A/N: I apologize if I seemed abrupt in replying to all your reviews. I actually did really appreciate them! ^_^ Long story short, I hurt myself badly enough that it basically hurts to be awake, and, in her way of showing motherly concern, my mother forces me into positions (sitting) that just hurt, which is what I was doing when I replied to reviews.
I was going to have this chapter out on Thursday (early because, why not? It was basically done), but I finally felt well enough to finish it today. I'm sure I'll regret lying around tomorrow when the pain drugs wear off. But, enjoy!
Chapter 2: Long Journey Ahead
…
Yami Bakura followed his former host to his apartment. He could've found the way himself, but he was perfectly content to trail behind Ryou. The droplets of blood had long since dried and caked over on his arm. Along with the fresh blood, the pain had faded. He felt light headed with the maelstrom of thoughts swirling around his head; everything about today, the unexpected return, jumbling within his head. Bakura bit the inside of cheek, desperate to not let the thoughts form fully. A part of him laughed at himself, the great Zorc Necrophades reduced to practically a sniveling schoolboy. At least he thought he as a schoolboy, if his, now human, body was the same age as Ryou. Was his host still in school?
He remembered that Yugi's grandfather had been surprised by his and Pharaoh's presence, so that must mean the boy and his former host were most likely under the age of majority. Hadn't Solomon said almost a year had passed? Bakura calculated time on a general continuum. He theorized, if a year had passed or just under a year, this was Ryou's final year of high school.
The questions in his mind came seeping out into full formed thoughts, and Yami Bakura crunched his teeth on to the soft flesh of his inner cheek. He hissed at the unexpected pain, all the while grateful for the momentary ceasing of thoughts. Ryou glanced back, halting with digging in his jeans pocket for his apartment key. "Are you alright?" he asked, proper and polite as ever.
Once Ryou opened the door, Yami Bakura brushed past him. He scowled at his host's kindness. No one could be that considerate—that kind—to someone like him. Hell, even he knew he was not worthy of any sort of pseudo forgiveness. "I'm fine."
"Okay. Good." Ryou smiled faintly. He neatly hung his winter coat on the coat hanger and slipped off his shoes in the genkan. Yami Bakura flung the black jacket he had been wearing when he and Atem appeared in Yugi's living room on the floor, and stepped up into the apartment in his shoes. He relished Ryou's pained look at the gregarious social faux pas. "Would you like some tea? I could make you steak. Rare, right?" Ryou asked, automatically offering Yami Bakura's favorite dish.
"I'm tired. I want to sleep." Ryou smiled, at the words rather than the harsh tone. Finding Yami Bakura a place to sleep was an easy enough task. With three rooms in his apartment plus the living room couch, there were more than enough areas to slumber.
"Um, you could sleep in my room, or I could prepare the guestroom?" He inwardly winced as his tone lost any confidence he had gained since last summer, softening and dragging out the syllables, and he reverted back into the sad, pathetic vessel of his spirit. Yami Bakura sneered. He must have noticed the compliant tone also.
"Sleep in your own room," Yami Bakura snarled. He stormed down the hallway to one of the two guestrooms. He chose the one near the bathroom, adjacent to Ryou's bedroom. That guestroom was hardly ever used, and hadn't been dusted properly since Ryou had moved in. The door to the room slammed shut, and Ryou heard Yami Bakura, he assumed, throwing himself on the bed. Ryou glanced outside, at the late afternoon setting sun. He hoped Yami Bakura didn't wake before he did; going to bed so early.
…
Yami Bakura flung himself on the bed in his chosen room, the former guest room, or, as he glanced around the room from his position on the bed, he deduced the room had been Ryou's sanctuary for his table top RPGs. He noted the shelves and shelves behind glass where Ryou kept his role playing figurines. A twisted smile threatened to tug his lips upwards as Yami Bakura remembered the significance behind them. He sat up to get a better view of the table top game. And, by the looks of the table, Ryou was creating a new RPG game. That could be fun.
The realization that he was human crashed over him again, leaving him high and dry, disoriented as the smirk vanished from his countenance, replaced with a sullen grimace. He leaned forward, long white hair falling to cover his face, as something heavy attacked his gut. He gritted his teeth and rubbed a hand on his arm where the leftover scratch marks ignited enough pain, enough burning tingle, to mask the thoughts screaming in his head.
His legs hurt as he leaned forward, pressing his elbows into the meat of his thighs. He bit his lip, all the while rubbing furiously at his injured arm, as the pressing weight, the tingling in his nerve endings, reminded him of his mortality. Someday, he would, eventually, die. But, between then and the present, he would suffer degrading illnesses, from sniffles and hacking coughs his host was prone to in the winter, to lengthier, ongoing, life sentences.
He swallowed down the bitter liquid pooling in his throat. He narrowed his eyes, boring his gaze into the far wall. Through this all, he would have to thrive, to adapt, to survive this new world, this modern society, where he wasn't a spirit embodiment of two malingering souls. A tiny voice, almost indiscernible even to himself, cried out at the impossible task placed upon him, by whatever being choice to spit him and the Pharaoh back into existence.
He breathed out a heavy sigh, as a crushing weight tore his breath away. Yami Bakura flopped down upon the bed, winding his arms under his head as a makeshift pillow. He gazed up at the ceiling, resolutely shoving away his fears as he studied the intricate paint design, at the swirling brush strokes, as if the painter had dipped fork tines into semi-dry paint. He lost himself in the swirling pattern of the ceiling until he awoke to the same fears he desperately tried to ignore.
