2

Clean clothes were the first order of business. Ryou found some clean sweatpants for himself and realized at once that his clothes would not fit Malik, who was significantly broader across the shoulders.

It was a wonder, then, that after an extensive dive into the recesses of his closet, he managed to find a suitable shirt. It was a wrinkled red-and-gray flannel that had once belonged to his father. The shirt emanated the faint musty smell of disuse, but it was larger than everything else he owned, and it was better than letting Malik put a damp shirt back on. He handed the garment off to Malik with perfunctory apologies and busied himself with figuring out dinner.

There were plenty of leftovers, but nothing suitable he could serve to a guest. He'd have to make something.

He started with a pot of rice — an easy filler — and began comparing different takeout containers that he thought might go together. Perhaps he could mix them up and re-fry them in the wok. No soy sauce, but he could get around that. He was fairly adept in the kitchen.

As he began dumping congealed masses of breaded pork and steamed vegetables into the pan, his muddled brain reminded him that the Ishtars were vegetarian.

At least, they had only served vegetarian dishes during that visit to Egypt. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, being preoccupied with the circumstances that had necessitated their visit, but he remembered that Jounouchi, Honda and Yuugi had spent their last day in Egypt visiting stall after stall in the local market, gorging themselves on shawarma, kebabs, and hawawshy. It was a decision that landed Honda in the throes of indigestion the whole flight home, and Ryou could specifically envision Honda moaning something about "this must be why they don't eat meat."

He glanced at the hulking figure sitting at his kitchen table. Malik's other personality might not agree or even care about dietary preferences, but it was safer not to ask. After all, regardless of what he was willing to eat, Malik's body wouldn't be accustomed to digesting that kind of protein. It would be better to do without, at least until he could find out how the Ishtars felt about fish.

Painstakingly, he pulled out a pair of chopsticks and removed all the visible pieces of meat from the pan. Those went back into the fridge. Small bonus: as he shuffled some wilting greens aside to make room, he found a package of tofu just within its expiration date. He cut it up and dried it out, all the while mentally cataloguing his assortment of sauces and seasonings.

It was a nice challenge, having to prepare a stir-fry without soy sauce. He was almost enjoying himself.

Almost.

He was acutely aware of Malik's presence behind him. After they had agreed that Malik would stay, Ryou had pulled out what few things the Spirit of the Ring had left behind.

Stolen objects, mostly, and knick-knacks: small, inconspicuous weapons, scraps of sketches from the memory world game, a pair of loaded dice, a broken floppy disc, a variety of unique coins. Malik had poked through the collection listlessly, but he seemed more interested in watching Ryou cook dinner.

Unfortunately, that meant attending to every movement Ryou made with a relentless, unblinking stare.

Ryou uneasily ignored the attention. Malik moved like a great beast, with slow lethargic motions that belied his true intensity. Ryou might have found him interesting — did find him interesting — but that didn't negate the danger. Their mutual curiosity about each other was all that kept the current peace.

Ryou turned the burner on. "Will anyone come looking for you here?"

Malik shook his head. "My other self," he said, "was alone. My siblings will not know where to find him."

Right. The other Ishtars. Briefly Ryou considered contacting them, but dismissed the idea. He had no way to get in touch, short of calling up Yuugi and asking him for Isis' number. Not exactly discreet.

The metal burner creaked as it warmed, and Ryou hovered a hand over the wok to gauge the heat. "How did you know where I lived, anyway?"

He'd moved out of his father's house to be closer to the University of Domino over a year ago. He'd told a few people his new address, but Malik was a few degrees separated from that list.

"I knew."

"How?"

There was no answer, and when Ryou looked over he saw Malik gazing fixedly at the ceiling, as if he was trying to remember some obscure fact. The collar of his shirt pulled awkwardly around the base of his neck, and Ryou realized that Malik hadn't aligned the buttons on the flannel correctly when he'd put the shirt on.

As Ryou stood there, wondering if he should say something, Malik shook his head. He looked vexed. "My dominant self must have gotten it from someone."

"You don't know?"

Malik's eyes narrowed. "I don't pay attention to everything he does."

