Yeeeeyy!! Two years since the whole Control saga began (And at the rate it's going, it'll be another two years before it's all finished -.-)

I would like to think my writing has improved since then XD

Disclaimer: I own nothing. NOTHING.

"Ugh. That a shitty morning." Bakura grumbled, ruffling at his hair as he walked into the kitchen. He wore nothing but his tee-shirt and boxers, the ring around his chest. He'd lain in bed for another hour or so after drawing, before hunger drove him to crawl out of bed and try and scrounge up some food. Although it's probably all gone mouldy by now...

Bakura sighed as he leaned against the fridge, closing his eyes. He felt so fucked up. Everything was so fucked up. He just wanted to control it all. His situation, his feelings, his general state of mind, for that matter...

"I have to do something." Bakura muttered. "Fuck, I just can't stand around forever like this..." He stepped back, and opened the fridge door, staring inside. After a long moment, he closed the door, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Nothing at all. "FUCK!" He cursed loudly, kicking the fridge door. "This is so fucking shitty, I swear." He groaned, walking across to the kitchen drawer. He pulled it open, staring down at the contents inside. Bakura wanted this. He needed it. The yami stretched out a long, bony finger, starting to stroke the blade of the longest, sharpest knife. He snatched up the black plastic handle on impulse, pressing the knife against the inside of his wrist.

Bakura gasped loudly as he made the first stroke, slicing the pale skin. He stared in sick fascination as the blood welled up along the diagonal line, and then slowly trickled along his arm, dripping onto the floor. He closed his eyes and groaned, arching his neck as he sliced the skin again, more blood gathering on the butcher knife. It hurt, the slashes on his arms. But it felt so bloody good. Bakura leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the deep throbbing of his warm blood dripping from his arm. It passed all too quickly, however, and Bakura was forced to look down at his arm again, staring at the closing wound. Snarling slightly, he pressed the blade firmly into his forearm, and with a flick of the wrist, dragged it up to his elbow.

The knife clattered to the kitchen table, and Bakura bit his lip hard, staring down at his arm. The blood pooled so quickly and easily on the counter, contrasting sharply with the aquamarine tiles. The yami closed his eyes and groaned again, clenching his hands into fists. It felt so good, to have the long, painful stinging and throbbing along the skin, the kind of pain that reverberated all up his arm. It had been so long, so bloody long since Bakura had cut himself, and he missed it like hell. He never needed to hurt himself when he was with Ryou. He never had any emotional battles to try and fight through.

Bakura hissed, and grabbed the knife again as the bloody flow began to slow. He growled as he pushed the blade into the long wound again, holding his breath as the knife cut through more of his tissue. Don't cut too deep. He reminded himself, staring at his bleeding arm. You don't want to end up in hospital again. Bakura lifted the knife away, raising the blade to his lips. He loved the sweet, coppery tang of blood. He loved the way it looked as it dripped from his lips. He loved the deep, crimson colour that no one could ever recreate, and he loved how it stained everything it touched.

The blood from Bakura's arm continued to pool on the counter, until it overflowed, and started trickling onto the floor. Bakura watched the tiny flow of crimson in sadistic fascination, his eyes slowly narrowing. The yami sank to his knees, slowly sinking down onto the bloody tiles. He leaned against the kitchen cupboards, closing his eyes. Every inch of him shook as he gripped the knife tightly in his hand, his wounded arm throbbing in pain. But Bakura loved the pain. It was good. It reminded him that he lived, that he bled, that he existed.

And it reminded him he had control.

Bakura's eyes snapped open, and he looked down. His knees were drawn up almost to his chest, his toes curling against the bloody tiles. There was no hesitation as he roughly pressed the knife on his leg, just below his knee. He pressed in as deep as he could without touching tendons or bone, and dragged it down to his outer ankle. Blood quickly welled up in its wake, trickling down his leg and pooling on the floor. The knife slipped from Bakura's fingers, clanging to the floor, splashing in the blood. Bakura closed his eyes, his arm and leg pounding in pain. Sweet, glorious pain. Bakura craved it. He relaxed against the kitchen counter, enjoying the sensations, his arms and legs totally lax. He didn't feel like there were any words to describe the thrill of slicing the blade through soft white skin, of watching the blood stain him.

