Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh and am not affiliated in any way with its creator or license holders.

Warning: Contains hints of shonen-ai, and some references to the Ancient Egypt arc (though pretty minor).

Notes: I wrote this one-shot as a challenge fic for the lovely Snare-chan. The basic premise was to write a fanfic on Yami Yugi and Yami Bakura going to dinner together. Yes, it was a challenge made with romance in mind, but I am horrendously bad at blatant romance... so hopefully you'll just be able to see the hints of it here.

And yes, Yami Yugi is pretty OOC in this one. It was the only way I could approach the challenge. You've been warned.


Main Course


Curse me. Curse me and my moral ideals.

At what point did I decide this would be a good idea? When did my brain finally decide to stop working after three thousand years of loyal service?

No doubt it was somewhere around the time when Yugi announced that I should get rid of my 'grudges'. Apparently, according to him, I have a habit of keeping long, violent grudges against people who've wronged me. Apparently, according to him, this is unfair of me. All the explaining in the world on my part about how I was protecting him, righting wrongs and dealing out justice where it was due didn't sway him. He just gave me the look. That look. The "please don't disappoint me and my sweet innocent eyes" look. The one that no power on earth can withstand.

Certainly not me, at least.

So he goes on to suggest that I contact these 'grudges' and 'make it up' with them. This was . . . not something I had in my life's plan. What's more, Yugi produced a list of the people he thinks I should buddy up to.

Seto Kaiba.

Pegasus J. Crawford.

The caretaker at the museum (whom I admit I've been annoying for some time now).


Not a long list, no. But I would not willingly 'make it up' with any of these people. It's not the done thing! You don't make friends with those who antagonize you.

Well, not often.

Unfortunately I said that to Yugi, which did nothing but further cement his belief that I should do this. I've been ordered to contact at least one of these people by the end of the month and have a 'reasonable, friendly talk' with them.

Yugi, bless him, is a bit single-minded in these matters.

Well, the caretaker was right out. Never have I met a man so intent on barring me from a place. Seeing as I'm a pharaoh by right, this isn't something I'm used to. Just because I find it necessary to view the Egyptian exhibit once a day he has a vendetta against me. Some people. No resolutions with the caretaker.

Nor with Pegasus. The man was a lunatic. Not to mention badly dressed. I refuse to make amends with him.

Besides, no one can find him. I win that argument.

And why was Kaiba on the list? I don't have a 'grudge' against him. If anything, he has a grudge against me. It's practically my duty to duel him by any means necessary. And he reciprocates, damn it! But according to Yugi, this is a grudge. Well. I know for certain that even if I did attempt this reconciling business with Kaiba, I would be laughed right out of the room. It's a lost cause. He'd have no purpose in life without me to duel anyway.

Which leave, of course, only one person . . .


No, not nice Bakura. The other one. The mean, nasty, vengeful, psychotic, tomb robbing, evil Bakura that shares his body. The same mean, nasty, vengeful, psychotic, tomb robbing, evil Bakura who's constantly trying to kill me and steal my Puzzle.

I am not looking forward to this.

But Yugi knows me too well. He let me stew over this for weeks and weeks. And when I stew over things, I have an awful habit of changing my mind. "Maybe it won't be so bad," I thought. "After all, you're not entirely blameless in this war, so maybe Bakura would appreciate a little guilt. Maybe he won't tear out your rib cage and wear it as a hat if you sort out some issues with him. He may even decide to stop attempting to murder you. And at least he isn't ugly to look at, like Zork . . . or the caretaker."

Usually at this point I bash my head against the wall of my soulroom to get these corruptive thoughts out of my brain.

So why, then, did I find myself in front of Bakura's desk after school today?

Because I love pain, obviously.

I went up to Bakura casually (nice Bakura, not nasty one . . . I think). All smiles and roses, doing my best impersonation of Yugi. "Bakura," I say amiably, "are you busy tonight?" This was going well so far.

"No," he says, packing up his books, all smiles and roses. How do these kids stand it, 24 hours a day? "How come?" he asks.

"Uh, well," I started, before I realized that I'd convinced myself I wouldn't even get this far and thus had no plan. Great. "I thought maybe we could . . . uh . . . have a . . . talk?"

Really, interaction is not my thing. Not outside of duels and Yugi. Bakura stared at me. "You want to . . . talk with me?"

"Oh, well, not so much you . . . more like a talk with . . . him . . ." And I pointed at his chest, hopefully imparting the message that I want his psycho partner instead of him. Bakura chose that point to look alarmed.

