little consideration goes a long way in robbing people, when he got a rather severe jab in response.

“Don’t turn around!” It wasn’t up for discussion, it seemed. “So keep quiet and do what I asked.”

Bakura almost spun around and punched the son of a bitch square in the face, but he found that he didn’t have the strength. He was just too damn waned, too exhausted. That and in case that really was a loaded, working gun, he really didn’t feel like being shot on top of everything else. It felt like some horrible silly dream where he knew that he couldn’t die, even though things looked and felt real. But he knew it was.

He’d been mugged before, a few years prior, but it had only been his wallet and the punk hadn’t had a gun. It had never been quite this close to home – literately or figuratively.

“I’m assuming that telling you I’ve had a really shitty day wouldn’t do a damn thing, would it?” He almost laughed. God, this was so ridiculous. So fucking ridiculous. “If you clean my place out, just don’t take my mattress. I’d like to go to sleep.”

It was then that he heard a click, one that he had heard far too many times from cheap action movies; the cock of a pistol. The situation suddenly seem much more clear, much more like reality. He was right in front of his door, and he could get shot. He could get fucking shot. His home, the one place that had been his safe haven...

“I’m not here to steal your shit,” the strange began, his voice vaguely accented. The tip of the gun pressed harshly into Bakura’s back. “I’m here to put a hole in your head.”

And then the fog was back. The fear began to dissipate to anger, to fury, to annoyance at having his whole fucking day ruined right to the end. He wasn’t scared of the weapon anymore, nor was he worried about death. Fuck, if he was going to kick it, he might as well go young and hot! “Then pull the trigger, you fucking coward!” he spat, his hands fisting. “You think it’ll be safer for you to kill me in my place? People will hear the bang and come out to see you running out of my door! If you do it out here, at least you’ll get a head start!”

He had just goaded a murderer with a readied weapon, aiming to blow his brain across his door.

And yet, for some reason, he wasn’t ready for what was coming when the gun went off

.: Chapter end :.

I just wanted to add that, the reason Ryou was being as emotional as he was, was partially because he’d been holding it all in for years, and this day was just going from shit to Hell, and the damn just fell apart. So there.

-Cecilia