Author's Note: I'm so terribly thrilled with all the reviews I've been getting. People seem to love any story I write that has "Matchmaker" in the title.

Also I've been getting a lot of questions and comments in the reviews, which I would like to answer here, if I may. This may cause very minor spoilers.

First, to CharcoalCat: All will be revealed in time; you shall have the answers to your questions. And yes, Bakura does get some.

To Infiny: Dude, no death threats! I'm continuing the story, see? Please don't kill me, then I'll 'never' be able to finish this story!

And to Rosz of the Angel: You're my 33rd reviewer! Yay for you. Um, yeah. I love the number 33.

Finally, to everyone else not mentioned by name, or the ones too lazy to review, I still love all y'all! Keep reading!

Mistakes

Bakura frowned slightly. Again with the mistaking-him-for-Ryou bit! He was starting to get a little annoyed with this. It used to be that he thought it was a 'good' thing to look so much like his pure and innocent hikari. Now it was such a hindrance, he was considering dyeing his hair. Just to set the two of them apart.

But seeing the delighted, confused, hopeful look on Yami's face, he couldn't stay mad for long. Nor did he have the heart to correct the poor memory-forsaken Pharaoh. If Ryou was the only one of them Yami remembered for the moment, then by all means, Bakura would be Ryou.

Bakura nodded his head slightly, "Yeah, that's right." He guessed he couldn't really blame Yami. Seeing Bakura and mistaking him for Ryou was probably the last memory he had before he'd died; that must be why he remembered it now.

Yami relaxed a little more on his throne, at ease now, though there was evidence of fatigue and tenseness still on his face. "You okay, Pharaoh?" Bakura asked. "You look… a little stressed."

Yami sighed, looking up at the ceiling as he thought. Murmuring aloud, he said, "Things have been very confusing lately. I've been getting this odd feeling that I shouldn't be here, that there's somewhere… else I should be. I can't think of where that would be, though. No one seems to want to comment on it when I mention this." His normally calm and controlled gaze was soft and bewildered when he looked back at Bakura. "And now you show up. I can't… even remember where I know you from."

Bakura smirked a little at that, folding his arms. "Well, maybe I can clear a few things up for you. You, dear Pharaoh, are dead."

"What?!" Yami stood up quickly, his eyes narrowed on Bakura.

"Hey, I don't mean that in the I'm-here-to-kill-you sort of way, I mean you really are dead. Here, I can prove it." Bakura took quick inventory of the items he was carrying, finding he had a pocketknife in his back pocket. "Come here."

 Yami looked skeptically at the blade Bakura had pulled out. He didn't recognize the design; no one had invented switchblades in Ancient Egypt. But sharp pointy things were sharp pointy things, no matter the style.

Bakura could see the Pharaoh's reluctance. "Look, trust me. It won't hurt."

Oddly enough, Yami found that he did trust him. With only slight hesitance, he walked closer to Bakura. Bakura took Yami's hand, secretly marveling at the softness of Yami's skin, touching the tip of the blade to the prominent vein in Yami's wrist. In a quick movement, he made a deep slice across the wrist.

"Ah!" Yami jerked his hand away, ready to call for his guards, glaring at Bakura for his deceit and betrayal.

Bakura smirked softly as he folded up the knife. "Now, did that really hurt so much?"

Yami blinked. It hadn't hurt at all, it had just startled him. He looked at his cut wrist, finding no blood. The cut was vanishing even as he stared at it. "What is happening?"

"Nobody bleeds in the shadow realm," Bakura said, tucking the pocketknife back into his pocket.

"Shadow realm?" Yami asked, still marveling at his perfectly unhurt wrist. He looked up at Bakura. "I really am dead then. I don't… remember any of it."

"It'll probably come back to you when I take you back," said Bakura offhandedly.

"Take me back where?" Yami asked skeptically.

Bakura smirked. "Home."

Yami looked around his opulent throne room. Here, he lived in a beautiful palace, had his every desire catered to. He couldn't even 'remember' this home place 'Ryou' wanted to take him back to. Should he really leave? If he was dead, didn't he belong here?

And yet, he didn't feel like he really belonged here, despite its familiar comforts. People must be waiting for him back home. People he cared about deeply. He couldn't remember who, but he had this strong urge to go with Ryou and return to them.

"Yes," he said slowly, "I think I should like to return home."

Bakura smiled, offering him a hand. Yami took it, finding the skin of Bakura's hand to be a little rough, callused from a long life of work, probably from holding weapons as well. Wondering on that, Yami followed Bakura back toward the courtyard.

How was it Ryou knew so well the layout of his palace? Yami was getting a strong feeling that the place he was returning to was nothing like this, but his companion seemed to know exactly where he was going.

"Shiroi!" Bakura called out when they reached the empty courtyard. "Where are you? We're ready to go!"

Yami looked around, trying to locate this 'Shiroi' person. Was that another friend of his?

Dark shadow realm energy rose up from the ground, laced with sapphire light, but not enough to form a gateway. It hovered, a little ball of darkness and light, before it dispersed and faded as quick and quietly as it had come. A small piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

Bakura snatched the paper up, reading the message that had been scrawled on it.

"So sorry, chum," read the note, "I'm a little tied up at the moment. Literally. Dark Magician and I are busy. Call back tomorrow. Love and stuff, signed, Shiroi."

"Damn that dragon!" Bakura snarled, crumpling the note and throwing it across the courtyard. He signed and looked to a very confused Yami. "Looks like we're going to have to wait a while for our ride."