cw: some slight body horror/self harm. Nothing serious and most of it is just spoilers for a 1980s horror film, but there is some blood mentions.
4.
Ryou was slowly going insane.
It had been a quiet evening. When they'd arrived back at the apartment, Malik had resumed his careful inspection of Ryou's belongings. He'd wandered from object to object, spreading a gloomy aura throughout the room as he searched for something Ryou was sure he'd never find.
Nothing could induce him to open up. Ryou broached questions, but Malik offered nothing but one-word replies, if he replied at all. He was more interested in the contents of Ryou's kitchen cabinets than in casual conversation.
It was maddening. How could Malik offer up tantalizing new bits of information — and then shut down completely?
Ryou tried not to take it personally. After all, he couldn't expect Malik to suddenly manifest a sense of self-awareness. Malik couldn't talk right now, and Ryou would have to accept that, but knowing it didn't do much to assuage his curiosity. The questions that rattled around his brain weren't going anywhere.
He tried to distract himself. He made a poor pretense at studying and cleaned the kitchen. He even attempted a hard reset, announcing that they needed to make an urgent trip to the corner store for groceries, but he was disappointed yet again. Malik drifted aimlessly through the aisles behind him, indifferent to the influx of colors and images assaulting them on all sides.
Flummoxed, Ryou browsed the shelves for groceries he didn't need and tried to think of new conversation starters. Malik's answers were limited, even about things as banal as his favorite foods, and after having to repeat several questions in a row, Ryou gave up completely. He bought a few packets of mapo tofu and some frozen vegetarian gyoza to flesh out the pantry and called it a day.
Dinner was silent and awkward. Malik cleaned his plate dutifully enough, and even helped Ryou clean up afterward, but he was incapable of maintaining the rhythm of a normal conversation.
There was nothing to do but leave Malik to his own devices. Ryou had had enough of playing the role of responsible caretaker, anyway; Blade of the Necromancer had been calling his name all afternoon. If Malik wanted to ignore Ryou, well, Ryou could ignore him right back.
Working on campaigns required a meticulous set-up; he'd had almost a whole room devoted to the task back at his father's place, but in his small apartment more creative solutions were called for.
He unpacked the module and spread the lavish encounter maps on the floor around his feet, available to review at a glance with just a swivel of the chair. A selection of manuals were painstakingly arranged around his laptop on the surface of the desk for easy reference. The rest of the supplemental materials were stacked in his lap, an open notebook resting on top.
He read the module page by page, studying the content closely, armed with sticky notes and a chewed-up ballpoint pen, which he used to notate sections he might alter to fit his current campaign or points where he could expand on a character's arc, jotting down longer notes or a loose sketch in the notebook when a thought occurred to him. The most relevant notes would be typed up later and the rest would be relegated to a folder full of abandoned ideas for future campaigns.
He should have been so engrossed that time lost all meaning. This was his wheelhouse, his go-to hobby, his modus operandi. Yet every detail—every note and statblock and table—was overshadowed by Malik's silent presence. His attention wandered. The minutes dragged by.
It wasn't as if Malik, who currently sat cross-legged on the other side of the room, was being particularly obtrusive. Earlier, he'd found the plastic tub under the bed that contained Ryou's horror movie collection and pulled it out for inspection. Now he was picking over the VHS tapes idly, frowning at the cover art, sporadically pulling out a case for study. He'd glanced in Ryou's direction a few times, but only as part of a cursory, routine survey of the room. Really, he couldn't be less distracting if he tried.
For once, Ryou was struggling with silence. He couldn't stifle the urge to interrogate Malik, to get some kind of dialogue going. He couldn't stop thinking about that mysterious ritual verse Malik had written in his notebook, about Malik's strange and gloomy moods, about that conversation on the train—
It wasn't exactly a surprise that the Spirit of the Ring and Malik Ishtar had had some kind of…correspondence. They had been allies for a fleeting moment, had shared minds and ideas. Maybe they'd even thought of each other as friends.
So why didn't Ryou know about it? Privacy is limited when you share a body. To keep Ryou in the dark, the Spirit would have had to exert significant effort. But why would he? The Spirit wouldn't have kept secrets out of spite, or on a whim. He could be spiteful, or whimsical, but he was lazy, too. If he'd made that kind of effort, the outcome must have mattered.
Maybe the Spirit guessed that Ryou would feel betrayed if he found out. Maybe he'd thought that Malik jeopardized the fragile nature of the truce he and Ryou had painstakingly worked out over the years.
Ryou certainly felt betrayed now. He'd thought he'd known everything, had finally stitched all the missing pieces together. And here another missing piece had arrived on his doorstep, claiming to be there for events Ryou couldn't remember. What else couldn't he remember? Were there other minutes or hours Ryou didn't know about? Other conversations, other plans? Did the Spirit of the Ring still have some scheme still waiting to come to fruition, years after he'd been lost?
Malik's voice speared through his thoughts. "Are you angry?"
Malik's eyes were fixed on him, head tilted in curiosity. Ryou flushed and twisted in his seat, self-consciously raising a hand to tuck some hair behind an ear. He hadn't realized he'd been staring.
"Sorry," he said. "Just thinking."
Malik nodded, returned his attention at the tape in his hands. Ryou swiveled his chair back and forth, considering. It was the first unprompted thing Malik has said all afternoon. Was this the opening Ryou had been waiting for?
He would have to be careful how he went about it. If Malik felt trapped, he would shut down again.
"I was thinking about what you said on the train," he admitted. Maybe if he opened up first, Malik would follow suit. "It's bothering me."