Sensitive subject. Ryou dropped that particular line of questioning.

He worked on dinner. He steamed rice and fried vegetables. By the time the meal was finished to his satisfaction, Malik had wandered away, exploring the rest of Ryou's apartment.

Ryou angled himself as he dished up food, trying to sneak a look. Malik touched things compulsively, it seemed. His fingers wandered over the spines of books, prodded at miniatures, brushed over an old sweatshirt. He poked through drawers and fingered knick knacks with listless disinterest. He stopped on a poster hanging above Ryou's bed and stared at it for a while, moving his hand thoughtfully over the satin-textured paper. He was still standing there when Ryou told him dinner was ready.

Malik's expression seemed troubled when he came to the table, but his mood brightened when Ryou placed a steaming bowl of stir-fry down in front of him. He sat down and began eating immediately.

Ryou assumed a place opposite him, resting a hip against the kitchen counter. There was only room for one chair at the table. The arrangement was awkward, but it usually worked for him. He didn't have many guests.

"What is that?" Malik asked, his mouth full, and gestured at the poster.

Ryou glanced across the room. A malevolent-looking mage in a hooded black cloak stood over a table scattered with candles. A book was in his hand and arcane symbols were superimposed on the air around him, while the text above and below him was emblazoned with the Monster World logo and trademarks.

It was nice quality print, an exclusive that Ryou had bribed off the game store clerk after the latest release event. It had not been cheap.

"Just a poster," he said. "Why? Does it mean something to you?"

"No."

"Something about it drew your attention. Maybe it would help to talk about it."

Malik had started eating in earnest now. "No," he said.

He certainly was odd. He ate with enthusiasm, but there was something about his manner that was defensive, guarded.

Perhaps he was hiding something. As Ryou mused on this idea, he turned back to the rice. He took the time to set half of what remained aside and mixed it with a light helping of salt. He formed it into loose balls, moving quickly—it was still a little too hot to hold—and put it in the refrigerator to supplement tomorrow's breakfast. It was sloppy work, but the night was passing quickly and he still had homework to do.

That done, he dished up a plate of food for himself and ate standing at the counter. As he lingered over his meal, he watched Malik, who alternated between glaring sourly back at him and pretending like he didn't see Ryou at all.

"Is any of that helping?" Ryou asked finally, pointing with his fork at the paraphernalia on the table. Malik frowned at him and held out his empty bowl by way of an answer.

"More."

Ryou stared at it in surprise. He'd underestimated how much Malik would eat.

"I guess you liked it, then," he said, refilling the bowl. He'd planned on eating the leftovers for lunch tomorrow, but that was no problem. He could eat out. "Here you go."

Malik took the bowl back and began eating again. He wouldn't meet Ryou's eyes. His demeanor was odd — almost defensive.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes," Malik said. "Everything is — all wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Malik seemed frustrated by the question. "I don't know."

"Is it something to do with the Spirit—?"

"I SAID I DON'T KNOW!" Malik thrust the half-empty bowl down on the table and stood up, knocking the chair onto the floor as he did so. He and Ryou stared at each other for a moment, and then Malik's face twisted in a grimace. He laughed shortly, whirled away and stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

The bang of the bathroom door reverberated in Ryou's ears. After a moment he put his bowl down and went to pick up the chair.

He was poking a caged animal with a stick, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. Malik's existence, his presence here…it symbolized things Ryou didn't dare to think about. Wasn't sure he even wanted to think about.

He glanced at the door again. He needed to be more careful. Malik needed time and space to figure out why he was here, and Ryou needed to observe the facts before he went rushing in with theories. Malik was a person, not a puzzle to be solved. Ryou wouldn't do either of them any good by prodding.

He finished his dinner and busied himself with preparing a bed on the floor. He pulled the spare futon out of the closet and set it up along the bookshelf beside his bed. He was uneasy about putting the futon so close to where he slept, but his options were limited. Space allowed for only one other option: in front of the door. Faced with a choice between sleeping within arm's reach of a stranger and blocking his only exit, he had to opt for the former.

