Through A Glass Darkly

by Higuchimon

Is he? Isn't he? Bakura doesn't know what to think anymore. Can he trust his instincts when he's not even sure what they're telling him?

Disclaimer: I own nothing involved in this story unless I invented it myself. This is written for fun, not for profit.
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh
Title: Through A Glass Darkly
Romance: Thief King Bakura x Bakura Ryou
Word Count: 6,034
Genre: Romance, Supernatural||Rated: PG-13
Feedback: All forms eagerly accepted. Concrit is loved the most, but everything is welcome.
Note: This takes place about three years after the Ceremonial Duel. Also, thanks to Technicolornina for the title idea.
Summary: Is he? Isn't he? Bakura doesn't know what to think anymore. Can he trust his instincts when he's not even sure what they're telling him?

---

I shouldn't be out this late. Bakura hurried along, chill drops of rain sliding down inside of his jacket. Late or not, he decided that he shouldn't have been out at all. But when one ran out of food, one had to do something, and sitting at home starving wasn't on his personal list of ways to spend a rainy night.

Did I take a wrong turn? He knew the area fairly well, though he'd only moved in a few weeks earlier, but this particular intersection didn't strike a chord in his memory. He paused and looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

The grocery store he'd visited was three blocks back, turn left, and go two more. This meant that his apartment should be another block down and turn to the right. He should have been able to see it from there, shouldn't he? The buildings weren't all that tall in this part of town.

Yet no matter how hard he looked through the dark gloom, lit only by a few streetlights now, he couldn't see the building. Or if he saw it, he didn't recognize it for what it was. He shifted and fidgeted, not liking the idea of having to go up and down the streets until he found the right building.

I'll keep going. It was better than sitting there with more rain flowing down his jacket and his bag of groceries getting damp. He stepped up the pace, splashing through first one puddle, then another. His shoes squeaked and he made a face. At least he wouldn't have to keep them on once he got home. He looked forward to wrapping up in his warm slippers, a blanket, and a cup of hot chocolate.

The fantasy kept his mind occupied as he came to the end of the block and turned to the right. Now he expected to see the building he'd come to call home over the last six weeks. Instead, a narrow street, with no signs of any apartment buildings that he knew, lay before him.

Bakura stood there, trying to figure out which wrong turn he'd taken, and decided on a few hesitant steps down the street. Perhaps if he went down to one of the crossings farther on, he'd be able to see his building. He wasn't that far from it. He hoped, at least.

The first crossing was farther than he'd thought; the streetlight there was broken and in the dark and the rain, it was hard to judge the distance. He glanced over his shoulder once and didn't like how far he was from the main street. Maybe I should go back?

He turned to do so when footsteps echoed all around him. He hadn't taken a good two steps before a group of burly gang members, maybe younger than he was, but much, much more built, surrounded him. The one closest to him grinned, showing a mouth full of bad teeth.

"Lost?" In Bakura's opinion, his voice sounded as if the other had smoked at least half a pack a day for most of his life. The way they were all looking at him didn't encourage him to ask for help, though.

He shook his head and took another step away. Not that it gained him much; the circle of thugs stepped right along with him. "No, I'm not. Thank you for asking, though." He wished he were Jounouchi. Or Honda. Or Kaiba. Any of them would easily handle a dozen or more people twice and three times their size surrounding them.

There were on occasion times when he wished that he had the Millennium Ring again. Not many, but now and then…like now…

"You look lost." The one who had spoken eyed him, a chilly sort of grin on his face. Bakura had never seen the Spirit of the Ring looking at someone he considered prey, but he thought the other might've looked something like that. It wasn't the most reassuring thought in the world.

"Well, I'm not." Bakura shifted back again and still the ring of thugs kept with him. "Would you let me out, please?" No matter how much he knew he couldn't physically do anything, he wasn't just going to let them rob him. He was tired, cold, and wet and he wanted that hot chocolate.

"That depends, pretty boy. How much are you going to pay us to let you out?" The leader, for that was whom it had to be who spoke, leered at him. Bakura hadn't hung out with Jounouchi for the last four years and failed to pick up a few swear words. He said them all to himself right then.

"I don't have any money on me." That was the utter truth as well. He'd spent it all getting the bag of groceries.

The leader, dirty blond hair soaked to his scalp and his cheeks holding a hint of redness that Bakura thought meant he'd had a little more to drink than was good for him, stepped forward, eyes glinting with anger. "Look, pretty boy, that's not what I want to hear."

