Pairing: Seto x Yami x Bakura
Genre: AU, drama, angst
Rating: R
Words: 1588
Part: 3/3
Dedication: Once again, for LilPurplFlwr, because she gave me the idea that spawned this little creation. And simply because we're Yu-Gi-Oh fanatics (and she's so awesome, I want to cuddle her). Go read her writing right now, and that's an order.
Warnings: YAOI (that'd be boy x boy... but that's what you're here for, isn't it?), sexual situations between minors.
Summary: Highschool: a place of education and improvement. But beneath it all, it's a time of rampant desires and foolish mistakes—and there's so much tension, Yami scarcely knows what to make of it. YAOI - Seto x Yami x Bakura
A/N: Once again, just want to thank all the lovely souls who reviewed this measly offering of fanfiction. You have no idea how much it brightens my day to receive a review.
Taut
Part Three
Knock knock.
"Come in, Ryou."
Bakura sat on the soft covers of his bed, book open across his lap. Pages of text sprawled out over his black-clad legs, and he'd rather die than let anyone know of his passion for reading.
The door to his bedroom opened slowly, and to his surprise, rather than his brother, there stood Seto.
"Seto?" he inquired softly as he slipped the bookmark smoothly between the pages of his book, setting it aside on the bed stand. "What you doing here? You weren't supposed to come until tomorrow for my 'tutoring'." A soft smile curved his lips as he spoke, and it was such a contrast to the smirk habitually painted across his mouth. One would scarcely know it was Bakura, this smiling and intellectual boy.
"I missed you."
Seto moved swiftly across the room to settle down upon the mattress next to the smaller boy. A large hand reached out to cup pallid cheeks, and their lips met in gentle synchronicity. Bakura sighed against the light pressure of his lover's lips, and let himself forget his problems in that split second of time.
When they pulled away, reality returned, swooping in upon them with the solemn look that Seto bore.
"Bakura, this needs to stop."
Of course he knew what Seto was talking about; it was difficult not to. A sigh escaped his lips as the smile disappeared, and he ran a hand through his hair absently as if it would help him compose his thoughts.
"I should say the same to you."
It was Seto's turn to sigh, and he pulled the smaller boy against him, holding onto him firmly. Warmth spread throughout Bakura's frame, and he was grateful for the other's comforting presence. "I know."
In silence they sat, stewing in their own misery.
"You know," Bakura finally started, "you were the first one to use him."
Seto remained silent, breath tickling the delicate skin along Bakura's neck. "I know," he eventually replied, "and I wish I hadn't."
"I was jealous," Bakura continued, figuring it was best to be frank in situations such as these. "It hurt me that you played around with him."
"So that's why you stole him away from me," Seto finished his thought for him. Bakura nodded sadly, his hair falling down in front of his face like a curtain of solid moonlight. He burrowed further into Seto's embrace, feeling the beginnings of guilt gnawing painfully at his gut—a dull, tightening sensation that curled his innards and made him tremble.
"You're bad for him; you're ruining his perfect little world."
"I know. But you hurt him more than I ever have, Seto."
Fingers ran slowly through his hair, loosening tangles and knots in their way. Bakura closed his eyes and lay his head down against Seto's shoulder, drawing strength from the other boy. Only Seto was allowed to see how vulnerable he was, because he trusted the brunette. Seto never truly intended to hurt him.
"So what do we do now?" The question fell against deaf ears, and Bakura listened to the thrum of Seto's heartbeat as he tried to forget the soft intonations of Yami's voice.
Twelve fifty-six.
Yami walked slowly towards the park where he always met Seto, feet sliding reluctantly along. It'd been three weeks since he had come here, and he wondered if the brunette would even show.
He missed Seto, and he didn't know what to do anymore. The boy never answered his calls any longer.
Yami was expecting the small park to be deserted when he arrived. Much to his surprise, this was not the case.
Seto was there. With Bakura.
The two sat atop the monkey bars, hands and lips tangled together in an egregious tangle. The soft moonlight illuminated their figures, warping them into a single body—and with each second that Yami watched them, he could feel himself breaking further and further apart.
As Yami ran home, two sets of sorrowful eyes watched him go.