He laid a spare set of sheets over the futon, then pulled some spare pillows and blankets off his bed. Not luxurious by any means, but it would be a serviceable place to sleep.

As he arranged a fleece blanket, he heard the bathroom door creak open. Malik watched him from the doorway, his hand still tentatively wrapped around the doorknob.

He'd fixed the buttons on his shirt. Ryou hid his smile and stood up. It was a small thing, but it made him like Malik just a little bit more.

"I hope this is okay with you," he said. "If you need anything else, you can let me know, all right? I have to work on my homework for a bit."

Malik didn't respond, and Ryou didn't press further. He withdrew to his desk, where he settled down for a evening's work.

It was difficult to refresh one's self on the structure of phylogenetic trees while ignoring the dangerously quiet person behind you, but he made a stab at it, hunkering down and refusing to turn around to see what Malik was doing.

After a few minutes of silence, Malik begin to move around the apartment again.

It soon became impossible to study. Every step, every quiet tap and click and rustle raised the hair on the back of Ryou's neck. It was all he could do to hold back a reflexive jerk every time he heard the slide of objects moving across surfaces.

It was laughable, really. He'd thought, for some insane reason, that this would be like old times. He'd thought that he'd have the benefit of company without obligation: the comforting knowledge that if he said something, someone would hear him. He'd thought that he could be alone without really being alone. He'd forgotten that an additional presence was not the same as an additional body; that Malik, with all his body's various noises and needs, was going to demand physical space in Ryou's life.

When he heard the closet door open, Ryou finally got up.

"Can I help with whatever you're doing?" he asked politely, glancing in the open door. "We can talk, if you want."

Malik ignored him. He was systematically touching all of Ryou's clothes, running his hands over the coats and sweaters as if looking for something specific.

Ryou watched this strange ritual, puzzled. "Are you cold?"

"No."

"All right." Still Ryou hesitated. There was a fine line between being hospitable and intrusive. "Do you need something?"

Malik turned his head, gave Ryou a long, hard look. When he finally looked away again, his expression was uncomfortable, his voice a shade softer. "No."

"Does this…does it have something to do with—" Ryou saw Malik's expression twist and cut off his question, cursing his eagerness. "Sorry," he said. "I'll leave you alone."

He returned to his desk without waiting for a reply and turned on the radio, adjusting the volume so that it was too low to distract but loud enough to drown out the sound of Malik's maddening need to explore every inch of his apartment.

Eventually Malik returned to the table and began going over the Spirit's old objects again. When Ryou heard the unmistakable snick of a switchblade being sprung, he resisted the urge to turn around. When the sound became repetitive, he turned the radio up.

After twenty minutes of this, Ryou got up, under the pretense of opening one of cookie packages he'd brought home. He edged into the kitchen and stood beside the fridge, nervously tapping his pen against his wrist as he suggested that perhaps Malik would like to go to bed. "I can turn the lights off," he added.

"I don't need to sleep."

"Okay…" Ryou turned to the plastic package and tore the end open. He grabbed a handful of chocolate covered wafers for himself and held the package out to Malik. "Do you mind leaving that knife alone, at least?" He tried to sound nonchalant. "It makes it hard to concentrate."

Malik took a handful of cookies and said nothing. Ryou put away the package and returned to his reading. He turned the radio up again after he sat down, as a precaution. Either way, he didn't hear Malik playing with the switchblade again.

It was well past his normal bedtime when he finally called it a night. He frowned at the blinking green 11:07 on his cell phone and turned to stare mournfully at the dishes he still had to do.

He got up and approached the table where Malik was sitting, his head lowered and his body still. Ryou walked quietly, thinking that Malik was asleep, but as Ryou passed Malik's eyes lifted, set themselves intently on him.

Ryou noted the switchblade still held loosely in Malik's hands, and then saw the deep grooves carved into the table. The shapes looked vaguely like letters or sigils, but Ryou didn't recognize any of them. He paused, blinked, felt the chill running up his spine, acknowledged it quietly, and said nothing.

He did not look at Malik again while he cleaned the kitchen and began turning lights off around the apartment. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and found Malik waiting for him when he emerged.