Malik's head tilted again; he pursed his lips. "So you are angry?"
"Not angry…troubled, I guess. I don't know why he wouldn't want me to know about…you. About that fight they had in Egypt."
Malik nodded again, and then sighed heavily. He turned a copy of Jigoku over in his hands, picking idly at an old sticker on the side of the box. "I have been thinking also."
Ryou closed the manual he'd been holding open in his lap. Perhaps too quickly: Malik froze up at the sudden movement, hunched his shoulders.
"Sorry," Ryou said. His every nerve was on end, but he held his tongue. He needed to give Malik room to talk at his own pace.
He watched him dig a fingernail under the aged price tag and peel the surface away, leaving a white smear across the case. Malik's hands were sturdy, well-used; Ryou had felt calluses on his palms when he'd bandaged his wounds earlier. His other half must work with his hands somehow; perhaps weightlifting, or something mechanical. They moved slowly, deliberately, the same way he spoke, picking over every word as if they all held the same weight.
"Is this…acceptable?"
Ryou leaned back into the chair and kept his expression relaxed as he drummed his fingers against the manual in his lap. He couldn't respond too quickly. He'd come off as aggressive, and then the whole conversation would be over.
"Is what acceptable?"
"My…presence."
"I invited you to stay," Ryou said, baffled.
Malik shrugged, expressionless. "My other self…" he said. "He can become distressed when one indicates he is…" he paused again, quirking his mouth, looking for the right words: "…not adequate."
Ryou had no idea how to respond. Malik grunted in frustration, waved a hand dismissively, started over:
"What I mean is…" he paused, and then peered up at Ryou. "I am what he needs me to be," he said. It was the same thing he'd said on the train. "But…" He turned the VHS tape over and put it on the floor, staring meditatively down at the carpet. "I did not want it to trouble you."
Puzzled, Ryou studied Malik for a moment. "I'm not troubled," he said.
"Not even…before?"
Before? Ryou cast back through the day's events. Remembered the library. The cashier. Professor Sato. "Are you…" he asked slowly, stumbling to the most likely conclusion. "Are you worried that you're embarrassing me?"
Malik didn't immediately react; but the furrow between his brows deepened. He seemed to be seriously considering his answer. "My other self and I—we are not…normal," he said. "I did not wish it to upset you."
Ryou stared at Malik for a moment, and then turned his chair, trying to look thoughtful as he lifted a hand to his mouth to hide the idiotic grin plastering itself to his face.
Upset?He was delighted. Who knew there'd come a day when someone thought they were tooweird to hang out with him?
"I am sorry," Malik said sincerely, and Ryou choked down a laugh.
"It's okay." He got a grip on himself and turned the chair back around. "Believe me," he said. "You don't need to worry about being normal. Not with me." He smiled at Malik. "I'm sorry if I seemed upset. I was just worried about you."
Though Malik's expression did not change, his eyes seemed to grow warmer, his posture more relaxed. "That is not necessary," he intoned. "I am in no danger."
"Nevertheless," Ryou said. He started to open the manual again, and then changed his mind. "Can I ask you something?"
Malik nodded.
"What happened at the library?"
It was prying, and it probably wasn't important, but Ryou wanted to know.
"Hmm…" Malik sat up, scratching the back of his neck as he stretched it one way, and then the other. He seemed to move with more ease now that he'd had a chance to air his concerns. "I was angry," he said eventually. "And knocked some things down."
"That would get you kicked out," Ryou agreed, but to his surprise, Malik shook his head.
"That was after."
"After what?"
The grimace that crossed Malik's face just then could have only been fueled by extreme distaste. "Those people."
The students they'd seen in front of the library?. "Did they say something to you?"
Malik made an affirmative noise.
"What?"
"They wanted me to leave them alone."
Ryou didn't say what he was thinking, but Malik must have known anyway, because he shook his head vehemently. "I did not speak to them," he insisted.
"But you did something," Ryou surmised, leaning back in his chair. "Right?"
Slumping down again, Malik glanced at Ryou and then looked away again, scratching lightly at the carpet with his fingernails as if the rough texture was suddenly more interesting than their conversation.
"I thought I could…listen," he said. "That place was quiet. I found it unpleasant."
Ryou stared at Malik, his mind turning over the details as he pieced it all together. He was fascinated by this little revelation, could picture the events clearly in his mind's eye: Malik drifting around the cold and silent shelves, only to stumble across a study area, a group of friends chatting quietly. Had he sat down among them, or stood above them, just listening? Did he get angry when they stopped to stare at him? Or just when they started to ask questions? Were they cold and hostile or openly aggressive? Or were they more good-natured about it, and tease him, thinking he'd be able to take it? Did they make jokes for each other's amusement, laughing like self-assured people with nothing to lose? Had Malik understood the subtle emotional undercurrents that had flowed through that table when he'd arrived?
The sound of thumping against the door startled both of them; the Monster World manual thudded to the floor as Ryou stood up in alarm, questions forgotten, and Malik clenched his fingers impulsively into a fist, his head turning stiffly toward the front of the room.
They stared at the door. A voice, muffled, could be heard on the other side: "Yo! Bakura! You in there?"
Ryou swore under his breath. He'd been so distracted he hadn't even noticed the sound of anybody coming up the stairs. He gestured furiously at Malik, who had started to stand.
"Stay down!" he hissed. The blinds were still open and the lights were on, illuminating the whole room. In the grey evening light, anyone at the door would spot them immediately if they took even a few steps toward the window. "Go wait in the bathroom."
