Title: On A Bridge
Author: ABoH (aboh)
Pairing: Malik/Ryou Bakura
Disclaimer: Yu-gi-oh and the characters do not belong to me. This story is written for the purpose of entertainment and no money is made from it.
A/N: Written for yaoilovinotaku. One hour late but I'm done at last XD. AuroraDragonKaya has dropped out of the ficathon so this one will replace hers. I hope you all have a happy holiday~
Bakura repeats the sentence until the words seem to thread together like a spider cobweb, thick enough to screen him from the sounds. He is lying to himself, perhaps, because it is difficult -- almost impossible -- to pretend that someone who stands less than two arm lengths from him and talks to /him/ doesn't exist. But at the moment, he doesn't care. There are few things he cares about and Malik is not one of them.
"Why don't you jump off the bridge then, Bakura?"
Malik's voice carries that heavy accent that doesn't quite grate on his sense the way his lavender eyes don't quite impress him. Still, Malik's appearance in his solitude is unwelcome as much as the lethargic way Malik drapes his body on the opposite railing.
"Why don't you tell me why I should?"
The challenge expressed more through the slight shift of his jaw than the question. He thinks that the Egyptian is mad and even if he himself is perfectly sane, there is no mistaking that he is very happy to sprint himself in that direction and rises to the same level of madness within him. The wrinkles on Malik's smooth forehead are complemented by the ripples of confusion as he talks.
"Because you're Bakura. No, you are not /him/ but you're still Bakura."
/Him/ as in the sense Yami no Bakura, his other who will never be able to return after the Ceremony Duel which has buried his Millennium Ring into the temple's ruin. One day, when he saves enough money, he will have people there to dig it up and bring /him/ back for never in one moment in his waking day, he believes his other is gone. It is cruel of Malik to mention /him/ when he has been avoiding to touch upon that subject for a very long time, and cruel for exposing his hidden pain to the surface probably for a moment of satisfaction to see him break and crash and burn, inevitably dropping into the swirling waters underneath.
One. Two. Three. He counts the Christmas lights from a tree above as Malik opens his mouth to say something but he has no time to finish with his speech. His fist crashes into Malik's face. Yes, Bakura doesn't slap. He punches like real men because that is something his other has taught him to do. He smiles then, a gentle smile, perhaps, if other people are around to judge.
"What the fuck is that for?" Malik is both angry and surprised, the latter more so.
"You know the answer, Malik."
One hand comes up to rub at the wounded cheek briefly and drops away to bare the formed bruise, light on his tanned skin but visible enough to almost make him smile again.
"You're as much a nutty case. First, you looked as if you wanted to commit suicide so I figured that I would ask. Then, you hit me for shit..."
"Take the cue and leave me alone." Bakura turns away and cleaned over the railing until half of his body is hanging off the bridge, his chest pressed against the railing hard enough to feel the wood edge cut into his skin through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. If Malik pushes him from behind with just enough force, he will top over and experience the fall that he is sure entirely exciting and interesting until he meets the waters. Wet, cold, dark and unfathomable, the creek is a scary place to be his deathbed. Bakura doesn't want to know what it feels like to be dead because even if many people think there is something beyond, he believes there is nothing, absolutely nothing at all in death.
He waits for what seems like a very long time but Malik chooses to talk rather than pushing him off.
"I never know you can punch like that, almost snapped my jaw."
"You know, two years ago, there was a gym teacher who liked to insult me front of the class. /He/, yes, /he/ took it as an insult on himself and beat the man bloodily with bare hands -- almost killed him if I wasn't there to stop. Afterward, he told me, 'Keep your fist tight and slam it into the asshole's face, knowing that even if you crack your knuckles, the one who gets the brunt of the fight is not you.' I still remember his words as clear as he is in front of me now. Actually, I remember his every word because he didn't talk much and every time he did, he tended to repeat himself until he either developed a seizure or calmed down. But now, he's not here anymore, not gone but not here, do you understand what that means?"
It is too easy to get lost as he rises his voice and repeats the question, not totally sure why he is telling Malik all of this, why he's bothering to talk to Malik at all. He is the quiet type that thinks twice before sharing thoughts to the whole world. The fact that his heart is still beating so fast in the confine of his chest -- must be from the rush of punching Malik, as wrong as that may sound -- doesn't give the explanation for the whole thing.
"Do you think after you punch people, you're entitled to cram all of your lies into their face and tell them to understand? Do you think you're the only one in this whole world who has someone to miss?"
And what Malik is saying pisses him off because he doesn't think Malik's split personality is anything like /him/. He tells Malik that, not only once but twice, the second time with a more insulting word choices and somehow, Malik is doing the same thing, and very soon, both of them are talking and yelling like children until they both find themselves shut up when it occurs to them that their personal space is greatly violated by the closeness of skin to skin contact.
"What the hell?"
"It may as well be what I want to say."
And that may have brought more arguments but he is out of breath and he doesn't even remember much what they have been fighting about. He was quite careless about what he's said and generally quite careless about everything else because since when Malik's breath is too close to his face and Malik's fingers are around his wrist and the edge of the railing is pressing against his skin again although on the back this time.
"Just forget about everything for now. It's fucking Christmas and I don't know why I waste my time to ponder whether you want to kill yourself or not and whether you..."
"Thank you very much but I have no intention to kill myself, Malik."
"Why didn't you say it sooner, asshole? Then I wouldn't have to ask you in the first place as if I /cared/ what you were doing. If you don't want to do something stupid like throwing your life away, why don't you do something more useful than standing at this goddamn place?
Suddenly, he realizes that there is not enough light around here since Malik's eyes are not lavender but black. His eyes must be of the same color because Malik is looking at him in a way that makes everything so painfully clear and distinct, his accent making his words sincere helping none of the matter.
"Like... going out with me? It doesn't matter that you think I am /him/ or not, just go out with me today."
Malik's asking doesn't surprise him although it should. He searches for an answer but finds none because his mind refuses to cooperate, the fingers around his wrist hard but he's sure that they won't leave mark like the railing against his back.
"What do you think?"
A moment of silence goes by. Eventually, he pulls his wrist off and pushes Malik off. "I don't like you."
Malik gives an exasperated sigh, turns and starts walking away after throwing back a word, 'asshole'. And Malik is really walking away, leaving more distance between them, probably just several steps but it feels like an awful lot.
Being alone is so much of a blessing but Bakura really hates being called 'asshole' which probably is the reason why he's chasing after Malik to prove how wrong Malik is.