Learning and Losing

Summary: When the ever popular Yami, Marik and Bakura accidentally meet the Outkasts (a.k.a. Yugi, Ryou and Malik) they get into a very rocky start. But as fate decided it, coincidences keep happening...

Disclaimers: Don't own, don't sue. Duh.


Chapter One: Incidental Meetings


Ryou Bakura was walking to the music room to have his violin lesson. He was happily listening to his head, whispering a familiar song when he noticed a soccer practice going on.

"Hey, Bakura! Kick!" he heard someone yelled. At the sound of his name, he turned around. Then he realized they were referring to some boy who startlingly looked liked him, who was incidentally playing soccer.

He rolled his eyes. A Jock. Typical. Snickering to himself softly, he whistled a soft tune as he continued walking toward the music room.

A loud cheer brought him back to the take a second look at the soccer field. The boy had managed to make a score. The cheerleaders were obviously going crazy...and his fangirls were drooling in the background.

The certain boy we were talking about was currently smirking and waving to his crazy fans. At that moment, another boy kicked a ball toward him—Ryou prayed it would hit him in the face—and he, obviously surprised at the sudden kick, was only able to kick it only half-seriously—which resulted into to the ball hitting the post—hard.

Ryou watched the ball sail through the air in awe. Then he realized—a second too late, I might add—that the certain ball was heading for him. Literally.


Ryou could almost see the stars encircling his head.


Bakura winced as the soccer ball hit a kid. He pointed to it and shouted, "I'll get it!"

He quickly ran up to the kid.

And blinked.

The kid looked exactly like him.

He couldn't help but smirk. What, he had guy worshippers now?

The said kid was now sitting up, groaning and rubbing his head. "Stupid soccer ball, stupid kick, stupid Jock, stupid stupid supid," he muttered half-consciously.

Bakura blinked at his mutterings, then went to collect the soccer ball. Then he knelt next to the boy. "You okay? Sorry 'bout that."

The kid gave him a sarcastic glare. (Um...OOC here...) "Oh no, I wasn't hurt at all," he said sarcastically. "Watch where you kick next time." At that moment the boy smiled sincerely. "But nice shot...if it had gone in, your fans would have gone wild again."

Bakura smiled back. "I'm really sorry." He was really gagging inside—he hated being polite. More so apologizing. But obviously the kid was a geek, a nerd, a—

His eyes widened when something clicked. Kid looked exactly like him.

An Outkast.


"You know, you shouldn't walk by the soccer field next time," he chided, his eyes dark. Outkasts knew better than doing that. "I mean...you're a..." he stopped to think of a more polite word, "...unique person." The boy narrowed his eyes. "I'm just saying 'your people' don't walk by here normally."

The boy glared at him. "So what are saying? Just because I'm a nerd or a geek doesn't mean I can't walk by here! I'm a student in this school, for Ra's sake! How Jock can you get?!? Figures, though, people like you are so into discrimination!" The boy yelled. Then he clamped his hand into his mouth. He gave Bakura a warning glare, then stomped away, looking furious.

Leaving Bakura scratching his head and wondering, for the life of him, what was wrong with that kid.

Then his eyes widened. "Shoot! I forgot to ask his name!"


Marik Ishtar glared at the computer for the umpteenth time. "Damn you! Work, will ya!" He hit the keyboard hard; almost like punching the monitor in his frustration. He was missing soccer practice for this damn piece of crap—why couldn't teachers just accept xerox copies like before?

"Don't do that!"

Marik turned to see where the voice came from—geek, no doubt—no one else would care about computers like that—and saw a boy with his blonde hair and his amethyst eyes. He blinked; mirror image? The kid looked exactly like him—only a little more...uh...un-freakish-looking.

The boy continued to glare at him. "Honestly, we've got enough defective computers already—it won't help ruining this one too." The boy shook his head and grabbed a random chair, then settled it next to Marik's chair. He watched, fascinated, as the boy began typing a few things in the computer.

"Keyboard's jammed, computer's hanged," he announced after a few minutes. "You're damn lucky I'm still here—all other computers are either shut down already, or for special use." The boy quickly closed the computer, then he stood up and indicated Marik to follow.

Marik raised his eyebrow but followed him to a room with a sign AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

He turned to look at the boy, halfway torn between amusement and anxiety. "Hey, I'm in enough trouble already. This homework's already costing me my soccer practice...."

The boy snorted. "I wouldn't go here if I wasn't allowed, you dolt, that's more like you," he said, rolling his eyes. "Get in, or do you intend to get frustrated by battling a ruined computer? I'll fix it tomorrow, when I have what I need. You can use my computer at the meantime." He held out his hand.

Marik blinked. "What?"