"That's what I've got." Bakura held his grocery bag closer to himself. "This is just my food for tonight." He was going to have to get more soon. Assuming that he lived through tonight anyway.

"He might be telling the truth." One of the others grunted. "Maybe we should let him go."

"I don't think so." The leader pulled out a knife and clicked it open, the point directly in front of Bakura's eyes. "Hand over the wallet."

Bakura shook his head and tossed a quick glance over one shoulder. He couldn't move anywhere else; the thugs behind him had moved in enough so if he tried to step back, he'd be stepping into them. This isn't my night.

The leader crunched closer, the tip of the knife now less than a breath away from Bakura's skin. "Hand it over. Last time I'm asking."

Bakura opened his mouth, though he wasn't at all sure of what he was going to say. There was luck in that, because he didn't need to say anything. The gang leader's eyes widened a heartbeat later, and someone who loomed up out of the shadows yanked his arm back. Bakura heard what could only be the snap of a bone breaking.

It was too dark for Bakura to see who was there, but he realized a moment later that he didn't want to. He caught sight only of two things: a head of pale hair and a blood-red coat.

What? No! He didn't let himself think beyond that. He didn't want to know beyond that. He stumbled to one side as the newly arrived stranger tossed the leader to the ground. Copper filled Bakura's nostrils and he spied an opening in the circle of thugs. He didn't ask how, he didn't wait for anything else. All he did was pelt forward, clinging to that bag of groceries, and did his best not to listen to what was going on behind him.

It was hard to do that, though. The screams were very, very loud.

Without his head to guide them, his feet seemed to know just where he wanted to go. When he finally stopped, when the screams had faded from his hearing, he looked up and around and blinked. I'm…oh. His apartment building rose less than a half block away. He shook his head; had any of that happened?

It probably did. He didn't want to think about it still. It couldn't mean anything anyway. How could it? He's dead. Three thousand years dead. He shoved all the thoughts out of his mind and hurried down the block.

It didn't take long for him to get inside and get up to his apartment. One hot shower, change of clothes, and cup of hot chocolate later, he relaxed in his living room. He would make his dinner shortly, but for now, he wanted to just enjoy being clean and dry once again. The rain and cold were almost as bothersome as having been quasi-mugged.

He sipped at the chocolate and glanced out the window at the falling rain. With every passing moment, what had happened appeared more and more unreal to him, as if it had happened in some kind of a dream. He held back a yawn that turned into a cough as his mind actually grasped what he saw standing across the road.

Not what. Who. Bakura still couldn't see his face, but that hair was unmistakable, given that he stood underneath a streetlight, and the red coat was the same one that Bakura had seen earlier. Not quite the one from then, but a red coat all the same.

Bakura's hand lashed out without taking orders from his brain and dropped the curtain, concealing the outdoors. I didn't see that. It was just some weird guy with pale hair and a red coat. It wasn't him. It wasn't even possible. The Millennium Items were gone and he was gone with them. Nothing could change that. Even if it could, he didn't want it changed.

He hurried into the kitchen to get his dinner going. At least his bedroom didn't overlook the street. He didn't have to worry about some weird guy semi-stalking him.

That didn't stop him from casting glances back at the curtain-covered window and wondering if the stranger was still out there. Nor did it stop him from looking at the closet, where a box he hadn't touched in three years lay.

Just a weird guy. With white hair. Like me. He hadn't met that many other people who had naturally white hair other than him. In all truth, he couldn't remember anyone else with it. Pegasus's hair was silver, not white, and …and that was it.

He didn't have a kitchen table so much as he had a simple counter in between the kitchen area and what he generally styled his living room. He settled onto a tall stool and started to eat, aware in an uncomfortable way that his back was now to the window he'd looked out of a short time earlier.

He's probably gone. What kind of an idiot would stick around that long in the rain anyway? The kind of idiot who would … What had he done to the thugs anyway? Bakura decided turning on the television in the vague hope of finding out wasn't the best idea. After all, he might find out.

Once he'd finished dinner and cleaned up afterward, little remained for him but to go to bed. He had all of his work done for his classes and in fact had the next day off. He could sleep in as late as he wanted. With as tired as he was, that sounded more and more appealing with every second.

He glanced again at the window and moved over to it, his feet taking him there without asking permission from his brain. He twitched the curtain to one side, hopefully without being seen from below, and peeked outside.

No one was there. The street was devoid of anything except puddles of rainwater and more rain cascading from the sky. For all that Bakura could tell, no one had been there that night at all. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe I imagined it. Imagining any part of what had happened appealed to him. A fantasy woven from daydreams and wishes. The darker side, of course, but what other side did he bother with?

