#bakura x reader

Then you look at his picture. You zoom in close enough to count the pixels in your search for any kind of imperfection, though unfortunately, you have to admit he's the most handsome man you've come across on this app, with sharp features and long white hair (even if strangely styled). He's striking in a way that makes you second guess your decision to ignore his existence.

Unsure of what to do, you switch back and forth between the description and gallery tabs, thinking, Hot, insane, hot, insane, hot, insane.

Well, it's not a given he'll swipe back on you. Maybe you could just... approve him since he's so good-looking, and then you'll move on with your day, and nothing will come of it-

Fuck.

You furrow your eyebrows immediately after sliding your fingers across the screen. Fuck. Seems like he liked your profile before you got to his. Now it's a match.

You let out a curt laugh. What's the worst that could happen?

__

The worst that could happen is arranging a date with him, apparently. After two weeks of no messages which led you to forgetting his existence, five flop dates with your other matches from the app, and nothing to smile about in your life, you somehow ended up getting called a mortal and being invited to a public park.

You show up ten minutes early with your inner discussion of Hot VS Insane still going on.

Something rustles in a bush nearby. Startled, you stop debating whether this was a good idea and look around until your date appears out of thin air with a leaf stuck in his hair almost immediately. With too much nonchalance, he throws it off, self-content expression not wavering.

"Were you, uh, were you hiding in the bushes?“

"Leaving you waiting would be inconsiderate, would it not?" he asks with a conceited smile, like what he said is something to be smug about.

You blink at him. Levelly, "That doesn't really answer my question."

"A guy like me is used to lurking in the shadows," he says, as if that's supposed to mean anything. For good measure, he throws in a somewhat sinister laugh at the end of his sentence.

You continue staring at him. "Okay," you settle on, figuring there's nothing else you could say to that. "Your hair looks wonderful for someone who was hiding in the bushes."

"I don't care," says Bakura with a grin before grabbing you by the wrist. You stumble after him while he drags you along to the best of his twinkish ability.

"Where are we going?" you ask with a hint of anxiety. What if he's a crazy kidnapper? Shouldn't he at least try to get to know you before attempting a felony? It's way too soon for any of this. You feel unappreciated, but also too shocked to try fighting him off.

"I'm trying to show you something."

"Is that something an abandoned warehouse?"

"What? Of course not. I haven’t done that in years."

"... What."

Bakura doesn't seem to care to elaborate on this, at least not when he finally has you where he wants you to be. Gesturing towards a motorcycle with a flair of drama, he smiles at you like a lunatic again, offering no explanation.

"That's great." You wince at the sound of your own unenthusiasm.

His lips twist downwards. "Are you not impressed?"

"Is it yours?"

"And why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it has a huge shiny purple plate that says Marik Ishtar on it."

With a vacant expression, Bakura continues surveying you, until he bursts out into another fit of wild laughter, though this time it's more deranged. "Yes... You make a fair point."

Your eyebrows almost fuse with your hairline out of incredulity. You want to ask him what's going on, but something tells you he won't be much help.

On cue, his phone rings. You watch him fumble around with it, almost like he's not sure how to use it, or like his fingers don't belong to him. Then a condescending look contorts his face, most likely reserved for whoever's calling him. "Marik."

"So the bike really isn't yours, then?" you chime in.

"Shut up [Y/n], no one's asking you," Bakura barks out, making you raise your hands in surrender and lean away from him.

"Bakura, stop stealing my motorcycle! I know it was you! You always do this stupid shit," the other person — clearly whoever Marik Ishtar is — yells out. In his frustration, he's speaking loud enough for you to make out what he's saying when you’re not even seeking to eavesdrop.

The smile on Bakura's face doesn't fall in the slightest. It grows bigger, oozing arrogance. "Well, sorry. I borrowed it to ride my DATE around."

"That's not what 'borrow' means," Marik argues. Bakura frowns just this once. You assume because that's not the answer he was looking for. "Besides, you don't even know how to ride it."

Bakura rolls his eyes like a teenager getting scolded by his parents in a sitcom. "You're so boring," he says. "Don't drive without a license this, don't take candy from children that. Grow up! Give me a break."

"You don't even like candy, Bakura."

