AN: My new chapter story. I originally had a whole other short story planned out to post, but then I was talking with one of my reviewers online (xxfangirlx - check out her fics. DO IT!) and she inspired me to start this new story up.

It's AU. Some characters will be a tad OOC on purpose.

It has some controversial themes. Tendershipping, obviously, but this story's also going to be deep. Confusing, maybe, at times. Emotional. Dramatic. As the plot moves on, you will see more of what I mean.

Also, if you haven't noticed, the story title and all the chapter titles are/will be from Alice in Wonderland.

And finally -

I hope you enjoy =)

PAINT THE ROSES RED

Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own Yu-Gi-Oh!.

Prologue: off with his head

He knows that The Smashing Pumpkins was playing through the speakers in the bar earlier that night.

Neon lights flashed and bodies crashed together. Girls and boys flirted without fear. His friends were all off somewhere dancing or drinking the night away. The atmosphere buzzed with heat, passion, "fun"…

…And "1979" by The Smashing Pumpkins reverberated around the bar.

The booth wasn't that comfortable. He had been sitting on it for the past twenty-five minutes, fingering the cool, slightly moist glass resting between his hands on the slick, glittery table in front of him.

He brought the drink up to his lips, and the burning sensation of alcohol buzzed through his body and tore him apart.

He kind of wondered if the whole "partying" thing would ever get old.

Another person slid onto the maroon booth next to him. The leather squeaked.

"Hey Ryou!"

He had given Yugi a small, weak smile. (He, quite frankly, wasn't really sober enough to do much more than that.)

"Why are you sitting all by yourself?" the other boy asked, blinking wildly with his bizarre purple eyes, his words slurred and obnoxious.

Ryou shrugged half-heartedly.

"Got bored. Everyone else is still out there, though?"

He turned his gaze onto the flashing dance floor covered in God knows how many bodies moving to the beat. His tall, brunette friend Tristan came into view as he danced alongside who Ryou thought was Joey's sister Serenity. (Once again, not only was it kind of dim in the club, but he wasn't totally sober enough to see straight.)

The last time he actually spoken with anyone was when they first arrived at the club. Since they walked through the front door, he was off on the dance floor and he was left alone.

He took another swig of the drink in his hand.

Yugi sighed. "Well, I'm gonna head on back. But come back out and dance some more soon!"

Then his other friend was off and he was alone once again.

Slowly, so slowly, he rested his forehead onto the cool table and let his head pound and pound.

For the past year of his life, his life was this. It consisted of partying. Countless clubs. Alcohol. Going to parties, being social for a while, and then retiring to the table and swigging down a couple beers. Then, finally, wallowing in his misery and pounding headache after the initial "partying-high" wore off.

He closed his eyes, his head still rested on the table's edge.

There were faint memories at the back of his mind of someone everybody called their friend.

Someone everybody looked to for a shining gem of wisdom in dark situations.

Someone everybody admired for being humble, quiet, and unique.

Someone everybody awed at because he read far too much and liked to draw dazzling, haunting pictures.

Someone everybody called "beautiful."

Someone everybody knew never drank.

Someone everybody knew was just trying to stay true to himself, but couldn't.

Those memories weren't as easy to see anymore, but he knew they were there.

Especially in that moment.

Because in that moment, he saw a lot of them. (He's not sure exactly why he let his mind wander to memories at that time, but he knows that it did, and once it had, he couldn't stop it.)

He saw the "someone" he used to be; the one he has no idea how he lost.

He felt the longing for the joy and contentment that he once felt so strongly.

And then, of course, there were the memories of a certain dark eyed, white-haired, sarcastic, bitter person that made his heart soar, and somehow made everything better no matter what the situation.

The one person that he wished he could be with right at that moment.

"Are you going to come home with me?"

As if the universe could read his mind, the voice he knew oh-so-well echoed through his ears and he slowly, groggily looked up.

Bakura stood there, dressed neatly in dark black jeans, a grey shirt, and a black jacket. The bright lights illuminated his face, and a small frown was plastered onto his features. His hands were tucked into his pockets, but Ryou could still hear the jingling of car keys as Bakura messed with them mindlessly.

His mouth opened a little bit.

It was really dry.

"Ryou?" Bakura had prompted, sounding annoyed. (If Ryou were to have been looking, he would have seen Bakura glare just a teeny bit.)

He plopped his head back down on the table and mumbled out,

"I didn't know you were here."

Bakura frowned.