"Oh, did you need to—" Ryou flushed. "I guess I didn't offer you anything. I'm sorry. I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here…and here, I'll show you where the towels and things are—"

Malik silently observed Ryou's sad attempts at hospitality, but gave no sign of either understanding or appreciating them. Finally, exhausted and impatient, Ryou rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"I have to go to bed," he said. "I have school in the morning. Are you sure there's not something you want? Something I can get for you?"

Malik started to open his mouth, and then seemed to think better of it, turning away from Ryou to scratch the back of his neck.

"I do not need anything," he said quietly.

It was an oddly self-conscious gesture, and Ryou softened.

"Okay," he said. "Well, just let me know. Good night."

He edged past Malik to the other side of the room and crawled into bed. He moved casually, as if he didn't notice how Malik was watching him still, his gaze just as inscrutable and intense. As he reached to turn the light off, he hesitated, but only for a moment.

It wouldn't do him any good to show fear. The light went off. Under the cover of darkness, Ryou reached up under his pillow and curled his fingers around the handle of a knife.

The utility blade had been sheathed and strapped to the top of the mattress for years now. It was an old habit, one initiated by the Spirit of the Ring. These days, Ryou did it more for sentimentality than as a precaution, but in this moment he was grateful for a bit of steel security.

He heard Malik cross the room, settle down on the futon. The room was quiet. Alert, but sensing no risk, Ryou's grip on the knife loosened as he listened to Malik's shallow breathing.

He should have put the futon by the door. If Malik changed his mind about the terms of hospitality, Ryou only had moments to defend himself. But he couldn't lie awake forever. And he needed to stop acting as if they were enemies. Wasn't this about helping Malik?

He turned onto his side and faced the wall, forcing himself to lower his own defenses. Everything would be fine.

But no matter how often he told himself he was at ease, some subconscious tension kept him awake. Soon, that tension seemed to leave him, seemed to pervade the room, manifesting in rough whispers in the dark.

Malik had started to talk.

At least, it sounded like talking. Malik's voice lifted and fell in a rough, rhythmic way, almost trance-like, and while his voice was soft enough Ryou couldn't make out the words, he was pretty sure it wasn't Japanese he was hearing. And it seemed to have some sort of meter, some element of a chant or ritual that felt more comforting than threatening.

He listened to the lilting syllables for a long while, started to say something several times, but the words never left his throat. He wasn't sure if Malik was asleep or awake. He didn't want to interrupt this…whatever it was. He'd heard worse, after all, and it was kind of like white noise, in a way. As it went on, he relaxed, and the sound became nothing more than background noise.

Eventually he must have drifted off. The next time he opened his eyes, it was to sunlight and the distant clang of a garbage truck. Taking stock of his body and finding himself unharmed, Ryou reached over to turn off the alarm clock. He sat up and carefully leaned over the side of the bed to peer onto the floor.

Malik wasn't there. Ryou paused, and then heard steady breathing coming from near the door.

As silently as possible, Ryou slipped out of bed and peered around the corner of the TV shelf into the small entry space by the door. He saw Malik's huddled form pressed against the wall, face buried in his arms. Had he slept there?

Ryou paused, looked closer, but he couldn't tell if Malik was awake or not. He retreated to his desk. He had a few minutes before he had to get ready for school. No need to wake Malik yet.

He pulled his cell phone out of the charger and glanced at it. He had a missed call and a voicemail.

He eyed Malik again, but there was no sign of movement. He retreated to the bathroom with the phone and perched on the edge of the bathtub, resting his elbows on his knees as he opened his mailbox. The voicemail was twelve minutes long.

Yuugi. Ryou hadn't seen him in a while — heard he was out of the country somewhere, some promotional Duel Monsters thing. Smiling, Ryou pressed play and put the phone to his ear.

Yuugi's voice was chipper, his words meaningless in a pleasant way. It was just a call to catch up, the kind of thing Yuugi would do when he hadn't heard from someone in a while. Ryou was terrible at both answering calls and returning them, but Yuugi was never bothered by getting shunted to voicemail. He always spoke as if Ryou had actually picked up, as if he was reciting a long letter instead of a reminder to call back.

