TL: *gasp* It's a new fic! See, I'm not dead!

Jou: Suuuure you aren't. *pats head*

TL: *vein pops out* I'll have you know I breathed a couple times last night!

Jou: First time for everything.

TL: Anyway, here is it, my very first yaoi fic. Aren't you all proud?

*crickets*

TL: …Moving on. I didn't pass it through a formal beta-reader (gomen!!!) because a) I'm too lazy to find my original beta-reader's email again and b) I'm a chicken. Also c) I want unexpected reviews… Actually, I don't care that much about reviews, I just want people to be entertained by my work. If they aren't, they can tell me, and I'll do my best to satisfy you all THIS time around.

Jou: Your last fic pretty much did suck, didn't it?

TL: Yes, I hated it and abandoned it to die. But I've been training and honing my writing skills and gathering forces to help me up if I start getting depressed again *coughDEScough* and to help me also if I run out of steam, yaoi or otherwise *coughagainDEScough*.

Dedications: To Nick, just because he's the bestestest guy in the world. To DES because she introduced me to yaoi and gave me the idea for this fic (actually, she's done a LOT for me, now that I think about it). And to Gerry because he beta-read it from a common reader's point of view and was very supportive of this first chappy. …And to Greg because he doesn't diss Yugioh like most of the males around me (guys in my class, my dad, etc.). ^_^ I love you all, you cool people! And you readers and reviewers!

~~~@~@~@~~~

Yami Bakura knocked on Ryou's bedroom door for the very first time. Normally he would have barged in, his angry presence demanding submission from the occupant, but this time something had stopped him. There was a feeling that had seeped throughout the entire empty house, and this room was the source of it. It was foreboding, a darkness tinted with something that Bakura knew too well to identify, and it crept underneath the door of Ryou's room like a poisonous gas.

Bakura knocked again, regaining his normal state of wrath, towards himself and everyone else, even his hikari. Still Ryou would not answer, though Bakura was sure he heard movement in the room. It was hasty; Ryou was hiding something from him. Bakura didn't care. He feared nothing, except losing his pride or his honor, for he had no life from which to part. Then all in an instant Bakura lost his temper and kicked in the door, revealing a distressed Ryou standing by his desk, looking like a deer in headlights.

"I—I didn't hear you. I'm sorry, yami. P-please, I'm just not used to you knocking…" He trailed off, fumbling with his shirtsleeves. Bakura just stared, not quite sure what to think.

"…Whatever. You should sleep, or you'll drop dead at school tomorrow And not by my doing, either." He turned and shimmered away, Ryou assumed back to his soul room. The boy let out a breath. That was close. I'm surprised he didn't knock the shit out of me this time. It's what he normally does when I do something wrong…

Go to bed, boy. Or I will knock the shit out of you.

Yes, Bakura. Ryou changed carefully, avoiding his sore arm and bruised leg, and crawled under his covers. The leg was a product of Ryou's forgetting to leave his bedroom door unlocked about a week before; Bakura had had to get inside through the ring and had proceeded to attack his hikari, hitting his ribs and kicking his shin until the boy was sure it was broken. Somehow it was not, but it hurt tremendously now.

The arm had been Ryou's own doing. A series of neat slices ran up his arm, from a few inches above his wrist to a few below his elbow. Ryou wasn't sure why he had done it. He had just been sitting, thinking, and all the pain of his beloved yami's hatred had welled up in him, and he had to let it out somehow. He'd tried taking it out on other things, like he did when he was mad. He'd beaten up a pillow and shredded almost a whole package of paper, but it wasn't the same sort of problem. It was inside himself, and it wasn't something he could spread to the world. So he pulled out Bakura's pocketknife—the same one that had cut him several times before—and started cutting.

Gently at first, just a bit past the skin, but that stung too much so he went deeper, drawing more blood. This was a problem, as he was wearing a white shirt, but he grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom across the hall just as Bakura began his ascent of the stairs, and wrapped up his self-inflicted wounds. He could only pray Bakura didn't notice the bulge underneath his sleeve. He could only hope that the spirit wouldn't poke into his mind to find out more about his awkward appearance.

But somehow, after all of that, the hiding and sneaking, the nervousness about trying it, the physical pain helped. It wasn't applied by pure hatred, it was simply remorse and loneliness, loss of will. He felt more satisfied with life now then ever before. It was like a door opening to him, like the way he'd felt when he had discovered his love of poetry. After that day he had written poetry almost every night, about fuzzy things, like friends and seasons and sunshine and warm winter nights indoors. This was all before his yami had starting venturing out into the world, before Bakura had become a full character in Ryou's life, and not just a presence within the Ring. The first time Bakura had hit him was when Ryou had missed his traveling father. He had sat down to cry, when Bakura appeared and mocked him. Ryou was angered by this, but Bakura was quicker to act, and Ryou received his first scar from the one he loved.

For, through all of this blinding hurt, tears, blood, despise, Ryou loved his yami. He respected his strength, and the way he could ask for what he wanted and get it, too. Not to mention the good looks. So much like himself, but…even stronger-looking, an outward sign of his inner boldness. At least these were the theories Ryou suggested to himself. He wasn't, in truth, quite sure why he loved Bakura. He just did, he just felt so close to him that he longed to be closer. These were things he couldn't tell anyone, not Bakura, not his friends… What would Yugi say if he knew what Ryou had just done to himself? He wasn't sure, and didn't want to guess.

Bakura sat inside the Ring, inside his soul room, feeling strangely uneasy. He wasn't used to this feeling, always towering above all the mortals around him and constantly reassured of his control over his hikari. But all the same, now he was suddenly unsure. Ryou was hiding something, most definitely, but what could it possibly be? What purpose did it have, was it emotional or material, was it already in action? Questions swirled in Bakura's head, and he didn't want to answer them. If he didn't answer them, maybe they would go away, and things would be back to normal.