"And people don't enjoy getting mind controlled by millennium items to win children’s card games."

"Whatever. I've atoned," Marik says dismissively. Meanwhile, you're gawking at the mention of brainwashing. Did you get involved with a LARPer? Or the only other option that could be possibly any worse — two LARPers? "My motor's got a tracker now because of you. So, I’m afraid to say we’ll be seeing each other soon."

"Heh, heh. My displeasure." With that, Bakura hangs up, a creepy smile coming over him. "Alright, we're going for a drive."

"No, we're not. I'm leaving. You keep doing whatever you're doing."

With no warning, he throws you on the seat and places himself behind you before forcing the safety helmet on your head. He's hugging you stiffly so you can't escape, and you realize he's actually kind of holding you hostage, which is also somehow the most predictable thing that has happened today. "You ride then if you think you're so much better than me."

After contemplating the events of the last twenty minutes while Bakura twists the key, turning the motorcycle on, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "Have you ever considered taking medication?"

He deadpans, "Yes, I'm claimed to be anemic. Now drive."

"You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?"

Before he can retort with anything snarky, you hit the brake and speed straight down the road.

Bakura's hair whips around and goes inside his mouth, rendering him speechless.

Once he spits it all out, he yells, "Marik really likes this thing. You should scratch it a little."

"You know, we're supposed to be getting to know each other, but right now I know more about Marik Ishtar than I know about you," you exclaim through the air whisking by your head at rapid speed, making it hard for you to hear.

"Oh, don't be sad. We can play Naked Kill and break each other's legs later," he says tauntingly to satirize his idea of a sentimental night, you presume, before you make a harsh swerve and he rams his head into your helmet.

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Clearly planning a romantic night." Apparently, mild concussions also don’t stop him from running his mouth, nor do they rid him of his sardonic undertone. With the way today’s going, you’re thinking you might benefit from blunt force head trauma yourself.

"You're a fucking weirdo," you tell him. "I should crash the bike and kill us both."

"You can't total it! It's Marik's favorite," Bakura hisses out.

"Is that the only thing which concerns you about my plan?!"

You're about to cut another corner when some other guy drives towards you at full speed. It's going to be a head on collision.

"Moron! Get off the road. You clearly don't know how to drive!" You shake your fist at him indignantly.

"That's ironic, coming from someone who's driving my stolen bike."

"Shit," you mumble, realizing you might die a criminal, though you don't sound too upset about it.

Avoiding each other narrowly, you don't pay Marik any mind when he takes a U-Turn to keep following you. "Bakura, why's a man wearing tons of fake gold chasing after us?!"

"Will you two stop it and get off my case?"

"And for the record, it's not fake!" Marik insists, hot on your trail.

"Sure it isn't," you call back sarcastically before parking the motorcycle in the first convenient spot you can see.

"Why'd you stop?" Bakura asks, not bothering to hide the immature disappointment in his tone. "We were just getting to the fun part."

You sigh because words have failed you many times today.

The guy you’re sure is Marik pulls up not much later. When he takes his own helmet off, you can't help but glance between the two of them with mild curiosity. Bakura seems unreasonably happy to meet him considering the circumstances, with the circumstances being the probability of facing serious jail time.

Marik looks at you impassively before commenting, "Oh. It's a different one again." Then he refocuses his attention towards Bakura. "You need to stop doing this. You're already making me regret moving and I've been in Japan for less than a month."

"You're letting little old me affect you this much?" he asks with a mocking chuckle.

"You're a pest. How many times does someone need to send you to hell before you actually stop showing up?"

“I thought you’re a goody-two-shoes and don’t do that ‘skinning people alive’ thing anymore?” Bakura challenges, which only serves to make the other man grit his teeth.

You get the impression you're hearing something you're not supposed to be witnessing at all. Regardless, you clear your throat with a very fake cough and extend your hand towards Marik. "Erm. It's nice to meet you?"

"No, it's not," Marik says, despite shaking it and giving you a pleasant smile. "Your name’s [Y/n], right? I heard Bakura verbally abusing you over the phone," he continues conversationally.

"Yeah, that's me."

