Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or any plot devices related to the Yu-Gi-Oh! series.

Warnings: Species/gender/body dysphoria.

The bitter chill in the air went all the way to the bone. A sudden huff caused a cloud of steam to rush past Bakura's lips. This body had absolutely pathetic circulation and the temperature was almost too much, even with the layered sweaters and coat (which made it quite difficult to move, but sacrifices must be made…). The cold did have its benefits, though – it crept inside of his sleeves and enveloped his fingers; it caused physical pain, like bites. He was alive. He was completely and utterly alive! …And he was mortal.

He'd, in his own way, beaten the Pharaoh in the end. The other Spirit had wanted to pass on, where Bakura wanted nothing to do with the subject. He had clawed and torn his way out of his punishment through sheer force of will, and, if he were being perfectly honest with himself, he didn't remember most of it. He couldn't differentiate what had been in his head or outside of it. That hadn't been the terrifying part, no. He'd needed a body, for he had nothing to attach himself to when he had only seconds to anchor himself. Ryou's was the first to come to his mind, and at the time, he hadn't cared for accuracy. So here he sat, the whole thing still not cemented in reality yet, in a half-broken copy of a body that had no use to him anymore.

He was only fragment of Zorc who had no power anymore, a lingering shadow that held no meaning, a joke. He had no true self. He had no purpose anymore. All he could do was live.

Living was horrible.

He had never lived in a human body that was his own, and the difference between that and borrowing someone else's body was staggering. When he possessed a body, it was like wearing a thick glove. He had control over how it moved, but there was a very notable separation between him and the reality around him (not to mention with the body he was using, as well). The senses were numbed; touch being the one most affected. Now, everything was overwhelming. It was like his entire being was just raw. There were too many sounds and they were too loud, something hot was absolutely scalding, cold was white hot pain. It was most likely a combination of it being a brand new body, but also that it was his body.

The reality of dying was all too real. A simple puncture with a knife could do it, if it were in the right spot and help didn't arrive in time. He had come from being the most powerful force in this world to being helpless against it. Without his magic, he only had his mind and his hands – both of which were incapacitated while sleeping. He was left wide open then. It was pathetic that he was now the sort of man who looked over his shoulder often.

Not only was his comfort and safety ripped away from him, but he had an alarming amount of body dysphoria. He was trapped in a human shell, permanently trapped inside of it. These weren't his hands. This wasn't his face, nor was the rest of it his. It was like trying to put the wrong shoes on his feet, and wearing everything a size too small and backwards. To make it even worse… this gender didn't match him. His species was without gender, and neither the term "male" or "female" fit. He, in the end, settled for male, because that was the ruling gender, the one that held power. Women were considered weak and inferior, and neither did those terms fit him. Though, he could hardly care less if he were mistaken for a woman (which happened on occasion). Either one made his ill-fitting skin crawl.

He'd certainly made his fair share of enemies as well. In a world that felt strange and new, he had no one. Of course, he knew he didn't need anyone. …But the very human side of him desired companionship. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and he did everything he could to fight it – but in the end… what he was now… he was part of a species that were social creatures. Sometimes going out and watches them all interact was enough to satiate this feeling. But tonight, no one (in their right mind) was out, especially at this house. The shops were all closed, and the street was iced over. They lived too close to the water for it to properly snow, but that didn't stop the weather from trying.

He grunted quietly and leaned forward in order to get to his feet (which he hadn't been able to feel for over an hour now). There was no reason to stay out any longer, when he could brood inside, now that the icy air had met its purpose.

First he had come to Japan for a sense of habitual comfort, and it was the only place he could think to go. He'd stood out too much in Cairo, and there was always the chance of running into the Ishtars. He wasn't hard to miss with his glowing white skin, hair, and dark, slanted eyes. It also made him the perfect target for scamming in the markets and robbing in the alleys. He wasn't comfortable there, though he wasn't comfortable in Japan, either… but he was certainly bothered less.

