Yami no Malik | Malik Ishtar | Rishid | Isis Ishtar
Mokuba Kaiba | Seto Kaiba | Noa Kaiba | Seth | Gozaburo Kaiba
Ryou Bakura/Yami no Bakura | Amane Bakura
Katsuya Jounouchi | Anzu Mazaki | Ryuuji Otogi
Pegasus J. Crawford | Mai Kujaku
Insector Haga | Dinosaur Ryuuzaki | Kajiki Ryouta
* * *
He splashes water on himself.
Himself? Who is himself? Himself is out wandering, banished from himself's body, and water is trickling down his face and falling into the sink.<>
Water doesn't know what it is either. He must be water.
No! He is the Darkness! He is not water! Water is just a shadow of - himself? But isn't he himself?
...more water. Water doesn't scream when it splashes apart. He doesn't have to catch water in itself and keep it safe and secret and trapped.
He likes water. It doesn't run away from him.
* * *
The ship has a bathroom in each suite. He's still fascinated by indoor plumbing.
He likes the shower best - scalding water turning his dusky skin even darker and searing away the sand and dust that's been embedded into his bones.
He lifts his face to the spray and pretends he can feel transparent fingers on his skin, soft, tangling in his sodden hair.
He doesn't dare open his eyes again until he's out, safely wrapped in a towel.
"Malik-sama?" Warm concern, familiar and bright, and it pushes the lurking shadow away.
He glances up at Rishid and smiles. "I'm okay."
He's lying.
* * *
He is different from those he loves and serves. He has never dreamed of what might have been, and never hidden sorrow in plain water. He does not linger.
Between the two of them, there would be no hot water left.
He takes cold showers, quickly, efficiently, never bothering anyone. He never seeks to embrace faded dreams or rue lost wishes.
He hasn't the time for that. He watches, he guards, but he has no time to regret.
"I'm okay."
Malik is lying again. He lets him.
He must protect what little light still shines in his eyes.
* * *
Rishid never says anything, but she knows what he's thinking. Malik's still hiding. They're nearly home - home? They have no home, now.
She folds her arms on the edge of the tub - a luxury she'd been able to afford thanks to her position. When she's comfortable, she closes her eyes and lets her fingers trail along the surface of the water.
The shimmering liquid gives her no answers, now. She wonders if she was wrong - but the water remains blank and silent. How is she to know if this is all for good?
* * *
He takes baths. Niisama likes showers better, but he likes baths best. He doesn't play with toys - that's too childish. Instead he sits and reads fantasy books until niisama comes and scolds him for staying up past his bedtime and getting wrinkled and pruney.
He does it anyway.
It's his bathroom in his room and if he wants baths he can take them, and not even niisama can argue with that.
Niisama remembers rationed bathroom time too, but tries to forget it by ignoring the one he has now. Niisama's good at that.
He's not like niisama.
He takes baths.
* * *
His ototo takes baths. He doesn't understand why - sometimes he's nearly asleep when he comes to fish him out of the water and hustle him into pajamas and into bed. He understands the books, though, and makes sure to leave them on the nightstand for his ototo to pick up in the morning.
Then he goes and takes a shower and gets ready for bed.
It takes him less than six minutes every night.
His ototo likes to stay in the bath for hours. He gets annoyed if he takes too long washing his hair.
He doesn't think about why.
* * *
At first, he didn't mind it. It was almost a game - he could stay up as long as he wanted, and he didn't have to brush his hair or teeth or ever go into the bathroom. Mundane tasks like that were beneath him.
Then he started to forget. So he tried to do everything the way he remembered it.
There was no nanny to scold him for playing with bubbles, anymore.
He stopped playing with the bubbles.
Now he doesn't even know why he bothered.
It's not like he can actually play with them.
It's not like they're actually real.
* * *
He never relaxes. Not enough to give him more than a passing glimpse of whatever new world this is.
Rarely, rarely, when he's exhausted himself with work and can barely move, he manages to peer out through waterlogged lashes and blink in confusion at his surroundings.
Stainless steel in the place of burnished gold, cool tile in the place of cool marble, an arched ceiling instead of a too-blue sky.
It never lasts longer than that one instant, and then he's shoved back into the recesses of his mind and drowns in the darkness again.
He dreams of the Mother River at daybreak.
* * *
The room was clean, bright, and sterile. His servents did only the best work.
He sat on the edge of the tub and glanced around, idly wondering how long it had taken her to draw up the courage to do it. She'd always been too emotional, but even he hadn't expected her to go this far.
True, it was a regrettable incident - but he'd managed to grant the boy an existance, of sorts. A pity his mother hadn't lasted long enough for him to salvage her and give him some company.
No matter.
She'd been a weak woman, after all.
* * *
He takes over once they're out of the shower. Tactical genius his darkness might be, but when faced with a hairdryer, he doesn't have a clue.
He accidentally looks in the mirror while he's drying. With a shudder, he manages to tear his gaze away. Usually he doesn't mind - he spends long enough fussing over his clothes that he's gotten inured to the look.
But here, all he can see is his own eyes.
He wishes he couldn't. He likes to pretend they're like jiichan's instead, but that's just another lie. The color comes from his father.
* * *
Aibou lets him keep the body while they shower.
He likes washing their hair. Aibou's scolded him before for getting shampoo in his eyes.
The shampoo smells like aibou.
Sometimes his eyes close and he dreams - almost remembering the feel of large fingers slipping through his hair. In those moments, he can almost remember his father's face.
A deep voice, a hint of a smile, and he's safe because father is there...
