In a miraculous turn of events, this chapter came rather quickly. There are hints of character development and plot near the end. Promise.

Chapter Eleven Playlist

1. Alone Together - Fall Out Boy

2. Well Respected Man -The Kinks

3. I Was an Island - Allison Weiss

4. Dance Anthem of the 80s -Regina Spektor

5. Navy Taxi -Kate Nash

Chapter Eleven

Amane stripped off her jacket and collapsed on the sofa. Bakura watched her with guarded eyes, paralyzed by the unexpectedness of her arrival. She picked up the television remote and switched the channel to a local news forecast, comfortable as you please reclining on his furniture and taking over his television. He wondered if she always made herself at home in other people's places, or if he was a special exception. Regardless, he found that on the no-longer-rare occasion that he had a visitor, people tended to do as Amane was doing then, which was take over his space with little to no regard for his feelings about it. He thought that perhaps he ought to be more perturbed than he was, as if his possessiveness over his space should override any positivity of having someone else there.

"I'm not hiding," Bakura muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt his point might have been better illustrated if he wasn't presently lounging about in his sweats because after being dealt a blow by whatever illness had gripped him, he had basically decided to become a hermit until he could insure that would never ever happen again. He took a seat next to her, already resigned to her presence. He watched the image on the television screen with passive interest for a moment, chewing his fingernails on his left hand. He didn't recall when he'd picked up the habit, but now he found he was constantly gnawing his fingertips raw. The exception was his still wounded pinky finger, which had healed significantly but was still a rough scab that needed to be protected with a bandage. "Why do you have Malik's keys?"

"Stole his motorbike. Needed the keys to steal the motorbike, your key is on the keyring, and so here I am."

Bakura raised his eyebrows. He was a bit impressed (not that he'd admit that). Malik was an easy target, but actually taking the bike was something he hadn't even considered. "Worth it?"

"Totally. Wish I could have seen his face," Amane said with a grin. She folded her feet up under her. "That thing gets speed. Wish I had thought to steal it earlier."

He nodded in appreciation of her spoils. "Why are you hiding from Ryou?"

Her grin disappeared. Amane shrugged, listless. "Daddy's paying us a visit, and I sort of took a colossal shit on their reunion. Way to go, me."

Bakura nodded but said nothing.

"Not going to ask how or why I did that?"

"No."

"You're markedly less friendly than you were last time I was here." She frowned, shifting her legs so that they were pulled up against her chest. "Were you just being nice to me to butter up my brother?"

Bakura raised his eyebrows. That thought hadn't really occurred to him at the time. "No."

Amane rolled her eyes. "That the only word you know how to say?"

"No." Bakura grinned. "Didn't realized I was required to be nice to people who break into my place."

"You'd think a thief would lock up better."

"You'd think," Bakura repeated frowning. He noticed this made Amane try to fight a grin. "Care to point out more of my shortcomings? Seems to be a bit of a pass time here."

"Well, your hair is atrocious," She said with a laugh.

"How so?"

"Well, if you'd bothered to comb or brush it sometime in the last thousand years, it might not look so bad."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You're also in sweats before eight at night."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"That's a bit... sad, isn't it? Whenever I do that, it means I've already given up on the day."

Bakura opened his mouth to retort, but Amane just giggled, so he closed his lips. They were quiet, both staring awkwardly at the television. Bakura wasn't sure where to go with the conversation. She seemed like she wanted to keep talking, but he had no idea what to talk about. He wasn't terribly good with the self deprecating schtick either.

"What do you do when you're not harassing Ryou or washing your delicates, then?" She asked at length.

Bakura ignored her. This is pretty much it.

"Do you have any friends or...?" She trailed off, frowning. She looked a bit... sad. He didn't like it, but what the hell was he supposed to do about it? "I suppose you wouldn't, would you?"

Bakura ignored her again.

"D'you mind if I smoke?" He shrugged. She lit a cigarette, flicking ashes into an empty bottle she had found on the floor. She sighed on an exhale, turning her head to look at Bakura. He tried to pretend he didn't notice her watching him, keeping his eyes fixed on the television as the newscaster gave the weather report. "Are you feeling better? Malik said you were sick last week."

"I wasn't sick."

"You were definitely sick." She ashed into the bottle, frowning. "I saw you, you know. Passed out on the sofa all feverish and sickly. It might have been adorable if it hasn't been so pathetic. And even if I hadn't, Malik had to cancel on me to make sure you were breathing at one point. So you were certainly sick."

"Nope." He wasn't even going to let his brain touch any of those statements. He liked this tactic.

"Don't be a prick," Amane said dismissively. She blew smoke toward his face, and Bakura wrinkled his nose in disgust. She ignored him. "Is Malik your friend?"