The soft melody sounded from his cell phone, and Yami wished it would just stop.
Three times already each of them had tried to call him. All six times he lay still in bed, listening to the familiar sound of his ring tone.
After the electronic notes ended, he would reach across the vast expanse of his lonely bed, taking the small cell phone within his hand. A few pressed buttons later, and he would hold the device up to his ear, listening to the new voicemail messages he had just received.
Call him a glutton for punishment, but he simply could not get the melody of their voices from out of his head.
You have one new message, and six old messages.
The nondescript voice chimed through the speaker in his phone, and he pressed 1 like instructed to hear the new message.
Yami, it's Bakura. I know you're listening to this, just like you have to the other three messages I've left. And I know it's probably a few minutes after you ignored my call, once again. … Look, I'm sorry. We're sorry. We shouldn't have led you on like that, and we certainly should have told you what was going on sooner. So please, can we just all be mature now? Talk to us; we'll explain it all, if only you'll give us the chance.
The phone fell silent, and Yami realized he couldn't quite breathe as he stared into the darkness of his room.
The park looked ghostly in the wan moonlight of the crescent moon, reflecting shadows across the white canvas of his hands.
Bakura looked like a mere shadow in the dark, leaning against the slide where he used to wait for Seto.
"Yami." If words could have color, he imagined his name would have been a deep sable—somber and melancholic, and he wished Bakura wouldn't speak to him like that.
"Bakura," he replied, the cool night wind carrying his reply over to the other's waiting ears.
A soft smile blossomed across the other boy's face, and slowly he stepped forward. Yami watched as the hand lifted and pressed against his cheek, the chill of the night seeping into his skin. "You came."
"Stop stalling, Bakura."
The taller boy sighed and let his hand drop from the other's face, figure silhouetted in the ethereal light. "We're really sorry, Yami."
Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot the lanky brunette stepping out from behind the shadows of the slide.
"'Sorry' is just a word." Yami's chest felt leaden, as if there were a tight hand constricting around his lungs. He wasn't sure whether to believe any longer, or just brush aside the lies, like many frail spider webs.
"I know, but is it possible to just forget?" Bakura reached out once more, fingertips brushing against the unruly bangs in front of his eyes, sweeping them gently aside. "We do care a lot about you, Yami. Couldn't we simply start over—together?"
It hurt. It hurt so much when Bakura leaned close and he turned his face to the side. It hurt as Bakura's lips brushed against the soft curve of his cheek, and it hurt as he stared into Seto's dark eyes across the distance of the park.
It pained him so much, he wondered whether he would simply break.
"No. We can't."
Each step he took away from the park drove a nail into the beating, moist mass of his heart. And as he listened to Bakura's voice calling his name desperately, he wondered whether he made the right choice.
Someday, he figured he would look back to this time.
He would look back and see a lonely boy, one who craved comfort and care more than anything else. He would see a starving soul, salvaging any scrap that he could find. He would see saddened eyes and the forlorn curve of defeat on his neck.
He would see himself as he was now.
He would reflect back on these memories—because that is all he really has in the end. Just endless streams of memories, some painful, some inspiring, and others just a picture-perfect capture of normalcy. He would look back on the events, and study them; study the emotions attached to each memory, and wonder why the world likes to be so cruel to its inhabitants.
He would remember the sly curve of Bakura's lips, and the harsh pressure of his smile against his neck. He would remember the way he made him feel—dangerous and free, and oh so worshipped. He would remember the comfort that somehow swarmed him in Bakura's presence, and wonder over the fact of how someone so rebellious could be so nurturing.
He would remember the piercing stare of Seto's eyes, and the cutting edge of his cool words. He would remember the look on his face when he walked by, and the constant competition between them to see who was on top. He would remember the feel of his fingers upon the soft flesh of his stomach—unrestrained and empowering, and he would wonder why he was so attracted to him and his calm composure.
He would remember the events that spiraled between them—the passion and the heartbreak, and revel in the fact that his emotions were so rampant. He would treasure these memories, though they may sometimes be painful. Because, again, they would be all he has.
But for now, sitting on his empty bed, he just wanted to forget everything.
-owari-