"Fuck." He finally managed to speak, his shoulder slumping in a long sigh. He didn't feel hungry anymore. The adrenalin of hurting himself, of watching the blood touch everything and stain it easily took care of that. Bakura groaned, and drew his knees up closer do his chest, resting his forehead on his kneecaps, as the blood still flowed.

"I'm fucked up." Bakura muttered to himself. "I'm really, really fucked up." He slowly raised his head from his knees, staring down at his leg. Fascinated almost, he pressed a finger into the long wound, starting to follow the crimson trail down his pale, skinny leg. He bit his lip hard in pain, withdrawing his finger quickly. He held it up to the light, staring at the blood for a long time, before noticing that the throbbing had dissipated, and he was left with emptiness and exhaustion. Bakura sighed and leaned back, his head starting to hurt. The yami looked down at himself, realising that he was covered in blood. Shit. I suppose I better wash it off... After a long time, he managed to stand up, leaning against the counter. He felt strangely lightheaded... Maybe I went a bit too far. He shook his head, growling. Maybe he didn't go far enough. He could still feel it inside, the anger and insecurities. It felt like it was swallowing him whole. Bakura wrapped his arms around himself as he slowly stumbled into the bathroom, a trail of blood following him. Maybe a long hot bath will help me clear my head... Maybe. He swallowed as he leaned against the doorframe, staring into the little bathroom. He half limped, half walked across to the bath, sinking to his knees and reaching across the frost-white bath. He turned on the taps easily, watching as the hot water swirled down the drain. Put the plug in you fool! He growled, pressing the rubber plug into the drain. He jerked his hand back, gasping as it became immersed in the steaming water, blinking. He frowned slightly as he raised his hand to his eyes, staring at the red skin which still stung. On impulse, Bakura turned the hot tap further, the rush of hot water slowly filling the tub increasing. The yami swallowed as he pulled off his bloodstained clothes, leaning over the rim of the bath as he stared down at the water.

Finally, the bath was full enough to his liking. Bakura reached over and turned the taps off, ceasing the water flow. He pressed his hands onto the rim of the bath forcing himself to stand again. He looked down at the water, and at the steam what furled through the air. His heart thudding a little in trepidation, Bakura lifted his leg, his wounded one, and placed it in the bath. He gasped, and arched his neck in pain at the extreme heat of the bath, but forced himself to step into the bath fully, biting his lip to keep from screaming. Screaming or moaning, he didn't know. Bakura held his breath as he sat down in the water, eyes widening. Fuck that was hot! He hissed, but held his arms in the water, watching blood slowly ooze out of his arm and leg and eventually mingle with the water. After a moment, Bakura forced himself to lie totally under the water, every inch of his skin stinging and throbbing in pain. Oh, that hurt. It was rather like being boiled alive, Bakura mused, relishing the pain. Eventually though, he ran out of air, and was forced to lift his head from the water, his face flushed, panting and sweating.

"Fuck." He groaned, half-submerging his head back in the water, his face still floating. The back of his head stung particularly bad, but Bakura tried to force it down, closing his eyes as his skin stung. He lay there for as long as he could bear it, forcing himself to stay in the hot water. It became a mind over matter thing within ten minutes, and Bakura was able to easily bear the pain. He groaned slightly. Was it wrong to take some kind of sick pleasure from the awful sensation of your skin slowly scalding?

Of course it is, Bakura snorted. Who the hell am I kidding? I'm screwed up and I know it. At least I have the guts to admit it to myself.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. Something has to happen.

And soon.

"Morning, Bakura!"

Ryou smiled tiredly as he rubbed at his eyes, staring around at the living room. Jounouchi and Honda were still sprawled out across the floor, sleeping, and Yugi and Yami shared the couch, deeply involved in a video game.

"Anzu's in the kitchen." Yugi explained, his fingers flying across the plastic controller. "Yami's making her cook breakfast." The male bristled.

"I did not make her-"

"You so did! She said she was bored and you said she should make breakfast! You said it was the womanly thing to do." He sighed. "God, Yami, if she didn't have a crush on you, she would be so mad."

"She didn't- What?" Ryou smiled as he walked out of the living room, Yami's voice carrying throughout the house. "Are you serious?"