Bakura opened his mouth to provide a prompt "no," but then snapped it shut. He supposed that in some ways, their relationship might be considered a friendship. He chewed his lip, recalling the way Malik would force his presence on him whenever he knew Bakura wasn't in the best place. "Sure, why not?" Bakura answered vaguely. They were quiet as the news went on to air a report on the Kaiba Corporation market performance and one on survival tips for the upcoming winter. Bakura was dreading winter. "Is Malik your friend?"

"Probably. I guess." She frowned. "Hadn't given it a lot of thought."

"Hn." He'd only turned the question around to be annoying. Gods, he was bad with people. He also found it a little disconcerting that he really didn't mind having this particular person around. In fact, Bakura rather liked her. He wasn't sure if it was because she'd begrudgingly won his respect by pulling a knife on him when they first met, because she was somehow attached to Ryou, or just because she didn't seem scared of him, but he kind of sort of wouldn't be opposed to maybe admitting that he liked having her around. A little.

"You know what really gets on my tits?" Her voice startled him; they hadn't spoken in a long stretch of time. This, however, only made it worse that he was so out of sorts about how to talk to her.

Bakura stared at her, uncertain what precisely the phrase "gets on my tits" meant, because he certainly hoped he wasn't supposed to interpret it literally. That was an image he could live without. "...No?"

"People are never who you make them out to be in your head. You know? Without meaning to, we're constantly projecting our feelings about a person onto that person. And it really just drives me mad." She inhaled deeply, brandishing her cigarette like a weapon as she spoke. "Like, you meet someone, and you think you've got a sense of who they are right away. Or you know someone for ages and ages, so you're positive that they act a certain way and think about things in a way that you understand. You think someone's a jerk, and you automatically assume that therefore everything they do reinforces that. But eventually you realize that this is all a lie, because people aren't really knowable that way, you know? You can't know anybody completely. They're always some part imagination to you."

Bakura's brows knitted together, considering her words. He wondered if he did that, and what it would mean were that the case. He frowned, wondering if his grudge against the Pharaoh might have colored his perception of the purple-haired freak, but dismissed this thought immediately. The Pharaoh was definitely a jerk, no doubt about that. Bakura's frown deepened as he thought about the only other people who occupied a significant space in his thoughts. He found he didn't much cherish the thought that perhaps the versions of Ryou and Malik he thought of often were only versions of them that he'd created in his head. Especially Ryou. They'd shared a mind, after all. That was just disturbing, to think that his own mind was capable of overriding the truth so easily. "Are you talking about anyone specific?"

"Yes and no," Amane answered, shortly.

"...Do you... want to talk about it?" he asked, slowly.

"Nope." She dropped the still smoking cigarette butt into the bottle. She pulled out her phone, frowned, and sent a rapid fire text message before closing it. "Ryou's gonna be pissed."

"Isn't he always?"

"Is he?" She shook her head. "He never used to be. Thanks for that, by the way." Amane nudged his ribs, giving him some kind of secretive, inside-joke type of grin that Bakura didn't know how to decipher. She rolled her eyes when he didn't return the smile. "...I told Malik I was here, and that I'd give him his bike back tomorrow. Pretty sure he's with Ryou, which means that Ryou knows I'm here."

"Hn."

She played absently with a strand of her long white hair."Other than the obvious reasons, why do you think Ryou hates you so much?"

Bakura balked. "Pretty sure it was just the obvious reasons..."

"You think?" She chewed her thumbnail. Bakura wondered if that was hereditary.

"I haven't really given it too much thought."

"God, really? I'd be beside myself if somebody were to hate me so much. If nothing else, I'd need to find out exactly why. I'm talking minute details, down to the last time I smiled when they had a stomachache."

Bakura fidgeted a little. "One time he mentioned that I uh... Stole his face."

"Well, that is certainly a unique complaint." Amane laughed. "Ever considered plastic surgery?"

Bakura snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Bit rough, this business between you two." She chewed her nail again. "Must make you all kinds of angry."

"Not really."

"Bullshit. You hate it!"

"Well, I don't like it. I just... live with it."

"What, have you got some kind of martyr complex?"

"No. What's it to you, anyway?"

Amane shrugged. "I dunno. It just feels sort of ...wrong that you two hate each other so much."

"How so?"

She twisted her mouth back and forth. "Fuck if I know. I just have a feeling that it shouldn't be that way. It just feels off." A beat. "Want to get trashed?"

Bakura looked up, interested. "Why the hell not?"

"Heard back from her?" Ryou asked, anxiously.