"He hasn't killed anyone, has he?"

"No! Not at all! I just want to talk with him, you know . . ."

"Talk about . . . what?"

"Oh, you know . . . things . . ." You'd think I was trying to address a highly dangerous Egyptian mob about a massive tax rise, with the amount of difficulty this was giving me. Why are the simple things in life so hard?!

"Okay . . ." he said slowly, still staring at me. "When then?"

Good question. "Uh . . ." said I, the epitome of intelligence. "Maybe at . . . seven?" He nodded, but kept looking at me like there was more. "So meet me at the G-"

I managed to stop myself before I said Game Shop, luckily. It had just occurred to me that with what we were going to be 'talking' about, the Game Shop was really not where I wanted to have an enraged Bakura armed with dangerous and sharp objects.

"Geyser restaurant," came out of my mouth for some reason. I blinked, then continued. "Yes, the Geyser restaurant. For dinner. And talking. Okay."

Bakura was giving me that strange look again, like my hair had suddenly turned green. He nodded again, slowly.

"Great! See you then, then. I gotta go, seeya!" I was out of that building like a Kuriboh on fire. Way in the back of my mind, three things had occurred to me. One, that nasty Bakura had most likely heard the entire thing and was currently laughing his ass off in his soulroom, or planning my imminent demise. Two, that if I'd thought asking the normal Bakura to dinner was hard, then discussing emotional issues with dark Bakura would be nothing short of crippling.

Three, that I has just asked my mortal enemy out on what obviously sounded like a date.

I am a dead man. In more ways than one.


And so here I am. Standing outside of the Geyser restaurant, freezing cold in the only decent non-leather shirt I have, waiting for the freak to show up. I have my doubts that he will. I mean, if I put myself in my shoes (probably stolen shoes), I certainly wouldn't come meet me. Not that I'm a horrible person who must be avoided or anything. Just . . . I'm trying to think like Bakura, okay?

"So," I think in a Bakura-ish manner, "That fool Pharaoh has asked me out to dinner eh? Well, I might go, just for a lark. Now, what should I bring . . . ah yes, the steak knives, chainsaw, handcuffs, and a screwdriver just for kicks."

Somebody save me.

Okay, Yami, stop psyching yourself out. Should Bakura come to dinner (he's late, the bastard), he is not one hundred percent likely to destroy you on sight. No, first he must gloat, and brag, and only then will he destroy you. Giving you time to do this whole reconciling thing.

Or run away.

No, never! I don't run away! I would challenge him to a duel, yes, that's what I'd do. He can never resist dueling me. He's like . . . a Kaiba with murderous tendencies. Yes.

And there is no reason to panic. At all. We're going to settle out differences like gentlemen, with a nice, reasonable, non-life threatening –

My train of thought crashes into a brick wall when a hand suddenly clamps down on my shoulder.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" I shriek, completely losing my head. Spinning around and preparing to Mind Crush whichever hooligan meets my eyes first, I come face to face with . . . Bakura.

Of course.

He's standing there, looking at me in a completely disinterested way. Well, colour me dramatic. I'm trying to get my fool heart to stop banging away in my chest like it's going to explode. He's still just staring at me. Creepy.

There's absolutely no way to salvage my dignity now. This thing is officially doomed from the start. Yugi, it was nice being your partner, now I'd like a black casket with gold trim . . .

Whilst my mind continues rambling on in a delirious way, I manage to sputter out a, "Uh . . . hi. You startled me." Bakura says nothing. Just regards me like a particularly amusing piece of wood. Much to my eternal horror, I can feel myself going red from his unwavering stare. Why do these things happen to me? "Let's – let's go in," I say, edging around him and going into the restaurant.

It is a trendy place, certainly. When I told Yugi where I was going to do this he went three shades whiter and started to babble about the cost. I regret to admit that I was feeling a bit wounded and vindictive at this stage and conned him into paying anyway. Well, if he wants me to make friends with Bakura, the least he can do is pay for the trouble. I'm going to feel guilty later, but oh well. In any case, as soon as I walk in I'm confronted with dozens of dark wooden tables ornamented with candles, condiments and menus. This place actually has chandeliers too. Yugi said that chandeliers have been extinct since the 1800's, why do they have them here? But they don't hold my attention for long.

Out of nowhere a man steps in front of me. Instead of freaking out like I did five minutes ago, I maintain my mask of calm. He did not startle me. Not in the slightest. "Good evening, sirs," he gushes in the way that people in this day and age tend to do. "Do you have a reservation?"