Bakura wants to point at both of you accusingly and kindly inform you you're not supposed to be getting along — at least you weren't in his imagined version of this occasion. Though he figures that'd only make him look stupid, so instead he laughs again and wraps his arm around your shoulders. "That wasn't verbal abuse. If you say it like that again, you might just hurt my feelings."

Opting to not pay him any mind, you continue engaging Marik in idle chatter and pointless small talk. And Marik, he doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence. He might be enjoying himself, which only upsets Bakura more. Don’t you understand you’re the ones supposed to be feeling uncomfortable? Or does he have to tell you so you can play your part?

Maybe that would be an alternative if he was a more efficient communicator. Instead, as a woman holding a bouquet passes him by, he stretches a little and plucks out the centerpiece — a large, red rose — before presenting it to you with a smirk. “For you, love.”

Your face almost shrivels inside itself like an asshole. You think it might be the nickname, but it’s also the way you recognize the gesture really isn’t for you. It’s easy to tell by the subtle hint of him not paying attention to you at all and instead ogling Marik for the slightest twitch, trying to detect any betrayal of a reaction. Also, you stabbed your finger with a thorn while taking it from him, which honestly isn’t putting you in a better mood.

Bakura gets nothing besides Marik pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re hopeless.”

“You,” he scoffs, pointing at you. “Don’t make that face! I was trying to be nice.”

“We met an hour ago,” you remind. “And most of that time, I was breaking traffic laws. It’s way too early for me to be your ‘love’ or to receive your ‘roses’, if that’s even their real name.”

“What would you like, then?”

“Your silence.”

Sneering at you, Bakura crosses his arms then and turns up his nose like a snob. “Don’t be foolish, the likes of you could never boss me around.”

__

You’re not sure why, but Bakura is walking you home. Actually, he’s not really walking you home since you wouldn’t have allowed that, and you don’t think him knowing your address would be a good thing, but either way, he’s following you. Instead of calling for help like any rational person would, you turn towards him and ask the one thing that’s been on your mind since The Situation. “So, was it a recent break up?”

Bakura halts and glares. He turns his head around so suddenly you think he might have pulled a neck muscle. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on! That was obviously your ex you’re not over. Why else would you act like this?” While elaborating, you muster up the most innocent smile you’re capable of, pretending you’re not aware of how presumptuous you’re being right now. You might break a boundary or two, but he’s also tailing you home, which is pretty invasive.

By the look he’s giving you, you can tell he wants to squash you like an insect. You’re not sure if striking a nerve was the right call, but then again, you don’t seem to make reliable decisions lately, if ever.

“For the record,” Bakura spits out, before switching towards smugness and turning away from you with another one of his creepy grins and shifty-eyed expressions, “I AM over him. I’m just doing this to irritate him because I hate him.”

Your eye twitches at his transparent lie, but you don’t push it. “I see.”

It doesn’t take you long to reach your house after that. Instead of bidding you farewell like a normal person would, though, Bakura smirks and takes some sort of dramatic stance. His posture stands way too stiff and straight for it to be natural. The parting words he chooses for you are:

“Lovely day, right?” followed by exaggerated laughter.

You peek at him through the door, looking quite unamused. “Goodbye, Bakura.” And you don’t miss the way he switches to (somewhat murderously) staring at the ground with a distant stare after your dismissal either.

__

“Why are you hanging outside my house like a creep?!” you yell out through the window, eyes still blurry with sleepiness.

“I’m not very good at texting,” Bakura says. Again, he seems pleased with himself and his words despite them being embarrassing. Still, you wouldn’t assume this man to have even a shred of self-awareness, considering the way he conducts himself.

“Alright,” you tell him. “I’m going back to eat stale bread with shitty butter on it. You keep it pushing.”

“No.” Bakura raises his index finger at you suddenly. “We’re going out on a date. I hear you mortals call it brunch.”

Well, that sounds more like a demand than an invitation, first of all.

You put your hand over your mouth, trying to hide your amusement. Why did… he say it like that? All he can do is watch you with tears streaming down your face as you try to pretend you’re not having some kind of laughing fit.

“Are you paying?” you ask him finally.

“No,” Bakura replies. “Heh, heh, heh, I would never!”

“Lightning and curses, crud, foiled again, etc.”

