He's gone.
That's a fact that Ryou is ready to accept. He had wanted the spirit gone for so long. Now he had finally gotten his wish. He was free.
(He was terribly lonely now that he was gone, more than he wanted to admit. Even if they weren't on the best of terms, something- someone was always around him. It was an unusually eerie yet comforting thought.
He wasn't alone.
If the spirit was still around, he was certain he would hear nothing but taunting words, something that would belittle his person.
"You need me and I need you. Quite a simple exchange, isn't it?"
He could almost hear that dark chuckle that followed after such a 'compromise'.)
But was he really gone?
A hand would absentmindedly run over his chest, expecting there to be a golden artifact dangling around his chest. There was nothing there.
Nothing but injuries.
(Scars. There were scars that he left. How many times had he injured his host's body without a second thought? Had his arm ever healed properly? Those hole shaped scars remained on his abdomen. He recalled being told once that they'd never heal. There was no logical explanation to them; they were to remain on his body forever.)
Those marks are proof that he was here, proof that he was living and breathing in Ryou's body. Controlling his body.
Aside from physical evidence, there were those strange occurrences that had happened. His memory was hazy, he figured that he had passed out and yet others would mention such strange actions. They never sounded like something he would do. It sounded more like something that the spirit would do.
("Don't you remember, Ryou? How you scared off those thugs without a second glance? That was just so cool!"
"What ever happened to your meat obsession? I guess that was just a phase, huh?"
"You're not getting into anything...dangerous, are you? I saw some blood on your clothes and...you're okay, right? That's not your blood...is it?")
He can't remember. His responses are always vague, a nervous laughter. Just what was he supposed to tell them? Only a handful of people would believe him, those who actually knew of the spirit.
Those questions stopped coming since he left. He was back to normal. Back to cute, little, innocent Ryou.
(But those who witnessed the spirit's doings in his body still feared him. They knew of what he could do, the spirit. They just didn't know he was no longer there.)
Things should have returned to their clockwork routine when he left.
(But his markings on the world still lingered.)
There was an empty feeling in his chest.
(Was it loneliness again? Yearning? Perhaps the latter. He knew how these emotions felt. He was no stranger to them, but it all felt…worse.
There was no one by his side. No one to speak to, no one to speak to him. Not even an inanimate ring to talk to.)
When he found his own reflection, sometimes he believed he could see a change in his face, an trace of what could have been the spirit still residing in him. It was his eyes playing tricks on him, he believed.
(He tried to look like the spirit once- twice. He could never master that glare, the anger and hatred that was held behind such an intense gaze.
His hair never seemed to remain spiked up for long either. Odd.)
And sometimes he could swear on his life that someone was watching him. Sometimes he felt safe. Sometimes he didn't.
(It was an ominous feeling, one that would linger around for too long. It was almost familiar, threatening. Could he even define it as safe?
Maybe he was dealing with the occult far too much than usual. He needed something to do and returning to his mystical hobby could distract him.)
It was just his imagination.
The spirit was gone.
(Ryou swore at times he could see an image of a transparent figure resembling himself wearing a cruel smirk, dark eyes judging him, his choices, everything. It was so faint, so quick. The image would always look as if he were apart of his surroundings, simply fitting in. The spirit knew how to.)
And yet, he wasn't.