"Hey Anzu." Ryou murmured gently as he entered the kitchen, smiling slightly. "You okay?" Anzu was bent over a mixing bowl, blowing brown bangs out of her eyes.

"Yes, I'm fine," She said huffily. "I'm just making pancakes for Yami, because he's too lazy to do it himself, I swear..."

"Here." Ryou came to the brunette's rescue. "Look, you're stirring the batter wrong. If you that, you're just going to get a sore arm..." Anzu raised an eyebrow as Ryou gently took the mixing bowl from her. "See, if you tip it on the side and fold it, rather and stir it, you get the lumps out much faster..."

"You cook?" Anzu frowned. Ryou blushed.

"When you live alone, there's skills you need to know." He explained to the girl, gently stirring the mixture. "Aside from that, Ba- The spirit used to kind of demand that I cooked for him every night and made him breakfast. So I have to um, learn pretty quickly."

"He hurt you bad." Anzu murmured. "Bakura, that's so mean. Why did you put up with it? Why didn't you ever leave?" Ryou sighed, smiling softly, sadly as he mixed the batter slowly.

"Because people do crazy things for love." He said softly, staring down at the pasty-coloured mixture. "Come on Anzu, you're been in love before, haven't you?" The brunette blushed, and looked away.

table, looking around for that little wooden box. He found it, and used the key to unlock

"Yeah..." She said softly. "But I don't think I could go through that..."

"Trust me." Ryou set the mixing bowl on the table, the batter smooth and lumps gone. "If it was staring you in the face, if you had to make a choice, you would choose to stay with him, No matter how much he was hurting you." Ryou turned, and walked silently out of the room, leaving the brunette to stand there, at a total loss for words.

Bakura sighed as he pulled the shirt over his head, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked like some kind of fucked-up strawberry sundae. The yami fluffed his hair out from underneath his collar, and slowly sat down on the edge of his bed. His anger had finally dissipated, and the only reminder he had left were the red, painful-looking knife wounds on his arm and leg, and the still pink tinge of his skin. He looked away, across the room, clenching his hands into fists.

"I need to get food." Bakura muttered as his stomach rumbled pathetically. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, and he was starting to feel weak. He heaved an enormous sigh, and stood up, padding over to the dresser. He didn't look at the reflection as he opened the drawer, searching for his particular pair of socks, rolled up in the corner. They were a horrible, dark brown colour, and Bakura never wore them. But then again, he didn't mean to. He unrolled the socks, and found the key inside. He shut the drawer, and marched over to his bedside it. He lifted the ornately carved wooden lid, and picked up the object inside.

Another key.

Bakura smirked as he stood up, and headed towards the wardrobe. True, his whole setup was odd, and some might think Bakura was extremely paranoid. He pulled aside the pile of clothes on the bottom, staring at the floorboards. They came up easily, and Bakura didn't even have to grab his knife to pry them apart. The extremely thick cashbox lay in the little hole, about the size of two shoeboxes stacked on one another. Bakura smiled, and lifted it out, his muscular, but thin arms straining. He slid the key in the lock, and turned it. Now all that was left was the combination. At least the brain damage didn't make me forget it. Bakura smirked, easily turning the dial. He pulled the thick metal door open, his chest swelling with pride as he looked down on it.

His loot.

Around half a dozen bundles of notes littered the cashbooks, tied with rubber bands. Each was worth ten thousand dollars. Bakura counted them himself. But despite that, a little velvet bag, about the size of his fist in the corner was worth three times of the rest of the safe, combined. Despite himself, Bakura pulled the little string on the bag, He couldn't resist tipping a few of the diamonds onto his hand marvelling how they sparkled in the light. Over fifty top-quality diamonds, all at least two carats. And that was less than half of Bakura's original raid. There were other things in the safe, fine jewellery, gold and platinum statuettes, and a single almond-sized sapphire in a red velvet box. Bakura lifted one of the bundles of notes, hurriedly pulling off the rubber band. He pulled out five of the hundred dollar bills, before closing the safe, fiddling with the combination so it couldn't be pulled open, and replaced his keys.