Malik didn't move immediately in either direction. He stared at the door without moving, his expression tense and unreadable. Ryou gestured again, more insistently, and finally Malik moved his eyes to Ryou's face.
The pounding at the door intensified.
"Coming!" Ryou exclaimed. He didn't look away from Malik as he spoke in a low, clear voice, keeping his tone deliberate. He didn't need to give Malik any reason to panic. "Wait in the bathroom," he repeated. "I will take care of it."
It took a moment, but Malik nodded. He got up and moved in a low crouch toward the bathroom door.
Ryou waited until Malik pulled the door closed behind him and then grit his teeth and strode to the front door, pulling it open a few inches and plastering a friendly grin to his face.
"Hi Jounouchi," he said, and then, realizing his friend hadn't come alone, opened the door a little wider. "Honda."
"'Sup?" Jounouchi was leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved casually into the pockets of a hoodie. He glanced past Ryou into the apartment. Behind him, a little out of the light, Honda was leaning against the railing, arms crossed. He murmured his own greeting.
"It's been a while," Ryou said politely. "What brings you all the way to this side of town?"
Jounouchi and Honda exchanged a glance. Something was wrong. Honda was nervous or irritated about something, and Jounouchi was trying too hard to act casual.
Ryou had two options. He could confront them…or play dumb. He instinctively preferred the first option, but right now he really needed them to go away, and option #2 seemed more likely to get him quick results.
He pulled the door open wider and positioned himself against the doorframe opposite Jounouchi, neatly setting up the illusion of hospitality while preventing any possibility of ingress into the apartment.
"Sorry," he said, throwing in a sheepish laugh for good measure. "You guys surprised me. Nearly fell out of my chair when Jou started pounding on the door."
The tension between them slackened a bit, and Jounouchi grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows. "What, you think I was the cops? You hiding something, Bakura?" He slapped his hands to his cheeks in mock horror. "DRUGS?"
Ryou would have happily picked up this premise and run with it, but Honda wasn't about to be distracted from the subject at hand.
He cleared his throat. "You didn't pick up your phone," he said.
Ryou had forgotten all about the phone. He forced another laugh. "Right."
No wonder they were here. Yuugi had sent them on some kind of welfare mission.
"I tried to call Yuugi on it this morning and I dropped it," he explained. "Don't know what I did, but it must have knocked something loose. Can't get it to turn on now."
Jounouchi immediately accepted his story. Honda looked thoughtful.
"Can I see it?" he said. "Maybe I can-"
"Threw it away. Sorry."
Honda frowned at him, and Ryou stared steadily back. He was tempted to push Honda, to dig his heels in, see exactly how stubborn he'd get when push came to shove.
But he didn't have time for a drawn-out confrontation. He stood up a little straighter and turned to Jounouchi, as if struck by a sudden burst of concern. "Something's not wrong, is it?" he asked. "I didn't miss something important?"
"Nah, don't worry about it," Jounouchi said, oblivious to the silent war being waged between his two friends. "Yug said he couldn't get calls through, so we thought we'd come by."
"Well I'm happy to say that I'm fine," Ryou said. "Just incommunicado. I'll get a new one soon." He shifted his weight. Honda and Jounouchi were clearly in no hurry to leave. "Thanks for coming out this way, though," he said. "Must have been inconvenient."
"Don't worry 'bout it, man. Whatchu been up to?"
Ryou answered absently, something bland about school and studying. He let that carry the conversation for a few minutes, refusing to budge from his spot in the doorway. He dropped hints that he had some important test he was studying for, hoping they'd assume he was busy and go away.
But Jounouchi had little patience for social pleasantries. He launched himself away from the wall, clamping Ryou's head between his hands as he peered into his eyes.
"Give it up, Bakura," he demanded, shaking Ryou's head back and forth as if he was coddling a dog. "I know you're dying for us to leave so you can hang out in your batcave and summon demons with your creepy witch books or whatever, but a guy's gotta party sometime! Let's go get some FOOD!"
"It's called occultism and it's a science,'" Ryou said archly, extricating his face out of Jounouchi's grasp, but he couldn't keep a straight face. He burst out laughing, and Jounouchi took a step back, crossing his arms with satisfaction.
Ryou rubbed his cheeks and smiled fondly up at Jounouchi. "Idiot."
Honda barked out a laugh and Jounouchi huffed, unbothered. "Whatever," he said. "It's creepy."
"I can be a creep if I want," Ryou said. "And that's not what I'm doing—I told you, I have to study. I've got a big test tomorrow."
"It's not like an hour's gonna make a difference," Honda said evenly, regaining his composure. "Right?"
Ryou gave him a dirty look, to which Honda merely grinned. He was enjoying this, the bastard.
"You can take a study break," Jounouchi wheedled. "Come on! We can get yakiniku!"
Ryou wouldn't easily get out of this. He couldn't deny that he wanted to join them, but he couldn't leave Malik here alone…and he couldn't depend on their reactions if he explained what was really going on.
He glanced back inside his apartment, feigning hesitation as he cast about frantically for an excuse. His eyes fell upon the tub of VHS tapes. Speaking of summoning demons…It was a bit of a gamble, but if he played it up right…
"Well, I was going to take a break later," he admitted. "I got this movie the other day that I've been really wanting to watch. Maybe we could do a movie night?"
"Oh yeah? What movie?"
"Hellraiser," Ryou said gleefully. "Have you heard of it?"
