Sayonora: goodbye (Japanese)

Ma'assalama: goodbye (Arabic)

Koe: voice (Japanese; I know I mentioned the meaning of this word in chapter two, but I thought I would add it in for the sake of clarity)

Chapter Four: Just Playing Around

Ryou had decided that, on the whole, life was very, very good. Yugi liked him; he had a pretty necklace with a nice voice living inside it; and he was doing okay at school as well. These weren't really very big things to happen, not in the long run, but he had decided that wanting anything else for a while would be a bit ungrateful. He would concentrate on enjoying the things he had right now as much as he could, just to show whoever was responsible for their happenings that he appreciated them. And then maybe more good things would happen. But if they didn't then he didn't really mind.

He didn't enjoy classes today as much as he usually did, seeing them as something that took up tediously long amounts of time between now and the moment when he would be going round to Yugi's house after school. Yugi seemed distracted as well; there were moments during lessons where he would stare wildly around the room as if he had never seen it before, or as if he were a crazed lunatic viewing the cell which would be his home for the rest of his life. These bouts never lasted more than a few seconds, after which he would be quiet and subdued. Ryou interpreted this as meaning that Yugi was just as thrilled about meeting up after school as Ryou himself was; he took to smiling at Yugi whenever these 'moments' occurred, during which the boy would stare at him as if wondering who the hell he was.

He followed Yugi during the lunch hour, tailing faithfully on his heels in the manner of a devoted dog. Yugi didn't seem to mind. Indeed, he hardly seemed aware of the presence of any of his friends; Jounouchi and Honda made several attempts to get him to 'snap out of it' before Anzu shushed them and they started a mock brawl in the corridor. This seemed to awaken Yugi from his trance, though his reaction was not of its usual kind – he looked almost alarmed.

Such was his involvement with them that no one noticed when he slipped quietly off into a side classroom; not even Ryou caught on until a few moments had passed and he realised he had lost sight of his idol. Distress formed on his pointed features, the expression of a dog who has been abandoned by its master without warning. Where could Yugi have gone? How could he hope to be safe without Ryou checking? He milled about uncertainly, the scent growing ever colder, before faint voices reached his ears and he tiptoed to the door of a classroom he knew to be empty during lunch. Pressing his ear against the wood yielded indistinct sounds that gradually became more coherent: the first, Ushio-san (Ryou's mind added the respectful suffix automatically), a close friend of the three thugs found in the toilets the previous day; and a voice which after a moment he recognised as Yugi's, though it was louder and more confident than he had ever heard it before. Centimetre by centimetre, he cranked the door handle downwards and eased the door open a few excruciating millimetres, praying it wouldn't creak. His eyes widened at what he saw; a second later they narrowed to crimson slits as Yami Bakura inched the door open slightly wider, expanding his vision.

Yugi and Ushio were both sitting on the desks. Ushio was irritated and tense, while Yugi looked entirely at ease. His arms were folded easily across his chest, and the gesture emphasised the confidence that seemed to radiate from him like an aura.

"Look, what shit is this?" Ushio was saying. "I don't want to play a game; I want your lunch money. Seems simple enough to me. And by the looks of it you have more than enough of it."

Yugi appeared to have a wad of cash placed on his palm; Yami Bakura looked at it and had to restrain himself from giving an admiring whistle. This weakling certainly enjoyed his food.

"That may be. But, precious though I am sure your time is, I'm sure you could spare a little of it. It's a very simple game. I doubt even a brainless oaf such as yourself could misunderstand the rules."

The sheer confidence in his tone held the listener intoxicated; it was a few moments before Ushio registered the fact that he had been insulted.

"What the-what did you call me?"

"Don't worry," Yugi said soothingly. His voice was deep, and rich in a commanding tone that Yami Bakura had never heard before. Did this mean…?

Yugi was turned away from him, so the Ring-spirit couldn't see his face. But even as the frustration rippled through his mind, Yugi turned and looked towards the door so that Yami Bakura was forced to shrink hurriedly away.

