It had taken a few minutes for Ryou to remember the phone in his pocket. He'd skidded to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk and hit speed-dial. "Please please pick up," he whispered, bringing it to his ear.
Straight to voice-mail. Was the line busy... or was the phone unable to receive calls? "No. No," Ryou whined, his fingers tightening around the phone before he pushed it back into his pocket and started running again.
He stopped for three more tries. Always straight to voice-mail.
Ryou's lungs were on fire and his legs ached, and he almost didn't feel it when his phone vibrated. Almost.
He grabbed the phone and accepted the call without looking at the screen. "Thief?" he asked, breathless and barely able to get the name out.
"Shit no! The dumbass smashed his fucking phone or something!"
"M-Malik..." Ryou whispered. "He called you?"
"He's being fucking unreasonable!"
"Of course he's being unreasonable! He's mentally unstable!" Ryou shouted.
"Are you looking for him? You need to find him!"
"I'm looking!" Ryou wailed.
There was a pause and then Malik's voice came in an urgent rush. "He's near the marina! I heard a ship's horn when I was talking to him!"
Ryou gasped and spun around to his right, taking off towards the docks. "I'm going! I'm going!" he shouted, but he couldn't hear the response because the hand holding his phone was now swinging with his body's motion as he put on a new burst of speed.
...
Bakhura crouched on the ground, shaking and staring at the pavement. He knew he wasn't thinking right, but for the life of him he couldn't remember how right-thinking felt. Everything was gone. Ryou was gone. There wasn't anything without Ryou. The world had imploded around him and the old nightmare-images were playing across his eyes again. Everything broken. Everything dead and gone. Everything taken away.
He pulled at his hair and panted unevenly, rocking back and forth slightly and whimpering. He did it to himself this time. He ruined everything. He broke the world. Everything was gone and it was his fault. There wasn't anything to do. There wasn't anyone to blame. It hurt so much and it wouldn't stop. The emptiness wouldn't stop hurting.
Kill the emptiness. Kill it. Fill it with blood. That's what they always used to say. The voices. He hadn't heard them since he'd come back from Egypt. Even they weren't here with him now. Nothing was. No one was telling him what to do. God, how he wished someone would tell him what to do.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap. Was he running? No, he was still on the ground, he could see it right in front of him. He heard running from the empty world outside. He needed to hide. Hide from the spears and swords. Hide from the fire and molten gold. But he couldn't move.
And then there was the tip of a shoe just at the edge of his vision, standing on the pavement he was staring at. "Get up!" a commanding voice ordered him. Instructions. Instructions. Somebody would tell him what to do. He wouldn't have to think.
He got his feet under him and pushed himself clumsily up. His head was heavy; it took too much effort to lift it and when he did everything was blurry. He blinked and rubbed at his wet face.
"Go home, you mad idiot!"
"No no the fire..." Bakhura mumbled and choked. "Can't go back- can't- the fire-"
A hand grabbed him roughly by his shirt and another slapped him hard across the face. Bakhura sputtered and gasped, the sudden shock of pain, normal pain, jarring his senses and blowing away the flames.
"Wake up!"
Another slap. Bakhura blinked rapidly, reeling with confusion, the scattered pieces bumping against each other as they settled. The hand was raised again, he could see it this time, coming towards him, and he caught it.
He stared down at his assailant and the name clicked into place. Pharaoh. Why the hell was Pharaoh slapping him? "W-what are you d-doing?" Bakhura demanded, his breath shaky and shallow.
"You were babbling like a moron," Pharaoh replied, glaring up at him. "Everyone is looking for you, you know."
Bakhura stared at him, having a hard time processing what he'd said. "W-why?"
"Because the odds of you doing something stupid and reckless were weighed as pretty high," the Pharaoh said, pulling a phone out of his pocket and flipping it open. Bakhura stared at him blankly as the diminutive teenager put the phone to his ear. "I found him, Anzu... Block 53, west side. He's having some kind of psychotic break."
Pharaoh closed the phone and slid it back into his pocket, not taking his eyes off Bakhura. "Sit down," he ordered and Bakhura sank slowly to the ground, letting go of Pharaoh's wrist, which he'd been holding for some reason.
He leaned back against the brick wall behind him, staring at the Pharaoh, who sat down in front of him, arms crossed and watching him carefully. "W-what happened?" Bakhura whispered.
"You're insane is what happened," Pharaoh answered.
Bakhura nodded slowly. That was true. But it didn't quite explain his current situation.
Pharaoh sighed, looking irritated. "You ran off in the middle of a scolding. Like a child. And you scared everyone and made us run all over the city for the better part of an hour."
Details fit themselves into place around the Pharaoh's explanation and Bakhura's hands squeezed into fists, knuckles scraping against the pavement. "... Ryou," he whispered. "I can't- I don't know- How do I... fix it...?"
"Oh shut up," Pharaoh scoffed.
"It was supposed to..." Bakhura mumbled, staring at the opposite wall. "It was funny..."
"It was funny," Pharaoh said and Bakhura looked at him. A grin had taken over the sour expression of a few moments ago. "Do you know what you are now? There are three popular options in the rumor-mill today." He held up a hand and counted off on his fingers. "You're either a mob-boss, a professional assassin or an 'international jewel-thief'. The third one has picked up a lot of popularity since second period."
Bakhura blinked a few times, letting what the Pharaoh was saying sink in. Then the corner of his mouth hitched up a little and a weak, not entirely hysterical laugh came out of him. "Seriously, what did you do to Aida? I saw him today in the hall. The boy looks about ready to have a heart-attack," the Pharaoh leaned forward a bit, a slightly malicious twist to his grin. "And what is all this about a cat?"
"Cat?" Bakhura thought for a minute. "Wait, it was a dog, I think... I was playing psychotic sociopath or something and made up some shit about putting a dead dog on somebody's kitchen table back in Odate. I think I was pretty convincing."
"What, you successfully coming off as a maniac? Never."
Bakhura laughed. "And y'know, I figured they'd just think I was saying a bunch of shit, right? So I looked up this Aida kid and found his house, and I left him a note while he was asleep, with all the personal information, y'know, parent's names and stuff, that I found on a web-search."
"That is awful!" Pharaoh exclaimed, laughing out loud. "Oh, no wonder he looked like he was going to soil himself!" He laughed a moment longer and then reigned it in and added, "Not that I endorse breaking and entering."
"Oh, of course not," Bakhura snickered. "So- so wait, what did they say about this cat thing?"
Pharaoh started laughing again before pressing his lips together and taking a few settling breaths though his nose. "Okay, what I cobbled together is that you apparently put the frozen, headless family pet, with a knife stuck in it, into Aida's mother's bed."
They both started laughing again.