"Yeah, just now. Looks like she's hanging out with Bakura." Malik laughed, eyes on his phone. Apparently this was funny now.

Ryou sputtered a string of increasingly colorful swear words, clenching his fists tightly and shutting his eyes in a childish attempt to force the situation to be different. Just fucking sensational. "I'm not even upset with her!"

"Well, I know that. Clearly she doesn't see it that way," Malik said, rolling his eyes.

"Well what am I meant to do now?"

Malik laughed. "You expect me to know?"

"You have a sister, don't you? What would you do if you were me?"

Malik shrugged. "I'd probably call Rishid and he'd end up taking care of it, if we're being honest. Perks of living on a different continent than your siblings."

"You are literally the least helpful person, Malik."

"I try."

"Fuck!"

"Try to calm down," Malik said in as calm of a voice as he could muster. Ryou could tell Malik was annoyed, but he didn't much care. "Upside is that she's fine, and she'll probably stay that way. Let her be for now, and you can talk about it tomorrow."

"But she's with..." Ryou trailed off, the memory of his own late night attempts to speak to the Thief seeming to close his throat around the words. He shuffled his feet a bit. "You really think she's fine?"

"I do."

"...With him?"

"Well, he hasn't killed me yet. She can't be much worse."

"How do people stand that guy?"

Snip. Snip.

"You know, I've pondered that question for a few millennia, and frankly, I got nothing."

Snip. A large chunk of hair dropped into his lap. He picked it up, and he found it made me deliriously happy. He even laughed. Hahaha there went his hair.

"Don't move!" He received a sharp tap on the back of head. He frowned. That wasn't very nice. Cold fingers tugged hard at a giant knotted mass of hair near the nape of his neck. Snip. It was gone. Hahahahaha. "Like, I know that Anzu is obviously a person capable of choices and whatever. I'm a feminist. I get that it wasn't like he literally fucking stole her away or something. I mean, she's a person, not a trading card. Obviously, if she wanted Yuugi, she'd have made that happen. Whatever. I get that. Anzu and Mighty Pharaoh Guy dating isn't the problem." She made a few savage cuts near his ear. "The problem is... The problem... I don't like him. I-I don't like how blatantly this motherfucker just doesn't notice that it is bothering someone who is meant to be his best friend that he's dating her. Erm. That he's... You know what I mean. I mean, right? No sense of social decency."

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"Clearly." The word seemed like a struggle. Two syllables were incredibly difficult to force from his lips, like they'd forgotten a language that his brain still remembered. He was trying to fight off a grin, but alcohol often made him deliriously happy. As shitty as things were now, they'd been much worse. Alcohol saw that. It was his friend. "He... Yuugi was... drunk? I can't picture that."

Snip. A large hunk of silvery white hair hit the kitchen floor. Gods, that was funny. "So hilarious," Amane answered. Her words were pretty steady considering she'd polished off the last of the tequila they'd been drinking. Bakura frowned, all of his memories of the night blurring together. When had they got tequila? Where had they gotten tequila? Had he gone out like this? He hoped not. It was not a good look for him. "But, from the gossip among the Dream Team, the drinking hasn't been fun for him in a while."

"Damn. How tragic." Bakura chuckled. Who cared? He wasn't trying to be a good person right now. He was just trying to be a drunk person, and the image of pint sized Yuugi Mutou stumbling about in a drunken stupor often gave him a mean spirited chuckle. Take that, Pharaoh. You aren't doing your light any favors either.

"And again, I'm not saying that this is driving Yuugi to drink. That would be stupid. Addiction is a disease and all that." Bakura had absolutely no clue what she meant by that. He had absolutely no clue what most of what Amane said meant, but she was speaking rapidly and he didn't want to look stupid and ask for an explanation. "But, could this Pharaoh guy maybe pretend for thirty seconds to actually care about this stuff? Seriously, he's prancing about like he owns every place ever and everyone is just dandy with that. Even Malik, which is annoying, but don't tell him I said that. Because I kind of... like him. Malik. Not Atemu. I don't like Atemu." She paused to take a drink out of the beer bottle on the counter. "This is especially annoying when I know how much shit was done at his word or in his name...I'm talking about Porcupine Head." Bakura might have giggled, but he would never admit that. "Like don't be so proud if you're making people miserable, dipshit. And have some fucking sense. You're supposed BFF is in love with your girlfriend and that's kosher with everyone? Seriously. Let me tell you, back home? If one of my mates was being such an uppidity twat, someone would fucking say something."

"Why don't you say something then?"

"Shut up, Bakura."

"Scared of the mean old Pharaoh?" he teased. "Or do you just not want to point out that precious Yuugi is a mess?"

