aidez-moi à vivre (chp. 4)
Title: aidez-moi a vivre
Fandom: Yuugiou
Pairing: Yami no Bakura/Ryou Bakura
Genre: Supernatural, Angst, Romance
Rating: R
Summary: When sundered strangers stumbled through the doors of his cafe, Ryou was not too surprised. If Ryou could, he would save them all. But not all strangers are willing to be saved.
For 30_kisses, Theme #3 // Jolt!
In case you missed it:
Chapter 1: Good Night
Chapter 2: Letter
Chapter 3: Our distance and that person
Ryou believed he had a fairly normal life. He had a routine that he liked to stick to: Wake up at 4:30am, eat a petit breakfast, tidy up his small apartment above Amane’s, and go down to prepare for the morning’s customers. If he had a late night the day before, he would simply rest in one of the many comfortable couches as he awaited the morning rush.
He liked his well ordered life; it kept his mind off the screaming that would sometimes haunt him. Screams of the past that he didn’t want to hear.
The morning after Ryou discovered the true nature of his frequent visitor deviated from his normal routine. His alarm failed to sound, leaving him to sleep until late, and it was not a normal awakening for the pale man either. Instead of either waking up in a cold sweat induced by dreams of screaming or waking up with no recollection of dreams at all, the café owner awoke from a vivid dream with his stranger’s name on his lips. Ryou had shot up in bed, eyes wide, and chest heaving as he gasped for air. Shifting slightly, Ryou found his lap wetted by the effects of his dream. He scowled and got out of bed, taking his dirtied sheets with him to wash.
After he had showered, dressed, and finished his normal quotidian preparations, the pale haired man walked down to the comfortably golden café where he was greeted by a multitude of soothing swirls of caffeinated concoctions. Taking in a deep breath, Ryou’s features lightened. He walked over to the bronze countertop, running his fingers over the cold, smooth surface. Behind him, on the wall, were several clean cloths. With one of them in hand, Ryou gently cleaned away stains or residues that had been left the night before.
Slowly, the cloth traveled from the counter to one of the nearby machines, lovingly polishing each area to a glossy shine.
Some would say Ryou was obsessed with the perfection of his café, and in a way, they were right. Amane’s was Ryou’s entire life, and it showed in each gleaming surface.
Once Ryou had finished his ritualized cleaning of the counter, he busied himself with making a cup of steaming coffee. He brought a cup down from a near by shelf, and placed it near one of the coffee bean grinders. A loud whirring sound filled the small shop followed by wafts of sinful scents. Once the beans of choice were ground to a fine powder, they were moved to a petit filter. Picking up an undersized hand press, Ryou compacted the coffee as tight as he could, tapping the coffee canister against the counter to ensure each grain stayed put.
Ryou turned back to his cup and inside he drizzled lush, gooey caramel from a container across from the coffee machines. When the appropriate amount was added, Ryou brought the cup back to the machine, placed the pressed coffee in its proper partition, turned a knob, and out of a nozzle trickled a dark liquid.
After the last drop descended into Ryou’s cup, the pale haired man grabbed a spoon from a marked drawer and delicately stirred, blending the coffee and caramel expertly. [1]
Ryou brought the drink to his lips. A few sips, and Ryou nodded, deciding that it would suffice.
A soft sigh escaped Ryou’s lips as he glanced around his café. Amane’s really was his entirety. He had never once in his life wanted anything else; his recollection had never been dominated by anything other than his livelihood. But as Ryou gazed at his distorted reflection in the brass countertop, the young man came to realize that was no longer true.
Ryou sighed again, this time undoubtedly, there was a slight wistful tone in the exhalation of air. If he was honest with himself, Ryou would understand that the specter, Bakura, had somehow taken a hold of his mind.
Scowling at himself for the second time that day, Ryou turned away from the counter and walked over to his usual chair. He set down his beverage on a near by table and extended his arms in the air. Ryou’s toes pushed his form upwards as he stretched. Finally, he leaned back and collapsed bonelessly into his chair with a soft ‘fwump.’
The young man with mithrail hair felt a sense of frustration with himself for not doing anything. If he simply sat there, the entire day would be wasted. But with the café currently closed, Ryou did not have much else to do. The idea of giving the shop a cleaning came to his mind, but a quick glance around told him that it would be unnecessary. Everything was neatly in order and spotless. No speck of dust lay on any part of the fixtures that made up Amane’s.