Bakura sighed as he slid the five hundred dollars into his wallet, his old leather one that was worn soft. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror as he turned away, his shoulders slumping. Man, I look like utter shit. Bakura used to pride himself in his appearance, but looking at himself now, he realised just how far he had gone. How much weight he lost. His once skin tight jeans were baggy on his legs, the long-sleeved shirt draping over his slimmer shoulders. The shirt revealed much more neck than it used to, and Bakura's collarbone, and the top of his ribs could clearly be seen. Bakura pulled at his shirt self-consciously, trying to hide less of his neck. He stared at his face, noticing his almost protruding cheekbones, and the sick-looking dark grey circles under his eyes. He looked like a panda, and it was awful.. Hell. Why the fuck do I even care anymore? It's not like I've got anyone to look good for. Bakura's heart sank a little bit as he slid his worn leather wallet into his back pocked, heading for the front door. He headed into the spare kitchen, where his car keys (and spare house keys) were located in the secret compartment of the fruit bowl.

"Okay." He muttered as he slammed the front door behind himself. "Let's do this."

Ryou stared long at himself in the reflection as he brushed his hair. He dragged the bristles through his tangled white locks, wincing as the strands were pulled. Ryou's hair was probably one of his major flaws, his vanity for his hair. He loved to sift it through his fingers, brush it for extended periods of time, wash it for ten minutes in the shower. But Ryou couldn't help it. Besides, practically every girl in school shared Ryou's view on his hair. And half the guys.

The whitenette smiled, and shook his head a little, despite himself. He set his brush down on the dressing table, turning away. Bakura loved his hair, too. He loved it far more than Ryou did. It almost fascinated him, how Ryou's hair could be so shimmery and smooth and silky and smell so good when his was always a tangled mess. Ryou's shoulders slumped in a long sigh as he sank onto the edge of the bed. You just had to think of him, didn't you? And you were actually doing so well... Ryou groaned as he flopped back down on the bed, casting his mind back to last night. Maybe it was all a big waste of time. I'm beyond anyone's help, aren't I?

I just wish I could stop thinking about him. It's driving me insane, thinking about him all the time. I just want him to forgive me and take me back. I forgave Bakura for raping me. Has he forgotten everything he did to me? I forgave Bakura because I loved him and wanted to be with him. Has he really forgotten that?

I need to stop. Ryou wrinkled his nose as he sat up, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair was tousled and untidy again. Groaning, the teenager dragged the brush through his hair a few times, before pushing the door open and running into the kitchen.

"Bakura!" Yugi smiled, perched on the kitchen counter, notepad in hand. Yami grunted from the pantry, his head and shoulders in the little space. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing." Ryou forced a smile. "What are you up to?" Yami sighed as he extracted his head from the pantry, rolling his eyes.

"We need food." He reported, closing the pantry door. "Yugi's writing out a list. We need more noodles, too." He reported to the teenager, who nodded, making a little note on the paper.

"Who's getting them?" Ryou tilted his head to one side, covering his mouth as he yawned. Yugi shrugged, chewing on the end of his pencil.

"Grandpa can, but he has some trouble lifting the bags home himself, and Yami's in the middle of a video game war with Jounouchi and Honda. So I guess I get the job." He sighed.

"I can go for you." Ryou suggested, scratching the back of his head. "I certainly don't have any plans for the day, and I'm good at buying things really cheaply... I can even buy some extra things and cook dinner for a few nights this week." Yugi smiled widely.

"Really Bakura? You'll do that?" Ryou nodded, forcing another grin.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Of course."

"Hey, thanks!" He nodded, jumping onto the kitchen floor. He tore the top page off the notepad, and handed it to the whitenette. "Grandpa's in the store. He'll give you the money." Ryou nodded, accepting the piece of paper. He folded it in half, sliding it into his pocket.

"Sure thing Yugi." He smiled slightly, this time, it was a little more real. "I wont be long."

"Hmm... Steak." Ryou pushed the trolley in front of him, surveying the chiller full of meat. He left his trolley by the chicken as he grasped the shopping list, peering down at all the different packaged meats. He knew Yami liked lots of fat on his steak (A subconscious eating habit passed down from his previous life) but they were hard to come by. Ryou was oblivious to everyone else as he leaned over the chiller, searching for the perfect cut that would satisfy Yami's wants.