"Need I remind you that I could easily jab this pair of scissors into your jugular?" She pressed the tip to his neck to demonstrate. He felt his heart speed up traitorously, blood pulsing rapidly through his veins. He wasn't scared of Amane. But he wouldn't deny that it felt uncomfortable to have a death threat leveled at him with such ease.

"Huh. Malik is right. It is weird to be on the receiving end of such an out of context death threat."

"Sorry. I'll work on that." Amane giggled. "Just be nice about Yuugi. Poor kid's not used to having problems. Not everyone is as lucky as you and I." Snip. Snip. Snip.

"What makes you say I've got problems?" He wondered, blissfully unable to recall whether or not he had problems.

Snip snip snip.

"Trust me, mate. If you're drunk with me on a weeknight, you definitely have problems."

Well, there was no arguing with that logic. "What does that mean?" he wondered out loud. "Like how you were in a hospital for a while? That kind of problems?"

"What?" She asked, sounding distracted.

"Malik said you were in a mental hospital...?" As the words were leaving his mouth, Bakura felt the strangest need to call them back, reverse time, stop himself. As he spoke, he realized this was probably not something she'd wanted him to know. It was a secret. It was only for Malik. Shit.

"He told you?"

"It sort of came up..."

"Well what did he say?"

Shit shit shit shitshitshit.

"He just mentioned it."

"He had no right to tell you that." She was angry. Very angry. He could tell because she bared her teeth and clenched her fists, and then a lot of hair was cut and he found himself wondering just whose idea that had been because it suddenly seemed like a stupid one.

"If it helps, I had no idea what he was on about."

"It doesn't, actually." She was all frowny. She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter and being all frowny. "That was private."

"I realize that now, yes."

"What did he say?"

"Um..." Bakura was stalling, partly because he wasn't able to correctly recall what Malik had actually said and partly because he didn't know how to spin it in a way that wouldn't make Malik sound like an asshole. Or him sound like an asshole. Bakura was pretty sure if either one of them sounded like an asshole, she'd jam the scissors into his jugular (whatever that was). "He uh... said he... Admired your honesty. Or something."

"Oh." Amane was chewing her lip, a smile pulling at her lips. "He said that?"

Bakura nodded enthusiastically, because it seemed like the best plan.

"I was in a hospital, for the record," She said after a moment. Amane set down the scissors and leaned against the counter. "I'm a little... not on the sane side."

"Yeah, because I'm a prime example of sanity."

She giggled. So did he. It wasn't so bad, having her around.

When Amane hadn't returned by morning, Ryou determined that he would just have to make the trip to the Thief's place and collect her after class. He would be going past there anyway. He wasn't angry. He wasn't. He was just kind of... sad to think that she was so concerned about how he'd react. Did he seem so shallow, so quick to anger? Ryou chewed the nails of his left hand. He would just have to go to get her from the Thief's place. He repeated this plan to himself over and over on the train ride to campus as he anxiously checked his phone every few minutes, checking the time and seeing that Amane definitely hadn't called. Ryou texted her a few times, things like "I'm not upset with you" and "I'm sorry" and even finally "I will see Dad with you. It's totally fine. Please call me or text me back."

Ryou continued to go over this plan as his professor mumbled his way through an incredibly boring lecture about the symbolism in weather patterns or something that couldn't hold Ryou's attention. The term was nearly over anyways; he didn't mind terribly that he didn't have the slightest clue what was meant to be happening in the class anyway. He kept an eye out for Yuugi as the lecture trudged on, but the smaller boy appeared to have skipped again. Ryou was put out by this, wondering frantically if their argument was the cause for Yuugi's absence or if Yuugi had skipped for another reason. Like a hangover. Gods, how had he managed to make two people upset with him in such a short space of time? It was exhausting.

As Ryou left campus after his class, he felt with numb fingers for his phone. He decided to call Jounouchi as he made the walk toward the Thief's apartment, looking for someone with a younger sister who might understand his concerns about her hanging around Bakura. Plus Jou wasn't keen to join the Thief's fanclub, which was something that couldn't be said about Malik, who was Ryou's typical go to in this kind of scenario. Ryou wanted validation; Jounouchi was the perfect solution.

"Ryou! Hey man, what's up?"

"Hey Jou," he said, smiling. Jou was always pretty enthusiastic; it was kind of contagious. "I have a hypothetical situation that I'd love your opinion on."

"Sure thing, man." It sounded like he was speaking around a mouthful of food. Typical.

"So, suppose your sister was hanging around someone you didn't approve of-"

"What?" Jou yelped, the sound muffled by whatever he was eating. Ryou heard chewing, and then after apparently swallowing, he said much more clearly, "Who has Shizuka been hanging around with? Do I need to crack some skulls?"