"You don't need to worry about that." He turned back to Ushio. "All that matters is that you remember the rules. Then you will know how you can win. And you want to win, don't you?"

"Yeah," the teenager said in a dreamy tone. He blinked, shook his head from side to side, and snapped, "All right, now get on with it. I'm listening."

"I'm sure you are." Yami's voice was reassuring in its confidence, and even Yami Bakura was becoming lulled by it. Impossible not to know that the Pharaoh was in total control of the situation. It didn't matter that the child he had spied on for the past few days didn't have the charisma to make even the school idiot listen to him, because the Pharaoh had everything under control. And that meant everything was going to be fine.

"The rules are very easy. The game is very easy. Do you like easy games?"

"Yeah. Easy to win."

Yami was so close that his breath could be felt on the teenager's face, even as he gazed, hypnotised, back at him. "Really? I don't. There is no skill in an easy game. Only chance: the fool's saviour. I like a challenge."

Ushio blinked, his face as slack and guileless as a fish.

"Now: the rules. We use this knife-" he pulled it out of his pocket and again Yami Bakura gaped at him- "and we slide it into the stack of money. And we keep going until we want to stop. And we get to keep the amount we have skewered. Then it is the next person's go."

Ushio stared. "Why the hell would we want to stop?"

"Because," Yami said patiently, "If you go too far you will stab your hand."

"Wha-"

"The money is placed in your palm. Driving the knife in too deep will cause your skin to break and blood to flow. It is not a desirable thing to happen."

Ushio got it, then. "Oh. Duh. Of course not. Who would be so stupid as to do that anyway?"

"You would be surprised. And now, we start. I shall begin." He positioned the money in his hand, and slowly began to slide the blade into the thick stack of notes. After a moment he stopped. "That will do for now, I think." He pulled the knife out, and with it came the impaled money, over two thirds of it.

"Your turn." Yami smiled easily, thousand yen notes moving seductively through his fingers.

With a leer for increased effect, the teenager snatched the knife and remainder of the money off him and started to slip the knife in, face contorted with concentration. Suddenly he yanked the knife roughly out and slid it into Yami's heart.

Or rather the place his heart would have been if he hadn't moved a nanosecond before. Ushio blinked stupidly, while Yami Bakura, who had witnessed the slight blurring as the Pharaoh had dodged the lunge as it happened, gazed with new respect at his adversary. And he saw it again- that blurring as the spirit's form moved too quickly to be followed, as he seized the teenager by the throat, his fingers curling under the pudgy chin. Yami's other hand came up, and he yelled, "Mind Crush!"

When Yami Bakura's vision adjusted, he saw Ushio sitting in one of the chairs, with Yami standing over him. He was smiling; then, without warning, he turned and looked Yami Bakura right in the eyes.

The Ring-spirit jerked back involuntarily, crimson pupils dilated in astonishment.

The Sennen Eye blazed on the Pharaoh's forehead; by comparison, his face was composed, even serene. "Ryou-"

Yami Bakura wasn't aware of exactly what happened next: later, he would only vaguely recall the moment when he pointed a finger at Yami, while simply stating, "No." The word would echo around his consciousness for minutes at a time afterwards, blocking out everything else. He had only a dim memory of how a titanic blue flash had enveloped them both, and that when the lights finally stopped winking in his vision he had seen Yami leaning dazedly against the wall, and his first words had been, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm going to give you the graveless death you deserve," Yami Bakura whispered, and walked out of the room.

……………

He knew everything would be all right when, during English (their compulsory second language), Yugi turned to him and said with his usual fervent delight: "Nearly time for the end of school! I've been planning what we're going to be doing at my house all day!"

Ryou smiled enthusiastically back.

……………

Yami Bakura couldn't say that he had looked forward to the end of school in quite the way Ryou and Yugi had, but he had felt a definite relief when the bell rang. Unless the Pharaoh was planning for a confrontation at his host's house (which the Ring-spirit sincerely hoped he wasn't) it meant an opportunity to have a few hours of sleep in his soul room, and of late he hadn't had very many.