Momentarily shocked by the fact that Bakura is obviously still with me (either that or I've picked up a hitch-hiker), I nod. "Yes, under 'Mutou', I believe?" I say, checking my pants' pocket for my wallet. Yugi's wallet. Same thing.

The waiter whisks over to the podium where the reservation book is, and scans down the length of the page. He makes a satisfied noise and gestures for us to follow. "This way, please."

As we skirt our way around other people seated at tables, I cannot help but wonder why Bakura has even come this far. He has no idea what I want to 'talk' about, and the Bakura I know would have attacked me long before this point. Granted, the hand on the shoulder was mildly frightening, but it doesn't count as an attack. Now I have the niggling desire to turn around and see what he's doing, but either out of maintaining my cool or not wanting to see him with a voodoo doll, I refrain. Just.

We've been led to a table just about in the centre of the restaurant, with a clear view of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the left and the kitchen doors on the right. The waiter hovers around as I get into my chair. Bakura does the same, right opposite me. He still looks blank. Not in the stupid way. At least he isn't staring at me any more. It's still disconcerting though. I'm beginning to think I prefer the insane laughter aspect of his personality.

"Sir?" breaks in a voice. I blink and look up at the waiter, poised with a pen and notepad. He's been talking and I haven't noticed. This just isn't my day. "Would you like anything to drink, sirs?" A drink sounds very good right about now, so I grab the wine list and scan it. I don't like reds, or chardonnays, nothing too bubbly . . .

"Um, I'll have a glass of the wine of the day," I finally say, deciding that I don't really care what it is, as long as I can hide behind it. I can see the look in the waiter's eye as he's about to protest, so before he can get a word out I shove Yugi's ID card at him. Yes, I am eighteen; now stop looking at me like that. Both the waiter and I then look at Bakura.

"Water," he mutters. Now it's my turn to stare at him. I was honestly expecting him to order a Bloody Mary. The waiter, however, nods again and bustles off. He returns shortly with my wine and Bakura's water, then disappears saying he'll give us time to think about ordering our meals.

Great. Now I am alone with Bakura. And it's not exactly a comfortable silence. For the first time I notice what he's decided to wear. He's got a black shirt on, with the Millennium Ring lying quite conspicuously on top. He's also wearing a long black trench coat that would give Kaiba's a run for it's money. I can't see his pants while he's sitting down, but as far as I know normal Bakura doesn't own anything other than jeans, so I'll just assume he's wearing jeans. Bakura himself is reading the menu, either ignoring me on purpose or just not paying attention to me.

Watching him being impassive is giving me the creeps, so I pick up my own menu. I read the whole thing three times and not once have I noticed anything that it says. Bakura's evil powers are still working to make me nervous even now. I haven't even mentioned what we're here for yet. The feeling of doom is starting to seep back in now that I'm faced with the prospect of discussing issues with Bakura. Where am I even going to start? With his transgressions, or with mine? Minor or major? Compliments or the blame game?

Wait . . . compliments?

I must be losing it entirely.

I study the menu closer this time, focusing my entire being on it. This time I notice what it says. Eventually I decide I'll order a single dish, chicken Kiev with salad. I don't think I'll be eating much anyway. Luckily the waiter chooses this moment to rematerialize, saving me from actually starting a conversation with Bakura as we wait. "Ready to order, sirs?" I glance at Bakura, sort of wanting to know if he wants to order first. He gives me a hard-edged stare. Oh, he wants me to call the shots. Goody.

"I'll just have the chicken Kiev as my main meal. No appetizers," I inform him. He scribbles away at his little book and I return my attention to Bakura. There's a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind as to what he's going to order. He straightens up in his chair and flicks some hair out of his face.

"The steak." Suspicions confirmed. "Well-done." Not entirely confirmed. Bakura's menu is closed with a snap and handed over. I hand mine over too, and listen vaguely as the waiter tells us that our meals will take about fifteen minutes. I'm too busy wondering why Bakura's steak isn't going to be rare. After his little performance on the Battle Ship, it's become second nature to associate him with large chunks of bloody meat. Maybe unfairly, but it does match his character, to a degree. Maybe he's attempting to be civil for tonight?

Perish the thought.

Once again I come to myself and find that Bakura is looking at me. Expectantly. Sort of. It's more him looking at me without pause, with eyes slightly narrowed and his finger tapping the table. Which screams expectant in Bakura-language. I swallow a bit. The waiter said there'd be fifteen minutes to wait. I can't stay silent for the entire time; that would defeat the purpose of this whole business.