"Well that answers that," Ryou muttered, shaking his head. "Hypothetical, Jou. I'm not actually talking about your sister. In fact, I'm... talking about mine."

"Oh, right." He was eating again. "Sorry, I'm a bit paranoid. Too many of my idiot friends want to get in her pants, and I don't trust 'em. Don't get me wrong: Shizuka's a big girl, and she can make her own decisions. But I try to watch out for her, you know? Thought I might have to kick somebody's ass. Not that I have to worry about you that way... Anyway, who is Amane hanging around with that you don't like? Not Malik right?"

"No, not Malik," Ryou said softly. "I don't have a problem with him. It's...um. She's made friends with Bakura, I think."

"What?! What's she hanging around him for?"

"Yeah, I don't really get it," Ryou mumbled. "But she was with him yesterday, and I'm not thrilled about it."

"You gotta get her to stop that. That guy is bad news."

"I know," Ryou said irritably. "But how do I get her to see that?"

"Tough one." Jounouchi was quiet, aside from munching on what sounded like potato chips. "Don't say anything about it," He said finally. "In fact, ignore it if you can."

"Really? That's your sage advice for being a good brother and keeping her out of trouble? Ignore it?"

"Yep," Jounouchi agreed. "If there is one thing I have learned about having a little sister, it is that they will always want to do something more if you go out of your way to tell them not to. Tell her to stay away from a guy, she'll date him. Tell her to break up with a guy, she'll marry him just to spite you. Sisters are tricky that way. Best to tread carefully."

"Seriously? You think that all girls are really like that?" It was a genuine question; Ryou had no idea whether there was any truth in that or not. He didn't really do girls. On a regular basis, he typically only saw Anzu and Shizuka, both of whom seemed totally sane.

"I only know that Shizuka is like, but I think she's fairly typical. But I dunno, I think if you don't mention a behavior that is meant to get attention, eventually they'll stop doing it."

"Isn't that sort of... manipulative?"

"Manipulation is like rule number one of dealing with your kid sister. Trust me."

"I'll give it a try."

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask: you and Yuugi made up yet?"

Ryou mumbled that no, they hadn't, despite his many attempts to call and apologise. "He won't call me back."

"What did you two even fight about anyway?"

Ryou recapped their argument; Yuugi was upset with Atemu, Ryou was upset that Yuugi thought it was okay to compare their situations.

"Yeah, the whole situation sucks," Jou said at length. "But Yuugi usually gets over things pretty quick. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Ryou had some doubts, but didn't think that voicing them would do him any good in this situation. Announcing to your friends that you doubted their friendship typically wasn't the best plan, even Ryou knew that. So he just agreed with hung up not long after, making vague plans to grab dinner or drinks over the weekend.

Ryou had arrived outside the Thief's apartment block just as he was ending the phone call. He pressed the buzzer for the Thief's apartment and waited. No answer. He tried again. Nothing. He took out his phone, and dialed Amane's number. Voicemail. He tried Bakura's number. Nothing. Frowning, he recalled Amane's tactic from a few weeks before, pressed on as many buzzers as he could fit his hand across. After a moment, the lock on the door clicked open with a "bzzz" and Ryou stepped inside. He walked as calmly as he could up the steps, chewing his lip as he tried to think of a civil opener should the Thief answer the door. Idly, he wondered if he was being a tad silly. It was a Monday morning after all. He apparently had a job. It could be that he was working. Would Amane have stayed if the Thief had left for day? He didn't doubt that she would, but considering he had never anticipated the pair of them becoming friendly, Ryou wasn't going to count out the possibility that she was still there.

Ryou stood in front of the door for a few minutes before gritting his teeth and knocking sharply.

He waited. No noise seemed to be coming from inside. Ryou knocked again. After about thirty seconds, he heard footsteps. He heard the thunk of the lock being turned, the metallic slide of the chain being undone, and then the door opened to reveal the most comical sight that Ryou had ever been afraid to laugh at.

Bakura was in loose fitting sweats and a blue T-shirt that he must have stolen from Ryou at some point because it read DOMINO HIGH PHYSICAL EDUCATION across the chest in block letters, and the Thief certainly had not ever attended a P.E. class in Domino. When Ryou managed to lift his head to look at the other man's face, something was missing. Specifically, the Thief was missing approximately half of his hair. It looked like it had been haphazardly chopped off by a blind man or someone in a great hurry. The majority of his white hair was much shorter, leveling off just below his chin, but pieces still hung down in awkward patches to his shoulders and down his back, and the overall effect was jagged and uneven. "What do you want?" the Thief asked dully.