Jounouchi backed up a little, suddenly dubious. "Oh, uh—"
Ryou wouldn't let him go that easily. He leaned in as the blond tried to lean away, injecting a chipper enthusiasm into his voice. "It's a cult horror film — you like that kind of thing, right Jou? — about this magic box that like, kills people and summons demons but—" Ryou lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "—I heard the special effects are really good, like in the flaying scene it looks like the hooks are really—"
"Oh wow, uh—" Jounouchi, positively green now, disentangled himself and escaped to the other end of the balcony. "Sounds fun, but maybe, uh, some other time? Sounds like you got some important test coming up and so we'll just leave you to your movie…maybe this weekend we can, uh, go to the arcade or something…" He glanced in his companion's direction. "Honda, we have that um, thing later, right? We'd better get going."
Bemused, Honda spread his hands. "What about dinner?"
"Not hungry!"
Jounouchi fled down the stairs into the dark, but Honda didn't immediately move to join him. He laughed, putting his hands on his hips as he glanced up at Ryou.
"Smooth," he said.
Ryou smiled politely, lifted his chin. He wouldn't get away with lying to Honda, but he didn't have to tell him the truth, either. "Stop worrying about me," he said. "Everything's fine."
"You gonna tell us what's going on?"
"Maybe. Not right now."
Honda nodded, and then glanced, distracted, into the parking lot behind him, where Jounouchi was calling his name. In the dusk light, he was nearly invisible; his hair a pale patch of color in the dark.
"We've got your back, you know," Honda said, turning his eyes back on Ryou.
"I know."
"Call us if you've got a problem."
"Phone's broken," Ryou reminded him, and Honda, flustered by this unexpected stumbling block, blushed and reached up to scratch the back of his neck.
"Right," he said awkwardly. "It's just, we never see you anymore—"
Ryou stared, surprised. Was it possible that maybe they did want to hang out?
"Tell you what," he said. "I just got some new Monster World stuff yesterday. Maybe we can hang out during Golden Week. Go through some campaigns."
That seemed to do the trick. Honda's face creased into a smile, reassured at last. "Yeah," he said. "That'd be good."
Jounouchi called up again from the parking lot noisily and plaintively informing them both that he was hungry.
"That didn't last long," Honda muttered.
"Better hurry," Ryou told him, grinning. "You have that 'thing' later, right?"
"Don't worry," Honda said. "I think that 'thing' is meat."
Laughing, Ryou crossed his arms and nodded down the street. "There's a good barbeque place about three blocks that way," he said. "The one with the red windows."
"Got it." Honda reached out and patted Ryou's shoulder with easy familiarity as he turned toward the stairs. "Good luck on that test, Bakura," he said, without a shred of sarcasm. "Don't be a stranger."
The weight of Honda's hand seemed to linger on Ryou's shoulder even after he'd disappeared down the stairs. Uneasily, Ryou stood in the doorway and watched Honda and Jounouchi's silhouettes regroup in the parking lot. When they were no longer visible in the dark, he retreated into his apartment, closing the door behind him.
There was a bitter taste in his mouth that he wished would go away. He'd lied to them before—and this was hardly a lie—but it wasn't guilt that gnawed at him.
It had been too easy to get them to leave. It was as if they'd expected him to turn them down.
Were they just used to it? Had he already told them no that many times?
He went to the bathroom and knocked tentatively on the door. "They're gone," he said. "Can I come in…?"
There was no answer, and after waiting a moment, he tried the knob. Finding it unlocked, he pushed forward. The door moved a few inches, and then hit an obstacle and stopped.
"Malik?"
He heard Malik mutter something, but he couldn't make out the unintelligible words. There was a pause. The door swung open.
Ryou saw the blood first. It was smeared on the bathroom counter and on the mirror, gleaming brightly under the vanity lights. Used bandages were scattered around the sink, a testament to Malik's activities during Ryou's absence.
Malik himself was standing in the doorway, holding the door open. He didn't look particularly alarmed, so Ryou tempered his own reaction to match and took a moment to observe things.
Malik hadn't seriously hurt himself, he decided. The smears of blood were shocking, but not egregious. There had been no major loss of blood. Malik had just picked open some barely-healed wounds. Inappropriate, but nothing to panic over.
"What happened?" Ryou asked. "Is something wrong?"
"Hm?" Malik glanced at the mirror where Ryou pointed, but his gaze was dismissive, uninterested. He peered out into the apartment. "Are they gone?"
Ryou took another look at the mirror. It wasn't just random smears, like he'd initially thought. There was a pattern. He pushed the door open and stepped inside for a closer look, nudging Malik away from the counter.
A curved line here, a straight one there, and shapes that were possibly letters…or runes? Maybe Aramaic. Maybe older. In either case, he couldn't make sense of it. "What were you doing in here?"
Malik sniffed dismissively and crossed his arms. As he moved, Ryou saw the smear of crimson on his palms and sighed. First things first.
"Go sit in the kitchen," he said. "You need some fresh bandages."
"I'm fine—"
Ryou didn't dignify that with a response. He pushed the door open with one hand and gestured impatiently with the other. Malik didn't seem wholly committed to his resistance, and Ryou was in the mood to press a little harder. Time to see exactly how far the boundaries had shifted over the course of the day.
Malik eyed him for a moment, but left the bathroom without complaint. Once he was out of the way, Ryou knelt down and pulled the first-aid kit out from under the sink. He grabbed a package of wipes on the way and took a moment to mop up any visible blood.
The mirror, after a moment's consideration, he left untouched. Something about those symbols made him anxious. Maybe it didn't mean anything. Maybe Malik had been drawing at random. He'd done a lot of strange things so far, but Ryou wasn't ready to dismiss any of it out of hand.