I'm startled out of my nervous musings when Bakura speaks. "Well?" he says, completely bereft of anything resembling interest. In other words, he's really confusing me tonight. It's obvious what he means though. Why have you dragged me out to a restaurant, Yami? is the real question being asked here.

Here goes nothing, then. "Uh, well," I start, fiddling with one of the highly polished forks. "First, um, thanks for showing up. I didn't honestly . . . expect you to." He says nothing, just starts tapping his finger again. Annoying little . . . "Anyway, like I said to Bakura, I've . . . been meaning to talk to you." Okay, that's a lie, but he doesn't need to know the sordid details of this whole matter. "You know, outside of the usual circumstances." Tap tap tap. Fiddle fiddle fiddle. "You know, over the years we . . . haven't exactly gotten on well."

Bakura stops tapping, and his eyebrows just about disappear into his hairline. Well, yes, that was a bit of an understatement. Can't he tell that I'm bad at this? And to make matters worse I can feel myself starting to go red again at my own stupidity. Arrrrgh.

"Yes, well, what I mean is, we've gone a long time with nothing but bad stuff between us." He's started tapping again. Damn him. "And, you know, three thousand years is a long time to hold a grudge . . ." The tapping has stopped. He's glaring at me. Oh shoot, I've done it this time. Think before you speak, think before you speak, think before you speak.

Despite myself I lean back a bit and put up my hands in defense. "I didn't mean you!" I say quickly, desperate to avoid any kind of nasty confrontation. "I was talking about me. I mean, even though you've got a grudge too and . . ." (Stupid, stupid, stupid! Stop turning it back on him!) ". . . but what I was getting at is that I've been holding a grudge against you for a long time."

Bakura's still got me pinned under his glare, but he no longer looks like he might like to jump across the table and stab me. Note to self: do not make any more references, no matter how indirect, to Kuru Eruna.

"Um . . . sorry," I mumble, staring at the table cloth. I want to die. Right now. I am so very, very bad at this that I will be dead before dinner even gets here. Yugi has sentenced me to death by Thief King.

"Get on with it, then," I hear him growl. I look up, and he's obviously still mad as a hornet, but willing to let it slip. I stop mentally engraving my headstone. Somewhat encouraged, but still mostly bewildered, I continue.

"Ah, yes. Well like I was saying, I've been somewhat unfair to you for a long time. And I thought that . . . maybe . . ."

I've hit a wall. I can't figure out how to say what I need to. Bakura's looking at me, no longer mad, but like what I might say could actually be of importance. I open my mouth to say whatever comes to mind -

The waiter appears at the side of the table. God. Damn. It. "Here are your meals, gentlemen," he preens, setting down the two plates in front of us. "I hope you enjoy them. Refills?" Somehow I've managed to drink all my wine without noticing it. Deciding that getting drunk may not be smart, I ask for just water this time, as does Bakura. The waiter leaves again, back to whatever hell hole spawned him.

The moment is gone. Whatever half-baked plan I had in my head for what I was going to say has disappeared. And Bakura has gone back to ignoring me as he plunges into his steak with a vengeance. I hate this. Sighing in defeat, I pick up my knife and fork and start to work on the Kiev.

I take my time with eating, because now that I've been interrupted at the crucial moment all of my willpower has fizzled and I'm back at square one. Bakura isn't helping matters, tearing into his steak pretty nastily, albeit with a knife rather than his teeth like I've seen him do. Now I'm finding it hard to remember what he looked like when he was almost interested in what I was saying. Because he was interested, wasn't he? I slipped up with Kuru Eruna, but he didn't decimate the country side or wield his knife like a scimitar or start screaming for blood and revenge. No, he asked me to continue. Without so much as a, "I hate you and the horse you rode in on." That . . . would equate as interest for him, wouldn't it?

Looking around the restaurant is also no pleasure. It's taken until now for me to notice that almost everyone in here is a man and woman couple. And they certainly have other thoughts on their minds other than their dinner. It must be the candles and chandeliers and chardonnays. Or . . . well, other things.

It must be hot in here, because I've gone red again. Quickly looking away from the antics of the couple nearest to our table, I'm met with the equally unpleasant sight of Bakura playing carnivore. So much for being civil.