Ryou responded in the only way appropriate for such a situation. He erupted into peals of laughter.

Bakura blinked, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. "What?"

"What the hell happened to you?" Ryou giggled.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bakura muttered, rearranging his arms.

"You!" Ryou answered, still giggling. "What the hell did you do? You look like you really pissed off your hair stylist."

Bakura opened his mouth, probably armed with a caustic retort, but paused suddenly, jaw still hanging open. He very tentatively reached a hand up to his head, feeling his hair gingerly. His eyes went very wide as his fingers calculated the damage done to his hair, probably recalling the incident in which his hair was shorn much the same as the way a veteran recalls a horrific battle. Bakura pressed his lips together, either to suppress a laugh of his own or perhaps to counteract the instinct to whimper at the butchering of his hair. He seemed to recover after a moment, somehow managing to look haughty despite his comical appearance. "Right. So. What are you doing here?" It was possibly the most awkward sentence in the history of sentences in that moment.

Ryou giggled again. "I am... I'm looking for Amane? Malik said she was here last night, but she's not answering her phone."

"Oh. Um. Yeah, she's here." Bakura held the door open a little wider, stepping out of the threshold so that Ryou could come inside. Ryou noticed his head hanging a bit, as if embarrassed. Could someone so insane and evil be embarrassed by a bad haircut? "Are you coming, or do I need to fetch her while you linger awkwardly in my hallway?"

Ryou rolled his eyes, and followed Bakura inside. As they walked through the kitchen, Ryou noticed a poorly swept up pile of white hair on the floor. The table was littered with empty bottles, and several massacred limes. "You kids have fun last night?" Ryou asked in a forced cheerful voice. He was taking Jou's advice; if he threw a fit, Amane would come back again and again just because she knew he didn't want her to.

"Um..." Bakura turned and stared at Ryou, eyes narrowed in suspicion. It only made his ridiculous hair look more ridiculous. "Are you high?"

"No," Ryou said, smiling pleasantly. "Are you?"

Bakura stopped again, mouth opening and closing a few times. "She's in there," he said stiffly, pointing to the small bedroom. He hurried off to the bathroom, probably to inspect the damage to his image.

Ryou shook his head. He should try to this tactic more often; the results were super amusing. He knocked on the bedroom door. Inside he heard a muffled "piss off!" Ryou shook his head, trying again. "What?!" Amane shouted, wrenching the door open. Her white hair was thankfully all still attached, though it looked as if woodland creatures had spent the evening nesting in it. She was still wearing her outfit from the previous day, and her eyes were a bit glassy and unfocused. "Oh. Shit. Hi."

"Hi," Ryou echoed, trying to keep from defaulting into awkwardness. Might as well be direct. "I'm not angry with you. Just so you know."

"Oh. You're... not?"

"Nope." Ryou tried to give his sister a winning smile. Even if he had been, Amane was rather difficult to stay mad at.

"You're sure...? I mean, I kind of... lied."

"I know." Ryou shrugged. "I mean, I'm not exactly thrilled to see dad, and I would have rather you just told me upfront. But you should definitely see him, and I want to be there for that. So it's fine. Really."

"Thanks," She mumbled. "Sorry I, like, freaked out."

"It's okay. I'm actually heading home now. Thought I'd see if you wanted to come with me? We could give dad a call later to nail down our plans for while he is here?"

Amane wrapped her arms around herself, as if she was feeling very uncomfortable. Ryou wondered if she would have preferred that he'd been angry. "I have to return Malik's bike..."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind picking it up here. He's got class soon, I think."

Amane nodded. "Let me text him..." She turned around, hunting through the twisted duvet for her mobile. Ryou leaned against the doorjamb, resisting the urge to ask about the previous night's sleeping arrangements. Gods, if she was sleeping with the Thief... He might reconsider his stance on murder. There was no universe where he'd be alright with that. "Jesus Christ, I know better than to do tequila shots."

"Not feeling well?"

"Understatement of the decade," She muttered, carding a hand through her hair. She froze midway through the action, fingers caught in her white tangles, doe eyes suddenly looking up toward Ryou, face blank with what could only be described as fear. She looked terrified. "...What does his hair look like?" she whispered.

Ryou felt his lips twitch upwards in a smile. "It's... it's not good."

"Christ," She said faintly, clutching her mobile phone to her chest. "Is this what it feels like to be in a horror movie? Jesus, fuck, he's going to murder me."

"Oh, that seems-"

"What the fuck did you do to me?!" It was perhaps the most anger Ryou had heard in the Thief's voice since his return. Oh right. You can be terrifying.

"-a bit dramatic."