"There." He finally murmured, grabbing at a piece of steak that as closer to the front. Just as he did, however, a second hand gripped at the steak. Ryou blinked, and tugged slightly, trying to claim it for his. The second hand on the meat tensed suddenly, as though in shock. Frowning, Ryou lifted his gaze, without stopping to realize that the bony white hand was almost a carbon copy of his.

Bakura.

Ryou's breath hitched in his throat, and his mouth went dry as he stared at the man he still loved, the man who rejected him. On instinct, he clutched onto the steak tighter, his hand starting to tremble. Both of the white-haired males stared each other up and down, gave the other a once-over, before drawing the same conclusion.

He looks awful.

He looks like shit.

Ryou's eyes locked with Bakura's, and despite all his efforts, the yami just couldn't pull away. He kept his gaze focused sharply on the teenager's wide brown eyes, that were slowly starting to glisten with tears. Ryou and Bakura, darkness and light, just stared. Ryou's heart thudded in his throat, and he felt oddly numb at seeing Bakura again. It felt as though the gaping wound had just been ripped open again, staring at him, staring at what had been denied to him. Bakura just looked at Ryou, noticing how his clothes hung off him, how starved he looked and how lines were even starting to form under his eyes. Even his hair hung limp, losing the vibrance and fluffiness it once held.

I've done this. It felt like a punch in the stomach to Bakura. He had caused Ryou's deteriorating condition. He didn't just look tired, Ryou looked downright unhealthy. Something in Bakura's chest snapped. A tiny, tiny part of him, no larger than a grain of desert sand, longed to hold Ryou, to hug him close and tell him he was sorry and that he was going to make him better. But the remainder of his body just remained as cold and unforgiving as an iceberg.

Ryou opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed it again. He swallowed deeply, still staring into Bakura's crimson-mahogany orbs. He felt like he could just get lost in there forever. His hands shook so hard, the steak almost trembled. Bakura stared at Ryou for another second, before snapping. He released his hold on the steak, the sudden weight change making the teenager gasp, and turned on his heel. Ryou whimpered, and jerked his head to the side as Bakura angrily stomped away from the whitenette, not giving him a backwards glance. It felt like Ryou's mouth was full of sand. He clung to the steak like a lifeline, tears clinging to long dark lashes. It was like his chest had just caved in. It was the worst feeling ever. Ryou was ashamed of himself as he stared after the figure, who was almost running away from the teen, visible for only a few seconds, before he was swallowed up by the crowd. Ryou rubbed at his eyes, starting to cry. I couldn't even say hello to him... Why am I such a coward?

The teenager moped back to his trolley, leaning heavily against the handlebar as he cried, white hair falling over his face like a shroud of mourning. A white shroud.

"Fucking Hell!" Bakura swore the moment he was in the safety of his own home. He almost threw the paper bags down onto the kitchen counter, carelessly kicking off his shoes as he started sorting through his food. It was little more than large slabs of meat –his favourite- and cups of ramen –Which even a retard could cook- and milk for coffee. Coffee! I forgot the fucking coffee! Bakura threw the meat into the fridge, angrily forcing the milk into the side shelf. He slammed the door with all the force he could muster, and ran into the lounge. The yami buried his face into the couch cushions as he moaned, overcome by anger and confusion.

"Fuck you Ryou!" Bakura screamed as he lifted his head. "This is all your fucking fault!" Seeing the boy there, seeing what he had become... Part of it just killed Bakura inside, seeing what he had done to Ryou. He'd made him physically sick looking. It wasn't exhaustion that caused it, or a poor diet (although those would have undoubtedly been factors) It was mental anguish, brought about by Bakura. The yami felt... guilty. He never thought it would have affected Ryou this way. He thought Ryou would be upset, but eventually get over it, or something, and move on. Who the hell am I kidding? It's Ryou. He's going to be in limbo for the rest of his life. Bakura leaned into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He felt a bit sorry for Ryou. After all, waiting nine months for someone to wake up, then being rejected by them was pretty heartbreaking.

But he brought it upon himself. Bakura reminded himself. He slept with Malik. If he really loved you, then he wouldn't do that. The little slut's getting what he deserves.

Bakura always told that to himself whenever he started doubting his motive.

Awwwh. Someone's emotionally insecure! Hehehehe.

And we get to see Malik next chapter! YEY! (I think XD)

R&R!