A/N: Well, this is the second story I've ever written, so I hope it's alright! This was partially inspired by a fic I read a long time ago about a story Seto Kaiba writes for a class assignment. No idea what the name of it was... Anyways, please read and review! I hope everyone likes this one-shot (which originally started as just the poem but managed to expand itself to over 2000 words somehow).

This fic is set just after Battle City, in case I didn't make it obvious enough within the actual story.

PS. Many thanks to faburizu for suggesting the title change!


A PLACE I'VE BEEN BEFORE

Ryou stared at his page listlessly. The empty sheet of lined paper leered back at him.

The assignment: write a poem on what makes you feel the strongest. Sounded simple enough. Ryou was actually foolish enough to be excited when the teacher announced the piece. A chance to do something completely from his own head; no rules, no restrictions. It just had to be about something that evoked emotion. That sounded kind of fun, right?

And yet here he sat, admiring the contours of an ever expanding black-inked squiggly doodle in the lefthand margin of the lined paper. A strand of soft white hair fell from behind his ear and he pushed it back without thought. Why was this so difficult?

Oh, he had emotion. He had emotional material enough to fill a thousand notebooks. But he got the feeling writing about anything that really made him "feel" would land him a comfy bed in the psyche ward... He began to outline his name with little black eyes, reminiscent of the ring which he no longer felt cold against his skin. They stared up at him menacingly.

He looked at the clock. It was supposed to be handed in at the end of class, which was fast approaching. Out of sheer desperation, Ryou glanced quickly around to see how everyone else was doing. Anzu was humming a little tune to herself as she finished writing her last sentence. Dancing was her topic, no doubt. Yugi, whose grades had slipped post-Battle City which had made the boy frantic to get them up again, was madly scribbling, but at least he seemed to have an idea what he was doing. Jonouchi and Honda weren't at their desks. Ryou's eyes found them up at the front on either side of the teacher. Apparently, they had given up on actually writing the poem in lieu of attempting to cajole the teacher into making it due tomorrow (or not at all). Surprisingly enough, it seemed like it might almost be working. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

He had never claimed to be a extraordinary writer, but he was usually competent enough to get his ideas down on the page without too much effort. He had to write something soon, there were only fifteen minutes left in class... Ryou sighed in despair, his hands covering his eyes. Every time he tried to think what made him emotional, only one thing (or should he say person) really came to mind. He guessed that since the spirit had been the focus of his life so long, everything else had rather started to look insignificant.

You know what, fine. The teacher can think whatever she wants to think. I don't really have a choice here. Though silently he prayed the first thought that popped into her head wouldn't be "abuse".

He put his pen to the paper and began to write. He noticed that as soon as the first word was down, his head became clearer and the writing came more easily. He also noticed that with every word, his hand shook more and more. The teacher was actually going to read this. Nobody ever got inside Ryou's head. He made sure of it. Never again.

Another glance at the clock. With ten minutes to spare, Ryou was finished. He couldn't say he was necessarily proud of the work he had done, but it was better than a page unadorned with anything but squiggles and creepy little eyes. He saw Jonouchi and Honda returning to their seats with looks of glee on their faces out of the corner of his eye. Maybe...

"Alright, you all better get down on your knees and thank me! And thank your classmates too," said the teacher with a bemused expression on her face. "After hearing so many good arguments on why this shouldn't be handed in..." (Ryou had the distinct feeling she had simply tired of the whining) "I've decided to be lenient. You can all hand the poem in tomorrow."

The class breathed a collective sigh of relief, though the few who had actually finished (well actually, just Anzu) seemed slightly disappointed. Ryou was elated. That meant that tonight he could rewrite his to be something less... personal. He smiled to himself as he prepared to slip the paper into his notebook.

"But I would hate to waste these last few minutes of class, so why don't we have one student share what they have so far with the rest of the class? Any volunteers?" Ryou was jolted back to panic mode once again. The teacher reading his poem was one thing, but the entire class hearing it too?! He was already enough of a freak, with his long white hair and shy demeanor. Don't call me, don't call me, please don't call me... The boy's white-knuckled hands gripped the metal seat of his chair tightly.

Luck had never been on his side. "Mr. Bakura, you're usually so quiet in class. I'd love to hear what you've written." A strong urge to shout the worst obscenity he knew bubbled within him, though god knows he was too polite to actually do so.

"Mr. Bakura?" He stayed rooted to his chair. Please let the bell ring... A glance backward told him that there were still five minutes left in class. No choice. He stood up and slid his sheet out from the folder. It promptly slipped out of Ryou's hand, fluttering gently underneath Yugi's chair, warranting a giggle or two from the room. His face burning, he bent to retrieve the paper and slowly made his way to the chalkboard. Turning to face the class, he saw the eyes of his peers staring back at him, and he felt the bile rise in his throat. Some kids were paying attention, others were passing notes and whispering to each other. His knees were jelly, ready to give out any second, and his hands shook as his raised the paper. A deep breath.

He really didn't want to do this.

...

"I-It's cold, this place I've been before. Deathly cold. Cold like the hand that's gripping my shoulder. A hand that brings death." Yugi's eyes widened slightly.

"It's dark, this place I've been before. Pitch dark. Dark like the soul of the one who grips my shoulder. A soul that pitches its claim on mine." Ryou's voice, soft at first, began to gain volume.

"It's solitary, this place I've been before. Solitary confinement. Solitary like a thief in the night. The thief who confines me here." By now he had everyone's attention, though Ryou was too immersed to realize it.

"It's dry, this place I've been before. Bone dry. Dry like the rasp of his breath, in and out on my hair. Breath that chills me to the bone."Anzu gasped, but Ryou didn't hear it. He couldn't hear a thing.