"I am really really sorry," Amane said again.

It was possibly the most hilarious thing Ryou had ever seen in the past few years. Bakura appeared to be struggling between being completely furious that Amane had butchered his hair until it looked like he'd lost a fight with some hedge clippers and even more furious at himself for actually caring about his looks in front of people. Ryou had to keep fighting down spells of giggles as Amane managed to find a small hand mirror with promises to fix up the haircut as best she could, with Bakura's instruction. She was presently surveying the damage with her tongue between her teeth, concentrating hard.

Bakura for the most part only pointed and grunted, apparently mortified to the point where he could no longer use words.

"I really am sorry," Amane said again, removing a thin tendril which had hung past Bakura's shoulders with a snip of her scissors. "I really should not be allowed to suggest anything when tequila is involved." Another cut with steady hands; Ryou had to turn a laugh into a cough at the look on Bakura's face at the sound. His eyes were wide, almost frightened, flitting about with every snip of the scissors. "Though you did agree that this was brilliant idea... so."

"Shut. Up."

"Jesus, so touchy about your hair. You know it grows back, right?" She pulled on a strand from the left and one from the right, crouching down to be eye level with him to see if both pieces were even. They weren't. Amane cut the one on the left shorter by about two inches.

"Just fucking fix it, alright?"

"What, will a bad haircut ruin your street cred?"

Ryou erupted in helpless giggles again.

"Something funny, hikari?" It was said so low, so angry, but in that moment it didn't phase Ryou in the slightest. The situation was just too ridiculous.

"Sharp implement inches from your throat," Amane said conversationally, evening out the top of Bakura's unfortunate new haircut. Ryou thought the threat was hilarious. Bakura disagreed, clearly, because he crossed his arms over his chest, but said nothing. He kept rearranging his face, seemingly unable to properly display his feelings on the situation.

"What the friggen hell is going on here?"

This is starting to look like a sitcom. Ryou watched, disbelieving, as Malik strode inside the apartment, drinking from what appeared to be a large Christmas themed Starbucks cup, casually joining the trio in the kitchen as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He did, at least, have the good sense to look perplexed by the apparent transformation of the kitchen to a makeshift beauty parlor. Malik frowned, before finally turning to Ryou and saying, "Well... Either the pair of you have made up and are conducting the most bizarre makeover in recent history, or whatever he's done lately was worthy of that hackjob and therefore makes for a great story"

Ryou couldn't hold back his smirk. "Try option three: this pair of geniuses decided tequila is the best fuel for DIY hairdressing." Malik laughed. Bakura glowered at him. Ryou laughed again. "Knock it off or I'll start snapping pictures."

"Damn." Malik whistled in appreciation and smiling. "Where was my invite to last night's festivities?"

Amane shrugged. "Sundays are your nights off, aren't they?" She made a final cut to the last jagged piece of hair hanging down the back of Bakura's neck. The final result of his new haircut wasn't really bad, just strange and unfamiliar to Ryou.

Malik was staring at Bakura with the most perplexed look on his face. "At least the pair won't look so identical anymore." Amane shot him a look that Ryou couldn't properly interpret, and the Thief seemed to have crossed his arms into the most uncomfortable looking tight knot in history. He chewed his lower lip, puzzling over this statement. No way the Thief's drunken logic had been to purposely differentiate between us... No way.

"I look stupid."

Ryou frowned. His sister had changed four times already, and frankly he was confused about when she'd had the time to acquire all of these clothes, let alone the funds to buy them. He was sprawled out on his twin size bed, listening to Amane fret as she got ready in the full length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. "If I tell you that you look fine, you'll say I'm lying. If I were to agree with you and say you look bad, which you don't by the way, you'd punch me. Spare me and just tell me what you want me to say?"

Amane narrowed her eyes. "Does this outfit look okay?"

"You look great," Ryou said affirmatively. She was in a nice, simple black dress. Very adult, though the same could not be said for his outfit. He was deliberately not making an effort to look nice for dinner with their father. This wasn't about him, this was about Amane, but Ryou would be damned if he put energy into his clothing choices for the evening. He wore exactly what he'd worn to class that morning: a pair of black jeans and a black cardigan over a white shirt. He didn't even bother swapping out his trainers for a nicer pair; scuffed gray Chucks were it. He wasn't making an effort, damn it.

"That what you're wearing?" Amane asked, brushing her hair, braiding it quickly, then brushing it out again. She seemed indecisive about her hair. She looked utterly frazzled, which seemed so odd to him. Amane was unflappable in the face of people like Malik and Bakura, who were equal parts intimidating and terrifying to Ryou on a good day, but the prospect of seeing their father had set her off like a nervous puppy. Ryou, in the meantime, was already wondering if he could get away with wine at dinner.

