And, a ficlet!

[sholio]

Another odd thing is that I've been haphazardly writing fanfic lately, here and there. I just can't seem to actually finish anything. And, honestly, I'm not trying hard, because when I've got the mental oomph to focus and direct my creative energy, I'd much rather point it in the direction of one of my original projects. But I still scribble on fanfic from time to time. Mainly I've been working on one for Yu-Gi-Oh and one for Saiyuki. Here, for a goodie, is most of what I've got for the YGO one -- I guess at this point, it could be considered a complete story and let go as it is, but I don't really want to end it here; the original idea was to develop Yugi and Jounouchi's friendship in the very early days, from back when Jou was still bullying him, to right after he put the puzzle together for the first time. And I'm not quite ready to abandon it yet.

I also can't seem to come up with a spelling that I like for Yugi's name ... I think it's more correct to have two u's in it, but it's easier to type with just one ...


---

So long ago that it may as well have been another lifetime, Yugi could remember liking school.

School was games then -- games to learn hiragana, games to learn math, games to learn geography and telling time and animals and colors. For every kind of knowledge, it seemed, there was a rhyme or a game or a fun, colorful activity set.

He loved it. And he was good at it, always at the top of his class, always coming home with gold stars. His mother was happy, and Yugi looked forward to each day's class.

But school changed, and everyone else changed, and he stayed the same. School now meant essays and columns of figures, dull things that bored and confused him compared to the sharp, bright fun of figuring out a puzzle. The playground games were different, and they all required physical abilities that he didn't have -- size, speed, the ability to throw a ball or swing a bat. In the first couple of grades, everyone was more or less the same size, and no one really knew what to do so they bunched up in ragtag groups and made up the rules as they went along. Now Yugi found himself a head shorter than the shortest kid in his class, and because he'd never cared about basketball or baseball, he didn't know how to do the things the other kids found suddenly fascinating. To make things worse, he didn't like roughhousing and getting dirty anyway, so he preferred to stay inside at recess when the adults would let him. The other kids called him sissy and girly-boy and worse things.

By high school, it was pure misery. The teasing had turned to bullying long ago, and by now every tough kid in school knew that Yugi was the perfect mark, too weak to fight back, too kind to tell an authority figure about it. The boys were bad, but the girls were worse, because the only attention they paid him was to make fun of him for still looking like a fourth grader. The one bright spot in his day was Anzu, his lone remaining friend from grade school, but Yugi was acutely aware that she clearly still thought of him as some kind of wimpy kid brother, while being just as aware (painfully so, in fact) that Anzu was rounding out nicely into a very different shape than she used to have. Anzu stuck up for him at every opportunity, and would have protected him from every bully in school if she could, and Yugi was fairly sure that she didn't see why that just made things worse -- being protected by a girl did nothing whatsoever for his already rock-bottom status in the teenage pecking order.

"He's a smart boy, but he just doesn't apply himself," he had heard the teachers tell his mother. "He plays games when he should be doing homework."

And his mother was disappointed in him, which was the last thing he wanted. But he couldn't find the words to explain that he needed the games in a way adults just couldn't understand. From morning to evening he was cooped up with other teens twice his size who either didn't know or care that he existed, or wanted nothing less than to make his life a living hell. Escaping into the world of games gave him a reason to get up in the morning, to smile at his mother and grandfather as he left for school. It gave him strength to deal with things like ... this.

"Good morning, Yugi," said one of his less favorite people, pinning Yugi against his locker with a hand on either side of his head. Somehow he made Yugi's name sound like an insult.

"Good morning, Jounouchi-kun." Yugi tried politely to wriggle away. He could feel the hovering presence of Jounouchi's ever-present friend Honda, just outside his range of vision. "I'm going to be late for class, so it's been nice talking to you, but I'd better get going."

He may as well have said nothing. "What you got there?" Jounouchi demanded, peering at Yugi's cupped hands.

"A game."

"A game," Jounouchi sneered, glancing sideways at Honda, who laughed. "Of course it's a game, dipstick. You always have a game. What kind of game you got today?"

In spite of himself, in spite of knowing it was naive and stupid, Yugi felt a little flutter of hope. None of the other kids were interested in his sorts of games; they called them (and him) childish. But maybe Jounouchi was interested. Maybe he'd been wrong about him, all those other times that Jounouchi had pretended to be interested in something of his, only to steal it from him or make fun of him later.

"It's a ball-and-cage puzzle," he said, opening his hands to show the two bigger boys. "The ball is trapped behind the bars and you have to -- hey!"

Jounouchi's hand, quick as a striking snake, snatched the object from his cupped hands as soon as his fingers were far enough apart.

"Look at that, Honda. Baby's got a new toy." He tossed the puzzle to Honda, who caught it casually out of the air.

"Looks dumb," Honda said, tossing it back.

"Well, look who we got it from."

"Don't drop it, you'll break it!" Yugi wailed. "It's from my grandfather's store and it's fragile! He only let me take it to school because I promised not to damage it."

"What, drop it -- like this?" Jounouchi made fake drops with the toy, each time catching it deftly before it came near the floor, and all the while dodging Yugi's ineffective attempts to take it back.

"If you don't want to play with it, then please give it back to me, so I can solve it."

"Giving up, huh?" Jounouchi towered over him. "Don't you want to fight me for it? What kind of boy are you?"

"I'm not good at fighting. Please, give it back before you break it." Yugi bit his lip. He wouldn't cry in front of bullies. Not today. Just wait them out, he thought, and they'll get bored and leave me alone. They always do, eventually.

"What, don't you trust us? I don't think he trusts us, Honda."

"That's not very nice of him," Honda agreed.

"I'm late for class. Please give it back before it gets broken."

"Don't be a baby. I'm not even trying to break it." Jounouchi grinned, and it wasn't a nice grin. "If I was going to break it, I'd ... do this!"

With a sudden movement, he tossed it up in the air. Yugi cried out in dismay and jumped in a futile attempt to catch it -- he was considerably too short. "Or not," Jounouchi added casually, reaching out to catch it as it fell back down.

He missed. The toy hit the floor with an audible crack as the fragile bars caved in. The small metal ball, freed, rolled across the floor and stopped against Jounouchi's shoe.

Yugi, staring in horror at the broken puzzle, completely missed the shock and dismay on Jounouchi's face. It was only there for a second before the bigger boy's lips tightened and he forced a laugh. "Well, I guess I solved your puzzle, Yugi," he said, nudging the ball with his foot so that it rolled across the floor and vanished under the row of lockers. "That was lame. Come on, Honda. We're late for class." He gripped his friend by the arm and tugged him down the hallway, leaving Yugi standing frozen by the lockers.

A moment passed before Yugi, moving with deliberate slowness, crouched down and began picking up pieces. He could feel heat flushing his face, and he bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood, trying to choke back the tears. Anger. Helplessness. Frustration with his own inability to do anything. The rage, directed more at himself than the bullies, rose in a hot wave until he couldn't contain it anymore, and he smacked his small fist against the nearest locker.

"I wish I was tall!"

I wish...