__

The moment you set foot inside the specific location Bakura picked, he waves at someone in greeting while giggling ominously under his breath and your world shatters. Mainly because you’ve had enough of his acquaintances. Or maybe you’ve just had enough of him, even if you would have to begrudge and admit he’s entertaining.

Marik is a nice guy, you know? He seemed well-adjusted, at least for someone who willingly went out with Bakura.

It’s a boy and a girl, and after Bakura introduces you, you come to find out their names are Anzu and Yugi. Anzu appears confused at your presence and your lack of desire to run away screaming, meanwhile Yugi just says, “Awesome that you’ve found a friend, Bakura.”

“Sure. I’ve found an amazing friend,” he answers somewhat mockingly before sliding closer towards you, observing you in a manner which you can only describe as lecherous. God, this guy’s so annoying. Marik’s right.

You scoff. “Don’t look at me like that. Friend.”

“Sure, friend. I won’t.”

“I’m glad to hear that… friend.”

“Why do they keep calling each other ‘friend’ like that?” Yugi does his best attempt to whisper, but you can make out what he’s saying.

Then Anzu’s answer, as discreet as she seems to think she is being, comes out even louder. “I think Bakura’s insinuating they’re more than friends.”

Yugi gasps. “No way!”

“Do you think he’s holding this person hostage? Or maybe they were raised underground like Marik and don’t know any better?” she suggests.

“I don’t know. They don’t seem to be intimidated by him. Maybe we should be happy for them?”

“I hope you know me and my FRIEND can hear you,” Bakura grunts, turning the pair’s attention towards him again. Anzu leans away further into her seat when she catches sight of his scowl.

“Are we getting this brunch or not?” you interrupt, sounding annoyed. “I got dragged out of bed for this.”

Anzu and Yugi glance at each other for one prolonged moment until they agree it’s maybe a good idea to order something. The atmosphere remains tense, like neither of them particularly wants to be around him.

He makes it worse by trying to feed you croissants in front of everyone. With an evil glint in his eye, he hovers it in front of your mouth, though you don’t react like a romance movie protagonist would. Instead of parting your mouth and closing your eyes, you stare at him in confusion while he brings it closer to your lips, as if to tempt you.

“What do you w-”

Seizing the opportunity, Bakura shoves the whole thing. You choke on the croissant and think about how much you hate fucking French people. You also wonder if Bakura is French for doing this to you.

Anzu panics, scandalized that Bakura would go back to attempting murder in public. You hear a mix of her So much for changing! with Yugi’s Oh no! tangling into word diarrhea, but you’re too busy dying to pay them any mind. Your ‘friend’ watches the scene with glee.

After some struggle — and everyone suffering from Bystander Syndrome or something, because no one even pretends to care for your predicament — you manage to spit it out. There’s drool running down your chin, and you try not to gargle on your own saliva because getting strangled by a pastry is already embarrassing enough.

With a broad smile, Bakura picks up the croissant you conveniently threw up by the wet edge and dangles it in front of Yugi and Anzu now, as an offering. “Anyone gonna finish that?”

“No thanks,” Yugi denies politely, still gazing at all his companions guilelessly, even smiling at you and the crumbs of croissant near the corner of your mouth, eyes clouded while you try to recover your signs of life.

“Hell no,” Anzu denies before grabbing Yugi by the wrist and dragging him away from the crime scene (brunch). “Let’s get out of here. Bakura’s doing weird things again.”

…

There’s a short stalemate, but after it passes — when you’re well enough to speak — you shift towards Bakura, nose almost brushing his. “You know,” you start, curling up your lips, “when I said goodbye, that implied I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Come on. Wasn’t it hilarious watching them be uncomfortable?”

Yes, it was a little funny, from what you could remember through the fog of your health hazard. But you’ll never tell him that.

__

The third time you go on a date with him, between the few times a week he makes it a routine to stand outside your house and make small talk through the window (“I read on an astrology website that Sagittarius is apparently the most evil zodiac sign.” “Did you know the occultism of the past is the science of the future?” and the like), you think it’s going to be normal. It’s not a surprise double date, and there are no motorcycles in sight, and you’re doing something as innocent as going to the arcade. It can’t go wrong, you don’t see it.

