Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The dressing room door swung open with a hard crack. Yuugi tried not to wince as it slammed shut behind him. 

Look, it wasn’t as though he could easily close it, okay? His arms were full of shirts that were probably too loose and pants that made him feel like he was going to a job interview, and with him standing at a good five foot nothing he could barely even see above the haphazard pile that he carried in his arms. 

Gods, why was he doing this again?

Right. Engagement party .

Best friend getting married. 

Needing to make a good impression with his buddy's fiance’s family lest they think that their son was marrying someone who ran around with basement-dwelling land trolls or other people he couldn’t introduce in polite company. 

Yuugi liked his nerdy T-shirts, all right? He was a game designer for goodness’ sake; just about everything in his closet had some kind of nerdy branding unless they were work clothes or the depressing dregs of his weird edgelord leather phase in high school. 

The less said about that , the better: he still liked his fair share of leather wristlets and cuffs, but leather pants? Cutoff sleeveless shirts? The multiple belts and studded collars?

Gods.

The fact that his family let him leave the house back then was mind-boggling.

Right! Focus.

Yuugi took a deep breath in…then out.

He gently set the clothes down on the bench before staring at them like they would grow a mouth and eat him alive like some kind of closet mimic. 

Katsuya probably wouldn’t care if he wore his work clothes, come to think of it. His fiance probably wouldn’t, either: Ryou was barely seen without a cardigan, spooky halloween sweater, or some kind of striped or plaid shirt.

Honestly, it was surprising that either of them went with such a normal engagement party at all, with nice clothes and everything.

They met at a haunted house, after all. 

Well…maybe ‘met’ was too strong a word. Katsuya got dragged into an American-style horror attraction after he lost a bet with one of their other friends, and Ryou was one of the actors there. Even though they were in high school at the time, he never got over his childhood fear of ghosts and the supernatural; Ryou was dressed as a very convincing zombie and tried spooking him, but the poor guy ended up fainting from fright. After checking in on him (without makeup), the two hit it off, realized they went to the same school, and Ryou was integrated into their little group of friends.

They started dating after Ryou strategically used horror movies to snuggle up to a terrified Katsuya and “comfort him with kisses.”

Their first date was at a Duel Monsters Booster Draft event; they won the team battle category and Katsuya kissed his boyfriend for the first time.

Their first anniversary was spent playing a custom Monster World campaign that Ryou made to “celebrate their relationship”.

They got engaged after Katsuya willingly stayed the night at a haunted house with Ryou, announcing that he would “brave anything if it meant being with you forever.”

Nothing about them was ‘traditional’ or ‘normal’.

Ah, but Ryou's family was the variable here; there was his (absent) father, and…

There was the fact that the engagement party was next weekend and Yuugi still hadn't bought an outfit.

Seriously, he needed to stop stalling.

“Come on, you can do this.”

Yuugi shook his head and slapped his cheeks.

So what if he was a grown-ass man who had to buy clothes from the children’s section because he was too short for anything else? So what if sitting in this dressing room was claustrophobic and it made him want to make a beeline back home and huddle into his comfy clothes and read a comic book?

He could do this. It was just clothes, it was just one night, and then he could throw it in the back of his closet until the next time he needed to wear something ‘nice, but not too nice’.

Maybe he should have asked Atem to go with him. That wasn't weird, right? Nothing weird about a grown man asking his Egyptian half-brother to go clothes shopping with him in a crowded mall on a weekend.

‘Hey, Atem, I know you're really busy with grad school and you have a thesis defense coming up, but do you think you could take a break from your much more important work to go shopping with me because I hate it?’

Nah, probably not.

Even though Yuugi knew Atem would happily go with him if he asked. 

No: That was exactly why he couldn't ask . Atem was a great guy, but that didn't mean that he needed to be taken advantage of like that. 

For goodness’ sake, Yuugi was an adult!

He had a good job! He had his own place! He had a cat! He paid his bills and scheduled all of his own medical appointments! 

You know, like every single adult did every single day!

If he could do that, then he could damn well buy his own clothes without his big brother's help!

He picked up a lavender button-up with a sigh…

…and jumped as the door to the stall next to his slammed shut.

“For fuck’s sake .” 

If the person next door was trying to be quiet, he was failing. Their voice was like velvet, though, dripping with sarcasm and frustrated contempt.

Was it possible for a voice to be hot while sounding that pissed off? Yuugi never thought about it before; then again, when was the last time he even dated? Two years ago? Three? Because failed first dates and awkward attempts at flirting totally counted as dating, right?

Yuugi swallowed as he took off his shirt and tossed it aside; might as well bite the bullet and try on this lavender travesty. The fabric was soft to the touch, at least. The thought of sitting through anything semi-formal in something scratchy made his skin crawl.