On the way to the school gates they passed Ushio sitting in the yard, hunched over something. Curiosity piqued, he took over and went for a look.

Ushio was crouched in a pile of leaves, shuffling them about as he used a stick to divide them into groups.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The teenager grinned inanely at him. "I'm counting my money."

"Your…money," Yami Bakura repeated faintly. His thin white eyebrows rose until they were lost from view.

"You betcha. And don't you dare think about stealing any. It's mine. I made it myself."

The spirit was tempted to pat him on the head. "Aren't you clever."

Giggle. "Thank you."

Yami Bakura watched him play for a moment longer, fascinated by the teenager's complete detachment from reality. What exactly had the Pharaoh done to him? Actually crush his mind? Interesting. Perhaps he could learn to do it too.

Eventually, with a contemptuous snort he spun round and strode out through the school gates, noting that, despite his apparent enthusiasm for his host's friendship, Yugi hadn't bothered to wait for him. This was a larger problem than it seemed: where the hell did Yugi live?

Frowning, he rifled through his host's mind, observing as he did so that Ryou appeared to be in a state of sleep, and was almost completely unaware of anything. He was pondering on this, when the words Kame Game Shop leapt at him out of Ryou's memory, and he remembered in a jolt that Yugi lived with his grandfather.

He had been walking absently along the pavement during the mental search, but now he reached out and snagged a random passer-by by the shirt, like plucking a blackberry from a bush. "Hey, you. Where can I find the 'Kame Game Shop'?"

"Get off me!"

The spirit smiled, the expression crooning the words I don't think so, while pulling him closer, remembering hazily that the Pharaoh had used this method to intimidate his victim. "Let's make this easy. You tell me where it is and I let you go. Or, you be difficult, and I rip your throat out. Try to decide quickly."

The unfortunate boy swallowed, before stuttering hoarse directions. Yami Bakura gave another smile and shoved him away. "Much appreciated." As he continued his stroll, now with a much clearer idea of where he was going, he reflected that he had just threatened someone in broad daylight, and none too subtly, yet no one had attempted to interfere. People never changed, he thought bitterly.

He turned left, into a near-deserted side street, and his mouth turned briefly upwards at the sudden reduction in noise. Why did people always have to talk so much? They never said anything interesting. And the clamour produced was such that he suspected they probably never listened to each other anyway.

Once he had reached another main road, and his mouth had thinned as his ears were abruptly assailed with the unwelcome chatter of happy voices, there came a roaring from behind him. He paused, and turned-

Only to witness his first motorbike. He stared openly as it sped past, spewing noxious fumes, and making that awful sound that was like a car stalling, only a thousand times worse. It took an impossibly narrow turn, wheels pivoting ninety degrees and more, as it carried its driver up to the petrol station. He followed it in, and watched in barely concealed fascination as the driver dismounted. He got a glimpse of a tanned face, of which at least half seemed to be massive eyes, before the person turned and began to fill up the motorbike with petrol.

After he (or she?) had plugged in whatever needed to be plugged in, the person straightened and ripped off their helmet, releasing pale blond hair. It cascaded over their shoulders and halfway down their back, and was cropped raggedly at irregular points. The clothes revealed nothing of their figure: baggy khaki trousers (Yami Bakura knew that some of today's youth wore these and the garment was known as 'combats', although he had seen trousers made of blue canvas in varying shades and condition worn by most people, including his yadonushi.) and some sort of black shirt which left the bottom half of his back uncovered. The revealed area was deeply tanned, and he thought he could make out some sort of tattoo poking out.

The person turned. "What the fuck do you think you're staring at?"

Yami Bakura was, indeed, staring; from the moment he had seen the long blond hair he had been certain this person had been a female. Now he had been shown otherwise, and as he stared at this (punk? And with an attitude problem at that) male he wondered, for a second, how many other people in Japan looked like this.