In the kitchen, Malik was sitting at the table, drumming his fingers impatiently on the scarred surface. Ryou set the first aid kit down beside him and went to the sink to run some water.
"He's supposed to be dead," Malik said behind him.
Ryou was still mulling over the symbols on the mirror. "Who?" he asked, testing the temperature of the water with his fingers.
"That man. The loud one."
"Jounouchi?" Bemused, Ryou filled a bowl and brought it to the table, thinking hard. Then it clicked. He snapped his fingers. "Right," he said. "You two dueled at Battle City, didn't you?"
Jounouchi had been in a coma afterward. Ryou did remember that. He was a little pleased with himself for making the connection.
Malik was not so impressed. "I won."
"So I heard."
"I saw them carry him away," he mused. Puzzling over his thoughts, he didn't resist when Ryou took his hand and began to gently rinse the skin. "He fought God. He should not be here."
"Well," Ryou said reasonably. "Maybe God wasn't as strong as you thought."
As Malik snorted in indignation, Ryou ducked his head to hide a smile. "I know how that sounds," he said. "But that's the thing with magic."
"What?"
"It's never as permanent as you want it to be." Ryou wiped his hands on his jeans and poked through the kit for the antiseptic. "It costs too much to maintain," he added. "If you want to kill someone, you do it with your hands. That's what I learned from watching the Spirit. You can banish people, you can trap their souls, you can summon demons to devour them, but gods, curses—they have a way of backfiring. People will fight back, as long as you let them. And they'll win, eventually."
Ryou used to be more enamored with magic—Jounouchi's joke about summoning demons wasn't too much of an exaggeration—but he'd been disillusioned for a long time now. He'd hated watching the Spirit of the Ring paint himself into a corner, chained to the same malevolent magic he was trying to control. There were too many people out there like Jounouchi. People like Atem and Kaiba and Anzu. All of his friends had that irrepressible quality; they were hard to knock off their feet, reluctant to surrender. Magic couldn't work against people like that.
Maybe that was why he'd never felt comfortable in a dueling arena. How could you look at people like that, and think you had any hope against them?
"Magic is limited," he said. "It'll run out, eventually, and then you'll be back to where you started."
Malik nodded thoughtfully, examining the lacerations on his skin.
"So you attack me with glass," he said, and Ryou laughed.
"Exactly. And it won't heal, either, if you keep picking at it." He took Malik's hand back, applied the antiseptic. This time, Malik was ready for the shock of the sting, and only sucked in a breath before relaxing again.
Ryou brushed a cotton pad lightly over Malik's skin. "Were you upset?" he asked. "Because Jounouchi was here?"
Malik considered this. "No."
Ryou switched out the antiseptic for a roll of gauze and began the meticulous process of applying new bandages. "Well…can you tell me why you did this to yourself?"
"I was bored."
"What about the symbols on the mirror?"
"What symbols?"
Ryou shouldn't have been disappointed by that answer, but he was, and that fact irritated him.
"Are you finding what you're looking for?" he asked instead. "Looking through all my stuff?"
Malik twisted his head, frowning slightly. "I do not know," he said. "It doesn't feel…right. Something is missing."
"Like what?"
"I do not know."
It doesn't feel right. Malik kept repeating variations on this theme, but he'd said it so many times that Ryou wasn't sure what he meant anymore. For all he knew, it didn't mean anything. Maybe none of this meant anything. Maybe it was all random: just things Malik said or did whenever he was bored or uncomfortable.
He saw no point in pushing the conversation further. Neither of them seemed to know what they were talking about. Briskly, he finished wrapping up Malik's hand and began to clean up.
After he put the first aid kit away and emerged from the bathroom, he saw Malik crouching by the bed, examining another VHS.
"What is a 'hell raiser'?"
Ryou paused. Malik had overheard more of that conversation with Jounouchi and Honda than he'd had realized.
"Hellraiser," he said. "It's a movie. Do you know what a movie is?"
He saw Malik's expression and held his hands up in an immediate gesture of appeasement. "Sorry," he said. "Of course you do."
"I am not an idiot."
"I know." Ryou joined Malik beside the bed. "Sometimes it seems like you don't know things about, you know, modern life," he said. "But that doesn't mean I think you're an idiot."
Malik said nothing to that, only looked at him thoughtfully as Ryou took the case, flipped it over to show Malik the blurb on the back. "It's an British horror movie," he said. "I couldn't find a dubbed version so I had to special order it from Europe. It's in English, but you can follow the story ok if you don't speak it. Mostly I watch it for the gore."
"You said a man is flayed."
That gave Ryou pause. "Ye-es," he admitted. If Malik had heard that much, there was no point in trying to lie. "It's a splatter picture," he said. "Pretty violent. If you aren't used to that kind of thing you might not like it…" He hesitated again, debated a moment, and committed himself to the more interesting option: "Do you…want to watch it?"
Malik was examining the pictures on the box closely. He looked curious, but not particularly excited. "You like this?"
Ryou laughed shortly. "I think it's fun. Not everyone would." He sat down on the bed, glanced down at Malik. "Do you like movies?"
Malik tossed him a short irritated glare. "I don't know."
"Your other self, then."
"He has seen movies," Malik said. He turned the case over again, thoughtfully. "Not like this." He held the tape out to Ryou. "Show me."
Ryou took the tape. Based on what he knew of Malik's background, this was nowhere near psychologically sound. He did like this movie, though…and he was very curious how Malik would respond to it.
