Disclaimers: Yu Gi Oh do not belongs to me and never will…

Notes:

I am not totally sure about Ryou's age when he received the Ring and when his mother and sister passed away, ten years old is just my guess. Feel free to correct me if I am wrong through a review. My English is not that great, so if you spot a mistake I would appreciate it if you can notify me.

14/08 I've asked a friend of mine to edit this, I hope that it's now better than before.

He had never known that blood could be this fascinating; the way blood splattered out from the gashing cut with a small sizzling sound, slowly dripping from the body and seeped into the ground. The crimson red liquid with its slight warmth pooled around his feet, the puddle growing bigger as the clock nearby slowly ticked. In the pin-drop silent night, the soft rhythmic drip rang clearly throughout the house, blood flowed freely from the wound on his wrist and added on to the crimson red pool with each drop; the sheer redness of it contrasted his unnatural pale skin.

The object that had inflicted the wound was held tightly in his other hand; it was a small well crafted knife and a gift from his father — someone who had been missing from his life for seven years. It had been sent to him from Egypt, two weeks after his last birthday, clearly informing him of his place in his father's heart; he, his own flesh and blood, turning seventeen was not as important as age old artifacts in the ancient tombs of past Pharaohs and not enough of a reason for his father to visit.

How long has it been since he last saw the older man – the man who no longer plays a part in his life other than transferring a certain amount of money to his account each month? Nevertheless, it did not matter anymore, actually nothing matters anymore, he was beyond the stage of caring.

He no longer cared. When people avoid him and spread nasty rumors of him in schools or when people who claimed to be his friends ignored him and did not try to understand him at all, not even when he lost control of his own life and body to a three thousand year old spirit residing in his Millennium Ring who was bent on gaining the ultimate power.

The crimson liquid continued to make its way out of his body and to the floor, he merely watched in amazement how the flow of blood seemed to be endless and wondered how much longer it will take to empty his body of it. A brief thought entered his mind as the world finally started to fade from his eyes and he contemplated how long it would take for anyone to notice his absence. Perhaps three days and hopefully not more than a week, he did not fancy for his face to have rotted by the time of his funeral and he would then get a nameless tomb.

If that is so, then his existence would truly cease to be, so at the very least, in death, he wanted to have something that could prove that Ryou Bakura had truly existed in this world as a human. He wondered, as darkness finally consumed him, if that was too much to hope for, for a worthless being with no contribution to this society.

He felt as if he was floating in midair, no longer bound to anything, a freedom that he had not the pleasure of experiencing in his entire life. It was truly a comfortable feeling, unlike anything he had felt before and wished to remain this way for all eternity if possible. Clearly, it could not be, for it is simply something too good to be true to happen to one such as him. He could not be sure of the amount of time he had spent floating in this endless void but he knew it was clearly not as long as he would have liked when he felt a slight jerk that pulled him away.

Heavy eyelids struggled to remain close as he slowly opened his eyes; everything appeared as too bright and too white that for a moment he thought it to be heaven where his mother and sister went when he was ten. Instead of being greeted by an angel, he found himself blinking as he stared at a mirror image of himself, one that is semi-transparent, and a pair of red eyes stared straight back into his own.

His greeting was in the form of a poisonous hiss that was neither spoken by a mouth nor heard by his own ears but projected in his mind through the link he had always wore around his neck. However, his mind was not working properly yet and instead of trying to interpret the foreign voice, he scanned his surroundings and found himself to be in a typical hospital bedroom.

'—of all the trouble you could have cause.' The menacing voice in his head continued to hiss. The words were slowly starting to make sense in his head now. Blinking a few more times, he tried to get use to the glaring lights. Ryou knew that if he were to start listening any later he would be in trouble. 'Did you know I had to waste my energy to make a real body and bring you to this damn hospital?' The voice only grew frostier with each word spoken but he was already used to this cold voice.

The spirit of the Millennium Ring, who would take over his body and use it as he sees fit to gain all seven Millennium Items, had not one word of kindness to him since the day they first met. Over the years, he had already gotten used to the dark spirit, who cared about no one but his own desires. The spirit, Bakura as he liked to be called, is not exactly what you would call a caring friend but he, unlike everyone else, had been there beside him all these years, even if it was not by choice, and Ryou is grateful for that fact.

He tolerated Bakura's every single harsh word, the way Bakura had treated him as an inferior being compared to himself and the way the tomb raider would do anything to accomplish his goals even if it hurt Ryou along the way, simply because the ancient spirit is the only one that had been with him and eased the terrible loneliness in his heart a little. He knew that in reality, his darker half could not have cared less if not for the fact that he needed his body, still, it was better than being totally alone.

'It's been three days since I brought you here.' The dark spirit sneered. 'I even informed daddy dearest and your 'forever friends' but not a single one of them visited. It seemed as though it didn't matter at all whether you are dead or alive, isn't it, my landlord?' He taunted him, knowing that although it was expected it still hurts to find that not a single person cared. Ryou understood that his life was saved not out of concern on the spirit's part, but rather the fact that the spirit needed his body.

'The truth always hurt, doesn't it?' Bakura smirked, enjoying the painful thugs that formed in Ryou's heart with every word. 'Perhaps you would be better off dead, but I will not allow that, my dear landlord, you are far too important to me for me to allow that to happen.' Ryou closed his eyes at those words and felt them soothed his broken heart just a tiny little bit; a small piece of loneliness replaced by the satisfaction that he was still needed by someone.

A soft, semi-transparent finger brushed his cheek gently, causing him to remember his long deceased mother and her loving caresses whenever he was afraid. 'Rest, my landlord and recover well, without you my goals will never be achieved. That is why no one shall lay a finger on you without facing my wrath and all those who hurt you will face a terrible consequence. You can be assured to never be alone, for I will forever be by your side, Ryou.'

It was for the first time in seven years that someone had called him by his name and with a content feeling in his heart, Ryou Bakura drifted off to sleep with a true smile.