There was a loud thump in the adjacent stall, followed by the tell-tale slap of clothes getting tossed on the bench.

Yuugi’s neighbor, Mr. Hot Voice, growled.

“‘Dress nice’; why don’t you ask me to hang myself while you’re at it? Shitty old man.”

Yuugi finished buttoning up the shirt and looked at himself in the mirror; it wasn’t his color and it made him look like he was going to a fancy club, but it didn’t look bad. In theory. If he actually liked wearing something like this.

Okay, so this was a finalist, at least. Time to test out the other shirts.

There was some shuffling next door, followed by a muffled curse.

“Oh, perfect . What dipshit put the wrong sizing sticker on these?!”

Yuugi had to bite back a chuckle.

“These aren’t pants, they’re parachutes! Next. ” 

Poor guy. He didn’t sound like he was having a good time, either.

At least he wasn’t alone, right? Suffering loves company and all that. 

With a sigh, Yuugi reached for the ugly beige sweater near the bottom of the pile. Might as well get the rest of these shirts over with.

If someone told thirteen-year-old Bakura that his younger brother would be the first of them to get married, he would have replied: “Obviously. Have you met him?”

Ryou was a catch and a half: hardworking, talented, sweeter than the snacks he loved to shove in his mouth, and one of the best damn artists he’d ever met. Him not getting married would’ve been more surprising. 

His taste in men, well…look, nobody was perfect. Ryou was happy, and that’s all that mattered. Katsuya Jonouchi was… fine . Fine in the way that an overexcited puppy was ‘fine’ even when they drooled on everything and pissed on the furniture. 

No, the surprising thing was their old man giving any semblance of a fuck and deciding to be present for it . 

A decade and a half with maybe one visit every couple of years made a man salty, all right?

The old man deserved nothing less than having his arms twisted until they snapped clean off. If he was a pettier man, he would have wrung out payback for every yen that Bakura had to earn to put food on the table, buy Ryou’s clothes, pay for Ryou’s education, and still somehow pay rent when the fucker’s checks (which were never, never, never enough) were late… 

Ryou was always a better person than him, though, and the only one that mattered. If Ryou wanted that piece of shit around, then Bakura would always grin and bear it.

“ He deserves at least a chance,” Ryou said. 

“He deserves a fucking boot up the ass,” Bakura snorted. 

Ryou just smiled that sweet smile of his and tilted his fluffy head, but there was that hint of mischief in his eyes. 

“Well, Father’s not going to be the one giving me away: you are. So I think it all balances out.”

“I'm also making your cake.”

“And the croquembouche.”

“Ah yes, the most important thing.”

“Almost more important than giving me away.”

“You and your damn sweet tooth.”

No, Bakura did not cry : don’t be ridiculous. That would imply that he was capable of softness and gooey emotions, and, look, he had a reputation to maintain. Said reputation made it hard to get a date and he hadn’t had anything other than a one-night stand since junior high, but you know what? Details.

Besides…

Being an ex-thief and juvenile delinquent that only got out of going to jail on a technicality didn’t exactly make you prime date material. Sure, he knew how hot he was (thank his British mother for that, rest her soul): He had long fluffy hair that was always silky and soft; warm green eyes that mastered the thousand-yard ‘pin me to the nearest table and fuck me’ stare; he was around five-foot-six, with a lean, athletic figure that veered a bit on the thicker end of the twink scale; he knew just when to bat his eyelashes and when to smirk and used his pretty face to his advantage whenever he could.

One night stands? He had those in droves . 

Relationships, though? 

Bakura growled and put a bit more force in tossing that damned pair of parachute pants on the floor than he’d wanted. 

Slacks. He had to wear fucking slacks like some kind of office worker. He was fine with the suit, but that was for the wedding. Bakura hadn’t worn slacks since…

Fuck. 

When was the last time he wore them? 

He grabbed another pair and held it up by two fingers. Sighing, he bit the bullet and started trying them on.

After pulling them up, he winced. 

“Tight. What the fuck, how did they fuck up the sizing twice ?!”

It was like they were painted on. Did people wear slacks like this? With them hugging his long legs and showing curves he didn’t even know he had (damn, did he always have such nice legs?), this looked obscene.

He turned to the side, admiring his reflection.

“You know,” he grinned, “If they make my ass look this good, I might just wear these things more often.”

A soft chuckle fluttered in the air, and if Bakura had shame, he might have been mortified. Here he was, talking to himself and giving commentary about the store's shitty selection, and a forest fairy –  the cute and helpful ones from RPGs, not the pricks you found in real life – just outed himself as being in the stall next door.

Or at least he sounded like it. 

Gods, that laugh. It had a gentle lilt to it; it reminded Bakura of flowers and bread baking and green witchcraft.

“What's so funny?” He asked.