There was television in neither Ryou’s apartment nor in the café for him to watch and neither was there a radio. Ryou considered reading, but all the books he possessed had been read at least thrice.
Ryou’s fingers drummed on his armchair as he pondered an activity. But none came to him, only an image of ochre eyes and silver hair. He allowed his mind to succumb to the image for the lack of anything better to do. Bakura was becoming a fascination for him, and Ryou didn’t know what to do about it.
Finally he stood and decided upon doing something he had not done for quite some time. He rushed to the back room where a pair of stairs ascended to the second level of the building. At the landing on the second level was a door to a closet. Ryou opened it, grabbed a warm jacket, and descended the stairs once again. He hurried out the door.
After a twenty minute walk down the street and around a few corners, Ryou arrived in front of an old building. The façade was discolored marble and held a similar architecture to much of the style of the West. Stairs led up towards the entrance and above the double doors was an out-of-place neon sign announcing the purpose of the edifice.
Ryou hurried up the stairs of the library and inside where he was easily surrounded by a multitude towering bookcases. He glanced at the signs above each section before finding the one of choice and heading towards it. The scent of mold, paper, and dust filled his nostrils and he ran a finger along a row of thick novels. He paused, his finger hovering over one of choice, and he pulled it out. Ryou grabbed a few more of the thick books from the nearby shelves and then wandered over to a secluded corner. There rested an old oak table that matched much of the other furniture in the library. He pulled up a chair, slipped into it gracefully, and set his books on the table. A soft scraping of wood on wood followed as he pulled the chair up to the table and into a comfortable position.
Time passed silently in the solemn surroundings while Ryou’s eyes skimmed page after page, volume after volume, searching for a specific name. The stack of books on his left, symbolizing those that he had already perused grew as the stack of unread books on his right shrunk. If Ryou was the type to become discouraged, that time would’ve have already passed as the clock by the front desk continued to tick ominously.
Finally, Ryou came to the second to last book in his unread pile. By this time, his hope in finding the information he sought was diminishing. He rifled through a few pages aimlessly, not really caring to pay much attention. Then, as he flipped past one page, something caught his eye. His fingers quickly turned back the page to make it more visible, and the pale haired man nearly gasped. There, after many hours of looking, he had found what he had been looking for. At the top of the page, in bold lettering, was written the word “Bakura.”
Ryou’s eyes skimmed the page, drinking in all the information it gave. The entry was brief but was enough to give him some insight into his nightly visitor.
Bakura Susumu [2] (1845-?)
Born in 1845 to a small farming family that lived on the outskirts of Kyoto, Bakura left his family after a fire consumed their land. He traveled to the city of Kyoto where he managed to procure a sensei in the art of samurai. How he was able to garner the necessary power or money to gain a master is unknown, though it is assumed by most historians that he was a talented thief that may have been responsible for a series of robberies in and around Kyoto between 1854 and 1860.
Later, Bakura became a member of the rebel group, the Choshu (now Yamaguchi). During the time of civil conflict after the arrival of Matthew Perry and the West in 1860s, this group of samurai fought to keep Westeners and other outsiders out of Japan as well as supported the emperor against the Tokugawa shogunate. They fought against a rival clan of samurai known as the Shinsengumi, who supported the Tokugawa shogunate.
In 1864, while planning an attempt to burn Kyoto, promininent members of the Choshu were assissinated in an attack on the Ikedaya inn by the Shinsengumi. It is unknown if Bakura was prominent enough in the Choshu to have attended the meeting, though after the incident, he dissappeared from Kyoto. It is assumed that he was also killed in the attack. [3]
Subtle tears gleamed on Ryou’s dark lashes as he finished reading the entry. So his visitor, Bakura, had been killed in one of the most famous historical events in Japanese history. He could’ve almost laughed at the thought that while the historical community searched for information on this person, a young café owner was being visited nightly by him. The poor man, Ryou thought. Obviously he had some reason to remain among the living. Why else would he stay? And why would he be in Domino City, which was some 20 miles from Kyoto?
Even after learning the information that he did, Ryou still had many questions. So many questions.
He stood up from the chair, leaving behind the other books and picked up the one that he had just finished reading. Bending the corner of the page where Bakura’s name stood in bold lettering, Ryou closed the book quitely and headed to the front desk to check it out.
