Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

And this will be goodbye. Thank you, everyone who's reviewed.

Happy Halloween. Go egg a car.
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#21: The World

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"Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow. . . .

This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper."

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Ryou slept in the next morning, but his rest was fitful. It was almost noon by the time he made the bed and walked into the bathroom.

(He was weak,) Bakura commented, picking up on Ryou's thoughts. (Only cowards run away.)

Ryou dragged the brush through his hair and considered cutting it, the way he did every morning when the tangles were bad. You would think that.

(And what is that supposed to mean?)

It means what I said, Ryou replied. You think that letting go is cowardice.

Bakura had noticed the odd way he'd phrased the sentence. Ryou had expected him to.

(. . . I think that assuming you can outrun your troubles is cowardice, landlord,) Bakura finally said. (That is not the same as 'letting go.')

If you believe so.

(Your riddles are getting irritating. What are you trying to imply?)

Ryou sighed and yanked the comb through his hair a little more roughly. I'm not implying anything. To cut off an argument before it could begin, he added, I'm not saying you aren't brave, either. I know evil can be brave.

(Poetic.)

Mm, Ryou replied distractedly. He pulled his hair back from his face. You need to teach me how to look older than I am.

(Teach you?) Bakura asked with mild amusement.

Well, you're younger than me, aren't you? Ryou said.

There was a long pause.

Ryou persisted. You are, right?

The mirror registered a shift behind him. Ryou looked up at the glass, and Bakura was leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest.

(Yes,) Bakura said flatly. (I died at fifteen. What of it?)

You look older than that, Ryou replied. Sometimes you look like you're twenty, even. Teach me how.

He'd thrown the thief off twice in one hour, which was something of a record. Ryou would have been proud if he'd believed that keeping score meant anything.

He had just started to wash his face when Bakura snorted. (Very well. I'll teach you how to look older -- if you do something for me in return.)

You're already immortal, Ryou said. What more do I have to do for you?

(Don't be a smartass,) Bakura replied. (Besides, I'm not asking for much. I just want you to build a game for me.)

Ryou dried off his face slowly. "You're going after Yuugi-kun again, aren't you?" he soon asked, his voice a little muffled by the towel.

"Clever, clever landlord."

"What kind of game?"

"A game about the past."

Ryou looked at Bakura in the mirror. "You're finally going to tell the other Yuugi-kun about Kuru Eruna, then?"

After a second of silence, Ryou looked back down at the counter. Bakura's eyes could be very frightening when he felt cornered.

Bakura unfolded his arms, and stepped methodically across the tile. He set his hands on the counter, one on each side of Ryou, before leaning forward and whispering, "And how, exactly, do you know about Kuru Eruna?"

Ryou swallowed and kept his gaze on the counter. "Your dreams," he said quietly. "They're. . . ." He searched for the right word, and finally just decided on "Loud. You've been dreaming about it since you saw that tablet in father's museum. And you've been dreaming a lot more these last couple of days." Ryou paused, started to say something, and then fell silent again. His fingers tightened around the towel.

Bakura didn't reply, and finally Ryou tilted his head up and looked at him via the mirror. "I'll build it for you. But only if you do something for me."

"And what's that?" Bakura's voice was clipped and cold.

Ryou walked out of the bathroom. He had to pass through Bakura's right arm to do so, as well as part of his torso and shoulder, and the sensation made him shiver involuntarily and wrap his arms across his chest.

At the end of the inside wall, about a foot and a half past the bathroom door, was the door to the Monster World room. Ryou went inside. Bakura followed him.

Ryou walked past the table and opened the closet. Inside, underneath a set of guest quilts, sat the large case that he'd kept all of his and Bakura's lead figurines in. He set the quilts on the game table and pulled the case out into the room, and opened it.

Yuugi and the others' figurines were still in the diorama. Most of the other figures looked familiar, but some of them were so twisted or smashed that he couldn't recognize who they used to be.

Ryou sat down on the floor and started sifting through the figures.

"Have I ever told you how much I dislike your brooding, Bakura Ryou?" the spirit asked in a bored tone. He leaned against the side of the table. "You're far too young to be feeling such nostalgia."

"Are they still in here?"

"Who?"

"The ones who didn't wake up," Ryou said. "Any of them."

"Yes."

"Then let them go. And I'll build the game for you."

"She won't come back to you, you know," Bakura told him. "A body can only exist for so long without a soul. The ones that haven't been taken off life support already will die as soon as they return."

"That's okay," Ryou said quietly, picking up a figurine shaped like Mihara, a former classmate of his. "I accepted that a long time ago. At least they'll be able to go on now."

Ryou set the figurine back in the case, and waited for an answer.

". . . Very well, landlord. You have a deal."

Ryou shut the case and stood up, but he didn't put it back into the closet. "When will you do it?"

"After the game is built," he replied.

"You don't trust me?"

Bakura cynically raised an eyebrow. "Think of it as motivation."

"Fine," Ryou said. "Deal."

He put the quilts back into the closet before leaving the room.

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Less than an hour later, Ryou had finished up in the bathroom, gotten dressed, and gotten ready to go out. Bakura had ceased to see a reason to remain separate, since Ryou never looked at him willingly anyway, and had gone back to the Ring.

As Ryou was tying his shoes, he said, "You're going to have to make some plans for the game, and what it will look like, so I'll know what supplies I need to buy."

(You're starting on it already? I'm impressed by your dedication.)

"No, I'm not starting on it yet. I just told you, I need plans first. Blueprints. A map of the terrain. Something." Ryou finished with his shoes and picked up his scarf. "You'll have time to think while I shop," he added, wrapping the scarf around his neck.

(What are you shopping for, if not supplies?)

"I need to get Christmas presents."

(. . . Christmas presents.)

Ryou stopped talking aloud once he opened the door -- the neighbors two doors down were very gossipy. Oh, and a Christmas cake, but I'll get that when I'm done with everything else.

(Why?) Bakura asked.

Ryou finished locking the door behind him and slipped the keys into his coat pocket. Yuugi-kun's party is coming soon, and I have to get gifts for everyone. I'll start on your game after that.

There was silence from the spirit, which soon turned into a chuckle. The chuckle became full-out laughter, and then Bakura returned to his soul room, leaving Ryou to wonder what was so funny.

A moment later he shrugged to himself and headed for the stairs.

Ryou glanced up at the sky as he walked down. After two days of no snow, it had begun again late this morning: slow, lazy flakes that melted almost as soon as they fell to the sidewalk.

I'll have to get cheap gifts, Ryou realized. I can't afford to be extravagant, if I want to be able to pay for the game supplies.

He was a little disappointed at that -- he didn't want to shortchange his friends, especially after they'd stayed with him through all the weirdness of the past year -- but there was no helping it.

Oh well. Ryou tucked the end of his scarf into his trench coat, and absently ran his tongue over a fang as he stepped off the stairs onto the sidewalk. It should work out. They'll understand.

Ryou wiped away a snowflake that had fallen onto his cheek, and started walking towards the bus station.