"I hate it when you do that," I mutter. Halting, Bakura glances up at me. I just said that out loud, didn't I? Great, perfect. I've never had worse night in my life. That includes the night I died. I bury my face in my hands and just hide for a bit. I never thought I'd say this, but Yugi will pay.

The sounds of the restaurant infiltrate my ears. Clinking, clattering, soft talking, and other things more suited to the bedroom. Hm. No rabid meat-eating sounds though. I chance a look through my fingers. And nearly fall off my chair in disbelief.

He's using the fork and knife like a sane person. Granted, it looks like he doesn't quite understand how they're meant to work that way, but he's not savaging the meat anymore. He's concentrating so hard on cutting it that he hasn't noticed me looking. So I calmly drop my hands and start eating again, all the while trying not to listen to the giddy voice in my head screaming, "He listened to what you saaaaaaaid, he listened to what you saaaaaaaid."

I make it through the rest of the chicken without really tasting it, half-grinning the whole time. Don't ask me why, I don't know. Most likely I'm delirious from the wine and the knowledge that I am going to have to pick up the conversation eventually. Placing my knife and fork on the empty plate, I stretch a bit and do some furtive Bakura watching. I need to find an opening, after all. Right after I put down my cutlery he did the same on his slightly messier plate . . . if I didn't know better, I'd think he was waiting to see what I did so he could copy it. If this situation wasn't so abysmal, I'd find it hilarious.

And he's staring at me again. Not in quite the same creepy way as before, but he's still staring at me. I refuse to flush this time. Point blank. I sit up a bit in the chair and try to figure out how to proceed with something I stopped doing half an hour ago. I . . . can't even remember what I said. Just the general gist of it.

"So . . ." I start uncertainly. "What was I saying?" That was weak of me. Bakura obviously agrees, because he's got an expression that says 'don't be stupid'. "Right . . ." The problem here is that when I was at this point last time, I didn't know how to say what I wanted to. Nothing's changed this time around. I start squirming a little in my seat, uncomfortable with reconciling differences with Bakura. It's not that I don't want to – Yugi has succeeded in that matter. I'm just not very practiced with doing it. It's always been Yugi who forgives and forgets. He has a knack for it. But me, on the other hand . . .

Bakura shifted a bit and leaned in. "I believe," he said, "you were saying something about being unfair to me?" He looks intense. As in, intense in a non-psycho way, which is what makes it remarkable. Almost unconsciously I lean in too.

"Yes, I was." Is it just me, or has everything gone quiet? All I can hear is my mind whispering, "Do it now, do it now, just say whatever it is you need to say, and it'll be downhill from here . . ." Bakura's staring at me, and I'm staring at him.

And . . . what on earth is that noise? There's a rumbling sound, getting louder by the second. Jerking back up I look instinctively at the window. I sense rather than see Bakura do the same. All I can see is the black night air, but there's definitely something approaching.

"Wait a minute," I exclaim, getting out of my chair. "That sounds like a truck." A bare second after I said that there was a huge flash of light through the windows. The glass all shattered and there were screams throughout the restaurant. What the hell is going on?!

I can still hear glass tinkling down to the floor when a voice screams, "YUGI MUTOU!" A voice I know well. Very well. Scowling, I look at the remnants of the window.

Sure enough, a truck had rammed straight into the windows, shattering them all upon impact. The headlights are still on, but I can make out the man approaching through the hole. It's that damned museum caretaker. The one I refuse to apologize to.

Yugi's nuts if he thinks I'll apologize to him now.

"What are you doing here?" I shout, quite fed up with all these distractions. The man laughs, a very high pitched, irritating noise.

"Do you not know, Yugi? For months I have tracked your movements through the museum, gathering information, all with the intent of claiming revenge for my master!" I stare at him.

"And he would be . . .?"

"Pegasus, you fool!" I really don't know what to say to this absurd statement. Except that I always knew that caretaker was an idiot.

"Do you, uh, have his permission to do this?"

"I do not need his permission to know master Pegasus' will!" he shrieks. Yes, he's a lunatic. They all come out to play at night. I shake my head in dismay. "And now," the caretaker-gone-nuts continues, "I will destroy you!"

Everyone else in the restaurant starts screaming again and all make a mad rush towards the exits, be they door or hole in the wall. I'm getting thumped around by them, but I don't care. It looks like it's time to duel. Sighing, I reach for my duel deck, which I brought with me, considering that Bakura is sort of partial to that sort of thing (as am I) and also I seem to be a magnet for dueling loonies.