"Yep."

She looked like she might say something, but only nodded, turning back to the mirror to braid her hair again.

"Just leave it down."

"But..."

"Amane, it isn't like he's not going to love you if your hair isn't perfect." Gods, he was on edge. That was sort of mean.

"You're right," said Amane, dully. She untwisted the braid and brushed it out again. She peered miserably into the mirror in his bedroom."I'm being silly."

Ryou shook his head, feeling like a jerk. "No. I'm sorry. I'm not being fair. I know this is probably very nerve wracking for you... But you definitely don't need to worry. Dad is just going to be incredibly happy to see you."

"It's going to be fine."

"I think I might throw up."

Ryou grabbed Amane's cold fingers and gave her hand a squeeze. She looked at him, mutely. Her own frosty fingers squeezed back, weakly, as if she had exhausted all of her energy by worrying. She thought that maybe she had. Amane felt heavy. Exhausted. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this," She admitted, meekly.

"You'll be fine. Promise."

From the corner of her eye, Amane saw him approaching. Her father. He looked the same as she remembered; long blue hair tied in a low ponytail, glasses on his nose. He wore a suit. She always remembered him in a suit, probably because of Mummy's funeral. There was a long, tan coat draped over his arm. She gripped Ryou's hand tighter; he squeezed back just hard enough to translate his own nervousness. Two children Daddy forgot to come home to until now.

Their father must have spotted them from across the hotel lobby. A smile lit up his face, revealing lines that hadn't been there ten years before. He hurried toward them. Amane tried to make herself smile, but she couldn't manage to arrange her face correctly. It felt frozen, stuck. It wasn't a happy face. Rather, she felt her pasted on smile crumple, and to her complete mortification, Amane began to cry. Her father hurried to her, and his arms were around her, then he was crying. It was too much. Complete emotional overload. Emotions recovered from an unexpected failure. Restart now, y/n?

God she wanted a smoke or a pill or a line. She wanted something. This was too much. It didn't feel real. It felt artificial; she'd had dreams about this moment that had felt more genuine. Despite her tears, Amane could not pinpoint an emotion. Sadness? Relief? Where was the resentment, the anger, the hurt? Where was the unadulterated joy? The pure bliss of being reunited of being a family of being held by her Daddy which she had longed to do since she was eight and now she was eighteen and she felt everything and nothing all in this moment.

She opened her eyes, watching her brother look on. Ryou looked uncomfortable. He looked separate. She launched herself on him then, and their father took her lead, and father and daughter cried while Ryou seemed to struggle to support them and hadn't it always been like that? She felt, for a flash, a brief yet exhausting moment, that she was whole again. They could be whole again, or at least a little closer.

Ryou was idly twiddling his tea spoon in his fingers. Thus far, this dinner with the father had been sufficiently awkward, though not wholly unpleasant. Despite the tearful reunion on the hotel lobby, the whole affair had become rather unexciting. They caught up, as if their separation had been mutual. Everyone was just dancing around the topics that couldn't really be ignored, like how their father had unquestioningly swallowed the idea that Amane was dead ten years before or that he hadn't bothered to show up in Ryou's life since he was about fifteen. If you pretended that wasn't there, then they were having a lovely evening. He checked his watch, wondering if they would be asked to continue hanging around now that the dessert plates had been cleared away. Their father was talking about the exhibit he'd come into town for... Amane had asked. Ryou made a point to avoid the topic of Egypt since his father had politely inquired just what had happened to that Ring he'd been given all those years before. Ryou hadn't had the heart to tell him that it was hopefully going to be buried in a cave in Egypt somewhere for the rest of time; instead he shrugged and said it had disappeared in his things the last time he moved.

"Yes, it is rather fascinating, albeit tragic. It was as if this whole small village was wiped out in an instant. Buildings were burnt to the ground, the inhabitants ritualistically slaughtered. Not a single record of any survivors. There was practically no record of the village at all until very recently, when a document describing the sacrifice of 99 souls was found in the Valley of the Kings. Now it looks as if it might connected with the artifacts gifted to the Domino museum by the Ishtars about five years ago."

Ryou looked up sharply. "Really?"

Their father nodded enthusiastically. "Remarkable really, how much is still being uncovered about these Shadow Games. There is even a stone possessing these seven gold items... Strangely enough, one looks just like your Ring, Ryou."

"Yeah," Ryou agreed distantly. He felt very far away suddenly, words echoing in his ears. "What did you say was the name of the village?"

"I didn't. Based on the document we found, our best guess is that it was called Kul Elna."

Please review! 3