The boy shook his head in exasperation, hand still held out. "Your back-up disk!" Then his eyebrows shot up. "Don't tell me you didn't make back-up!"

Marik shook his head. "No. It's not like I got too far, anyway."

"Geez. That is soo Jock."

Marik blinked at the insult. The kid was weird. Normal geeks and nerd didn't put down popular people like him. They just avoided him and stammered when he was around.

Then his eyes widened at a thought. Could this be—

"Are you going to gape there like an idiot for the rest of the hour?" the boy snapped, hands on his hips.

—An Outkast?

The boy sighed. "Typical." He gestured to his computer. "Feel free to start again what you were doing—just don't wreck my computer, it's only the best computer there is here." He rolled his eyes again. "Here's a spare disk—you can keep it. Once you're done, save, exit the program, take out the disk, then get it printed in some shop. Happy? Oh yeah, and tip: always save." He smirked. "Any idiot would know that. Do I need to give you step- by-step instructions?"

Marik shook his head, still awed that this could be an Outkast. Before he could ponder anymore, the boy slipped a diskette into his hands and left the room.

Marik blinked. If that was an Outkast, he was quite shocked at how weird he acted. He definitely didn't go by normal high school discrimination.

Then his eyes widened. "I forgot to ask his name!"


Yugi Motou was on his way home, and it was getting a little dark. He chuckled to himself. Knowing his friends, Malik Ishtar and Ryou Bakura, Malik would be home by now, on the internet, computering as if for his life. As for Ryou, he would probably be at school, finishing his violin lessons.

He sighed. It was a very normal day for him. Luckily, no one picked on him anymore—once he and his friends got dubbed as 'Outkasts,' everyone at school avoided him or snubbed him.

He sighed again. The three of them were considered Outkasts because they were different from everybody else. There were two kinds of people in high school—popular or geek. If you're not popular, then you're most likely a geek.

He and his friends were a little different.

They were popular, but for wrong reasons.

Normal popular people were popular because they were jocks, cheerleaders, rebels...those type of people, the ones who didn't even knew how to even turn on a computer. Normal geeks were studious, scaredy-cats, and weirdos....the type of people who were wallflowers and would never try to step out.

He knew as well anyone that he and his friends could never be considered geeks. They were each famous for their own certain thing.

Ryou was gifted with much musical talent; he could literally play any musical instrument created (though he excelled in the violin the most) and he had the most beautiful voice in their entire school, possibly the entire Japan. He had joined many competitions internationally, and had won in all of them; not always first, but he still won.

Malik, on the other hand, was a computer freak. He could do anything that had to do something with a computer blindfolded and one hand tied behind his back—they had tried it and he was able to do it—and he was also a blackbelt owner. Anyone stupid enough to mess with him gets a cracked skull—Malik had very violent tendencies. Like Ryou, he had joined international competitions, and won in all of them.

And him...he was gifted in writing, he supposed. He could write anything—poems, stories, essays, basically anything. One time he had been dared to write everything in their school paper—he was able to keep it up for one week before the newspaper club decided that they had proved their point—and he, like his friends, won in all the competitions he had joined in.

In the three friends, Malik was the one with the most fighting spirit—he and Ryou fitted the geek description of scaredy-cats. However, all three of them were studious; they were considered the top three of the school.

It wasn't like both the geeks and the populars didn't want them in their clique—they did. The geeks worshipped them—they had been the only one to stand up and make a difference—and the populars were no doubt impressed by them.

They, however, didn't want to join a clique; they had abilities in both groups, and didn't mix with any of them. Popular people were idiots, completely vain and sure of themselves; geeks were weaklings and completely unable to express themselves. So the geeks worshipped them but never associated with them, and the populars snubbed them.


Not like Yugi minded—he found not having to worry about the social ladder quite comforting—but still. Only hanging around with two people could get boring sometimes. But at least he never had to worry about superficial friends—Ryou and Malik were anything but superficial.

They had only gotten dubbed 'Outkasts' when some kid pointed out that they looked exactly like the three most popular and most wanted guys in the entire school, and said they were like outcasts. The popular people started calling them out the Outkasts, and soon everyone did.

Furious, Malik traced down 'the kid idiotic enough to associate him with airheads' and promptly took care of him. Ever since no one tried to call them Outkasts—at least not in front of their face, but Yugi knew people still called him that.

He sighed. No one even bothered knowing his name anymore—he was considered an Outkast, that was that.

He also noticed that nowadays he and Ryou were getting braver—thanks to Malik, he supposed—and could now stand a fight. Before they would always get beaten up—this was when they refused to join in those activities the popular people thought were cool. He now avoided bullies at all costs; they were idiots, after all, but he could now hold his own fight.