The voicemail rambled as Yuugi related a few miscellaneous anecdotes—apparently he was somewhere near Seattle — and then the tone of his voice changed, become more thoughtful:

It's been raining a lot here…It's a strange rain — misty, only ever halfway there. It's deceptive, that kind of rain. It feels like nothing, but you somehow always end up drenched. Anyway it makes me miss home…This place is nice but my English hasn't gotten any better and Kaiba keeps trying to talk for me at all the press events.

Maybe it's just the homesickness, but I've been thinking about the past a lot. There's lots of things I miss — obviously— but there's lots of things I'm glad to leave behind, too. It's nice to not have to worry about the world ending or someone dying or what might happen if I lose a card game. The worst thing that happens these days is when Kaiba gets in a sulk.

I just wish I could have it both ways, you know? Wish I could have Atem here without the sense that something could go wrong at any moment. I wish he felt like he belonged here. I guess he didn't. And I have to live with that.

Sorry, I guess we haven't talked about this much. I think you've been on my mind, too. I know it was so different for you, but there were lots of nights, weren't there, where no one died, or got hurt? There must have been quiet nights, nights where it was just two people sharing a body…You don't talk about it, Ryou.

Sorry, I'm rambling. Maybe it wasn't like that. And it's none of my business. You don't need to try and call me back. But— if you get the chance—please do call. Like I said, the rain here feels weird and I've been on a winning streak, so Kaiba won't talk to me and no one else here speaks Japanese.

Be well, Ryou. As they say here: "see you later!"

When the call was over, Ryou held the phone loosely in his hands. Yuugi had that annoying way of sensing when you needed someone to talk to. And he could use someone to talk to. Who else would understand something like this?

He hit the call button and leaned forward on the porcelain tub, crossing his fingers and hoping the time zones matched up and that the tiled walls wouldn't cut off his reception.

The phone rang three times before Yuugi answered, his voice a distant warble through the international lines.

"Hi!"

As if by magic, Ryou felt his shoulders relax. "Hey, Yuugi."

"Ryou." Yuugi sounded both pleased and surprised to hear from him so soon. "How are things?"

"Actually, I—"

Ryou saw the bathroom door slowly swing open.

"I, um… you know what, I think I'm going to have to—"

Malik stood in the doorway.

His eyes bore into Ryou's, his gaze so intense that Ryou lost his nerve, forgot whatever he was going to say next, and snapped his phone shut without prompting.

Malik stepped inside the bathroom. He stood over Ryou, without speaking. He did not wait for Ryou to cower or to resist, simply reached down and plucked the phone out of Ryou's hand, examining it briefly before turning and slamming it against the shower tiles.

Ryou stood up as pieces of plastic rained down on him. "You didn't have to do that," he said, swallowing his irritation. "I could have—"

Malik spun toward him. "Do not," he hissed. "Bring anyone into this."

"I was just—"

"I don't care," Malik dropped the crushed phone and tugged at his own hair in agitation. "No one, no one," he repeated. "Not the pharaoh's vessel. Not my sister. Not—not Rishid—not your friends. No one. Please—"

Ryou stared, his growing rash of anger melting away as he realized just how distressed Malik was. He wasn't angry — he was afraid. He saw Ryou as a potential threat. The fear and the wariness had gone both ways.

"I'm sorry," Ryou said. "I didn't realize—"

Malik's head snapped up. He stared red-eyed back at Ryou.

"I wasn't going to…he called me first," Ryou said, feeling like an idiot for explaining himself. "I didn't mean — I wasn't going to — I just needed advice."

Malik was still for a moment, and then his hands dropped, he rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes, sniffed and stared at the wall.

"He cannot help here," he said, his voice quiet, curiously devoid of emotion. "Only you."

Ryou eyed Malik curiously, but Malik evidenced no sign of irony, no indication of falsehood. He truly believed that Ryou could help him.