~~~~~
Night settled silently upon Amane’s, finding its owner once again asleep in one of its comfortable chairs. This time, there was no delicate melody of rain hitting the roof or the occasional reverberations of thunder. The sky outside was clear and shown with the incandescent glow of stars. No moon gave aid to the light of the stars, though along the street outside, the electric illumination of the street laterns helped make the street better to navigate.
Inside, Ryou’s chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. He was once again lying on a soft couch that molded to his form. One hand barely held onto a book as it dangled over the edge.
Silently, a translucent form made its way over to where Ryou layed. It gently pulled the book from Ryou’s fingers, bringing it up to glance over it. The figure’s eyes widened and then narrowed as it saw the nature of the book’s contents.
“Reading up on me, eh? Hm…” the insubstantial man spoke.
Bakura leant down, as much as a spectre could, and trailed his semitransparent fingers along Ryou’s pale cheek. They moved to flutter gently over dark lashes and then buried themselved in Ryou’s soft hair.
“I hate you…” Bakura whispered. “You’re not supposed to be here… I’m not supposed to be here. Yet here we are…. She’s right, you know. You are beautiful, in an odd sort of way, I suppose…Too pale, though… ”
The ghost continued his muted monologue, keeping his voice low to keep his presence unknown. However his presence wouldn’t be hidden for long.
Ryou sunddenly jolted awake and he flung himself into a sitting position, chest heaving, a cold sweat forming on his brow. His soft green eyes rapidly scanned the room, and when he saw nothing, his heart slowed it’s excellerated pace and his breathing relaxed.
“Well… That was unexpected.”
The café owner nearly shieked, but a formless hand covering his mouth prevented him from doing so.
“Now now… we don’t want to wake the neighbors…”
Bakura removed his hand from Ryou’s lips, and Ryou could still feel the cold, tingling sensation that had engulfed his mouth as it was covered.
“Bakura…” he breathed.
The spirit picked up the book again, and questured towards it as he “sat” down in a nearby chair. “Doing some research. I can’t say I dissaprove, I suppose. It prevents you from asking some unwanted questions. But I’d prefer you’d stay out of my buisness.”
His ocher eyes took on a steely glint of warning.
“Sorry…” Ryou murmured. “I just… I just wanted to know more about you…”
“Hn.” Bakura didn’t reply. Instead, he stood, drifting towards the café counter. Instead of going around the corner to the other side as most would, he simply slipped through the brass and wood barrier and appeared on the other side.
“So…” he started. “Why a coffee shop? Why not something more interesting. Doesn’t it get boring in this dump?”
Ryou bristled in response. He was very protective of his café, his livelyhood. “Please don’t refer to my café as a ‘dump.’ I feel it is a fine establishment and I work hard to keep it that way.”
Smirking, Bakura picked up a coffee cup from a nearby shelf. “Fine establishment… Hm.” It was rather odd, seeing the cup nearly floating on its own, in mid-air.
Suddenly, the cup went flying across the room, shattering against the opposite wall. Ryou jumped to his feet, and scrambled to the shards, quickly picking a few up.
“Why the hell did you do that?” he shouted.
He was only answered by coarse laughter that filled the small shop. “Fine establishment? Fine establishment, you say? This piece of shit shop happens to be built on the remains of my family! My family, that was burned to the ground by those bastard wolved of Mibu! [4]”
Ryou’s eyes widened as Bakura continued his tirade. “Burned! While I was out playing in the rice fields, those fuckers burned my family to the ground! My mother, my father, my sister! All because they had sheltered some homeless ronin! [5]”
Tears streamed down Ryou’s cheeks, and he was surprised to see that the same was happening to the ghost. He hurried to the man, and wrapped his arms around him despite knowing that the action was a death wish. But, instead of receiving a tongue lashing or being at the end of some form of violence, Ryou found that the man in his arms was trembling.
“I’m so sorry…” he murmered to Bakura.
“Shut up… You can’t do anything about it… For fuck’s sake, you can’t help me. So stop trying.” Bakura growled. He turned his eyes away from Ryou in attempt to hide his tears.
“I won’t stop. I couldn’t do that. I promised.”
