This is a tentative story of mine. And I want your opinions as to whether I should continue it or not. I already have a couple of stories in-progress, but I am willing to spend some time with this fic if you readers think it is worth it and all. If not, then I'll delete this, and after a few weeks or so…see what I can do to spice it up. But I really do like this plot I've come up with, so sooner or later, I am going to work on it eventually.

Main Pairing: Yami Bakura/Malik

Warnings: Cursing, shonen-ai, and hints of yaoi every now and then in the later chapters (nothing too explicit, mind you).

Disclaimer: All named characters are owned by Kazuki Takahashi.

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Chapter 1:

The Ghost

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He hadn't been sure how to react when he was met with that unnaturally pale figure just when he was about to leave the museum with his haul. At first, he thought it was someone sent by Bandit Keith to assist him in the robbery but came too late. This thought was eliminated from his mind when the other, upon nearing him, said, "You have something, that belongs to me…I want it back."

He had sneered, thinking that this was one of those overconfident punks they'd have to deal with every now and then. They were common nuisances, 'attacking' them after a successful burglary, and then attempting to steal their loot afterwards. Not that they were successful most of the time. He himself had handled such attacks before and so felt confident that he could handle the current situation as well.

"You whelps never know when to give up do you?"

The other boy raised a pale eyebrow, and now that they were a mere four feet apart he couldn't help but take in the other's strange appearance. The very first thing he noticed was the boy's hair; pure white, probably a shade lighter than his skin tone. The word "albino" passed through his mind immediately but then he caught sight of the other's dark brown eyes. Some other kind of freak then, he decided.

"If you think I'm giving this up," he held up the backpack that contained the stolen goods. It jingled softly as he did this, and the pale boy eyes seemed to intensify and darken in that moment. "Then you're out of your fucking mind."

The pale one sighed deeply. "Please…your overconfidence is sickening. I'm giving you a chance to walk away unharmed. That's very generous of me…so it's best that you just do as I say; Give me the ring, and you can leave with all the other things you've stolen, sell them, keep them, I don't care."

A look of realization passed upon the boy's face. The ring must be quite costly if the other wanted it. He faintly remembered grabbing the golden trinket randomly on his way out, actually. How lucky of him to come across something as valuable as this. He had no intention of letting it be taken away from him now that he was aware of its value.

He noticed the pale boy step forward suddenly, and he reacted at once, thinking the other was going for an attack.

"Sneaky son of a bitch, are you?" he grunted and aimed a swift punch at the other's abdomen. The next moment, his face contorted into a horrorstruck expression, at the same time that a devilish smirk appeared on the intruder's pale-pinkish lips. His fist felt cold, as if he dipped it in a bucket of iced water, only the feeling was far more horrible than that. His whole hand felt numb by now and he could feel the coldness spreading up his arm, but his mind did not register this at all. His eyes were fixated on his fist, which had passed through the other boy's stomach, and his mind was busy struggling to come up with a reasonable explanation as to what was currently happening.

"W-What the f-fuck…are…you?" he stuttered. His confidence had abandoned him, replaced with a creeping sense of horror that was consuming him more and more by the second.

Instead of answering, the being said, with a taunting grin, "You shouldn't have done that…you don't know how I hate it, when I'm reminded of my…incorporeal state."

The boy leaped back, overcoming his state of shock.

The other continued without losing a beat. "Nonetheless, it does prove useful in certain situations. Like what happened just now for example."

His arm prickled painfully after being withdrawn from the other's body, and he automatically started rubbing it with his other hand, dropping the bag he was carrying, in an attempt to bring back its warmth. The pale being's eyes flickered to where it lay on the dusty floor before settling back to look at him.

"Now, that wasn't so difficult was it? Though I only desire the ring…" he said casually, a thoughtful expression on his face. After saying that, he stepped forward, and ignoring how the boy scuttled away with fear, squatted by the loot bag and reached a pale thin arm as if to take it. The boy could only watch in awe and a sense of foreboding as the other boy's hand only passed through the bag's material, causing an irritated look to appear on the pale face.

"I still forget sometimes," he heard the other muse. The boy started when the spirit-being turned to him, "Looks like I need your help…" he smiled in what may seem like a friendly way, "Get my ring, and bring it back to where you found it. Then you can go."

"Y-You're a g-g-gh…" he had a hard time saying it since his mind was screaming that this wasn't possible, that what he was about to say was so ridiculous that the other boy might laugh at him.

The pale boy's smile widened, and he finished the other's sentence himself, "A ghost, a spirit, an apparition…whatever you'd like to call it."

