It took him a while to find the light; the small light switch in the left corner easily overlooked. Finally he flipped it; the harsh tube lights flickering on, spreading a sickly yellowish white throughout the small bathroom. He immediately went to the large sink, bashing his hand against the tall round button to get the water flowing. Sticking his slightly trembling hand under the cold stream, he splashed it right into his face.
He was bleeding, on the inside and the outside. A small chuckle escaped him, the unfamiliar sound grating his throat and he suppressed a cough. The icy cold liquid barely brought him to his senses; the drops clinging to his pale face, slowly dripping alongside his cheeks. Gods, but was he a mess. He didn't need his mirror image to tell him that- leaning towards the right, he plucked a towel from the stack and pressed it against his face. So soft, so... wonderful scenting, like flowers. He didn't recognize which flower- he knew them only from pictures anyway. Trust Kaiba to provide his guests with the best of the best, after all he was the worlds most renowned multi-billionaire, who owned everyone and everything... no! The Kaiba here is too young, still a kid, a multimillionaire yes, but he doesn't own everything yet...
A shiver wrecked his scrawny body, and he pressed the towel harder against his face, as if he wanted to smother himself. The thought made him hiccup with hysterical laughter- smothering himself? Wasn't it all for the better if he died already, died right here and now? Nobody would miss him. Not even his aibou- Gods, he had to find him!- absolutely no one. They had all forgotten about him, turned against him, turned away from him... and he couldn't even blame them. He was worthless, as he had failed at so many things, even at keeping his own friends. The disdain in their eyes as they saw him at his most vulnerable, the contempt when he asked for a little bit of their attention, the laughter when they discovered that he was nothing but a shell, devoid of anything worthwhile. Why had life to be so fucking hard?
He was staring at the ceiling, he realized, staring directly into the light. It caused yellowish spots on his face, turning his complexion into an even more pasty white, contrasting strongly with the dark color of his hair. Shaking his head, sending his multicolored strands flying, he shivered again, reminding himself that he was still holding the towel. Why did he have to smell this... this familiar yet unknown scent? This wasn't his world. He didn't belong here, just as he belonged... nowhere. When... when would there be an end to his suffering? He knew exactly when. The moment he found his aibou, then he would have his rest. Then he would die and no one would ever have to worry about him, if they were the kind to worry, and all would be well, endless darkness, no more knowledge, no more awareness, no more conscience no nothing nothing but pure oblivion.
Fuck..! He was shaking again. He needed his fix... now. He thought the sex would distract him enough, even if the girl had kept asking him if he was sure and had thrown him quizzical looks, as if she was questioning his sanity. Sanity? He? He'd burst out laughing if that didn't mean he would wake the others up. The girl was nothing, a nobody, no one who would care for him, no one who would mind if he went away to never return. He wouldn't be missed. No one would miss him. They would be all glad that he was gone. Gods, he was so sorry. Sorry to have bothered them, sorry to ask them for a moment of their time, sorry to even exist. It hurt, goddamnit, and he'd expected by now that he'd been numb from all the blows- there were only so many tears anyone could shed, and he reached the bottom so long ago. Rock bottom, yes... there was nothing more that could happen to him to make him even more miserable, wasn't there?
Shaking and bleeding, and he looked like a mess. Physically he was of no threat or a match to anyone, so when the tall blonde had pinned him down to the mattress he could do nothing but protest vocally, even though those were smothered rather fast. The other's perfect dark skin had covered his body, the gold smooth and cold to the touch- and he had bit him on the lip the moment their mouths had touched. He had kicked, trying to land his feet on the other's legs, trying to push him away, but he had just laughed and hit him in the face, laughing and cackling madly about how he was going to 'make the Pharaoh his'. Pharaoh. Maybe some people had referred to him once with respect and awe in their voice. Maybe some people had really worshipped him and adored him for the person he was- but now he was here, in an unfamiliar body, pale and skinny, no gold on his limbs, scars and cuts covering his skin, caked blood marring his arms and legs. The pain... was a good friend. He'd invited him in, welcoming him with open arms as the bed had moved under him, greeting him as every thrust seemed to split him in half, as semen mixed with blood, pooling under him when his legs were thrown to the side, when his body was cast aside as a sack of rotting potatoes.
Lifeless. Worthless. Where are you now, aibou? You left me... or did I leave you? Did you finally get tired of me and separated from me, condemning me to this eternal search? The pain was already starting to wear off. Christ. What more was there to ask? The lowest level... was to beg. Beg to be taken harder, beg to be hit harder, beg to be treated like the trash he was. There was only one pure soul in this world, and that was his aibou... and he was nowhere to be found. He had looked all around, but the one in this world passing for his aibou, wasn't his aibou. No, he wouldn't find him, never, ever... not even in the deepest and warmest place of his heart, where he'd always been. He'd given up. On him. Because he wasn't worth it. If even his aibou had given up on him... there was no telling at what low level he was now- what level of the stinking pile of dreck he had worked himself into, the endless road of problem after problem, trouble after trouble, and nothing seemed to go away... and fucking people he didn't know wouldn't help him at all- but it had been familiar. Comforting, in the most twisted way possible.