He dropped the curtain again and headed with a firm step toward his bedroom. He was going to sleep in and enjoy himself tomorrow and the sooner he got onto that the better. Maybe I'll go to that teashop down the road. It had just opened up recently and he hadn't had a chance to get there yet. He didn't have anything else planned for the day, and he couldn't think of any reason not to go.

Bakura curled up under his blankets and closed his eyes, lulled to sleep in minutes by the patter of the rain against his windows.

His eyes flickered for a single moment when a streak of lightning flashed across the sky and a shadow appeared in the living room. But with his door closed and himself locked in the land of dreams, all he did was stir for a moment, then fall back into sleep as the shadow faded away.

---

By morning, the sky had cleared and the temperature had risen to something much more to Bakura's liking. The events of the previous night either were a daydream of some kind, he decided, or just not worth thinking about. He had a lot of practice in putting things he didn't want to consider out of his mind and with a cheerful smile for all who saw him, he headed down to the teashop in the early afternoon.

Maybe I should take my laptop. He dismissed the thought in the next breath. He didn't have any real work to do on it, and surfing the net wasn't half as interesting as actually watching people. He was very good at people watching. It helped when he wanted to draw up ideas for game situations, among other things.

The teashop had quite a few people to observe, he noticed as he settled down with a cup of his favorite blend. He let his gaze flicker among them all, taking mental notes for interactions and actions and everything else he could see. He could use all of it in some fashion.

He didn't talk to anyone, though. He seldom did. He preferred watching people. Watching meant not getting close. Not getting close meant…

Bakura wasn't certain if he pulled himself from his own somewhat melancholy thoughts or if the ringing of the bell over the door as someone entered did it for him. Not that it mattered; he abandoned that line of thought to look up and see who it was.

The minute he did, even if he had still had those other thoughts on his mind, they would have vanished into a puff of shock.

Red jacket.

White hair.

Walking toward him.

Bakura's fingers tightened on his teacup and he wondered where he might be able to run to. A maniac was on his way over to him. Wait. Maybe he's not. He might not recognize me. It was a slim hope, especially when he remembered how the other had been outside of his apartment building the night before. But maybe, just maybe, he was going to someone behind Bakura?

I picked a table in the back. There isn't anyone behind me. He tried not to remember that. He did anyway.

Casually, the man who was the spitting image of the Thief King of Kul Elna sat in the chair opposite Bakura. With every second, Bakura could see the perfect resemblance. The clothes were different, but the hair was the same wild wave of white, the eyes were the same intense lavender, and the skin was the same muscled tan. Even the scar was there, a latticework across one eye.

He struggled to say something. He didn't know what wanted to come out of his throat, but he preferred that it do so rather than stay in and choke him. "Hello?" It was the best he could do for the moment.

The other said nothing, only pinned Bakura with his gaze. Bakura swallowed and stared, trying to think of something else. Anything else.

The stranger (though how strange could he be when Bakura could see his own reflection in him? Not perfectly but well enough) waved one hand toward the counter. "The usual."

His voice wasn't quite like Bakura's own, but there were enough echoes in it for Bakura to twitch at the sound of it. He hadn't heard anyone sound like that in years. Three years, to be precise, and he hadn't heard it that often then.

Bakura took a sip of his tea. This was normal. This had to be normal. He set the teacup down and looked again at his unexpected companion. "Thank you. For last night." He hadn't expected words of that nature, but given what might've happened if the other hadn't turned up, they were words he needed to say.

"I wondered if you were going to say that." He stretched back on his chair, accepting the cup one of the clerks brought to him. "It was my pleasure." The smile he smiled held bloodlust in it. "Do let me know if you plan on wandering into any other gang territories."

"It isn't something I did on purpose." Bakura heard what those words were meant to say, not just what they actually said. Let me know when I can kill again. "Did you…all of them?" He hoped he didn't have to actually say the words. Not here in public.

"Of course. What did you expect me to do to them?" Again that smile, that slash of lips and teeth that bespoke only nightmares and horror for those who crossed his path.

Bakura wanted other thoughts on his mind. He wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else than sitting so calmly across from someone who was either his past life or somehow connected to the soul that had once controlled him or at the very least was a madman and a mass murderer.

"What are you doing here?" Bakura wasn't sure if he meant just here in the teashop or here in the modern age. Much less how, if he meant the last one. The question lurked in the back of his mind and he suspected it would come out sooner or later. Hopefully sooner.