The stranger looked about sixteen; he had a striking face that wasn't obviously good-looking, but was sharply formed in a way that was strangely pleasing to look at. The pale hair was a screaming contrast with the dark skin, and Yami Bakura realised with a jolt that this person either naturally had blond hair or had gone to the extent of dyeing their eyebrows as well. As he looked closer he realised why the eyes had seemed so enormous, for they were heavily lined in kohl; and the irises were a pale violet, with darker flecks.

"Well?" One long-fingered hand rested on his hip. Gold bands gleamed around his wrists, lending him an air of ragged elegance. His neck was ringed in same way.

Yami Bakura bristled. He did not appreciate being addressed in that manner. He was this person's superior, dammit, and by the time he had finished with them they would know it. He let his gaze wander down to the teenager's belt, and an idea occurred to him.

There was something familiar about this person, though. Something about the way he spoke, the way in which the words were rapped out as if they were something distasteful. An accent, and one he recognised. He could hear it wrapping itself around the stranger's words, sharpening them.

"You are obviously incredibly naïve, or else you would not address me like that." He delivered the words in purring, flawless Arabic, and was gratified to see the teenager draw back, though otherwise he was astonished by the change in his manner.

"You bastard!" The tone was half snarl, half fearful whisper. "Go tell the rest of the fucking Tomb Keepers that I'm never coming back! You can't make me!"

Interesting, Yami Bakura thought to himself. Aloud: "Oh? And who might they be?"

He could see the eyes widen, could now see white around the whole of the purple irises. Then, recovering his poise with commendable speed: "That isn't any of your business. Who the hell are you, anyway?"

A thin smile. "I'm not very sure. However, I am sure that it will suffice for now to say that I am interested in that, and that I intend to own it before the day ends." He indicated the gold object tucked into the teenager's belt.

A smile back, and just as mirthless. "A thief. How amusing."

"Yes?"

"You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, obviously."

"Oh, but I do." Yami Bakura put a hand to his throat and pulled out the Millennium Ring. The teenager stared.

There was a faint 'click' from somewhere; both ignored it.

The teenager continued to stare at the Item. Then, he looked at his motorbike and noticed for the first time copious amounts of excess petrol gushing out and onto the ground.

"Fuck!"

"Shall I help you clear it up?"

"What? No, don't bother. Someone else will do it."

Yami Bakura smirked. Maybe his attitude isn't all that bad after all.

"Now, you mentioned my Millennium Rod."

"Yes, of a fashion. I want it."

"Obviously I am not going to give it to you." He looked at it for a moment, then at the petrol-splattered ground, then, finally, at Yami Bakura. "However…perhaps we can arrange something." He looked around. "Not here." His eyes fell on the parking spaces a hundred metres away, before instantly discarding them as he took in the many alleyways nearby. "Wait. I'll go and park my motorbike."

"What is your name?"

He blinked. "What?" Then, recovering his composure: "Why the hell should I tell you? You have refused to share any information about yourself."

The same thin smile as before. "I don't have a name. Not a normal one, at least. But perhaps while we discuss our arrangements I can tell you a little of my situation. Then you may call me what you will."

"Fine, whatever. My name is Malik."

"A very Egyptian-sounding name. I approve."

"How the fuck do you know where I'm from?"

Yami Bakura considered. This was a hard question to answer, in that he wasn't sure exactly how he knew. It was something about the smell he gave off – redolent of pyramids and sand and everything else that was Egypt. Plus the fact that he himself was from Egypt, albeit a very different one from the one this person knew. But he didn't think he could say this so he settled for: "Your accent."

Malik regarded him suspiciously, and Yami Bakura knew that he hadn't believed it for a second. In truth, the teenager's voice was barely distinguishable from a Japanese person's. His spoken Japanese was excellent; it was hard to believe he was foreign, apart from the tan. But another Egyptian could still tell – it was in the slight sharpening of the consonants, and the way his voice was slightly lower than that of a Japanese person.