"I just got here. Came in to check things out, looked around, and decided to leave. Now do you want to come home with me or not?" Bakura replied, shifting his body weight from one foot to another.

He closed his eyes.

"Everyone else is still—"

Bakura scoffed. "They already said it was fine if you went home with me. Said they wanted to stay a little longer, and you were just being a `stick in the mud'."

He felt a sharp stab of hurt at the words from his friends.

But what was the point of staying? He would just sit on the leather, sweaty, maroon booth and chug down some more alcohol until hours later at 4AM when his friends decided they were done "having a good time".

And besides, the one person he was just wishing he could see was offering him the ride.

The Smashing Pumpkins were still playing through the speakers.

Slowly, he looked up. He swallowed.

"Can we wait until the end of this song?"

"I'm driving."

"But I'm not drunk, Bakura."

A bitter, sarcastic laugh.

"Yeah, right."

Ryou didn't protest as he was practically pushed into the passenger's seat, buckled up, and had his door slammed for him.

He did protest, however, when Bakura refused to turn on the radio.

"Bakura, I want music!" he cried.

Bakura continued driving, frowning, and not looking at Ryou.

"The last thing you need is more noise to aggravate the already killer headache you probably have," he murmured, and Ryou surprisingly didn't argue. (Probably because he really did have a headache.)

Soon, the flashing, bright lights of the downtown clubs and restaurants faded away as the two drove farther away from the bar and closer to their suburban neighborhood.

At first it was all uncomfortable silence.

Ryou watched Bakura in the faintly moonlit light of the car. (He looked really rather beautiful, Ryou remembers.)

"I'm sorry."

Ryou didn't notice it, but Bakura's hands tightened on the steering wheel after the words came out of his lips.

"What for?" Bakura said, narrowing his eyes a little bit at the headlight-lit road in front of them.

Ryou turned to look in front of him.

"I don't know. You tell me. You're the one that's pissed off."

And then all of a sudden, as if all the frustration and inner agony he had been feeling for the past year and a half let loose, Bakura snapped.

"Ryou," he cried. His hands were pounded once on the top of the steering wheel. "Oh my God. Just listen to yourself! Your words are slurred. You have no idea what you're talking about. You're so wasted!"

Ryou frowned.

"So?"

There was a heavy, furious, heartbreaking silence for a moment. Then, Bakura threw a disgusted look at his companion and shook his head.

"You aren't Ryou anymore! You're not the amazing, genius, determined, quiet Ryou I once knew! You meant everything to me. Every day I woke up you were the first thing I looked forward to.You were the first thing I thought of. You were the one I admired. The one I wanted to be like. I loved you."

There was a silence.

Ryou's head felt like it was spinning more than it was before back at the club.

Bakura carried on, ignoring the silence.

"Now? Now you're just a hypocritical, cliche, cynical drunkard who likes to pretend he's happy and knows what he's doing!" Bakura cried, and Ryou slouched a little bit in his seat.

Even in his inebriated state, he perfectly understood every word Bakura shouted at him.

And those words hurt.

"I told you, I'm sorry," is all Ryou whispered, (it was all he could think to say) and then a mocking, hateful laugh resonated throughout the car.

"`Sorry' doesn't cut it, Ryou," Bakura had said, and then Ryou snapped.

"Well what in God's name do you want me to do, Bakura? Huh? Huh?" he suddenly found himself screaming, too, because why did Bakura decide in this rather uncomfortable (he was drunk and felt like throwing up—a lot) moment to start screeching at him about how much he's "changed" or how "horrible" he now is?

Then, it happened. (Though he's not really sure how.)

"Ryou!"

Headlights meeting headlights.

Screeching.

Horns blaring.

Metal crashing.

Glass exploding.

Drunken terror.

Confused agony.

Bakura.

Now, Ryou is sprawled out on the floor of Bakura's car.

He can't feel his body. He thinks that his head is bleeding and he tastes blood. His vision is kind of blurry. He inhales shaky, painful breaths. There are shards of gleaming glass all around. Even at his point of view, he can see the horrible damage to the vehicle. He knows he's probably going to die.

His head is still pounding

But all he's focused on is that one form in the driver's seat.

The one crumbled, bleeding, beautiful form in the driver's seat.

Bakura's head is bent limp off of the side of the head rest. His arm is dangling. His face is pale as Death and is splattered with blood.

His gorgeous brown eyes are closed.

And Ryou feels like crying because he knows that Bakura is dead.