Bakura snorted, and shifted out of Ryou’s arms. Ryou was surprised to find his arms empty and tingling. He looked up into Bakura’s ocher eyes and stood as well.
“Why do you keep coming back, if it hurts so much?” he asked, stepping closer.
Growling, Bakura sneered at Ryou, who stopped in his tracks. “Because I have no choice. Like I said already, you think I want to be here? You think I like coming back here? No, I don’t. But I am bound to do so.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be! Shit… You’re hopeless.”
Ryou’s head hung in shame, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. He was at a loss to say anything. His heart ached for the man. Inside, Ryou was in a turmoil of questions and fears that he had for Bakura; he wanted desperately to help, but didn’t know how.
Before he could do anything more, two slim and translucent fingers guided his head upwards. “You have to stop fucking trying to help people who don’t need and don’t want it. There’s nothing, really, that you can do for me. Nothing. So stop fucking beating yourself up about it. She’ll get pissed at me if I let you cry…”
Ryou open his mouth to ask another question, but was silenced by a pair of lips. He was engulfed in the sensation of burning and freezing at the same time, and his eyes slid shut. The young café owner soon found himself being pushed gently back into a chair and a pair of hands ghosted over his chest. Bakura had no need to remove Ryou’s clothing, only having to shift through the layers to trail translucent fingers across the hidden skin.
Bakura’s fingers glided downward, resting on Ryou’s thighs as they broke the kiss. Ryou’s lips remain parted as he tried to take in air. The cool lightness that rested on his legs made his muscles twitch slightly and he was utterly confused by how someone so incorpral could affect him so much.
“Bakura…” he breathed before his lips were covered again. This time, the hands on his thighs travelled further inwards to wear Ryou’s body heated eminated the most. Ryou’s eyes widened drastically and his body tensed as seemingly freezing nothingness wrapped around him.
The burning sensation covered Ryou completely as Bakura’s gifted, ghostly hands glided over him in a slow, torturous pace. He felt his cheeks flare and his hips rise off the chair in response.
He felt the wonderful heat grow inside him to an almost painful extent, the euphoria overwhelming. Bakura’s lips slowly travelled to Ryou’s ear and as they nibbled gently, Ryou could not hold back any longer and felt himself crash with a strangled cry. The coolness left his body and Ryou was left to gasp for air, eyes shut tight with wave after wave of rapture wracking his body.
“Damn… You’re loud…” Bakura muttered. He glided backwards a few feet and gazed at the gasping café owner. The clock on the wall chimed soflty, annoucing the approaching dawn. Bakura’s shoulders slumped slightly and his gaze moved to the windows, where the first glimmer of dawn was beginning to peak over the horizon.
Heaving a sigh, he drifted towards the doors but was stopped by a voice. “Please. Don’t go…”
The spirit rolled his eyes and turned back to Ryou. “I can’t stay.”
“Please…” Ryou pleaded, eyes filling with tears. “I… please…”
Bakura’s aura flared suddenly and he shouted back. “Damnit, Ryou! I can’t fucking stay! So don’t ask!”
Blinking rapidly, Ryou fell silent. Bakura opend his lips to say something, but shook his head, changing his mind. He moved quickly towards the door of the café and slipped outside, once again melting into the shadows.
Ryou was left to wipe away his tears and ponder the evenings transgressions. Suddenly, he began to question in his mind what had just happened. Had that indeed been real?
His heart wrenched and he tried to dismiss all thoughts of the night. The café owner stood and hurried upstairs to his appartment, tears still trickling down his pale cheeks. Ryou rushed into his bedroom and thew himself on his bed, allowing his mind and heart to cry himself to sleep.
~~~~~
[1] This happens to be my preffered coffee drink and is made exactly how my friend makes it at the café I hang out at.
[2] Susumu is a name take from the manga/anime Peacemaker Kurogane, a historical fiction set in the same time period of Bakura’s death. Peacemaker Kurogane is an awesome historically accurate manga/anime with beautiful art. I recommend it to anybody.
[3] Aside from the information regarding Bakura, the entry here is historically accurate. The incident discussed is called the Ikedaya Affair and took place on June 5, 1864.
[4] The Wolves of Mibu, or the Miburo, is another name for the Shinsengumi. They were given this name after the town they originated in and some ruthless tactics they once used.
[5] Samurai that had no master, ie no formal training in swordsmanship.