Now he hears a soft voice, sees a sweet smile, and aibou is safe because he's here.
When his omote takes over, he curls up alone.
His hair still smells like aibou.
* * *
They take showers together, now. They didn't before, they didn't have a way, but now his darkness sits transparent on the edge of the tub and cups his hands to catch water that slides right through his formless fingertips.
His yami plays in the water like a little child, once the blood has washed down the drain and his body is smooth and his hair and hands are finally clean.
In the desert, water was life - more precious than any gold or jewels his yami snatched away from some great pharaoh's tomb.
His yami loves the water.
They shower together, now.
* * *
She can't take baths anymore.
Kaasan and niichan used to help her wash her hair, back when she was very little, and niichan was always very careful to make sure no shampoo got in her eyes.
But kaasan went away, and now she's too sick to leave her bed. The nurses bathe her now, and niichan is never there to hold her hand or play with her hair.
Niichan always cries when she asks him if she can go home. She doesn't know why - she wants to go home. She misses the feel of niichan's hands in her hair.
* * *
He keeps their home as clean as he can. Sometimes oyaji helps him pick up, sometimes he picks oyaji up, and sometimes he hits a shelf and a half-empty can of beer lands on his head and leaves him sputtering.
Oyaji's passed out again, so he strips on the way to the bathroom and turns the shower on and up. He jumps in and scrubs himself as hard as he can.
Later, he finishes cleaning and goes to bed. When his head hits the pillow, he grimaces - shampoo helps mask it, but the smell lingers in his hair.
* * *
The steaming water is a relief. The vinegar she mixes in with it is not, but the sting is necessary, so she endures it without complaint.
Her legs ache almost as much as her feet, but she can't get in the bath yet. She'll wait.
She kicks her feet a little. There's homework waiting for her, and as always, she'll finish it before making dinner and passing out on the table. They need her to know what's going on in class - so she'll do it even though all she wants to do is curl up and sleep.
* * *
Father says he spends too long in the bathroom. It's true: he fusses for about an hour over his hair, and always takes longer than most girls just to do his eyeliner.
He only takes showers at night. Father's asleep then, and can't hear him fussing. He likes father when he's sleeping.
He looks in the mirror and lifts the pencil to his eyes. This part is easy. He's beautiful and he knows it. But father...
When father wakes up screaming again, he tells himself his eyeliner is only running because it's so steamy in the bathroom.
* * *
The tub is the size of a small swimming pool. On the small shelf beside him sits a fluffy towel, already warmed. Closer to his side is a plate of exotic fruit, and a glass of his favorite imported Merlot.
He's trying to read his favorite comic, but his vision keeps blurring. Eventually, he drops the comic into the scented water, and doesn't even notice as it sinks beneath the thick bubbles.
His bathroom is very clean. Plush rugs lie around the tub, and the fixtures are coated in gold.
Gold used to be his favorite color.
It's not anymore.
* * *
She's a loner. She always has been, and most of the time, that's the way she likes it.
She's never liked bathrooms. No matter how fancy, they've always been cold and sterile and empty to her.
She showers quickly and gets dressed just as fast. It's not quite revulsion - and not quite anything else. It's always been this way, cool and impersonal and achingly empty. In her mind's eye, she remembers... imported tile and plush rugs. Nothing more.
She watches the rain patter on the windowpane in silence while she dries her hair.
It's very quiet.
She's alone.
* * *
He tried wearing contacts once. They stung his eyes, so he flung them away and swore never to consider them again. They're still sitting in the medicine cabinet, but he does his best to ignore them. He's just fine the way he is. Mother says as much.
He reached for them the other morning, carelessly, not thinking, because his glasses were fogged and he was annoyed and it would be so easy to just try...
And then he stopped himself.
He's just fine without them.
Everything is just fine the way it is. Everything is... just fine.
* * *
Working with the sink is awkward, but he likes the result. The color is a little odd, but he likes it. There's nothing wrong with that.
He blinks water out of his eyes and fumbles for a towel. He has to wait for it to set, but there's no point in getting his clothes wet. He's always been practical.
He frowns a little. That's not quite true - what he's doing right now is pretty frivolous. Like the label he had sewn onto his favorite hat. Silly things. But at least they're recognizably his.
* * *
It's a good job, and he's lucky to have it. It doesn't pay that well, but it employs his talents, so he's happy. The animals like him.
His manager even lets him stay well past closing, only rarely shooing him home. He lingers with the dolphins, lets them tug at his hair and keeps them entertained until he's too tired to keep his eyes open. Then he staggers home, showers, and sleeps.
It's a simple life. His father would have done the same... right? That makes looking in the mirror easier.
Even though he's not at sea.
Yami no Malik: Self
* * *
Malik Ishtar: Pretend
* * *
Rishid: Serve
* * *
Isis Ishtar: Blind
* * *
Mokuba Kaiba: Lingering
* * *
Seto Kaiba: Blank
* * *
Noa Kaiba - Illusion
* * *
Seth: Stranger
* * *
Gozaburo Kaiba: Worthless
* * *
Yugi Mutou: Reflection
* * *
Yami no Yugi: Safe
* * *
Ryou Bakura: Treasure
* * *
Amane Bakura - Home
* * *
Katsuya Jounouchi: Mask
* * *
Anzu Mazaki: Responsibility
* * *
Ryuuji Otogi: Vanity
* * *
Pegasus J. Crawford: Opulence
* * *
Mai Kujaku: Always
* * *
Insector Haga: Change
* * *
Dinosaur Ryuuzaki: Frivolity
* * *
Kajiki Ryouta: Displacement
* * *