The guy... he didn't know him, had never heard of him. Wild, blond hair in spikes, gold all over him, deranged like hell. The girl... Shizuka. He'd remembered her name- the names of his friends were engraved into his mind. He'd seen her often before- blind, dead, deaf, old, young, successful, rich, poor, devastated, happy. One thing about her remained the same- she was curious, pretty, and kind. No matter in what situation he'd found her, Jounouchi Shizuka had always been the one with a comforting word, a warm hug, and a big smile. This Shizuka hadn't been any different, though her curiosity had led her into the arms of this man who everyone would classify as dangerous from miles away- but maybe she was drawn to the darkness inside this Malik as a moth to a flame and was she waiting to burn her wings... and until that happened, she enjoyed the forbidden nature of it all, the secrecy, the dance with the devil in plain sight when everyone was too blind to see it.
His hand moved towards the medicine cabinet, a small rectangular cabinet on the left side of the mirror and he opened it. Kaiba had even made sure it was fully stocked- a content to put every pharmacy to shame. If he wanted to overdose on pills, he would die a thousand deaths over from all the medication available. Fuck you, Kaiba. You know I can't die. Not until I find my aibou. Disdainfully, he searched through the tall and thick, small and thin bottles and pots, his fingers longing for the touch of cold, sharp metal. Come on... every medicine cabinet had razor blades. Kaiba wouldn't have cut back on perfectly normal men's grooming utensils, right? He found them, a little to the right and he had to bite back a triumphant yowl. In his haste to get the plastic off, he cut himself already, a moan bubbling up in his throat, passing past his lips before he realized it.
Putting the blades on the edge of the sink, he caught his mirror image nonetheless, and a wry smile tugged at his lips. Pharaoh. Son of the Gods. He was nothing but a son of some whores, the way he had begged and pleaded and writhed and screamed. He didn't deserve to live. And that bitch of a Fate had decided he didn't deserve to die either. He wanted pain, and pain he would feel. His arms were already showing the signs of the cutting, the scars casting shadows on once smooth skin. It would be all right... just a little more. With a little bit of luck, he would cut so deep one day that it would kill him- that would be just perfect. Perfect... and he wouldn't have to search the world and his soul for that what always seemed to escape him.
"Mou hitori no Yuugi-san? What are you doing?"
Her voice drifted towards him, elegant and sweet, and he dropped the blade from his fingers, as unexpected as the sound was. He didn't know how she was going to grow up in this world. He'd seen her as business woman, as a veterinarian, as an artist, as a homemaker and wife and mother of three children, but her voice... had always been the same. Inquisitive, but never accusing or condemning. She was genuinely asking him what he was doing. She was blind, just like everyone else, and this time not in the literal sense- in this universe, she seemed to have sustained the surgery pretty well.
"Nothing," was his plain answer, and his voice sounded tired. Tired of everything, yes. Gods... to end it all.
"Were you going to shave at this time of hour?"
A giggle fit, out of place in a too brightly lit bathroom, echoing hollowly despite the richness of her voice. She was as naked as he was, her breasts perky and firm, nipples large and rosy, and her body showing bruising and red marks as well. The one called Malik hadn't gone easy on her either, but contradictory to him she had crowed in pleasure, screamed in delight, and had wrapped her legs around him to take him deeper, forcing her nails in his flesh to make him go faster. She knew the exact stimuli to keep him under control- he probably thought he was the one in charge, pounding into her, fingers all over her to bring her more pleasure, nipping and biting at her skin, but she was the one to set the pace, she was the one to hold him in her until she had enough and was satisfied.
A smile dancing on her lips, she stepped into the bathroom, long reddish hair following her every movement, and she closed the distance between them, putting a hand on his cheek. It took all of his willpower not to pull away, and he ordered himself to look at her.
Concern. Concern. She was concerned for him.
"Mou hitori no Yuugi-san?"
His trademark smirk crept back on his face, and his voice sounded deceptively normal when he said her name: "Shizuka."
She was standing so close that her breasts almost touched his chest. They were so soft, as everything about her had been soft, childishly sweet even, though there had been nothing childish about the way she had spread her legs.
"Did you have a good time?" She suddenly asked, tilting her head to the side, large brown eyes focusing on him.
"I had a good time," he answered, carefully using her phrasing so he wouldn't have to do the effort of forming a sentence. It was hard to think anyway. Being in another universe always tired him more than he thought. Maybe death was catching up on him anyway. It wouldn't be the first shitty thing to happen to him.
"Did you?"
Her smile was dazzling, and a little off.
"I enjoyed your hands on me, mou hitori no Yuugi-san. When you had your turn, I thought you were surprisingly tender."
