Bakura loved everything about Ryou's body, about his mind. Ryou was pure, and sweet to the death, and his innocence was the greatest treasure he had ever stolen. He was the yin to his yang, the perfection and softness to his imperfections and sharp edges. He especially loved how the two of them were equally scarred. At night, Bakura came into Ryou's soul room while he slept and whispered sweet nothings into his ears. He would stroke the boy's hair, and would tell him how beautiful he was. Bakura always took pleasure in ruining perfect things.
Unfortunately for the boy, he became addicted to that side of Bakura, even though he always knew that part of him was a lie, a beautiful lie, and he relished in the torment of it. Ryou's emotions were formed around Bakura's moods, for when the thief was unhappy, Ryou was the one who had to pay. After Bakura had cut down Ryou's defenses and lashed out at him, he would always come to him with insincere apologies, rewarding him for a patience that only existed out of fear of his demon and a surprsessed budding desire. Bakura always soothed the boy with whispers of promises that never came true, but it always dimished his Hikari's worries, at least for a little while.
After all he had taken from his Yami, blacking out for hours and not being able to live his own life and unintentionally hurting the people he loved, he couldn't ever stop the disease infiltrating his mind, growing from the inside out. He couldn't help how rough hands on his fragile body, bloody scatches and bite marks and beautiful bruises made him feel so alive. Bakura's fingers made Ryou feel hot to the touch and twisted inside, as if his intestines were knotting in his body. To Ryou, it wasn't worth the torment, but somehow, he couldn't summon the courage to tell Bakura to leave, and cut himself off from his addiction. The more he hurt, the more Ryou was in bliss. Bakura had created a monster, a junkie to pain and a puppet so in love with his lies that he would die just to please him.