To sum it all up, geeks thought they were too cool to be geeks, and populars thought they were too uncool to be populars.

They were literally in between.

He sighed again. High school and prejudices.

At that moment, the very worse thing happened.

It started raining.

Yugi glared at it. How could it rain now? Especially since he left his umbrella at school!

Resigning himself to his fate, he used schoolbag to protect himself from the splattering raindrops, while trying not to get mud in his shoes.


"Then, the kid stomped away! Geez, Yami, what did I do?" Bakura complained to his friend, Yami Atemu. "Hey...Yami! Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, Bakura, but you've just told me that story seven times," Yami said, rolling his eyes. "Look, the kid was an Outkast, if he looked liked you. So why are you so hung up about it?"

Bakura shrugged. "I guess it's because he acts so weird."

Yami sighed. "Well, Joey and Seto are still in the arcade...still trying to one-up each other...weird relationship, those two. Tea and Mai are still in cheerleading practice...it's starting to rain, poor cheerleaders..." he smirked. "And Marik's still doing his homework...poor guy. So we can't head to Seto's right now...want to get some food before we go there?"

Bakura snorted. "I guess. Stupid rain...it's just ruining my plans."

"It'll stop raining soon," Yami reassured him. Then he blinked. "Is it me, or is a porcupine walking in the rain?"

Bakura turned to look. He started laughing hysterically. "A wet porcupine, by the way." He kept laughing. "He looks a little like you, Yami, when you're wet."

"I'm not that short," Yami retorted. Then his eyes widened.

Bakura blinked. "What?"

"Could it be an Outkast?"

Bakura widened his eyes. "No way!" He shook his head. "Damn, twice in the day...God must hate me," he murmured. "Yami, turn on some music, will ya?"

Yami stared, transfixed, at the small boy walking the rain, trying to block the rain with his schoolbag. "We should help the guy."

Bakura snickered, laughing. "Have you gone insane, Yami? Help an Outkast? Are you trying to ruin your reputation?"

"It's raining," Yami shot back. "Get a few manners, Bakura." Rolling his eyes, he drove up to the kid, and lowered his window.

"Hey," he called out softly.

The boy turned to look at him, and Yami found himself staring at the largest, most mesmerizing amethyst eyes he had ever since. He was left momentarily speechless.

The boy looked a lot like him—only he was taller, and his eyes were a little smaller. Now, the boy was looking at him with an unreadable expression, his eyes expectant. "Yes?"

Bakura snorted again—bringing Yami back to reality. "Um...it's raining."

The boy smiled. "Yes. I know." His expression said, pointing out the obvious, are we?

Bakura chuckled at the boy's comment. Yami nearly smacked himself. "I mean...would you like a ride? It is raining, you know."

The boy's eyes widened. "That's nice of you, but I'm almost at my house."

"Well, you can at least dry yourself...I've got towels in the car," he said softly. He opened the car door invitingly. The boy looked at it dubiously, but eventually he smiled and settled in the car with a squish sound.

Bakura grudgingly handed him a towel.

The boy accepted it, almost shyly.

"My house...just take a left turn there. It's the white house on the right side," he said softly.

Yami nodded and followed the boy's directions.

After a few minutes of silence, Bakura went and opened the car radio. "Yami, I'm opening the radio," he announced, switching to a radio station with hip-hop music.

He noticed the small boy wince a little. He raised his eyebrow, but soon Bakura was singing, completely off-tune, just to thwart him, so he was no longer able to ponder the kid's reaction.

Yami glared at the albino boy. "Don't make me kill you," he said through gritted teeth. He could almost see Bakura smirking.


Completely surprised, Yami pulled to an abrupt stop.

The boy looked totally shocked as the car pulled to a stop.

"Um...sorry...Bakura's singing put me off course," he said apologetically. Bakura glared at him. "Really sorry."

The boy nodded. "Thank you." He left the towel and quickly clambered out the car. Before Yami could say anything else, the kid was in his house in a flash.

Yami stared, almost longingly, at the door.

Eventually, Bakura's snicker brought him back to earth.

"Will you please stop acting like a sap?" Bakura snorted. "Don't tell me you like that Outkast!"

Yami glared at him. "We're not even sure he's one." But he started the car and headed of to a near restaurant.

"You're right," Bakura mused. "Maybe he was a geek."

Yami rolled his eyes. "Whatever?"

"But you were still acting like a lovesick puppy," Bakura said, chuckling. "Oh, be glad I'm the only who saw that...you'll be in a bad reputation if people hear."

"I'm not the one put down by an Outkast," Yami retorted. "Now shut up."

Then Yami shot up. "Damn! I forgot to ask his name!"


Hmm...my first YGO fic...how'd it do?