The boy's eyes dilated. A ghost. He was talking with a ghost. And now that he was aware of what this person was, he noticed certain things that could prove the other really was a spiritual being, as he so claimed. Looking closely, he could see that other's body was see-through, not completely transparent, but translucent instead. He could see the faint outline of the wide open front doors through him. And by the moonlight peeking through them, he became aware that he made no shadow at all, the light passed through him as if he wasn't even there. And was it only him, or was the other boy's feet floating just a few centimeters from the floor?

He was brought back to his senses when the ghost snapped his fingers in front of his face, the sound abnormally sharp in the tense atmosphere, "Oi," he said, "Still in the world of the living, kid?"

"Y-yes…"

"Well? Put my ring back in its case. In your lifetime, if possible."

The boy clumsily stood up. He kept his distance from the ghost and reached down and took hold of his bag. As he did so, he took a glance at the open doors, trying to weigh down his chances if he made a run for it. What could the ghost do, anyways? It was apparent that the spirit couldn't make physical contact with anything with the living world, so if he did decide to run out of here, the other wouldn't be able to do anything to stop him, right?

And so that's what he did…he ran.

It was the worst choice he could make at the moment. For though it was true that the dead, a ghost in this case, couldn't directly affect anything in the living world, they had certain special abilities in their disposal that could more than make up for their lack of a physical body.

When he saw the boy run away, his eyes hardened and all thoughts of mercy left the ghost's mind. He had been patient, excruciatingly so, with the petty robber, but seeing that the boy actually had the gall to steal his ring from him, even after being told that he wanted it back, made his blood boil (figuratively speaking, since his blood probably dried up thousands of years ago).

The door was mere feet away; pretty soon, he'd be free of this nightmare. The boy rejoiced with this thought. But it all fell flat once he found the pale ghost blocking his path. The expression in the other's face was so frightening, that the boy was forced to think of the devil himself. The way his eyes glinted red and how his spiky white hair seemed to fan behind him with a non-existent wind, made such a terrifying picture, he immediately dreaded what the other planned on doing to him.

"I gave you a choice earlier..." he said, leaning closer, mockingly, "And sad to say…you picked the wrong one."

He inhaled sharply and his hands shook as the ghost moved in. The bag was discarded on the ground, that strange chime sounding once more. The ghost kept coming closer and closer, soon he'd be passing through him, he thought. And when the ghost and his' body did overlap , a searing pain tore through him, incomparable to the strange coldness he felt before. This one felt not only like his whole body was dipped into the freezing waters of the Arctic, but as if icicles were being used to stab his body, over and over again and freezing him from inside-out. By the time he exhaled, he wasn't him anymore. The ghost was in control now.

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The ring was back in its rightful place, the circular gold glinting maliciously in the darkness. The glass case that housed it before was shattered, but he did not mind. All that mattered was that the ring was safe, and in his possession once more.

The ghost looked at his hands, or rather, his current host's hands, with a frown. Burns marked his palms and shone an angry red even in the dark. If he'd been holding on to the ring any longer, his hands could've been burned off. He did not care for the mortal body, but for his waning strength instead, possession was an energy-consuming task. The priests that imprisoned him were indeed very good in making sure he could not hold or carry the ring he'd been cursed with for long periods of time. Even a mere twenty seconds (the time it took for him to carry the ring from the front hall to the Egyptian Exhibits section) was enough to make his hands red with pain.

The past few weeks had been utter hell. Only halfway through the month and he already had to deal with five robberies, all of which just had to involve his precious ring. Maybe next time, he thought sarcastically, he'd write in a piece of paper, 'Bakura's ring. Do not touch if you want to keep your soul' with a thick red marker.

Now, he walked back to the front door of the museum. The body he currently possessed had to be discarded as well, since he couldn't retreat within another's body for long without permission, which of course, he did not have. Another limitation to his capabilities. Those damn priests always had to be so specific, not even leaving any loopholes for him. An easy solution would be to find someone willing to be possessed, but honestly, who'd want a tomb robber's spirit hosting in their body?

Upon arriving above the museum's front steps, he decided to leave the body here. He could not go any farther anyway, another side-effect of being the golden ring's prisoner.

With a deep almost sorrowful sigh, Bakura relinquished his control over the body, not caring at all how the boy fell in a heap among the steps. The fool would wake up in a few hours or so. Normally, he would've kept them in his company just a little longer, terrorize them through the night, and then disappear as the sun rises, leaving them wondering whether he was real or not. A sadist he may be, but there was no other way to quench the feeling of utter helplessness he couldn't avoid experiencing. After all, if he could make a bunch of macho-arrogant teenage boys whimper and go crying home to their mothers, then he couldn't be weak, not when he knew there were those who would quiver and shake in his presence. And until he found some way to rid himself of this pathetic state of living, then this would have to do. Bakura would wait. After all…that's what he's been doing for the last three thousand years or so. He could wait a little bit more.

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I'm testing my serious-writing skills here (since I mostly write humor). So tell me what you people think.