Besides, it had been Malik's idea.
"Okay," he said. "Give me a minute to set it up."
Since the apartment was too small for a couch, his television was positioned at the end of the bed. Ryou moved a few of the pillows to make room for the both of them and set up the tape player. As he moved back to the head of the bed, he slipped a hand under the pillow and checked the sheath strapped to the back of the mattress. He wasn't particularly worried: aside from their first meeting Malik had yet to display any real tendency toward violence, but he thought it might be better if Malik didn't know about it.
He pressed play and then sat back. He patted the mattress next to him and Malik sat down hesitantly, settling into the pillows as Ryou tried to explain some of the premise.
"Really, all you need to know is that there's a magic box, that one right there, called the Lament Configuration, and it summons the Cenobites. They're like, uh, demons, but they're sadistic, kind of like torture artists. They worship pain."
Malik listened without comment, his attention fixed on the screen, and as the opening shots played out, Ryou waited with bated breath, counting down the seconds until the Cenobites manifested out of the bloody chaos, Pinhead himself marching through the curtains of hooks and viscera.
Malik's reaction was disappointingly neutral. He frowned slightly, leaning back from the TV as he crossed his arms.
"You don't like it?"
Malik shrugged indifferently. "It doesn't look like that," he said.
"What?"
"It doesn't look like that," Malik said. He blinked slowly, gazed at the screen. "Flaying a man."
"Oh," Ryou said. "Yeah." he said. He adjusted his position, curled an arm around his legs. "I know it's not," he said. "It's not real. This is all prosthetics. Rubber and stuff."
"I see."
Ryou turned back to the television, watched the characters move across the screen. "We don't have to watch this if you don't want to —"
"I do not mind."
"It's just, it's for fun, you know? It's a story. It wouldn't be fun if it were real."
Malik didn't respond. Ryou bit his lip.
"If it bothers you—"
"I said I do not mind," Malik interrupted, and Ryou nodded, resigned.
"It'll get better," he said. "Just keep watching."
Malik nodded. Neither of them said anything for several minutes. Then Malik stirred slightly, his thigh pressing against Ryou's as he stretched his legs down the bed.
"You like this movie?"
Ryou, who had gone very still, took his eyes away from the television and glanced back to see Malik staring at him.
"Yes," he said, too quickly. He was being defensive. Malik's expression didn't change, but it seemed, for a moment, like one of his eyebrows had lifted slightly.
Malik glanced at the screen again, appraisingly. Looked back at Ryou.
"You are sure it gets better?"
It took a moment to parse what was happening, but when he did, Ryou started to laugh. Malik watched him, smiling with a certain degree of satisfaction, but Ryou was too delighted to be self conscious. Who knew that Malik was capable of comedy?
"Look," Ryou said. "You can just say you don't like it."
"I know," Malik said. "I am not sure yet." He glanced at the screen and added, thoughtfully, "The movies my other half saw… they did not look like this."
"What do you mean?"
"They looked more…real. Mostly talking. And shooting."
"What, like crime movies?"
"Perhaps."
Ryou had seen a few of those. Honda had definitely forced a few on the group during movie nights. They were okay, but Ryou preferred a little more color. The only thing he loved more than a campy tokusatsu was a gorefest, and Hellraiser had both qualities in spades.
"Well," he said. "We all have our own tastes."
Malik made an odd sound in the back of his throat. Maybe he agreed.
They kept watching the movie. During the longer expository scenes, Ryou attempted to explain what was happening on screen, but the further they got into the film, the more perplexed Malik became.
"Why is that woman helping that monster?"
"She loves him."
"Why?"
"Sometimes people do things that don't make sense," Ryou said indifferently. It wasn't really the time or place to explain the contradictory facets of the human heart.
After a while, the pace of his questions slowed, and then they stopped completely. By the second act was in full swing, Malik seemed to have made peace with the premise of the movie.
Ryou, engrossed by the action, stopped checking for Malik's reactions to the scenes, and it wasn't until much later in the movie that he looked down and realized that Malik's eyes were closed.
He hesitated, and then waved a hand a few inches away from Malik's face. No response. He smiled and turned back to the TV.
That hadn't really turned out the way he'd wanted, but it was far from the worst outcome. He was used to watching movies by himself anyway.
The rest of the movie passed without interruption, Malik dozed motionlessly at his side while Ryou sat cramped into the corner against the wall. He kept eyes on the screen and tried not to move, his skin tingling with awareness of the warm, heavy presence beside him.
Only when the credit started to roll did Ryou begin to stretch out his arms and legs, moving slowly.
He glanced at the still form beside him. It would be difficult to get out of the bed without waking Malik. He leaned over, careful not to get too close, cognizant that contact without warning hadn't always gone over well in the past.
He paused for a moment, studying Malik's face. His eyelids twitched as he grimaced in his sleep. This close, his skin looked rough, almost windburned. A sheen of blond stubble was starting to come in along his jaw. Ryou leaned closer.
He said Malik's name, quietly.
There was no response at first. Ryou said it again. Malik's eyes fluttered, he turned slightly, looked up at Ryou. His eyes widened. His expression changed: shock, and then fear, emotions washing over him until they morphed into vicious rage. He lurched up.
Adrenaline flooded Ryou's veins. He threw himself backward, but he hadn't moved fast enough: before he could get out of the way, Malik's forehead collided with his face.
They both reeled away from each other, exclaiming. Ryou pressed his hands to his face. Through the smarting pain and the tears welling in his eyes, he heard Malik curse. A hand clenched his wrist.
