FicWad

The air was hot and stifling, and it stank of cheap alcohol and sex. The lights flickered overhead. People sat in either groups of three or alone, talking barely enough for there to be an undercurrent of conversation. It should've been a picture of angst and self-pity, but the soft notes from the piano that drifted from the keyboard in the corner took something away from the image. Bakura didn't much care though; he'd bought his own angst and could wallow in his self-pity. The atmosphere of the bar itself didn't much matter to him. Whether it was that jazz place on the other side of town, a dirty house-made-bar on the corner where the lighting was dark and ordinary people told strange stories, or this hole. They were all the same. The barmen kept to themselves, the alcohol was weak and tasted like horse piss, the lights were always flickering and the scent of sweat was everywhere. And, of course, there would always be a musician playing somewhere.

He drained the rest of his beer and managed not to grimace. He was right; horse piss. Not that he cared anymore. He was drunken enough that it didn't matter. The piano stopped and the buzz of small talk died away as someone turned on the microphone. An announcement was made, something about a different performer starting, the same old thing as every night. He was vaguely aware of someone pulling out the stool next to him.

"What'll it be?" The bartender's gruff tones caused him to glance sideways at the newcomer. He watched sleepily as the guy slumped into the seat like he'd been here an age, and asked for a mug of champagne. The bartender didn't seem to find the order as strange and just nodded, getting Bakura a refill he hadn't asked for as he filled the order. But that was what happened when you occupied the same chair every night for a week. People started to remember you. They'd leave your seat alone and sit somewhere else. The bartender would stop trying to make conversation and wouldn't bother asking what you wanted, instead just having it ready for when you arrived. Bakura realised he'd need to change bars again. Maybe tomorrow he could go to that little place down on Renaissance Avenue...

He took another mouthful of beer and then watched the newcomer again. He sat hunched in his seat with his fingers curved around the handle of his mug, arms spread as if to take up as much space as possible on the bench. His face was pale and there were grey smudges under his eyes. Crimson eyes, his blurry mind noticed. And weird hair. Two colours in it, black and magenta, in spikes around his head. Spiked bangs of gold in front of his face too. He sat silently and watched as he drank down the mug, images bubbling in his memory. The glowing eyes, strange hair, lithe body... He shook his head and rested his cheek on his folded arms, still watching him.

The man with the funny hair glanced at him. "Can I help you?" His voice was deep and the memories began flashing at him faster.

"Nah," Bakura grinned and stuck out a hand. "Name's Bakura. What's yours?"

"...Atemu," With some reluctance, he shook the offered hand. "Why do you want to know?

"Huh? Oh, no reason. It's just..." His brow furrowed as he tried to wade through his murky consciousness, towards the memories that lingered on the edge of his mind. "I've just got this feeling I know you... Do I? Know you, I mean?"

A sad smile played across Atemu's face, but Bakura didn't see it having already passed out. Pushing a few notes at the bartender to pay for their drinks, he lifted Bakura bridal style off his seat and carried him out the door.

"Come on, let's get you home." He wandered through the dark streets towards the hotel on the corner. Checking the unconscious man in and paying for him in advance, he carried him up to the room. He left him on the bed, fully dressed, and placed the key on the dresser. He pulled the door closed behind him as he left, and stood outside the door for a moment.

"Maybe..." He muttered to the empty hallway, "next time we meet it will be under different circumstances. And maybe the next time you'll remember me."

And he walked down the staircase and down the street, while Bakura slept fitfully in a hotel bed, still stumbling towards the memory of a man he'd once loved.