The last poor man is scrabbling out the door now so I suppose this would be my cue. I can feel myself getting into my gaming state of mind; arrogant, confident, level-headed.

Just as I pull out my first card, there's a white blur out of the corner of my eye. "Oh no you don't!" And with that, Bakura's planted himself right in front of me, facing down the caretaker.

I think my brain's imploded. I completely forgot he was even there, and now he's . . . well, he's . . . oh hell, it can't be what it looks like.

The caretaker gives Bakura a foul look. "Out of my way, moron, this is between me and Yugi!" He gives his freaky laugh again, apparently convinced that the mere sound of his voice will be enough to send Bakura packing. This man has no idea.

Quicker than I can even follow, Bakura's managed to get his own deck in hand, separated a card from it, and holds it aloft. The air around him flashes black for a moment, and then something materializes. It falls straight into his waiting arms.

Holy crap, it's a gun.

There's a thunderous explosion as Bakura fires the gun, sending a ball of black energy at the caretaker. The wall behind him blasts apart. And he fires again, and again, and again! The caretaker's screaming like a ninny, dodging back and forth. I can just make out Bakura shouting something in between the explosions and crashes.

"We are tryingBOOM – to resolve – BOOM – our three thousand – CRASH – year old – KABOOMissues! That's a bloody – BOOM – long time – KERWHAM – to wait! So kindly – BOOM – take your damned annoying CRASH – business – KABOOM – the hell somewhere else!"

The caretaker heeds Bakura's words like a smart man and practically flies out the completely ruined wall. Smirking something sadistic, Bakura aims a parting shot straight at his retreating back, and there's another resounding BWOOM followed by a shriek of terror.

Bakura tosses the gun into the air where it disappears. He dusts off his hands, gives a satisfied huff, and turns to me. "Where were we?"

I say nothing. I take in the completely obliterated restaurant, the demolished truck lodged inside the wall, the splinters of tables and chairs, empty room, and then Bakura, gazing calmly at me like a minor interruption had just distracted him.

And quite suddenly I start laughing. I just start and can't stop. It's all been so ridiculous, tense and surprising that I can't help it. I'm still laughing, and Bakura's staring at me like I've gone quite mad, but I couldn't care less. I notice though, through my hysterics that his mouth is twitching into a grin. This somehow seems even funnier and it just makes me laugh harder. Goodness knows how I can even breathe. Now I can hear Bakura laughing too, and it's not psychotic. It's just laughter . . . and to hear that from him sounds wonderful.

I don't know how long it's been since I started laughing, or how long since Bakura joined in, but it's petering out now. The need to breathe does take precedence over some things. Somehow I've ended up on the floor clutching the table leg for support. I finally stop laughing, scrubbing the tears of hysteria off my face. Bakura's on the floor too. I look up at him, and he looks at me. Neither of us seems to be able to get the smiles off our faces. Where this any other time, I'd be embarrassed to death. The good-humoured smile he's giving me is kind of alien to me, but I don't mind a bit.

We both stand up and take another look around. I don't think they'll be serving desert tonight, somehow. A thought occurs to me. "Oh. I never got around to saying what I wanted to," I mutter sheepishly. Bakura looks at me, all poker-face again. Then he shrugs.

"Forget it, it doesn't matter." It may be my imagination, but it feels like he knows what I was trying to say and is exempting me from another torturous night like this one. Wow. That's the nicest thing he's ever done for me.

Except for blowing up the restaurant. That was really nice.

"No point staying here then," he says, and strides through the rubble towards the open wall. I start to follow him, but stop again, looking back at the table.

"Should I pay the bill, do you think?"

He turns and gives me the most degrading look imaginable. "Come off it, Yami. Who's going to pick up the cash?" And off he saunters again. I have to admit, he has a point.

I scramble out of the ruined restaurant behind him, not at all sad to think that we caused so much disaster here. After all, I accomplished what Yugi wanted: I had a decent, civilized chat with Bakura, and apart from a tiny mishap, everything went well. He should be pleased. At least until he sees the news tomorrow.

I'm lost in my thoughts as I cross The Geyser's manicured (and rubble-strewn) lawn a few paces behind Bakura, when I notice that my gaze is fixed on him. And once I focus my attention, I notice something else.

Well, I'll be damned. Bakura owns leather pants.


That took a surprisingly long time, considering how short it is. Anyway, it's been fun giving it a go. Let me know what you think; comments, criticism, nitpicking, anything. I haven't had this properly checked over, so there may be some errors.