"Something you don't like?" He asked, wanting to record the way she spoke his name- what she thought was his name. In this time, maybe. In this universe, this galaxy, he was 'mou hitori no Yuugi-san'. Fate and Destiny must've had a field day to decide to deny him any knowledge about his own name. He wished he could fuck them like he had fucked her.
"No no, I did like it," she said, still smiling. "I didn't know you still had energy left after mou hitori no Malik-san had... eh, finished with you."
The way she talked about it, so casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was, to her. Would her brother know? In whatever world he had visited, Jounouchi Katsuya was very protective of his sister, always hovering around her. She might have fought herself out from under his control here... still keeping the bond as siblings, but different. Who knows? Maybe she was fucking him here as well.
"I didn't know you liked it so rough," he retorted.
"I can be cruel," she said, hand still on his cheek, fingers not moving. "I don't know why."
It elicited a snort from him, as he had witnessed her cruelty- a good part of the bite marks and cuts on his body were hers. He shivered again, as he was standing barefoot on the cold tiles, and he wrapped the towel around him, for no other reason as to keep his hands busy.
"Are you all right?" She asked again.
"Shh," was all he said.
"Don't worry, he's asleep. He's always out like a rhino afterwards," she said. "We could talk at full volume and he wouldn't hear a thing."
"Do you do this often?"
"Huh?"
"Do you do this often?"
She looked a little uncomfortable, and then showed her smile again, a hint of... something behind it, he couldn't identify it- a mixture of smugness and sadness.
"You look so different in this light." Shizuka was raking with her hand through his bangs. "I never noticed your eyes were so dark before... and there's barely any red in your hair."
"It's just the light," he shrugged, his eyes traveling towards her breasts. She wasn't in the least bothered by both their condition, even as he was wearing the towel. Her fingers danced pleasurably over his skin, her touch light and gentle. She was tracing the thick scars, fingers pressing against them as if she was counting them.
Remaining silent, she touched the angry welts, fingertips trailing over the bite marks, rubbing a little over the red skin.
"How are you going to explain this to Yuugi-san?"
"What?"
She threw him a quizzical look. "How are you going to explain this to Yuugi-san? He's not stupid."
"Of course he is not," he protested fiercely. No one, in whatever timeframe, no matter rank or status, was insulting his aibou and getting away with it. His aibou of this time wasn't his aibou- but he wasn't to be insulted either.
"So how are you going to explain this to him?"
"He will accept every explanation I give him," he answered, voice clipped.
Again that quizzical look, but she didn't comment. Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Shut up! Leave me alone! Leave me to die, like you all have done before! Don't give me that compassion shit. You don't care. I don't care. I can't hear you, I can't see you, I don't fucking care.
"The finals are going to be so exciting!"
All of the sudden, her hands left his body and she clasped them together in an excited gesture, even hopping on her feet. Thrown off by her movement, he almost lost his balance, but he quickly showed her his usual confident smile, nodding. He'd learned throughout the years that just simply smiling and agreeing worked for the best. Talk nonsense- say a lot when not saying anything.
"I am looking forward to them as well, Shizuka."
"I can't wait to see onii-chan fight!"
So, she was still thinking of Jounouchi, then. It was a pity that he hadn't interacted with him that much ever since he came here. He'd seen him on this weird transportation thing they called a 'blimp', the Jounouchi he knew as always- time and whichever universe was kind to him... as always.
A silence fell, and he was too tired to care for her scrutinizing glare. His aibou wasn't here, so there was nothing left for him to do, but to leave. Leave everything behind- another notch in his skin, another carving on his heart, another nip at his soul. I'll never find him... and it'll serve me right, as I cursed out Fate and Destiny more than I can recall. What was she seeing? That he lacked the regal composure of his present day counterpart? That his hair was all but black and the once golden bangs framing his face dull and dim? That his skin was paler, his eyes darker, the lashes surrounding his eyes cluttered and clomped? That he was careless, leaving his Item on the nightstand, that he took it off in the first place, for agreeing to come with them when she asked him, hinting at it in their conversation, and he bluntly had said that it was okay with him? That he had been fucked by someone who supposedly was his enemy and who hated him with every fiber of his soul, and who had slammed into him as if he wanted to kill him as his head banged against the board?
"Cruel," she softly said, her lips touching his forehead. She was only slightly smaller than he was, she didn't even need to stand up on her toes. She knew he wasn't the mou hitori no Yuugi-san she knew. He'd always been a bad liar. He'd been submitting, surrendering himself to whatever fate the Gods had in mind for him, probably laughing at him as he ploughed through dimensions, universes and time zones, looking for the one who would eternally escape him. Cruel. It was a fucking understatement.
It was then only that he noticed she had taken the razorblades and put them back into their plastic compartment, as if to prevent him from picking them up again. His nails found their way to the palms of his hands, driving into the flesh, cutting through skin, responding to his demand for pain. That was all he knew. That was all he cared for. That was all there was left for him to care for.