"Having tea." The other glanced at him. "I don't think you've introduced yourself."

"Neither have you." Bakura wondered sometimes where words like that came from. It wasn't like him. Yet sometimes, they came out all on their own. If he didn't know better, he would've thought someone else spoke them.

"Call me what you want. I've got a hundred names. Most of them aren't all that pronounceable, though." He smiled again. "People who are screaming their lungs out don't name me very well."

Bakura swallowed for a moment or two. "You have to have a name. A real name, I mean."

"Do I?" The other sipped another sip of his tea. "I know you want to call me something. Go ahead."

Murderer. Demon. Ghost. All of those filled Bakura's mind. Another name, his own name, floated behind them, but he wouldn't do that. That was his name, he was Bakura Ryou and there were no other Bakuras in the world anymore. He wouldn't give it up.

"Thief King." It wasn't a good name, it wasn't the best name, but it was better than calling the other by his own name, even if that one had carried it first. It's mine now. He could be just a little selfish about something, couldn't he? He'd let his body be used, he'd at least have his name now!

The other's eyebrow rose a fraction and his lips thinned into a hint of a smile. "No one else has ever called me that."

"It's who you are." Bakura stated that to his teacup as he lifted it to his lips. He couldn't avoid seeing that smile, no matter how much he might've wanted to.

"Am I?" Thief King shrugged. "Now tell me your name."

Bakura wasn't surprised that he didn't get to hide behind a 'call me what you want'. Others were always like that. "Don't you know it?" Again he spoke more to his teacup than to his supposed conversation partner.

"No." Thief King shrugged yet again before he gestured to the passing waitress and ordered a doughnut. "I don't ask for what I already know." He turned those glittering eyes of his on Bakura. "Then you can explain to me why you called me what you did and why you seem to think that I should know you. And why you seem to think that you know me."

Bakura set his cup down, his every muscle and sinew frosted with ice. How could he ask the one question that now glittered in his mind? Are you the King of Thieves who bargained with Zorc to bring about the end of the world in revenge for the slaughter of Kul Elna? If he was, then surely Thief King wouldn't want it known. If he weren't, it would sound ridiculous to even speak of.

Thief King didn't play with a knife, but from the look in his eyes, Bakura didn't doubt one would make an appearance if he didn't start talking soon. "My name is Bakura Ryou." He hesitated for a few second before he said something a little more daring. "As for all the rest of it, I can't explain it here." His gaze flickered about the tearoom then back to the thief before him. "It's complicated." That was an impressive understatement in his opinion.

He glanced into his cup and saw nothing but the bottom of it. The other's doughnut had arrived but his cup was empty as well. Bakura made a rapid decision. "If you want to find out, I can tell you at my place." Thief King already knew where that was, after all. At least this way, Bakura could invite him inside instead of coming home one day to find him sitting on the couch eating all the snack food.

The doughnut vanished inside of the thief's jacket and both of them stood up. Bakura again tried not to think thoughts that attempted to slide around his mind. No, he wasn't taking a potential maniac back to his apartment. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but that wasn't it. No matter how much his instincts said he was doing just that.

He led the way out of the teashop and down the street. The thief followed along, just a step or two to the side, his steps as quiet as falling snow. Bakura had to look over once or twice just to be certain he was still there. Even with the sounds of the city and other pedestrians all around them, he thought he should've heard some kind of footfalls. He double-checked for a shadow, recalling stories of ghosts and haunts he'd read most of his life. A ghost shouldn't have one of those.

The thief did. Bakura decided he wasn't reassured. But he kept his mouth shut. When it came to the King of Thieves, he didn't know if being a ghost or not was better. He knew how to exorcise a ghost, after all. He'd never done it but he had quite a few books on the subject. One of them had to be right. Or at least useful.

"If you don't know me, then how did you know where I lived?" The thought crossed Bakura's mind and fell from his lips without warning. It was a good question, he decided, but he just hadn't thought about asking it. Something about the thief made him do that. Or it was a handy enough excuse.

"I followed you." The thief's lips twisted up for a moment. "It wasn't that hard. You weren't trying to hide yourself."

Bakura flushed a deep red and tucked his head down for a moment or two. "Oh." He wanted to ask why the other had been there in the first place, but he kept that question behind his lips. "Why did you follow me?" That would do for now, though.

"Because I wanted to know where you lived." The thief caught his eye for a moment and the look in his gaze sent another flush burning through Bakura.