Despite himself, Ryou reached out, touched Malik's arm. It was meant to be a comfort, an expression of sympathy and solidarity, but Malik jumped explosively back, his eyes wide, and grimaced as he stumbled against the doorframe and out of the bathroom. He took a few more steps backward, gasping, frantic laughter spilling out of him with each breath.

Ryou felt his heart sink and sighed. He knew better. It would take more than that to get Malik to trust him.

"Look," he said. "I won't tell anyone. I promise. And I—I apologize for scaring you."

Malik leaned over, shook his head, and collected his composure quickly. He swallowed any remaining traces of hysteria and straightened, refusing to look at Ryou. He brushed his hand against his jeans, shedding a few microscopic fragments of broken plastic as he stalled, struggling over his words.

"You didn't," Malik murmured, finally, and fled. He crossed the room, opened the front door and stepped outside, leaving the door open behind him.

Clearly he needed some time alone. Ryou bent over the remains of his phone. He picked through the pieces until he found the SIM card and tossed the rest in the garbage. A hassle, but not the end of the world. If he asked, his father would send him the money to buy a new one, no questions asked.

It was a luxury Ryou had earned over the course of his terrible childhood. His father, absent and emotionally stunted, was decent enough to feel bad about it and frequently expressed those feelings with gifts of cash, which Ryou politely accepted. Money wasn't as comforting as affection, but it was useful.

He left the bathroom. The chill morning air bit through his pajamas as he saw Malik on the balcony outside, his back to Ryou and arms crossed as he looked down into the parking lot.

It was something of a comfort that he hadn't run off completely. Ryou turned his attention to getting dressed. Then he retrieved Malik's shirt from the closet where he'd left it to dry and brought it out onto the balcony.

"I have to go to school soon," he said, holding the garment out gingerly. "So if you need anything else…"

Malik took the shirt and examined it carefully, but Ryou had known what he was doing — the bloodstains were almost invisible. Malik nodded, satisfied, and took off the flannel shirt Ryou had lent him.

Ryou caught a glimpse of the bandages on Malik's torso and lunged forward without thinking. "You're bleeding."

Malik paused, his arms halfway through his sleeves. "…Yes?"

Ryou's bangs fell into his eyes as he leaned forward, and he blew them away in exasperation as he peered at the damage. He risked being late to class, but what choice did he have?

"Come inside," he said. "I need to change these."

Malik followed him inside. He didn't seem to have a problem with complying with Ryou's instructions, especially once Ryou had provided him with a plate of shoddy-looking onigiri and a mug of microwaved miso soup. In the meantime, Ryou changed Malik's bandages and checked the lacerations on Malik's hands, though those seemed to be healing fine without further intervention.

Despite his best efforts at speed, Ryou could see that lateness was becoming more and more likely.

"I've really got to get going," he said. "Are you—"

Malik shrugged, his mouth full. "I'll stay here."

Ryou glanced around the apartment, at the carvings on the table, the scattered remains of the first aid kit, the faint smell of soy sauce that still lingered in the air. "That's not going to happen," he said. "I said you can stay. And I think you should. But you can't stay here by yourself."

Malik's expression darkened. Obviously he disagreed. But leaving him unsupervised wouldn't do. Malik needed a distraction, something to think about besides the Spirit of the Ring, which only seemed to cause him distress.

"Come to school with me," Ryou said impulsively. "Just to get out of the house."

"I want to stay."

"That's not an option."

An irritated look crossed Malik's face. His jaw tightened. He glowered. Despite himself, Ryou felt a flash of amusement. He was familiar with this game. The Spirit of the Ring had played it often: how firm were the host's boundaries, and how much would he give before he broke? Ryou had mastered the game over the years, but Malik was a new opponent, and untested. He clearly didn't react well to flat denial, so Ryou tried a different tack:

"How can I let you stay," Ryou asked. "When you destroy my stuff every chance you get?"

Malik recoiled, a defense uncoiling on his lips, and then Ryou pointed at the table beside them. The carved sigils from the night before stood out in stark relief under the fluorescent kitchen light.

"I had to pay for this furniture, you know," Ryou said. The table was a hand-me-down from a colleague of his father's, but Malik didn't need to know that. "I don't have the money to feed you and replace my phone and fix everything you break just because you don't like something."