"You—"
Malik's words cut off, turned into a guttural, gasping sound. He let go of Ryou.
Ryou peered through his fingers. Malik was grimacing now, the heel of his hand pressed into one eye, the fingers of the other digging into his scalp. He shouted: hoarsely, wordlessly, and then seemed to relax, collapsing forward over his knees. His shoulders shuddered in small, irregular aftershocks.
They were silent for a moment, Ryou gritting his teeth as he pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. Malik sat still, panting quietly.
Cautiously, Ryou bent his head. His eyes met Malik's.
Malik started to laugh. He sounded stunned, relieved, but there was another dimension to his laughter too—an element of triumph. He was pleased.
"Hah," he said, trembling a little as he sat up, brushing his hands over his face. "I did not expect him to flee like that."
Had Ryou just made contact with the 'original' Malik? Gingerly, he prodded at his nose again, but it didn't seem broken. Nothing was bleeding. He shook his head, wiping his eyes as he peered toward Malik.
"He hates me," he said.
Malik frowned at him, puzzled, and shook his head. "No," he said, slowly. "We do not."
"I saw it," Ryou insisted. "I saw the way he looked at me. What just happened? What do you mean he fled?"
"He has no desire to be here," said Malik. He shook his head again, more emphatically. "We do not hate you."
Ryou couldn't deny the evidence of his own eyes. "How do you know?"
Malik's frown had grown stubborn. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, reluctant to look in Ryou's direction.
"I do not," he said finally. "So he can not."
Ryou didn't know what to say to that. This Malik was obviously sincere, but how was Ryou supposed to reconcile that with the way the other Malik had looked at him?
"Okay," he said. "But if you two want the same things—or feel the same things—then how can you want to be here, if he doesn't?"
Malik shrugged. Ryou sighed and sat back, readjusting his legs. Another question, another answer which would have to wait until later.
"Is your head okay?" he asked.
Malik raised his fingers and prodded his forehead, where a red patch of skin, already fading, stood out against his hairline. He smiled. "I am unharmed," he said. He expression sobered as he looked at Ryou. He lowered his arm. "You are still troubled."
Ryou looked away. He'd thought — or perhaps he'd hoped — that both sides of Malik were here of their own accord. Now he had to wonder if the two of them were at odds. It might not have been open warfare, the way Battle City had been, but certainly the other Malik hadn't seemed happy to find himself in Ryou's home.
"He's trapped," he said. "Isn't he?"
With a short, humorless laugh, Malik swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stood up and then rolled his head back to look back at Ryou. He didn't need to say anything. His whole body was brimming with reproach.
"I've been trapped in my body," Ryou said defensively. "I know what it's like."
"Your soul is no prison."
Ryou clenched his jaw. His soul had been a kind of prison: a stone tower he'd been locked inside on the occasional instance when the Spirit needed both body and privacy.
"We share one soul," Malik said. He had turned away from Ryou, did not look at him as he spoke with a low voice. "My other half occupies it. Its passages are unknown to me; he has blocked off the routes I once traveled freely. It is his will that rules it. Not mine.
"I cannot enter there. My other half closed the door, a long time ago." He glanced back at Ryou. "If he wanted control of our body, I would have no strength against him. If I am here, it is by his will."
The credits had stopped rolling. The video player reached the end of the tape, stopped and began to rewind, bathing them both in blue light. Rubbing his aching nose, Ryou moved to the end of the bed and turned the television off. He sat back, met Malik's sober gaze.
"So this isn't like before," he said. Before, Malik had been imbued with the powers of the Millennium Rod. Before, his two sides had been evenly matched.
Malik nodded.
"If you have one soul between you," Ryou asked. "How can he keep you out?"
Malik sighed. He ran a hand through his hair as he gazed at the window above Ryou's head. "He created me," he said. "That gives him power."
"But where do you go?"
"…outside."
"Outside?"
Malik nodded pensively. "In the dark."
Ryou thought again of his soul room, of the dim stone walls, the sound of dripping water. It had been something clean and ordered once: he had vague memories of jungle flowers, of the sun shining through painted glass, of warm stone floors, but over time it had become a ruin: a cold place where weeds ran rampant and the wind never stopped howling. There were passages there: stairwells and tunnels and even a sky, but there was no "outside". It was just itself, a space with clearly defined borders and no exits.
He'd talked to Yuugi about this once. They'd theorized that soul rooms were metaphorical constructs, an image of the corridors of the mind that became tangible when touched by the influence of the Millennium Items. They'd both continued to dream of their soul rooms, even long after the Items had been destroyed, and for a while Ryou had even had some success accessing his through self-hypnosis techniques.
In his understanding, the boundaries of a soul room were absolute. He couldn't understand what Malik meant.
"What's it like?" he said.
Malik was still staring vaguely out the window. He lowered his hand; Ryou saw it clench slightly in midair before it settled, motionless, at his side.
"Nothing," he said, and turned back to Ryou. His expression was flat.
"My other self is not trapped," he said. "There is no need to pity him."
He disappeared into the bathroom, and after a moment Ryou heard the sound of the sink running. Slowly, he unfolded his legs and moved to the edge of the bed.
Did this change things? He considered what he knew, and tried to be objective. He did pity Malik — both of them — but he was encountering new doubt that he'd be able to help. If Malik was only here because of some repressed need for closure, then what would happen when he found it? And what if it wasn't what Ryou wanted?
He glanced over at the bedside table, and then leaned across the bed to open the drawer. He plucked out the small wooden figure of the Thief King and held it in his lap, staring at it thoughtfully as he ran his thumb over the crack in the wood.