You’re beginning to think your problem isn’t that you’re a moron, or even your impulsivity. Maybe you’re naïve, or perhaps you secretly crave the same chaos he does.

Everything leading up to it — the key affair — is uneventful.

He uses some more of his small talk skills on you (“Recently I learned ducks become cannibals when they’re bored.” “Wouldn’t it be fucked up if I had a knife right now and you had nowhere to run?” “No, seriously, wouldn’t it be fucked up?” “Marik likes getting tickled behind his ear. It’s kind of off-putting.” “Actually, I use conditioner. I hope you don’t think anyone wakes up looking this good.” and the like) on the way there. You’re not sure if you’re enjoying it or not, but soon enough, that seems to become irrelevant.

It’s always the stupid fucking claw machine, ruining everything in your life… Your life which has been full of pain and claw machine violence.

You spot him before Bakura does, and he’s easy to recognize.

Yugi from the damned double date and his star-shaped hair with crazy colors in it. He’s hovering over that apparatus of doom, doing his own thing. Determined not to let them be aware of each other, your gaze shoots away from him immediately.

“I want to play a shooting game,” Bakura once again demands more than he requests, but you don’t mind his pick, so you don’t argue with him about it for once. And then he freezes. And then he lets out one of those annoying laughs he does, and your jaw ticks.

“Bakura, don’t bother Yugi. Please.”

“That’s clearly not Yugi, it’s Atem,” he tells you with a pout, like this is information you were supposed to know.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, fine. Please don’t bother Atem.”

“I won’t bother him.” You’re too quick to feel relief when he claims that, though. He shoves his fists deep into the pockets of his trench coat, and somehow hanging around him so often has made you stop questioning that fashion choice. “We’re just going to have a bit of friendly fun.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your friendly fun is a little sadistic.”

“Only a little? You wound me,” he says with a faux saddened expression which makes you want to punt him.

He notices your frustration, and that brings a big smile to his face. Then he remembers he has a mission and strides up to this Atem fellow who looks just like Yugi. Mulling it over, you wonder if they’re twins. You also wonder why Bakura gets a kick out of tormenting men who don’t stand any taller than 5’3.

Considering you don’t want to get involved in this, you choose to stay on the sidelines and don’t follow him. Bakura and Atem seem to get into a heated discussion with many flamboyant gestures being thrown around, and at one point Bakura puffs his chest and points in your direction with a sense of superiority. Atem scrutinizes you with mild curiosity, but the moment ends quickly.

You can’t determine what they’re doing, but you think they’re competing over the claw machine. Except Atem wins a few plushies while Bakura wastes coin after coin only to receive nothing. He’s probably going to develop the same claw-machine-bankruptcy trauma as you.

Atem crosses his arms, and you assume this is when he’s going to declare his win, but Bakura doesn’t let it happen. No, the way he goes about interrupting his triumph is way overdramatic, in your opinion, because he punches through the protective glass with his bare hand. Then he starts throwing everything he grabs in there at you and mumbling something about conquest.

Conquest? Is he serious? Everyone saw his ass failing to win even one of these things.

Trying to get him out of his frenzy, you awake from your stupor while Atem watches this clownery with wide eyes and no commentary. “Bakura, stop,” you seethe, shoulders rising to your ears with tension. “Security will take you out of here and your hand is bleeding.”

“Well, take the fucking plushies then! I didn’t shred my skin just for you to throw them on the ground,” he counters, all but shoving his open wound in your face. It looks worse than you imagined.

“Fine, fine, I’ll take them if it’s that important to you,” you grunt in annoyance before collecting his trophies.

And you spend the rest of the day running away and in hiding. Later, when you’re home, you see he ended up on the news. They dub his case ‘Insane Man Throws Tantrum Over Claw Machine Scam’ and you’re mentioned as an ‘accomplice’ and Atem is apparently a ‘witness who refused to testify’.

Sometimes, you kind of hate your miserable existence.

___

This time, Bakura warns you he wants you to meet someone, which gives you hope it’ll go better. After all, the last three times you saw his acquaintances, you weren’t mentally prepared, but this time you’ve been listening to subliminal videos for positive energy and good luck for almost a week.