I think I'm going crazy. Being attracted to guys was nothing new to him. He'd dated Jounouchi for three months, after all. But this was…maybe…the Thief King Bakura. There was something wrong about this. And even if he wasn't, then whoever it was looked like him anyway. That made it wrong no matter what. Didn't it?

"Oh." It was a useful word, that. He suspected he would get a lot of mileage out of it. He led the way up to his apartment, glad that no one appeared to be around to take note of the two of them. He wasn't precisely open about his preferences and he'd rather no one got any ideas. Wrong ideas, wrong ideas!

He locked the door as soon as both of them were inside; the last thing he needed was anyone coming in to bother them. Sure, most people would knock. Some of his friends weren't most people. He could already see the horrible chain of events that could lead to Jounouchi or Otogi trying to break the door down: they wanted to come visit, one of his neighbors mentioned the strange man that came in with him, a description, and then the door would fly off its hinges.

I should remember that one. It could make an interesting plot point in a campaign one day. As long as it didn't actually happen to him, of course.

"Have a seat." He gestured over to the couch and headed right for the closet that he'd only opened a few times since moving here. Within was that box that he'd opened even less times than that. He carried it over to the table before the couch and set it down, his fingers tingling at what the box held.

Thief King leaned over and prodded the box with one callused finger. "What is this?"

"The answers to your questions." Bakura sat down in the nearest chair and stared at the box for a few moments. Is it him? Maybe he doesn't remember. If that were true, what could happen if what the box held triggered those memories? If those memories even existed.

The thief didn't wait for him to open the box. He leaned over and pried it open himself, peering inside with curious eyes. He reached in to pull out several cards and fanned them outwards. "What are these?"

"They represented characters in a game that…I played some years ago." If explaining the King of Thieves and ancient Egypt would be hard, then explaining the Spirit of the Millennium Ring would be well nigh impossible. He could tell without having to look which card it was. He just knew. "Look here."

The thief glanced to the one he indicated and for a fraction of a second, his eyes widened, then narrowed. "What is this?"

"This is Thief King Bakura. He was the greatest thief and tomb robber of Ancient Egypt some three thousand years ago." Bakura couldn't deny the strangeness of telling this to the person who sat across from him. But the words came without effort. "He came from the village of Kul Elna, which was destroyed by the Pharaoh's warriors in order to create seven sacred treasures to protect the kingdom. He was the only survivor of the massacre and he pledged himself to eternal revenge against the Pharaoh and all who supported him."

He wasn't surprised to see the other staring at him, odd thoughts flickering through those eyes. Bakura didn't know what those thoughts were, but he was sure they were there anyway.

"But the dark powers that he allied with betrayed him, having used him only to gather those items. He died." Bakura fidgeted for a few moments, not sure of how to tell what he knew of what else had happened. He couldn't even be sure of what had happened. His knowledge was a patchwork of what the Spirit of the Ring had told him, what Atem had said in the month after his memories returned and before the Ceremonial Duel, and a few chance comments the Ishtars had made.

The thief still said nothing. Bakura glanced down at the cards, wishing they would tell him something. They remained silent. "That's about it, really."

"So you think I'm him? That's why you act like you know me?" The thief's fingers tightened on the card. Bakura ducked his head down and stared intently at the table.

"You look just like him. Even down to the scar." And I've seen a lot stranger things than someone who looks just like someone who lived three thousand years ago.

Thick silence reigned for a few tense moments. "So why do you think I should know you? Just because I look like some guy you made up."

"I didn't make you up!" Bakura's head snapped up, his eyes wide in shock. "All of that happened three thousand years ago. I had a friend who had the spirit of the Pharaoh who defeated the Dark God Zorc within him. I had the spirit of the thief, or some unholy combination of him and Zorc. We never did figure out exactly how that worked. But it happened. It's true."

Again silence fell and this time, the Thief rose to his feet. "You're crazy."

"Don't think I haven't thought that a few times." Bakura couldn't even be certain it wasn't true. "You don't have to believe it. It's just…these answers are the only ones I have."

"You're crazy." The Thief stated once again, and Bakura tilted his head back to look at him. Something in the way he'd said it this time was different. A faint hint of a smirk twisted those lips now. "But I like your little story. Doesn't matter to me if it's true or not."

Something deep within Bakura eased at that. He wasn't sure why and he didn't think it mattered. He started to reach for the card, only to have the other pull it out of reach.

"I'm going to keep this." He tucked it inside of his jacket. "After all, it's me, isn't it?" His smirk was just as twisted as before, if not more so. "You don't object, do you, Bakura?" He didn't give Bakura a chance to answer. "If my name is Bakura as well, when why didn't you call me that? Instead of just Thief King."

