It was bitter cold, but that was to be expected in December. Ryou cuddled into his duvet, burying his snowy head in the pillows. Peanut, his cat, was curled and purring at his feet. In his head were nightmares of the past.
Downstairs, Bakura sat with his feet on the coffee table, a beer in one hand and the remote control for the TV in the other. He snorted indignantly at the late night antics of the characters in a popular British sitcom. He was tired of this sense of humor. It was so different to back home – he often didn't understand it, and he generally decided that he was of far superior mind than anyone else he knew.
The Christmas tree in the corner of the room sparkled, covered completely in decorations, baubles and glitter. There were two presents underneath it – one for Bakura, and one for Malik, who would soon be visiting from Egypt.
The thief king snorted. He didn't see a point in any of this. He hated the holidays, and being so far away from Domino just made him angrier than usual.
He could hear Ryou screaming from the upstairs bedroom. He supposed he should go upstairs and check on him. They had left Domino earlier in the year so that Ryou could get away from what had happened there. Far away, and he had no intention of returning any time soon. His friends would write him, but he wasn't interested. The past haunted him.
Bakura got up, putting the beer bottle down with medium force. As he headed up the stairs he could hear Ryou crying. When he entered the bedroom, a glass of water that had been sitting on the bedside table was now shattered across the floor. Ryou was hunched over, picking up the pieces in his hands. The cat was sat on the window ledge, staring at the pair.
"What happened this time?" Bakura asked gruffly, kneeling down and taking the glass out of Ryou's torn hands. "You're a mess. You're bleeding and the cat's scared."
Tear tracks ran down Ryou's pale face. His liquid brown eyes looked into Bakura's. "They were all around me. The shadows. All around me. Everywhere."
A fresh batch of tears began to pour from his eyes. Bakura petted his head softly. "It's OK. We've been over this before. Everything's fine now. You're safe. Go back to bed – it'll be OK."
Ryou sniffled, getting up slowly. The blood trickled down his fingertips. Bakura continued to pick up the broken glass, tutting to himself at the water soaking into the carpet.
"Get in the bed, I'm getting a bowl to wash your hands in."
Bakura was tired. Tired of looking after Ryou. Before Battle City, he used to use him for his own gains. After everything, Bakura received his own body, and intended on using it to avenged everything he'd lost from his past life. But then he saw how weak Ryou was on his own. How lonely he was. How could he leave someone so pitiful and broken?
When he returned with the bowl and a washcloth, Ryou had the duvet over his shoulders. His tears had subsided, but his body still trembled.
"Let me see your hands."
Ryou extended his hands as told, and Bakura dipped them into the bowl. The younger hissed in pain, but refrained from looking up at his darker self. He was ashamed. Ashamed of everything he'd forced Bakura to do for him.
He dried his hands on a towel then lay back down in the bed. Bakura tried to smile, he wanted to, but it wouldn't come.
"I'm sorry."
"I know." Bakura bit back. "You need to stop saying that."
"I can't help it."
"Try" Bakura stated gruffly. "I'm going to bed now. If you need me, I'll be next door. Try not to break anything."
Looking away sheepishly, Ryou mumbled a response. He closed his eyes and tried to think about his life before all the craziness. He was a happy teenager. He had a nice home, and a father who wrote to him from his digs in exotic places. He painted in his spare time, and did well in school. He had friends he liked to hang out with once in a while.
That was before all the monsters that became real. Fiction wasn't an option anymore. Seto Kaiba and his tournaments. Yugi and the puzzle. The ring. Bakura.
He turned over, gripping his forearms, digging in his nails. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. He willed himself to. Begged. But nothing. He lay there in the sheets, wishing for a life that was anyone's but his.
*
Malik packed his things quietly. By his bedside table, was a box wrapped in blue Santa paper with a bright red bow on top. He smiled and placed it carefully into his suitcase. He wasn't really sure what to pack – he was going by what Isis had told him. Having never been to London, he was brimming with excitement, and he couldn't wait to see Ryou again.
After Battle City, Malik and Ryou had grown close. After drifting so far from the others, Malik was moderately surprised that Ryou even spoke to him, since he was the route of so many peoples problems. Well, his darkness and demons were. Isis always believed he was a good person. Now he was starting to believe it, too.
Ryou's letters to him were in the top drawer of his chest of drawers. He took one out now to read it and remember his old friend. The others asked about Ryou often. They didn't really care now, about him or Malik. Malik could see it in their eyes, and it was something he knew Ryou always saw, too. They were both outsiders because of their darkness. Just, now Ryou's was human and looking after him.
"So, are you going to tell Ryou about the situation?"
Malik looked over his shoulder. Isis was standing pointedly in the doorway.
"I told you, I'm going because Ryou invited me for the holidays, not because of this, and I won't tell him."
"Brother, it's in his destiny to-"
"I don't care if it's his destiny" Malik interjected. "He's already frightened. Hell, he left Domino to be rid of all this, do you really think he wants to deal with anything else?"
"Destiny is destiny." Isis answered simply.
Malik snorted and resorted to packing again.
*
The time was 4.40 A.M. Ryou was finally sound asleep, but Bakura lay awake. Something didn't feel right. He wasn't quite sure what it was, he couldn't place it. Something was definitely wrong, though. He had written to Malik a few times, much as Ryou had, but the letters he received were never as optimistic as the ones his lighter half did. Malik knew something, and if was bringing that something with him. Bakura didn't even want to think about it. If Ryou got hurt again it would drive him to the brink. Sure, he still had the nightmares, but he was slowly re-building everything else.
Bakura rolled over. His sharp eyes focused on the streetlamp outside the window. It illuminated the whole room, casting beams on his face and shadows on the walls. Malik would be leaving in a few hours. This time the following night, they'd probably all still be up, sitting downstairs and laughing and drinking. As much as he hated admitting it, even to himself, he missed seeing Ryou happy. Even when he was making the boy miserable, Ryou still managed to smile. Now it was so rare. Something was missing.
Something's missing for you, too; a voice echoed in his head. He shushed it, but it was always there, yelling at him. It made his chest feel funny, a feeling he'd never had before in all his years of living.
He closed his eyes against the cold, and tried to fall asleep.