When he comes to pick you up, the first thing he does is ask you if you kept the plushies from the last date storyline, to which you say yes. You’re not sure what response you expect, but it’s not a squint of his eyes and a menacing grin before he tells you, “That’s good,” in the most intimidating voice possible.

“Yeah,” you trail off, unsure what to make of this.

On the way to his apartment, of course, you’re subjected to more small talk (“The arcade thing was nothing. They’ve never arrested me before.” “A few days ago I watched an avalanche happen in real time up close, and thought of you, and wondered if you’d survive it if you were there. But probably not.” and the like).

The interior isn’t the way you would’ve expected it to be. There are a few horror movie posters — of movies you don’t think are even that good — and a lot of nerdy merch. Your concerns that Bakura is some kind of role-player only grow stronger the more you examine his living space.

There’s also a boy who looks kind of like a smaller, rounder and friendlier version of Bakura, which makes you blink. Another pair of uncannily similar siblings?

Well, he looks nice. He has kind eyes, you think, unlike Bakura who always stares at you with a mix of wickedness and eyeliner. That must be who he wants you to meet, which is a kind of pleasant surprise.

Or at least that’s what you think before the introductions really start and you hear the details.

“So what you’re trying to say is,” you start with an eye twitch, “that this is your twin who’s also younger than you and has a different birthday-” he nods, “-and he calls you Bakura and you call him Bakura, even though you’re brothers, and Bakura isn’t his first name, but it’s your first name. Is that right?”

The… other Bakura is all smiles during this entire, nonsensical explanation.

“Precisely,” he snickers at you.

“Bakura, you have to think I’m lobotomized if you think I’ll believe this bullshit,” you spit, something icy lacing your tone.

“I’m not lying, but if it makes you feel any better, I think you could pass as a lobotomy victim.”

You consider telling him that doesn’t make you feel better at all, but you also figure it’s worthless. This has been a tremendous waste of time. The guy you’ve become attracted to — for some inexplicable reason that probably aligns with mental illness — really doesn’t have any redeeming qualities.

After taking a deep breath, without uttering a word, you tip your chair back until it creaks. And after a pause, you stand up and leave.

Some minutes of confusion without either of them reacting passes, until Ryou asks, “Was it something I said?”

Bakura snarls, “You didn’t say a thing.”

__

When you first go home, you cry a little, but you’re not sure why. It’s not all-out sobbing and there are no wails or anything — only a few tears streaming down your face. You’re also not heartbroken, or anything stupid like that.

If you have to be honest, you simply feel more like an idiot than usual, and that’s depressing. You thought maybe… finally it’d work out with someone, since you didn’t like any of your dates with anyone else since they were too boring, but now you realize you were a little out of your mind to think you could make it work with someone that dysfunctional. You figure he kept showing up solely to amuse himself.

Perhaps you had a “I can fix him” reaction, and you find it shameful now. To rectify this, you push all the plushies off your bed.

You can cut him off. You’ve always been good at that.

__

Maybe you’re not good at anything. You don’t know how you even got into this situation. Recounting the events leading up to this doesn’t help you feel any more sane than before.

First, you’d been moping around for a few days at work and dodging Bakura’s borderline illegal attempts to talk to you via trespassing until he understood you don’t want to see him for realsies and left you alone.

Second, you bought an entry ticket to go to an amusement park and pretend you’re eight years old again in a silly attempt to make yourself feel better.

Third, nearing afternoon, you got into line for one of the Ferris wheel rides. It was a long while of waiting, though, so you were one of the few people left for the last turn.

Fourth, in a stroke of unbelievable bad luck, the Ferris wheel stopped working. You’ve been stuck looking out the sliding doors’ windows to pass the time while they try to fix this thing. The sight isn’t even entertaining since your cabin was still near the ground when it malfunctioned.

When, from a distance, you saw a blob of white and… trench coat color in the horde below you; you felt a little sick to your stomach. Still, you figured it was a coincidence until.

Until.

You don’t know how else to say this, but you had to watch Bakura perform an impossible feat of athleticism while amusement park security and employees were screaming and, you assume, swearing at him for doing something so unsafe. It took him some time, but he looked confident in his abilities to pretend he’s King Kong, and he reached your cabin.