Comments and cristicisms, pwease! :D
Fandom: Yuugiou
Pairing: Yami no Bakura/Ryou Bakura
Genre: Supernatural, Angst, Romance
Rating: R
Summary: When sundered strangers stumbled through the doors of his cafe, Ryou was not too surprised. If Ryou could, he would save them all. But not all strangers are willing to be saved.
For 30_kisses, Theme #3 // Jolt!
In case you missed it:
Chapter 1: Good Night
Chapter 2: Letter
Chapter 3: Our distance and that person
Ryou believed he had a fairly normal life. He had a routine that he liked to stick to: Wake up at 4:30am, eat a petit breakfast, tidy up his small apartment above Amane’s, and go down to prepare for the morning’s customers. If he had a late night the day before, he would simply rest in one of the many comfortable couches as he awaited the morning rush.
He liked his well ordered life; it kept his mind off the screaming that would sometimes haunt him. Screams of the past that he didn’t want to hear.
The morning after Ryou discovered the true nature of his frequent visitor deviated from his normal routine. His alarm failed to sound, leaving him to sleep until late, and it was not a normal awakening for the pale man either. Instead of either waking up in a cold sweat induced by dreams of screaming or waking up with no recollection of dreams at all, the café owner awoke from a vivid dream with his stranger’s name on his lips. Ryou had shot up in bed, eyes wide, and chest heaving as he gasped for air. Shifting slightly, Ryou found his lap wetted by the effects of his dream. He scowled and got out of bed, taking his dirtied sheets with him to wash.
After he had showered, dressed, and finished his normal quotidian preparations, the pale haired man walked down to the comfortably golden café where he was greeted by a multitude of soothing swirls of caffeinated concoctions. Taking in a deep breath, Ryou’s features lightened. He walked over to the bronze countertop, running his fingers over the cold, smooth surface. Behind him, on the wall, were several clean cloths. With one of them in hand, Ryou gently cleaned away stains or residues that had been left the night before.
Slowly, the cloth traveled from the counter to one of the nearby machines, lovingly polishing each area to a glossy shine.
Some would say Ryou was obsessed with the perfection of his café, and in a way, they were right. Amane’s was Ryou’s entire life, and it showed in each gleaming surface.
Once Ryou had finished his ritualized cleaning of the counter, he busied himself with making a cup of steaming coffee. He brought a cup down from a near by shelf, and placed it near one of the coffee bean grinders. A loud whirring sound filled the small shop followed by wafts of sinful scents. Once the beans of choice were ground to a fine powder, they were moved to a petit filter. Picking up an undersized hand press, Ryou compacted the coffee as tight as he could, tapping the coffee canister against the counter to ensure each grain stayed put.
Ryou turned back to his cup and inside he drizzled lush, gooey caramel from a container across from the coffee machines. When the appropriate amount was added, Ryou brought the cup back to the machine, placed the pressed coffee in its proper partition, turned a knob, and out of a nozzle trickled a dark liquid.
After the last drop descended into Ryou’s cup, the pale haired man grabbed a spoon from a marked drawer and delicately stirred, blending the coffee and caramel expertly. [1]
Ryou brought the drink to his lips. A few sips, and Ryou nodded, deciding that it would suffice.
A soft sigh escaped Ryou’s lips as he glanced around his café. Amane’s really was his entirety. He had never once in his life wanted anything else; his recollection had never been dominated by anything other than his livelihood. But as Ryou gazed at his distorted reflection in the brass countertop, the young man came to realize that was no longer true.
Ryou sighed again, this time undoubtedly, there was a slight wistful tone in the exhalation of air. If he was honest with himself, Ryou would understand that the specter, Bakura, had somehow taken a hold of his mind.
Scowling at himself for the second time that day, Ryou turned away from the counter and walked over to his usual chair. He set down his beverage on a near by table and extended his arms in the air. Ryou’s toes pushed his form upwards as he stretched. Finally, he leaned back and collapsed bonelessly into his chair with a soft ‘fwump.’
The young man with mithrail hair felt a sense of frustration with himself for not doing anything. If he simply sat there, the entire day would be wasted. But with the café currently closed, Ryou did not have much else to do. The idea of giving the shop a cleaning came to his mind, but a quick glance around told him that it would be unnecessary. Everything was neatly in order and spotless. No speck of dust lay on any part of the fixtures that made up Amane’s.