He followed on foot as the Egyptian teenager slung one foot over his motorbike and, pulling it back so it reared up with a deliciously feral roar of the engine, zoomed down the ramp leading to the main road before turning left into a deserted alley.

Malik glanced furtively over his shoulder to check that the weird albino guy was a few minutes behind. Good. There was something about him that he didn't like. Those damn red eyes for a start.

He dismounted elegantly, giving his motorbike a loving pat. Ra, it was a nice motorbike. Not like one of those pieces of grease and scrap-metal he saw other people on. He was attached to it in a way which he had never felt about his Millennium Rod. To be honest, he wasn't really all that worked up whether it got stolen by that albino freak or not. Well, he needed it to kill the Pharaoh, obviously, but maybe he could work something else out. That albino might agree to help him, you never knew. Although he didn't trust him one bit. He had no idea where he had managed to get another Millennium Item from, but the guy had it and that was bad enough. Or maybe he was lying and he had been sent by the Tomb-Keepers. Who knows what his bitch of a sister would stop at?

When Yami Bakura made it to the alleyway, about three minutes after Malik had, he arrived to find the Egyptian standing with the Millennium Rod in one hand, fingers scrunched tightly around it as if expecting him to try and steal it, and a look in his eyes which yelled, all right, we've had our fun, but I'm going to have to get rid of you now so sayonora or however you shit-head Japanese say it, and it hasn't been nice knowing you.

The Ring-spirit kept his voice relaxed, while one hand dug in his jacket for the knife he had taken off the Pharaoh earlier. "So. You mentioned a possible negotiation…?"

Malik's voice had turned lower, menacing. "I don't negotiate. The Millennium Rod belongs to me, and I don't intend on parting with it. All I have to do is get rid of you. I doubt you are half as experienced with using that thing as you think you are."

"What, this?" Yami Bakura tugged carelessly at the Ring's tines, making them jangle. "I would not make presumptions of that kind if I were you. I have power you can only dream of." In actuality, he wasn't even sure how to activate it. But no hint of this showed in his expression, which was a knowing smile.

"I doubt it," Malik replied curtly.

"That changes nothing."

"Show me then," the Rod-holder said suddenly.

Yami Bakura's mind raced wildly as he tried to think of an excuse. "Why should I?"

"Because I think you're bluffing. I think you've stolen it or something, and actually have no idea what it is or what it can do."

"Well you thought wrong then," the Ring-spirit snapped. He realised immediately that some of his icy composure had been lost, and continued, "What if I said I thought the same was true of you?"

Malik gave a shark-like smile. "Then I'll give you a demonstration. And if you can't resist me then I'll crush you."

"Big words for a child." Yami Bakura managed to fully put some of his lazy arrogance into his voice this time; judging from the way Malik's eyes went wide in anger, it seemed to work. If it was one thing the Egyptian hated, it was not being taken seriously.

He was expecting him to use the Rod now, but even so it came as a slight surprise when it started to glow and purple flames roared behind the furious teenager. He wondered if the Ring could do the same sort of thing, but was reluctant to try in case it turned out that it could not. Then he thought, To hell with that. He is just a child. I'm three thousand years older than him, for fuck's sake.

And he felt the warmth of the Shadow Realm burn behind him.

"This is ridiculous. Why are we preparing to fight each other? We have both proven that we can use our Items; why don't we work together?"

He wasn't quite sure why he was coming up with an excuse not to kill this little clot, other than the fact that it seemed a bit pointless. Also, although he wouldn't admit it to himself, he was starting to like Malik. Hell, he was a total bastard, but then so was everyone else in the world. Maybe he would kill him last.

Malik eyed him warily. "What the hell do you mean- 'We should work together?' What makes you think I need someone to help me achieve my goals?"

"Only that it will be far easier if we help each other."

Slowly: "I'll think about it. But first tell me how you came into possession of that." He pointed to the Ring.

Yami Bakura gave his demonic smile, making sure his elongated canines were just visible. "It would be more correct to say that my host was the one who came into possession of it. I am the spirit from within the Millennium Ring; I possess whoever wears it."