Yuugi had been caught between frightened and hopeful when Bakura (as he'd so kindly taken a name that wasn't his) had shown up at his doorstep. He'd been alone, and had been in the process of feeding a stray cat that had started visiting often. At first he'd thought the former Spirit was, in fact, Ryou, but he'd quickly realized his mistake when the other hadn't spoken and didn't look nearly as friendly as Ryou. He had shaken his head, as if that would help clear the ghosts from his past, but Bakura remained. Yuugi had sputtered and asked why – how – he was there at all.

The boy's friends would have chased him out if he'd gone to them. Ryou might very well have killed him if he tried there. Yuugi, though… Yuugi, even though he despised Bakura in the end, he had at least let the man speak. He hadn't thrown rocks at him or called the police. Granted, Bakura hadn't said much, but it was almost as if he hadn't needed to. Yuugi was a genuine kind soul, even if much of his naivety had been stripped away because of the Items. He was trustworthy and he was loyal. That was why Bakura had admired him, even though he wouldn't have hesitated in taking the teenager's life before. But he hadn't had anywhere to live after he'd come back; he'd held a counterfeit passport and some illegally acquired money.

It was as if Yuugi could tell there was something completely off about him now. How he held himself, how his eyes needed to make their rounds on the possible exits. He couldn't just pull back and hide within the Ring now. He was completely off balance and, though he wouldn't have admitted it, scared. He wasn't even half of who he'd been while with his former host.

Yuugi, after a time, had offered him a seat and cup of coffee. Bakura had taken it because, well, because it was all he could do.

After several weeks of his coming and goings, Yuugi finally asked him if he had anywhere to stay. Technically he did, though he didn't find the abandoned apartment complex too comfortable (and it was also infested). Yuugi, as if this were a very important and very dangerous thing, had quietly told him that he had some money left over from winning tournaments. He had agreed to hand some over so long as Bakura figured out how to stand on his own two feet and walk with them.

Bakura owed Yuugi. It was surprising that he wasn't more upset about it. All Yuugi had asked for in return was for Bakura to, in several senses, get a life. Yuugi had been heartbroken when he'd heard that only Bakura had come back, but it seemed that he was grateful that Bakura was just willing to exist near him, because he was truly what made the entire past year real. Bakura was the breathing relic of the past, and he had a connected with Atem, even if it was one of disrespect and cruelty.

Yuugi was the only person he would associate with, and the teenager seemed fine with that.

"Bakura-kun?"

The bundled man glanced up sharply, catching sight of the subject of his thoughts standing a few yards away from him. Yuugi seemed to be fairing the cold much better, with only a coat and a scarf to shelter him, and in his hand hung a plastic bag. (It looked like he'd just left the nearby convenience store, which was probably the only thing still open at this time.)

Bakura nodded in response. Yuugi had stopped walking and the two just stared at each other. Finally Bakura began again and quickly caught up to the slighter teen.

"You're out late," he observed, and Bakura said nothing. Many of their meetings went this way. "Grandpa's not feeling well and we were completely out of tea," he continued. "I just picked some up and was headed back." Yuugi lifted the bag up as if to show he was telling the truth. He had figured out that Bakura enjoyed listening more than talking these days – which was another difference between his old self and his new self.

They walked back to the Turtle Game Shop mostly in silence, but it was the comfortable sort. When they arrived, Yuugi held open the door, which jingled, and then turned, looking back at Bakura.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked.

Bakura turned his head away and stared down the street for several seconds before he finally spoke: "No."

Yuugi nodded, and the fatigue he was feeling seemed to set in hard during that moment. "Alright. Are we still meeting on Sunday?"

Bakura gave a clipped nod. "As long as you're still the one paying."

Yuugi laughed weakly. "Of course." He paused. "Good night, Bakura-kun."

Bakura didn't verbally answer, though he turned his head to meet eyes, before he'd gone out of range of the street lamp on the corner.

Sunday was their afternoon coffee date.