There was television in neither Ryou’s apartment nor in the café for him to watch and neither was there a radio. Ryou considered reading, but all the books he possessed had been read at least thrice.
Ryou’s fingers drummed on his armchair as he pondered an activity. But none came to him, only an image of ochre eyes and silver hair. He allowed his mind to succumb to the image for the lack of anything better to do. Bakura was becoming a fascination for him, and Ryou didn’t know what to do about it.
Finally he stood and decided upon doing something he had not done for quite some time. He rushed to the back room where a pair of stairs ascended to the second level of the building. At the landing on the second level was a door to a closet. Ryou opened it, grabbed a warm jacket, and descended the stairs once again. He hurried out the door.
After a twenty minute walk down the street and around a few corners, Ryou arrived in front of an old building. The façade was discolored marble and held a similar architecture to much of the style of the West. Stairs led up towards the entrance and above the double doors was an out-of-place neon sign announcing the purpose of the edifice.
Ryou hurried up the stairs of the library and inside where he was easily surrounded by a multitude towering bookcases. He glanced at the signs above each section before finding the one of choice and heading towards it. The scent of mold, paper, and dust filled his nostrils and he ran a finger along a row of thick novels. He paused, his finger hovering over one of choice, and he pulled it out. Ryou grabbed a few more of the thick books from the nearby shelves and then wandered over to a secluded corner. There rested an old oak table that matched much of the other furniture in the library. He pulled up a chair, slipped into it gracefully, and set his books on the table. A soft scraping of wood on wood followed as he pulled the chair up to the table and into a comfortable position.
Time passed silently in the solemn surroundings while Ryou’s eyes skimmed page after page, volume after volume, searching for a specific name. The stack of books on his left, symbolizing those that he had already perused grew as the stack of unread books on his right shrunk. If Ryou was the type to become discouraged, that time would’ve have already passed as the clock by the front desk continued to tick ominously.
Finally, Ryou came to the second to last book in his unread pile. By this time, his hope in finding the information he sought was diminishing. He rifled through a few pages aimlessly, not really caring to pay much attention. Then, as he flipped past one page, something caught his eye. His fingers quickly turned back the page to make it more visible, and the pale haired man nearly gasped. There, after many hours of looking, he had found what he had been looking for. At the top of the page, in bold lettering, was written the word “Bakura.”
Ryou’s eyes skimmed the page, drinking in all the information it gave. The entry was brief but was enough to give him some insight into his nightly visitor.
Bakura Susumu [2] (1845-?)
Born in 1845 to a small farming family that lived on the outskirts of Kyoto, Bakura left his family after a fire consumed their land. He traveled to the city of Kyoto where he managed to procure a sensei in the art of samurai. How he was able to garner the necessary power or money to gain a master is unknown, though it is assumed by most historians that he was a talented thief that may have been responsible for a series of robberies in and around Kyoto between 1854 and 1860.
Later, Bakura became a member of the rebel group, the Choshu (now Yamaguchi). During the time of civil conflict after the arrival of Matthew Perry and the West in 1860s, this group of samurai fought to keep Westeners and other outsiders out of Japan as well as supported the emperor against the Tokugawa shogunate. They fought against a rival clan of samurai known as the Shinsengumi, who supported the Tokugawa shogunate.
In 1864, while planning an attempt to burn Kyoto, promininent members of the Choshu were assissinated in an attack on the Ikedaya inn by the Shinsengumi. It is unknown if Bakura was prominent enough in the Choshu to have attended the meeting, though after the incident, he dissappeared from Kyoto. It is assumed that he was also killed in the attack. [3]
Subtle tears gleamed on Ryou’s dark lashes as he finished reading the entry. So his visitor, Bakura, had been killed in one of the most famous historical events in Japanese history. He could’ve almost laughed at the thought that while the historical community searched for information on this person, a young café owner was being visited nightly by him. The poor man, Ryou thought. Obviously he had some reason to remain among the living. Why else would he stay? And why would he be in Domino City, which was some 20 miles from Kyoto?
Even after learning the information that he did, Ryou still had many questions. So many questions.
He stood up from the chair, leaving behind the other books and picked up the one that he had just finished reading. Bending the corner of the page where Bakura’s name stood in bold lettering, Ryou closed the book quitely and headed to the front desk to check it out.