He expected Malik to laugh, or look disbelieving, so he was rather taken aback when the teenager said thoughtfully, "Ah. I see. You are in the same situation as the Pharaoh."

"You know him?"

Malik gave a nasty smirk. "Oh yes. I know him."

"And I infer from your tone that you are no great admirer of him?"

He said it casually, and was completely taken by surprise when the Egyptian seized him by the throat and screamed: "An admirer? You dare to say that I am his friend? I'm going to kill him, you bastard!"

Yami Bakura twisted his body sideways, positioning his foot behind Malik's leg, and with a swift sideways sweep he knocked Malik off him and to the ground. "Get your filthy hands off me."

Eyes burning, the teenager got to his feet.

"You need to control your emotions," Yami Bakura continued indifferently. "You will never succeed in killing the Pharaoh like that."

He saw Malik's eyes blaze at being addressed in this manner, yet he made no move to leap at him; and a part of the spirit's mind thought, Good. He's learning already.

"…Will you help me do it?" His voice, by no means subdued or servile, was sullen.

"In return for the Millennium Rod."

"Deal."

"May I ask why you want him dead?"

"He killed my father."

So he is out for revenge, Yami Bakura thought to himself. People like him are blinded by their hate. I could certainly twist this to my advantage. Aloud: "How noble."

Malik's eyes flashed. "Shut up."

Yes, he would make sure that he broke Malik. Just before he killed him.

"How do you propose we do it?"

"That would be my business."

"Don't be such a fool. How am I going to help you if I don't know what you are planning?"

Yami Bakura shrugged, relenting. "All right. My host attends the same school as the Pharaoh's host does. They are friends."

Malik's lip curled into a sneer. "Are they, indeed."

"Personally, I have no time for such mortal indulgences," Yami Bakura said with a yawn.

Malik was about to reply that he didn't either, than he thought of Rishid and wondered if he counted. Because Rishid wasn't really a friend, was he? Just…a brother. Just someone he could trust.

Eventually he said, "Look, I had better get going. I have other things to do as well." He needed time to organise his mind-slaves. And maybe talk to Rishid for a bit. Not to ask his advice; indeed, Rishid never bothered trying to sway his younger brother on anything anymore. But he listened.

Malik handed the spirit a piece of paper with some hastily scribbled Japanese numbers. "You can have my mobile number. Use it to contact me if anything goes wrong." He would have put part of himself into Yami Bakura through the Rod, just to keep an eye on him; however, he was sure that the spirit would never have consented, and he couldn't be bothered to use force. "Not many people have it."

"I am honoured."

The Egyptian shot him a flat, suspicious look, but Yami Bakura managed to keep a straight face. "Ma'assalama."

"Whatever." Malik grabbed the helmet hanging from the handlebars of his motorbike, pulling it on with a single swift movement. "Don't fuck up in the mean time." He jabbed the keys roughly into place, and in a whirl of dust and smoke was gone.

Yami Bakura walked out of the alleyway and watched as the teenager sped off down the road. An amused smile was playing about his lips. You'll do, he whispered quietly to himself. You'll do just fine.

…………

He walked home slowly, musing to himself about what would be the best course of action to take next. It wouldn't do to rush things: there was plenty of time, after all. And he was interested to know what 'other things' Malik had to get done. Not just so he would be prepared for when the time came to kill the Pharaoh – he was keen to learn more about his young ally's weaknesses. Who were these Tomb Keepers? Why had he thought Yami Bakura had been one of them?

He pondered these things as he walked, eyes roving unseeingly over the many cracks in the pavement, his legs stepping automatically aside to avoid walking into anyone. Hands had been shoved deep into his pockets, helping to minimise physical contact with other pedestrians; his spiky hair twirled erratically in the wind, causing people walking behind him to stare and raise eyebrows to themselves. But he didn't notice, much less care – his mind was on other things.