If some part of Malik hated him, or was avoiding him, they weren't going to make much progress. Sooner or later, he would have to talk to Malik's other side.
He didn't want to. He couldn't get over that sense of fear and loathing he saw in Malik's eyes. Didn't want to think about what made Malik feel that way.
He'd tried to reach out before, to touch on the things they'd had in common, but he'd been unable to breach the distance between them. They were acquaintances, almost strangers. There was no reason for Malik to feel anything toward him, except—
"Is this your fault?" he asked the figure, turning it over in his hands. What did you do? he added silently, begging for an answer. What did you tell him?
Malik emerged from the bathroom and came back to the bed, where he sat down beside Ryou, who turned the figure over in his hands a few more times and then held it out to Malik.
After a breath's hesitation, Malik took the figure. He handled it gently, almost gingerly, as if he thought it might break. His voice was quiet.
"Did he get a new body?"
Ryou stared blankly, but Malik's gaze was still down, fixed on the wooden figure. "A new what?"
"Did the man come back to life? Did he get a new body?"
"Oh…in the movie?" Ryou had already forgotten about Hellraiser. "Um…yeah. I guess he did. His brother's body. But then Cenobites found him and took him back to hell with them."
Malik nodded. His expression looked…almost sad? Ryou was still puzzling it over when Malik spoke again.
"And the woman?"
"The woman?" Ryou shook his head. "You mean Julia? His lover?"
"Yes."
"Well…he killed her."
Malik did not respond for a moment. "...I see."
The silence that followed was sharp and uncomfortable. Ryou glanced at the clock next to his bed.
"It's late," he said. "I'll get the futon out."
"That is not necessary—"
Ryou was already standing up, crossing the room to rummage through the closet. "What, you would rather sleep on the floor?"
"I do not need sleep."
Ryou hefted the futon up with both arms and looked sharply at Malik. "Of course you do," he said. "Don't be stupid."
Malik stiffened, but Ryou ignored him, laying the futon out beside the bed with no regard for where Malik was sitting, forcing him to hastily pull his legs up out of the way as Ryou unfolded it.
"I am not—"
"Did you sleep last night?"
The expression on Malik's face was an eloquent enough answer. Ryou rose and went back to the closet for sheets.
"Your body needs sleep," he said. "That's a biological fact. You can't just go without."
Malik hunched his shoulders up and shook his head. Ryou paused. Malik had changed personalities after he'd fallen asleep during the movie. "Is it because of your other self?" he asked. "Are you afraid of him taking over?"
Malik shrugged, crossed his legs on the bed. "It might open the door," he admitted. "But he could open the door himself, if he wished." Carefully he placed the wooden figure on the bedside table beside him, where it stood in sharp relief under the light of the lamp. ""It is something else." he said. "The way it feels."
Sitting back on his heels, Ryou considered this. "Sleeping, you mean?"
Malik nodded, gaze fixed pensively on the wooden figure. "I don't like it."
"Why?"
"It is…" Malik struggled for a moment, looking for the right words, "Like that other place," he said. "Outside."
Ryou pressed a finger thoughtfully against his lips. Was the "outside" of a soul room so immense, so isolated, that it was completely void? Did the lack of access to one's own soul make even dreaming impossible? He was dying to know what Malik's internal life must look like. How did he think? Could he visualize images?
He shook his head. This didn't change anything. "You have to sleep," he said stubbornly, latching onto the plain facts. "I understand that you don't like it—"
"No," Malik said. "You do not understand. This place—even silent, even dark, it has more in it than that place ever will." He unfolded his arms, held out his hands, clenched them into fists. "Here I can breathe," he said. "I can…" He stilled, his gaze turning inward, intense.
When he spoke again, his voice was forceful, final. "I will not go back," he said, glaring at Ryou. "He cannot make me."
Ryou massaged the back of his neck. Yikes. The last thing he needed was Malik making an enemy of his other half. Ryou wouldn't be able to intervene without taking a side, and this wasn't the kind of problem he felt equipped to fix. Achieving inner peace and self-actualization wasn't exactly a skill in his wheelhouse.
"What's your real goal here, then?" he asked. "If you find out why you're here, or what happened between your other self and the Spirit of the Ring, what will happen? Won't that give you closure? What if he doesn't need you anymore after that?"
Malik seemed taken aback by Ryou's questions, as if he hadn't considered the implications of those answers. They stared at each other a moment, but eventually Malik tightened his lips.
"I am the parts of us he does not like," he said. "I want the things he wishes he did not want. If he fears the truth, then finding it might make me stronger." He hesitated, glanced at Ryou, suddenly vulnerable.
"You said you would help me."
"I did," Ryou said. He levered himself to a standing position, taking his time so he could think. He could refuse Malik, if he had to, and get away with it.
But he didn't want to. This was getting more complicated, but he wasn't about to give up on answers just because obtaining them suddenly became morally sticky. This aspect of Malik: the lost, neglected side, had captured his attention and won his sympathy. It made him biased, it meant he'd have to take a side, but Ryou couldn't help that.
"I might not be able to help you the way you need," he said, and Malik nodded, his eyelids lowering as he looked down at the floor between them.
"You can," he said, and raised his head again, met Ryou's eyes. His gaze was meaningful. "I know you can."
Ryou swallowed. "Well," he said. "I'm going to try."
A/N: Thanks to all who have left reviews, etc! I'm glad people like this and it helps motivate me to keep at it. We are officially one-third through the planned chapters. (Ack!)