The voice chuckled again.

“You.” 

Bakura's cheeks did not heat up.

“Please don't stop your commentary on my account,” Fairy Boy giggled, “It's making my day so much better.”

“Oh yeah?”

Bakura peeled off his pants, putting them aside. 

“Yeah,” his neighbor sighed, “I hate clothes shopping.”

“Looks like we’re in good company,” Bakura chuckled.

“I’ve definitely been in worse,” the fairy tittered.

Fuck, was he flirting with him?

Fuck yeah, he had to be. Take that Marik: bet you never had game so good a guy could want to fuck you without even seeing your stupidly pretty face.

All right: Game on.

“What're you in for, then, stranger?”

Bakura wanted to take that Fairy’s laugh and bottle it: it had just the right amount of sweetness to be adorable and not cloying. He didn’t even care what this guy looked like: Bakura was ready to go for that voice alone.

“Gods, you make it sound like we're in jail,” the fairy grumbled.

Bakura smirked. “Aren't we, though? People are constantly walking around, watching our every move.”

“Ugh…”

“‘Do you need any help, sir? Can I lead you to our most expensive section so you can spend your entire paycheck on a single pair of pants?’”

“You are way too good at the customer service voice,” Fairy boy chuckled, “But…”

“But…?”

A sigh. The sound of dejection didn’t look good on him: “At least you aren't so short they asked if your mommy was with you.”

Holy shit. Holy shit, the laughter was coming out before he could stop it! Bakura leaned against the wall and cackled.

Gods, how short was this guy? He had to be something close to five-foot or shorter: all of his one-night stands were on the taller side, but just once, Bakura’d wanted to fuck a shorter guy. There was one time he was fucked by a guy close to six-four, and it was like being railed by a giant; what would it be like in his position? Would he feel powerful with the twink’s smaller body in his arms? Would his muscles flex as he held the guy down, fucking him hard and fast as he squealed in that adorable little voice for more, more!!

This guy was a twink, right? Listen to that voice! He had to be.

Twinky and short.

Holy shit, Bakura never thought he’d ever meet a guy who made him feel tall. It wasn’t as though he was insecure about his height, either. He liked when tops had to curl over themselves to hold him down, or when he got free shit from hulking morons who thought he was innocent and small and just loved batting his eyelashes at larger men. Bakura was a whiskey man: the good shit didn’t come cheap.

Fairy boy was getting hotter by the second, especially when he made that adorable pouting huff on the other side of the wall.

“Hey!! It's not funny! I got dragged to the children's sec–dammit, don't laugh harder!”

Too late. 

He was not ashamed to admit that it took close to three minutes for him to stop laughing. Admittedly, part of that was because his mind shifted to the thought of Katsuya needing to be taken to the children’s section to buy his horrendous fucking shirts but those were between Bakura, his brain, and the spirits that may have ended up possessing him over the years due to Ryou’s magical experiments in high school.

“You got it out of your system?” Fairy Boy grumbled.

“For now.”

“I'm so glad my misery amuses you, My Lord.”

“You think mine is hilarious: you're no better.”

“That's fair. It definitely takes the edge off trying to find an outfit for an engagement party.”

Bakura's shoulders tensed…

Fairy Boy sputtered before adding: “n-not mine, by the way. It’s my best friends’.”

…then relaxed.

Bakura set a pair of black slacks –  one that actually fit, thank you very much – aside with the ass-pants. He tossed the rejects aside for the workers to sort out later. 

“Baby brother's getting hitched.” He mumbled.

“Oh! Congratulations! I hope he and his wife have a wonderful life together!”

Wife .

Ryou’s wife .

Suddenly the mental image of his baby brother carrying his blushing bride –  with his poofy bleach-blonde hair, lean corded muscle, goblin-esque victory grin, and absolutely horrendous fashion sense – in a bridal carry across a threshold crawled into his brain like a skitter of insects. 

Bakura shuddered.

“Pretty sure my future brother-in-law would sooner die than be caught in a bridal gown, but I'll pass the suggestion along.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't know! But I know what you mean; Ryou's really pretty, but I don't think he'd like wearing a dress very much. And Katsuya, well…”

Wait.

Hold the fucking dice.

What did he say?!

“Ryou?” Bakura didn’t choke: he definitely didn’t choke.

“Yeah!” 

“Ryou, as in…Ryou Bakura?”

“Yeah; How did you know? Are you a friend of his or something?”

Bakura swallowed. What were the odds? No, really, what were the odds ?

What were the odds that he would run into one of Ryou’s best fucking friends in a fucking dressing room on a Saturday trying on clothes for the same party ? And he had a hot voice?

And they were flirting?

And Bakura didn’t want to stop flirting.

This was some next-level romcom shit. 

“Ryou Bakura…is my little brother.”