TL: Finally, I'm just going to stick this chapter up and hope for the best.
Jou: Can you believe it? She had to send it to three different people for beta-reading! It must really suck.
TL: Shut up. It only sucks a little.
Jou: You completely changed the ending. Now it's weird.
TL: Better than bad. Do the disclaimer, would you? I seem to have forgotten it last time. Eh-heh. o_O
Jou: Right. Taka doesn't own Yugioh or any characters in this fic. Not even any OC's!
TL: Jounouchi-kun, um, there are no OC's.
Jou: …Hence the fact that she doesn't own them. Same dedications, plus her friend Lisa, for sticking by her in times of trouble. Aw, how CUTE! *applies noogie to TL's head (Ow! That hurts! Not funny!)* Now you can enjoy!
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Ryou felt closer to the dark than ever tonight. The blade gleamed in a tiny ray of light from streetlamps outside. He used the small glimmer to track the knife's progress up his arm, shivering at the cold seeping into his skin. A thin line of blood was already reflecting the same light. He watched it as it grew and gathered in his palm. He felt dizzy, getting another headache, but he didn't try to stem the flow, because the more blood he lost, the more satisfied he was. He wasn't helpless anymore; he could endure pain too, just like Bakura.
He still couldn't let the spirit know, though. Whatever the reaction, it would ruin the thrill of having his own little strength. Bakura could stop him, or hurt him even more. No, he had to keep this hidden from everyone. It was his and his alone. Ryou suddenly felt as though he was being greedy, selfish. He had shared his poems sometimes, when they were especially good. But that didn't matter this time. It wasn't a form of entertainment for the reader. It was like training for a fight. It would get him through when he needed it most, his little strength, and then it would go back into hiding.
Ryou jumped at a creaking board in the hall. His mind flew. Bakura was in the ring, resting…right? Ryou searched for the presence in his mind and didn't find it—the door opened. And Ryou was standing in the dark, holding Bakura's pocketknife, with blood dripping slowly to the floor from his arm.
Bakura stared. Ryou gulped. The tomb-robber seemed to be attempting to understand what was going on, and Ryou wasn't sure what he himself was thinking at all. Then Bakura decided to speak.
"What in Ra's name are you doing with my knife?!" Bakura walked up to Ryou and roughly pried his prized weapon from Ryou's hand. He wiped it clean on his shirt and put it away carefully in its desk-drawer home. "And now—why are you up this late? Go to bed, idiot." He backhanded Ryou across the face. The boy didn't even wince at the stinging in his cheek, but he dabbed at his leaking wound with a corner of his shirt so his own blood wouldn't make a mess all over the sheets. When he began to make his way towards the bed, though, he felt dizzy again; the world spun and pitched before his eyes, and he stumbled to the floor and stayed there while the room reeled. Bakura uncaringly kicked him in the side on his way out. "Fine, sleep down there. It doesn't matter to me, as long as you aren't dead."
Ryou was surprised again. Bakura did care what happened to his host—to some extent. He felt better, yet worse, wishing he could figure it out, and then a wave of pain hit him and he passed into oblivion.
It was daylight already when Ryou came to, and Bakura was gone again. He thought he heard him walking around downstairs, but there was a slight ringing in his ears and he wasn't sure of any sounds right about now.
Bakura was shocked by Ryou's acts of self-abuse, but he didn't dare show it. No displaying weaknesses to his hikari. It was the strength he flaunted that made Ryou respect him, and he would lose the fear factor if he acted startled.
Then again, he wasn't sure why he was so startled in the first place. Considering all he had done to his hikari, it was no wonder he was acting like he was insane. Maybe by now he liked pain. But still… He felt worried again. This wasn't good. When Bakura became worried about his hikari, he felt terribly inadequate. He wasn't supposed to worry, it wasn't his role. He didn't care at all for the fool except as a body to use when he needed to.
But it seemed rational now. Obviously he was worried that the body would be damaged, or that Ryou would attempt suicide and leave him stranded in the ring again for a couple thousand more years. Yes, that made sense; it was the body he cared about, not the occupant. Immediately he knew he was hiding something from himself, avoiding some thought, but he didn't try to fix it. Being in denial was better than recognizing the truth.
Ryou was just so tired. He wanted to sleep again, and remembered his bed, only a few feet away from him. He tried to lift his head and was struck by a sharp pain shooting through his skull. He dropped back to the rough hardwood floor.
"Ok, so no moving," he said quietly. He was surprised by how raspy his voice sounded, and realized he was amazingly thirsty. He moved his tongue around in his mouth. No moisture, not a drop. Now that he knew he was thirsty, it was the only thing he could think about. He wanted to call Bakura, to come and help him, but he knew there was no chance of that. Bakura didn't care about him. He was a punching bag to him, nothing more.
These thoughts only further amplified the pain coursing throughout his entire body, and a haze went over his vision. He drifted into a half-asleep dreaming state, not sure of what he saw and what was real. He lay on the floor looking up slightly, and saw Bakura's clunky boots. The spirit knelt down and pressed a cool hand to Ryou's forehead. Ryou shivered, and immediately the foggy Bakura drew back. The illusion began to fade away, and Ryou mewled for it to stay in his view, but it paid him no heed and left the boy in calm slumber.