"Because I'm the only Bakura there is." Bakura bit his words off as he shoved all the other cards back into the box and carried it to the closet. He stood there for a few moments, getting the box back into the very back where he kept it.

"Are you sure about that?" Bakura all but jumped out of his skin at the voice so close to him. I forgot he was so quiet! The thief's hands touched his shoulders and he whirled himself around, shocked a heartbeat later by how close they were. It shouldn't have been a shock, but nevertheless, to feel that warm breath against his lips and seeing those burning eyes so close to his sent a chill all through him.

He wanted to ask what the other was doing. He wanted to ask a lot of things. All of them faded out of his mind as he found himself pushed against the wall. Thief King hovered over him for a few moments and Bakura knew what was going to happen, he could feel it in his bones…

Then the thief stepped back, that smirk twisting on his lips once again. "I'll see you again, Bakura Ryou."

Bakura shook his head and stared, not at all certain of what had just happened. Or hadn't happened, to be perfectly accurate about it. "What? Why didn't you…" Yet another question he didn't think he could finish, and not because there were other people around. He just didn't think he could manage that one out loud.

"Because I don't want to steal it." The thief lounged like a great cat against the opposite wall. "I want you to give it to me, Bakura." There was something taunting, hinting, haunting, about the way the other said his name. Bakura shifted, unable to move. Or unwanting, since nothing held him there now.

Uncountable thoughts surged through his mind, tangling about one another. Is it him? I thought it wasn't, he said it wasn't, but the way he's acting, what he's saying…

"You want what?" That was the most intelligent question he could ask at the moment.

"I could steal anything I wanted from you and you'd beg me to take more." Thief King's smirk held eons of practice. Bakura tried to shake his head in denial, but he could see from a glance that the other wasn't buying it. "I want you to give me what I want." He sauntered over to Bakura and tilted his chin back. "And you will."

Bakura's legs refused to move. In fact, no other part of his body wanted to move. Except his lips. "What if I don't?"

"You will." Thief King hovered over him for another moment before he moved aside. Bakura closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Only when he heard the soft sound of the door closing did he straighten up and look around.

He…left? Bakura rubbed his forehead and tried to put his thoughts into some kind of order. He wasn't having the best luck with that. He wants me to… That thought refused to finish itself. He didn't object.

No. He wasn't going to do it. Whether or not this Thief King was Thief King Bakura, Bakura himself wasn't going to just…just give in like that!

I don't care what he says. I don't care who he is. The thought of those lips hovering over his, that hot breath mixed with his own, sent his thoughts whirling again and he headed for the shower. A good cold shower was what he needed to get all of this out of his head.

He did make certain to lock the bathroom door before he turned the water on. The thief had left, but picking locks was part of what a thief did. He wanted some warning at least.

Heated, hot breath. Skin just as hot, hands holding him against the wall. Mad lavender eyes that held him as entranced as if by a cobra. Close, close, far too close, and yet not close enough.

Cold water. Cold water. Bakura bent his head under the blast of water and kept his eyes open. He had to get himself under some kind of control.

When he stepped out, shivering and shaking but with the thief somewhat less on his mind, he wrapped himself in a warm towel and started on the way to the kitchen. A good snack would be just what he needed to start thinking clearly once again. Maybe he would call up Jounouchi over the weekend and see if he were busy. It didn't have to be a date. Just a pair of old friends spending time together.

His gaze fell on the table for a moment. At first, he didn't realize what was there. When he did, he picked it up with the tips of his fingers. A phone number? Who…oh.

Who else could it have been but the thief? Bakura's eyes narrowed for a single moment as he crushed the paper between his fingers. No. No. He'd just spent half an hour freezing himself just to get him off of his mind. He wasn't going to start thinking of him again because of this silly little phone number.

He's insane. Worse than he thinks I am. Or if he thinks I'm insane at all. The other's reaction was far too confusing for Bakura to be sure of what he believed, other than what he'd said about kissing and…more.

He tossed the scrap of paper into the wastebasket and turned to look out the window. His fingers twitched toward the curtain, but he pulled himself back. If anyone watched from out there, then he wasn't going to give them anything they could look at.

As he turned away from the window, a shadow fell across him: one that he knew well. He froze where he stood, then shook his head. "No." Without another word, he walked to his kitchen, and refused to look back. He would see nothing. Hear nothing.

Except that one word that floated through the glass.

"Yes."

The End