Malik's frown deepened as he looked from Ryou's face to the table, but to Ryou's surprise, he didn't protest the point.

"I see," Malik said. "I will not harm your personal belongings."

He thought for another moment, and then shrugged one shoulder, as if making up his mind about something. "And I will compensate you for the destroyed items."

Ryou wasn't going to get a better deal than that. He softened his approach, smiled. "Thank you," he said. "But I'd like you to come to school with me anyway."

He saw Malik recoil, and hastened to further his point. "I don't want you to be alone here," he said. "Someone could show up. Or you might get bored." Not that the alternative was any more exciting, but better the ultimate boredom of a university campus than a room full of distasteful memories.

Malik still looked unsure. Ryou had a sudden intuition, and leapt on it.

"Besides…" he added, leaning in, whispering, as if they were co-conspirators. "Your other half doesn't want you here, right? Wouldn't it be better, safer, if you stayed close to me in case he tries to take back control?"

It was an argument based on conjecture, but it seemed effective. Malik twisted his mouth, thought the point through, and nodded.

"Very well," he said. "Then I will go with you."

They set off immediately. The day was grim, like most of the days that had preceded it this month, but there was no rain, which Ryou was glad of. He didn't have a coat for Malik, who had arrived without one, and he wasn't excited about the prospect of trying to share an umbrella.

They made it to the train station without much conversation, both of them content to mull over their own thoughts, but as they stood on the platform waiting for the train to arrive, Malik rolled his shoulders and said, with some discomfort: "Why do you think that my other self does not want me here?"

Ryou shoved his hands into his pockets. "He'd have come here himself, if it was important to him," he said. "But he stayed away. Maybe he doesn't want to think about the past. Maybe he doesn't want to deal with whatever unfinished business he had. Maybe he hates me."

"He doesn't…he doesn't hate you."

Ryou was surprised Malik felt the need to assert this particular point. He leaned around the woman in front of him and peered down the line. He kept his tone neutral. "Doesn't he?"

Now Malik seemed unsure. He hesitated, shuffling his feet. "He would not…have any reason to."

"People don't always need a reason."

Malik might have had a reason. Maybe it was a good one. Ryou could imagine several possibilities.

In the past, he'd had screwed up his courage a few times in attempts to reach out. It had never led anywhere. Malik had been polite enough, but he'd always seemed distant. He'd reciprocated to courteous inquiries with strange tendrils of emotion, inappropriate reactions and long periods of silence. Before, Ryou had dismissed it as awkwardness.

Looking back at all those old emails, it felt more like a forced friendship, initiated because of a common past neither of them was brave enough to bring up. Perhaps Malik had resented Ryou's attempts to reach out. Resentment, Ryou found, often had an attractive quality. It tended to wind people up in each other's lives when they might have otherwise stayed apart. Wasn't Malik here now, in a sense?

Ryou looked a little more closely at his companion. Malik's hesitation wasn't because of a lack of justification. He was guessing, same as Ryou. "You don't know what your other half thinks?"

"I…" Malik was suddenly recalcitrant. "He is complicated."

"You think so?"

"Yes." It was a definitive answer, and Malik glared at Ryou, daring him to question it — or to make light of it.

Ryou demurred instead. "Some people are like that," he said. He felt the grim shudder of the approaching train. Above them loomed the concave walls of the tunnel, the warning lights blinking red, perfectly parallel. He thought carefully. The relationship between Malik and his other personality was nothing like Ryou's experience with the Spirit of the Ring. The two Maliks were the same person, to some extent — but it seemed that they, too, could keep secrets from each other.

"I thought you knew everything he knew," he confessed.

Malik huffed, perhaps in commiseration, and Ryou considered the matter closed. The train arrived, the crowds shifted and pressed and held their breath as they stood too close for too long. The train moved, and stopped, and moved again, and stopped, and by the time they'd arrived at their departure point Ryou had dismissed the conversation completely.

It wasn't until they were on the street again, out of the mess of people, that Malik said, abruptly: "I know the things he does not want to know."