Now you’re watching him try to balance himself while gesturing for you to open the door since he’s too busy trying not to get steamrolled into the ground. You avert your gaze and consider it. It doesn’t sound like a good idea, yet you have nothing better to do. And with this conclusion, you do as he requested.

Once Bakura squeezes himself in, he does nothing productive. Crossing your arms, you glare at him while he poses stiffly in front of you, and you get the impression he’s not about to explain himself. Then again, when has he ever explained himself?

Finally, you bite the bullet. “What was so important for you to tell me, that you had to do this?” Your skin is boiling with anger.

“I have nothing important to say,” declares Bakura with a gesture of his hand. Your teeth grind against each other. “I just did it for the thrill.”

Now you want to throw him off of here, but you don’t twitch to do so. Instead, you snap at him. “Can’t you just go bother someone else?!”

“Obviously I can,” he replies in earnest, before realizing standing and sneering down at you is more awkward than it is intimidating. Then he sits on the seat opposite yours and smirks. “It’s just that you’re the one I like.”

“Well, I don’t see it.”

He lets out a ‘huh’ in genuine surprise, which serves to piss you off more. Like he’s been showing you how much he appreciates you all this time or something. You want to analyze his thought process in a lab. With dissection.

Yeah, lots of dissection.

“I’m not that dumb,” you say. “You’ve been using me to make these people you know or whoever they are feel uncomfortable for your own twisted joy.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t mean anything bad by it after the first time.”

Slouching more, you narrow your eyes at him with a semblance of hatred.

“Okay, fine. I didn’t mean anything bad by it after the second time,” he corrects himself.

“What about that whole thing with Atem at the arcade? And the ridiculous story you told me? That dumb shit almost became my thirteenth reason.”

“Can’t you be a little grateful?” Bakura reproves, with an edge to his tone you don’t like the sound of. “I was giving you presents and trying to introduce you to my family and what-have-you. You’re supposed to value things like that.”

A little speechless by his audacity — as usual — you dig your fingers deep into your forehead, movements almost vicious, possibly trying to massage all memories of him out of your brain. It doesn’t work.

“Was it not entertaining? Be honest.”

“It was, but I’m not gonna settle for being toyed around with just because you happen to be funny twice a day,” you exclaim, dipping your fist into the material of your seat, then burying your face behind your hands. You’re concerned you might burst a blood vessel if this conversation progresses any further. You’re… You’re going to blow a fucking gasket.

“Wh- Listen.”

You peek at him through the cracks between your fingers. “What?”

“I don’t apologize to anyone, but you should forgive me, anyway.”

Cogs turn in your brain. At first you don’t want to do anything besides cuss at him, but mid-grimace you get an idea. “Tell me, then. What do you like about me?”

You admit, in a strange way, he seems hung up on you for a reason you can't understand.

You must be hallucinating now because Bakura’s face goes red a little, and his lips quiver their way out of the perpetual smirk they seem to be stuck in otherwise. “That’s embarrassing!” he denies, like you’re asking him to do something frivolous. Which you are, because you’re both overgrown toddlers.

“Too bad. Seems like you’re not being genuine to me.” You look at your nails, feigning disinterest.

“I like,” he begins, “that you don’t care and just go along with everything like it’s normal. Well, I admit I was being a little cruel at first, but I came to like you, anyway. I thought we were just having a good old time! Is that so wrong?” Bakura turns sarcastic near the end. As if you thought his passivity would last for long.

Is it possible that stealing, self-injury and trying to kill you are this man’s definition of a good old time? Judging by everything you know about him, you can’t say it’s implausible.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” you raise. “But I have conditions.”

Bakura rolls his eyes and pouts, you assume, since he doesn’t relish playing by other people’s rules. “What are they?”

“No motorcycles, or meeting literally anyone you know, or committing any crimes, or any other Bakuraesque shenanigan. I want it to be normal. The next time we hang out has to be normal.”

“I can work with that,” he grunts. Even if you’re killing him a little and these just so happen to be his favorite things, he can tone it down as long as you don’t feel you’re being used.

You two stare at each other in a rare moment of silence and serenity until he raises his eyebrows in contemplation.