His hikari was exuding a strange emotion, as well. Bakura thought he felt anxiousness and desperation, but it was all covered by a huge mask of pain. Inner pain and outer pain, pain in all shapes and sizes. And then, beside the dark cloud of pain, was a bit of light, a ripple of satisfaction, of victory. What had Ryou found now? It wasn't that sickening poetry stuff again, was it? Bakura had worked very hard to stomp out any remaining poetic inspirations, and he didn't want those warm feelings returning to his shared body again. This was something to do with Ryou's hidden actions, and those same actions had caused the other things to grow as well. Whatever had made Ryou happier had also hurt him more. Bakura's head hurt just thinking about figuring it out, so he stopped thinking about it altogether and rested through the night.

"…Ryou? Are you all right?" Ryou opened his eyes to Yugi's worried voice.

"Wha―?" He looked around him. He was in the classroom, and it was lunchtime. Then the unimpressive events of the morning returned to him. It was the usual: get out of bed, act as humbly as possible toward his yami, and survive the first few classes without questions about his slight limp.

"You fell asleep. Jounouchi threw his pen at you, and you still didn't wake up! You shouldn't be staying up so late, you know."

"…Oh." He didn't have much to say. What was there to say? Right now he just wanted his headache to stop.

Somehow he dragged on through the rest of the day, and his headache faded as he went on. He decided it had something to do with blood loss, so he planned to have lots of iron-rich green vegetables in his dinner. If he managed to make a dinner without Bakura threatening him with a chef's knife.

He walked home slowly, his leg beginning to ache again, and was again surprised at Bakura's lack of response. What was it with him lately, not hitting Ryou, not yelling much at all… All since his barging in on Ryou the night before. Was he brooding? Plotting? Had he figured it out? Or was he realizing…

No. Ryou veered from that thought as quickly as possible. Bakura hated him, and even if he didn't, he wouldn't show a weakness like that. Bakura was strong, Bakura was his dominant yami, his powerful inner ruler. He looked down on mortals as if they were dirt; that is, stepped on them and paid no attention to them at all.

Hearing a familiar voice nearby, Ryou looked up. Yugi was passing him up, and talking excitedly to Yami. Ryou sighed. Why was it that he couldn't have a relationship with Bakura they way those two had with one another? The word "aibou" was unfamiliar to him. He was always the weak hikari, Bakura was always the strong yami, that was the way it was. They wouldn't ever be equals. They wouldn't ever…

Ryou stopped himself once again. He couldn't go on thinking these things. It was true, they would never be able to love each other like that. Never love. Respect and fear. That was all Ryou knew.

Yugi ignored him in his conversation and went on down the street. Ryou kept hearing the word "aibou" again and again, and it made him cringe. When Ryou got home, he let Bakura go on his way about the house, and went straight upstairs to his room and locked the door. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out the pocketknife. It had blood on it from last night, and Ryou made a mental note to clean the blade when he was finished or he would be found out for sure.

He returned from the bathroom with the blade perfectly clean, and then shut himself in the room again, and began his work. His left arm was a bit sore and already fairly covered, so he moved on to his right. The knife blade was cold, but comforting. Ryou could do something for himself, could pull himself out of his abuse-ditch. Here was something to bring him away from the thoughts he had earlier, here was something more real, more true, than love could ever be. Ryou's dreams couldn't come true. They were silly fantasies. This was not, the blood dripping down his arm. It wasn't a fantasy. The pain he really felt, not the imaginary heartaches, was there, sure as day and night. Yes, here was something real.

Bakura pounded on the door. Ryou jumped up and began covering up. He wiped off the pocketknife and shoved it into the drawer, then cleaned up the blood running over his hands. Bakura started yelling, so Ryou rushed to unlock the door. The moment the knob could turn Bakura slammed open the door and smacked Ryou across the face.

"Idiot!" Ryou felt the boot in his stomach and stumbled back against the wall. "I told you to leave the door unlocked, all the time." Bakura pulled the pocketknife from the drawer and then froze. Hikari, what have you been doing with my knife? The words were clipped and cold. Ryou shivered.

Hikari, answer me. Now!

"I—I…" Ryou hadn't come up with an excuse for this yet. He floundered until Bakura became fed up and dragged his hikari to his feet.

"Whatever you were doing, don't do it again. Do you hear me?" Ryou nodded. Bakura pressed the edge of the blade against Ryou's cheek. "Never." A thin, thin line of blood trickled from the cut, but Bakura eased up the pressure and put he blade away. "I expect very little of you, hikari, and you can't do even the smallest things." He paused in the doorway on his way out. "You're never making it past high school like that." Then he stomped down the hall and steps, back to whatever he had been doing.

Ryou slumped to the floor. What on earth? Had Bakura just sounded… caring? Maybe he just didn't fully grasp the concept he was talking about. There was some kind of misunderstanding here. There had to be. But Ryou kept thinking, and it just became clearer with each repetition. Bakura cares! It was so small a thing, this one sentence of caring, then back to the anger and hate. But to Ryou, even the smallest thing was something to rejoice over. It was so rare, so precious a moment.

Ryou crawled over to his bed and curled up in the covers. There it was, the warm feeling he'd been missing. Happiness. Love. It all came flooding back to him, and he couldn't believe how good it felt. Was there any chance, any speck of possibility in the universe, that Bakura loved him? Anything, anything?

Exhausted by the tangle of thoughts in his head and the many emotions of the day, Ryou fell asleep at five in the afternoon.