~~~~~
Night settled silently upon Amane’s, finding its owner once again asleep in one of its comfortable chairs. This time, there was no delicate melody of rain hitting the roof or the occasional reverberations of thunder. The sky outside was clear and shown with the incandescent glow of stars. No moon gave aid to the light of the stars, though along the street outside, the electric illumination of the street laterns helped make the street better to navigate.
Inside, Ryou’s chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. He was once again lying on a soft couch that molded to his form. One hand barely held onto a book as it dangled over the edge.
Silently, a translucent form made its way over to where Ryou layed. It gently pulled the book from Ryou’s fingers, bringing it up to glance over it. The figure’s eyes widened and then narrowed as it saw the nature of the book’s contents.
“Reading up on me, eh? Hm…” the insubstantial man spoke.
Bakura leant down, as much as a spectre could, and trailed his semitransparent fingers along Ryou’s pale cheek. They moved to flutter gently over dark lashes and then buried themselved in Ryou’s soft hair.
“I hate you…” Bakura whispered. “You’re not supposed to be here… I’m not supposed to be here. Yet here we are…. She’s right, you know. You are beautiful, in an odd sort of way, I suppose…Too pale, though… ”
The ghost continued his muted monologue, keeping his voice low to keep his presence unknown. However his presence wouldn’t be hidden for long.
Ryou sunddenly jolted awake and he flung himself into a sitting position, chest heaving, a cold sweat forming on his brow. His soft green eyes rapidly scanned the room, and when he saw nothing, his heart slowed it’s excellerated pace and his breathing relaxed.
“Well… That was unexpected.”
The café owner nearly shieked, but a formless hand covering his mouth prevented him from doing so.
“Now now… we don’t want to wake the neighbors…”
Bakura removed his hand from Ryou’s lips, and Ryou could still feel the cold, tingling sensation that had engulfed his mouth as it was covered.
“Bakura…” he breathed.
The spirit picked up the book again, and questured towards it as he “sat” down in a nearby chair. “Doing some research. I can’t say I dissaprove, I suppose. It prevents you from asking some unwanted questions. But I’d prefer you’d stay out of my buisness.”
His ocher eyes took on a steely glint of warning.
“Sorry…” Ryou murmured. “I just… I just wanted to know more about you…”
“Hn.” Bakura didn’t reply. Instead, he stood, drifting towards the café counter. Instead of going around the corner to the other side as most would, he simply slipped through the brass and wood barrier and appeared on the other side.
“So…” he started. “Why a coffee shop? Why not something more interesting. Doesn’t it get boring in this dump?”
Ryou bristled in response. He was very protective of his café, his livelyhood. “Please don’t refer to my café as a ‘dump.’ I feel it is a fine establishment and I work hard to keep it that way.”
Smirking, Bakura picked up a coffee cup from a nearby shelf. “Fine establishment… Hm.” It was rather odd, seeing the cup nearly floating on its own, in mid-air.
Suddenly, the cup went flying across the room, shattering against the opposite wall. Ryou jumped to his feet, and scrambled to the shards, quickly picking a few up.
“Why the hell did you do that?” he shouted.
He was only answered by coarse laughter that filled the small shop. “Fine establishment? Fine establishment, you say? This piece of shit shop happens to be built on the remains of my family! My family, that was burned to the ground by those bastard wolved of Mibu! [4]”
Ryou’s eyes widened as Bakura continued his tirade. “Burned! While I was out playing in the rice fields, those fuckers burned my family to the ground! My mother, my father, my sister! All because they had sheltered some homeless ronin! [5]”
Tears streamed down Ryou’s cheeks, and he was surprised to see that the same was happening to the ghost. He hurried to the man, and wrapped his arms around him despite knowing that the action was a death wish. But, instead of receiving a tongue lashing or being at the end of some form of violence, Ryou found that the man in his arms was trembling.
“I’m so sorry…” he murmered to Bakura.
“Shut up… You can’t do anything about it… For fuck’s sake, you can’t help me. So stop trying.” Bakura growled. He turned his eyes away from Ryou in attempt to hide his tears.
“I won’t stop. I couldn’t do that. I promised.”
Bakura snorted, and shifted out of Ryou’s arms. Ryou was surprised to find his arms empty and tingling. He looked up into Bakura’s ocher eyes and stood as well.