"It's silent, this place I've been before. Dead silent. Silent like the boy who knows his place. That boy is dead."As he approached the final stanza, he had forgotten the piercing eyes of his classmates, the anxious looks of his friends, the ticking of the clock. There was no quaver in his voice now.

"It's my home, this place I've been before. Home is where the heart is. He is my home. The one who possesses my heart."

"This is a place I've been before. This is a place I'll never go again."

Silence. And then...

CHIME. CHIME. CHIME. Class was over. Everyone grabbed their books and sprinted for the door. Ryou was left standing silently at the front of the room.

"Very well written, Mr. Bakura. You read with a lot of emotion as well. You should really speak up more often in class." The teacher gave him a small smile as she took the paper from his hand. Ryou saw Yugi and company approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Bakura..." Not right now. He shoved past them, collected his things, and ran out of the room. He tore unseeing through the hallway and around the corner, finding himself at his destination in what seemed like hours of running. Ryou opened the bathroom door, gasping for breath, shut it quickly behind him and leaned back. Done. It was done. He was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was fine... A few steps forward and about face. Ryou examined himself in the mirror, leaning heavily on the counter with his palms. He wasn't sure what he expected to see there. A pair of tired brown eyes stared back at him. But they were his eyes. Undoubtedly his eyes. He smiled. Everything was fine.

He spun the faucet handle and splashed his face with cold water, jolting the remaining uneasiness from his tense body. That hadn't been so bad. At least now he could go to math and relax, calm down a little. Yugi and his friends would forget all about this pretty soon too. Really, he didn't know what he had been so worried about. Only a few people in the class even knew what he was talking about, the rest had no idea, just thought it was some weird poem. He had stopped shaking now, and grinned nervously at the mirror.

CHIME. CHIME. CHIME. He was late. Off went the faucet, and he turned towards the door placing his hand on the knob.

/You are so innocent, Landlord./

Ryou choked and stumbled backwards, his heart pushing through his shirt. He spun, searching the small room. What the...

/It's rather sweet, actually. So sweet it nearly sickens me./

Ryou spun again to face the wall opposite the door. "Y-you aren't real. You're gone. T-this is just in my head. This isn't real." Ryou backed away towards the door warily.

/Funny child./

"...Go away."

/Tut. Tut. That's no way to speak to an old friend./

"I don't have the ring, you don't need me anymore." His voice shook. The lightbulb above him flickered and went out, plunging the room into total darkness.

/Your poem wasn't very nice, Landlord. You almost made me sound like the devil himself. I'd be angry with you, if I wasn't so flattered./

"W-what do you want?"

/You know, they say the best poems are the ones that can draw you in.../

Ryou felt the air go cold and a terribly familiar sensation of dizziness. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. And he was back, back to where he'd been before. The bathroom was gone, replaced by a never-ending realm of swirling shadows. His poem was coming to life before his very eyes.

/Such a nice poem you wrote for me. I want to hear it again. Speak for me./ No sound escaped Ryou's lips. /Shall I help you out then? 'It's cold, this place I've been before. Deathly cold. Cold like the hand that's gripping my shoulder...'/ He felt cold fingers brush lightly over his hair before coming to rest on the exposed flesh of his collarbone. His back arched slightly as a shiver ran down his spine. /I've forgotten the next part. Won't you help me out, Landlord?/ The ghastly voice purred in his ear. This can't be happening... /Tell me, is this what comes next? 'Dry like the rasp of his breath, in and out on my hair. Breath that chills me to the bone...' No, I think I've missed something.../ The voice whispered next to his cheek, cold air raising the hair on his neck. /I can't remember much more. But I remember I liked the last stanza. What did you say? 'The one who possesses my heart'. Very well put. I like how you think, Landlord. You are mine./ Ryou cringed as he felt his captor nuzzle into his hair, but he didn't pull away. Where was there to run here? Where could he hide?

/My child. Why would you want to run? I am your home, remember?/ Ryou could sense the mouth form a malevolent smirk. "Let go..." /Why would I do that, so soon after finding you again? You are so naive, my child./

"Why are you here?" he asked again. "You don't need me anymore." A short, twisted chuckle.

/I know I don't need you. That's why I want you. Stay with me, Landlord. Ryou. I want you to keep on writing your pretty little poems for me.../

"Go away!"

/Hehe. Alright. For now.../

Ryou dropped to his knees on the bathroom floor, clutching his arms tightly around himself. He heard someone walking outside the door and laughter somewhere down the hall. Echoes filled the air.

He understood now. He understood everything.

The floor was cold. This room was cold. Ryou was so cold.

"This is a place I've been before. This is a place I'll never go again." It scared him. Because he realised the truth of why he could never go back.

He had never left.

A/N: Well, thank you to everyone for reading! Since it was rather broken up in the story, here's a copy of the poem by itself:

"It's cold, this place I've been before. Deathly cold. Cold like the hand that's gripping my shoulder. A hand that brings death."

"It's dark, this place I've been before. Pitch dark. Dark like the soul of the one who grips my shoulder. A soul that pitches its claim on mine."

"It's solitary, this place I've been before. Solitary confinement. Solitary like a thief in the night. The thief who confines me here."

"It's dry, this place I've been before. Bone dry. Dry like the rasp of his breath, in and out on my hair. Breath that chills me to the bone."

"It's silent, this place I've been before. Dead silent. Silent like the boy who knows his place. That boy is dead."

"It's my home, this place I've been before. Home is where the heart is. He is my home. The one who possesses my heart."

"This is a place I've been before. This is a place I'll never go again."