Ryou digested Malik's statement, backtracking rapidly through the last few minutes of silence. Had Malik been thinking about it that entire train ride?

"You're pretty thoughtful, aren't you?" he said, taking his hands out of his pockets to push his hair behind his ears. The wind was picking up again. No doubt it'd be another miserable day.

Malik grunted vaguely, but there was a note of confusion in his voice, and Ryou clarified: "You think before you talk."

As they proceeded down the sidewalk, dodging other pedestrians, Ryou could feel Malik peering at him. When Ryou looked back, Malik's expression was suspicious and accusatorial, but Ryou smiled encouragingly.

"Most people consider that a good quality."

That seemed to placate Malik, who shook his head. "I am not used to this…kind of conversation." His eyes narrowed, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of his feet. "…And you ask difficult things."

"Do I?"

"Yes." They stopped at a crosswalk, and Ryou, turning toward Malik, saw the stern, impassive facade fade. He had that same helpless expression he'd worn last night, when Ryou had asked him if he needed something.

"'Why are you doing this?'" Malik quoted, his voice flat. "'Who are you?'" He glanced back at Ryou. "That is what people say to me. Those are the questions I know how to answer."

They crossed the street and entered the campus. Ryou directed them onto a wide paved path. It was still fairly early, and though the path was heavily trafficked by students, most of them were drowsy with sleep and miserable with the cold, hunched over warm drinks and textbooks and buried in scarves and coats. They parted around Ryou and Malik wordlessly, without eye contact or greetings.

A brisk wind whipped through the causeway, and Ryou pulled his jacket closer, glancing at Malik with some concern. He'd shown no sign of recognizing the cold, just as he'd seemed indifferent to the rain yesterday.

In the distance, Ryou saw the humanities building rear up, but he veered left, toward a pathway lined with trees. "So," he said. "Who are you?"

Malik made a sound in the back of his throat that might have been laughter, then frowned. He cleared his throat and grumbled something under his breath.

When Ryou glanced at him, raising his eyebrows in patient encouragement, Malik shook himself, raising his shoulders defensively.

"You ask it with a different meaning."

"It's the same question," Ryou said.

"No, it isn't."

Ryou laughed and stopped in his tracks. "In here," he said, gesturing with a nod at the four story building up the walkway. "I can't bring you to class with me, so I thought you could wait here."

It wasn't strictly true, but Ryou didn't want to explain that he doubted Malik's ability to sit unobtrusively in a classroom for any extended period of time.

Malik looked at the building. In the front was a large granite sign reading Watanabe Memorial Library. He looked back at Ryou. The expression on his face was eloquent.

"It's one hour," Ryou said. "Then I have a two-hour break."

Malik did not move.

"It'll be warm in there," Ryou added. "And there are computers and books. You'll be fine. Just be quiet and don't bother anyone."

Malik's face was awash with pure distaste. Ryou swallowed his laughter and met Malik's gaze squarely, refusing to give until Malik shrugged listlessly.

"I'll be back," Ryou said, taking that as affirmation, and set off the way they'd come. At the junction of the sidewalk he glanced back and saw Malik, still standing motionless in front of the library.

Well, he couldn't do anything about Malik entering the building. Maybe it was just as well. Ryou wasn't sure he trusted Malik to behave himself in a library, and even less sure the librarians on staff were equipped to deal with him should he decide to be…difficult.

Only time would tell. Ryou resumed the walk down the promenade, feeling a strange giddy feeling of anticipation welling up in his chest. He laughed, finally, releasing the tension that had been building up all morning, reveling in it. Things might go sideways, but he didn't really care.

He was actually looking forward to it.

A/N: Made it to chapter 2! A lot has changed in the last month but I'm still chugging away at this more or less on schedule. Hopefully all of you are doing okay in these uncertain times.

Special thanks to my boyfriend and to my sister for helping me proofread these stories, despite their knowledge of Yugioh canon being limited to the Abridged series and the dumb memes I send them when I drink too much.

Next time: the duo go shopping and Malik takes a math class. (I promise this is a serious story.)