“Why do you keep coming back, if it hurts so much?” he asked, stepping closer.
Growling, Bakura sneered at Ryou, who stopped in his tracks. “Because I have no choice. Like I said already, you think I want to be here? You think I like coming back here? No, I don’t. But I am bound to do so.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be! Shit… You’re hopeless.”
Ryou’s head hung in shame, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. He was at a loss to say anything. His heart ached for the man. Inside, Ryou was in a turmoil of questions and fears that he had for Bakura; he wanted desperately to help, but didn’t know how.
Before he could do anything more, two slim and translucent fingers guided his head upwards. “You have to stop fucking trying to help people who don’t need and don’t want it. There’s nothing, really, that you can do for me. Nothing. So stop fucking beating yourself up about it. She’ll get pissed at me if I let you cry…”
Ryou open his mouth to ask another question, but was silenced by a pair of lips. He was engulfed in the sensation of burning and freezing at the same time, and his eyes slid shut. The young café owner soon found himself being pushed gently back into a chair and a pair of hands ghosted over his chest. Bakura had no need to remove Ryou’s clothing, only having to shift through the layers to trail translucent fingers across the hidden skin.
Bakura’s fingers glided downward, resting on Ryou’s thighs as they broke the kiss. Ryou’s lips remain parted as he tried to take in air. The cool lightness that rested on his legs made his muscles twitch slightly and he was utterly confused by how someone so incorpral could affect him so much.
“Bakura…” he breathed before his lips were covered again. This time, the hands on his thighs travelled further inwards to wear Ryou’s body heated eminated the most. Ryou’s eyes widened drastically and his body tensed as seemingly freezing nothingness wrapped around him.
The burning sensation covered Ryou completely as Bakura’s gifted, ghostly hands glided over him in a slow, torturous pace. He felt his cheeks flare and his hips rise off the chair in response.
He felt the wonderful heat grow inside him to an almost painful extent, the euphoria overwhelming. Bakura’s lips slowly travelled to Ryou’s ear and as they nibbled gently, Ryou could not hold back any longer and felt himself crash with a strangled cry. The coolness left his body and Ryou was left to gasp for air, eyes shut tight with wave after wave of rapture wracking his body.
“Damn… You’re loud…” Bakura muttered. He glided backwards a few feet and gazed at the gasping café owner. The clock on the wall chimed soflty, annoucing the approaching dawn. Bakura’s shoulders slumped slightly and his gaze moved to the windows, where the first glimmer of dawn was beginning to peak over the horizon.
Heaving a sigh, he drifted towards the doors but was stopped by a voice. “Please. Don’t go…”
The spirit rolled his eyes and turned back to Ryou. “I can’t stay.”
“Please…” Ryou pleaded, eyes filling with tears. “I… please…”
Bakura’s aura flared suddenly and he shouted back. “Damnit, Ryou! I can’t fucking stay! So don’t ask!”
Blinking rapidly, Ryou fell silent. Bakura opend his lips to say something, but shook his head, changing his mind. He moved quickly towards the door of the café and slipped outside, once again melting into the shadows.
Ryou was left to wipe away his tears and ponder the evenings transgressions. Suddenly, he began to question in his mind what had just happened. Had that indeed been real?
His heart wrenched and he tried to dismiss all thoughts of the night. The café owner stood and hurried upstairs to his appartment, tears still trickling down his pale cheeks. Ryou rushed into his bedroom and thew himself on his bed, allowing his mind and heart to cry himself to sleep.
~~~~~
[1] This happens to be my preffered coffee drink and is made exactly how my friend makes it at the café I hang out at.
[2] Susumu is a name take from the manga/anime Peacemaker Kurogane, a historical fiction set in the same time period of Bakura’s death. Peacemaker Kurogane is an awesome historically accurate manga/anime with beautiful art. I recommend it to anybody.
[3] Aside from the information regarding Bakura, the entry here is historically accurate. The incident discussed is called the Ikedaya Affair and took place on June 5, 1864.
[4] The Wolves of Mibu, or the Miburo, is another name for the Shinsengumi. They were given this name after the town they originated in and some ruthless tactics they once used.
[5] Samurai that had no master, ie no formal training in swordsmanship.
Comments and cristicisms, pwease! :D