Once he had arrived back at his host's apartment he stepped out of him, becoming transparent again, and letting his yadonushi back in control of his body. Ryou was disorientated and bewildered - not surprising, seeing as he hadn't been free to move for over two hours, which was about the longest amount Yami Bakura had ever spent in control so far.

(What happened, koe? I was at school a minute ago…)

His other wasn't paying him much attention, still mulling over what had happened earlier. ((Don't worry about that. You probably fell asleep or something. I took you home.

(But I wanted to go to Yugi-kun's house-)

Yami Bakura did look up then. ((…Shit.)) Oh Ra, this was going to make the Pharaoh suspicious. What the hell was he going to say as an excuse?

(I-I didn't go…?)

((Oh shut up,)) the yami said moodily. ((I have more important things to worry about right now.))

Ryou persisted. (But I wanted to-)

((Why can't you shut the fuck up?)) Yami Bakura exploded. (Always saying you want this or you want that; always whining. It's pissing me off!))

The boy cringed. (S-Sorry, I didn't mean to annoy you-)

((Oh, I'm sure you didn't mean to. You never mean to act like a weak little idiot all the time; it's funny how you continue to do such a fucking good job of it.)) Yami Bakura towered over his terrified host; for a transparent spirit he was now starting to seem alarmingly solid as he grabbed the petrified boy by the shirt and threw him halfway across the room. Ryou's fall was partially broken by his bed.

(Koe, p-please don't, you're scaring me-)

((Good.)) Yami Bakura approached him, face pulled into a predatory grin.

Ryou was starting to sob, eyes wide in fear and disbelieving. (K-Koe…)

((Don't call me that, yadonushi. I am not just a voice. I am far, far more than a voice. Make sure you remember that.))

(I-I will…)

((Are you sure?)) The spirit drew a nail slowly down his host's neck, feeling him gulp.

(Yes!)

A sigh, almost disappointed, and Yami Bakura stepped away from him. Ryou's breaths were coming out in stubby gasps; he watched his yami as he sat down on a chest of drawers, never taking his eyes off him.

((I shouldn't have done that. It isn't your fault you're weak.))

(I…I know,) Ryou mumbled. (I'm sorry for annoying you. I won't do it again, honest.)

I know you won't. ((Don't worry about it, yadonushi.))

(Are…are we still friends?) the light asked tentatively.

((Of course we are.)) Yami Bakura pasted what he sincerely hoped was a forgiving smile on his face.

Ryou beamed at him. (I knew we were! We're going to be friends for ever and ever, aren't we koe?)

The spirit sighed at the nickname, before saying what his host wanted him to hear. ((For ever and ever.))

(I'm so glad you're my friend.) Ryou gave him a massive hug.

………

A/N: originally, according to my draft, this was going to be the last chapter. However, I'm experiencing second thoughts for several reasons: it doesn't seem all that satisfying to me, and also in class yesterday I got the most amazing idea ever for chapter six (which would be the last chapter) but after writing it down and inspecting it from all angles, I've discovered a few rather large holes. Not plot holes, just a couple of problems with it. I'm going to carry it out, but at the moment it is still being patched up, so another update for this story might not be up for two or three weeks. Or, having said that, it could be up in two days. It depends how quickly I can find solutions to the problems in it. Ideas are welcome.

I was going to have a bit more Ryou/Yami Bakura abuse, but decided Yam Bakura wouldn't want to go too far, too soon. He still wants Ryou to trust him, not be petrified of him. Otherwise Ryou might try and get in his way. I actually ended up feeling a tiny bit sorry for Ryou at the end, for the first time so far in this story. Guess it was the way his trust in his 'koe' was so suddenly shattered. But it got rebuilt again damn fast, so never mind that.

I'm pleased with the way my description of Malik turned out. I wanted him to be a complete punk, (hence the long hair and tattered clothing) and to have a 'fuck you all' attitude. I laughed so much when typing some of his lines, just because his character was so clear in my mind.

Anyway, let me know what you think of the way this story is going. I'm starting to wonder if it is better than Scarred was, actually.