…
Ryou awoke before the spirit of the Millennium Ring the next morning. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning, nerves turning over themselves. The fear made his stomach queasy, so before the sun had properly risen, Ryou was seated in the living room, a cup of tea in one hand and a notepad in the other. He supposed he should prioritize his thoughts whilst plotting out the needs of the two spirits. At the very least, it would calm his nerves.
Okay, he thought. Both Atem and Yami Bakura had returned from wherever the two had been. Neither, at the present, could remember where they had been or that time had passed. Ryou knew that almost a year had passed since the ceremonial duel last summer. He wasn't sure how to fix this predicament, or if there was even a solution, so he moved on to his next thought.
Yesterday, Mr. Mouto had wanted to contact Professor Hawkins and the Ishtars to provide proof of the spirits' humanity. Ryou assumed Mr. Mouto wanted to utilize Professor Hawkins academia connections, now that he worked as a professor of archaeology at a prestigious university. And the Ishtars, Ryou contemplated as he twirled his pen. Was Mr. Mouto trying to find out if Marik Ishtar's darkness had also returned? He wrote "contact Ishtars" and some of his thoughts about them down.
Getting a hold of the Ishtars could be difficult, Ryou mused. What he knew of the Ishtars is that Ishizu worked in the Egyptian government, so depending on the nature of her employment. And Marik: well last he knew, Marik was a rouge who had disbanded from Ishizu. He jotted down that Marik, Ishizu, and Odion had been looking forward to their freedom, so they could have moved, especially after the Pharaoh had passed onto paradise. Ryou's throat tightened, and he felt the tea he had been sipping start to slide back up his throat. He sucked in a deep breath.
Perhaps he should move on to more practical worries. Like clothes, food, permanent housing, even public schooling for the spirit of the Millennium Ring and Atem. Money could be a problem, Ryou reasoned. As he thought on this problem, slowly forming a viable answer, he felt his throat loosen and the tea settled in his stomach.
…
A loud crash and the horrific sound of glass shattering and dropping, each shard tinkling as it made contact with the floor, caused Ryou to finally look up from the multiple pages he had written on with tiny, perfect writing. "Voice?" he called, instinctively referring to the spirit of the Millennium Ring by the only term he had ever used, before standing up. He crossed the living room and stood outside the bathroom door at the edge of the hallway. "Um, do you need help?" he asked awkwardly, a half attempt after butchering a non-name for the spirit that had been part of him for so long, yet remained without a name.
"Go away." Yami Bakura's voice betrayed no awareness that Ryou had acknowledged his lack of identity.
"You aren't hurt, are you?" Ryou tried again. He leaned against the wooden door, just making out the sound of ragged gasps from the bathroom. For a moment, Ryou feared Yami Bakura was plotting to attack him with a glass shard. He steadied himself, shaking his head and rooting his feet to the ground outside the door. The spirit was human, so an impromptu attack, especially with glass, was something Ryou could likely dodge if necessary.
"I-I'm fine. Go away." Yami Bakura's voice sounded odd, detached, yet something made him pause. Ryou brushed it off as an effect of muffling from the door.
"Are you sure? I could help you pick up the glass?" Ryou offered.
"No. I'll get it." Did he sound panicked? Ryou knitted his forehead.
"Okay," Ryou gave one more, subtle, offer. "I guess I'll prepare you breakfast." As Ryou walked away, he thought he heard a sigh. Of relief? He wondered. Why would he be relieved? He chose to put the thoughts aside. Questioning Yami Bakura had never gone over well and now that the spirit had a separate body: Tristan's words washed over him in a cold wave. Human or not, Ryou certainly didn't want to attempt evading any sort of assault from Yami Bakura.
…
Yami Bakura stared into the bathroom mirror, stared at his reflection. He scowled at the face that looked back at him, at the sickly pale skin, too thin physique, at the shadows under his eyes. And his eyes: taking in the brown orbs flecked with hints red, unlike Ryou's, which were light, his eyes were opaque, like lumps of clay. Yami Bakura couldn't quite place what exactly was off about his eyes.
He sneered to cover the slickness in the back of his throat, the anxiety rising as a silent scream, threatening to turn physical. He swallowed. The mirror loomed in his direct view. It proved inescapable, and the desperation, the silent scream rushed over him, boiling in his stomach.
He clenched the edges of the sink, wondering why he felt this way. He raised his head, forcing himself to look at the grim sight. He had been the great Thief King Bakura; he had been fused with Zorc Necrophades. Bakura gritted his teeth against the awful sensation in his throat. It pressed uncomfortable, always present, like a lump he just could not swallow.
He teeth ached as he pressed them together tightly against the tingling in his lips. He blinked against the buzzing at the corner of his eyes, and cursed himself for whatever these sensations were. When the foreign lump dislodged itself from his throat, he gasped in a shaky breath. He had to halt this… This cacophony, the buzzing at his eyes, the pounding starting in his head, the ache like a vise clamped against his heart, the everything that threatened to overwhelm him, that threatened to consume him from the inside out. The slickness in his throat returned.
He had been aware of his hand smashing into the mirror even before he acted. It wasn't like a melodrama where he blinked back in confusion, trying to pinpoint the source of pain, the reasons and logic behind the intense pain. It just was. Yami Bakura raised his hand, curled into a fist, fully cognizant of everything, of the stabbing in his chest, the fucking thing stopping up his throat, his breaths coming in gasps. He sucked in a breath, body reacting slightly faster than his brain.
As images of blood welling against his arm, staining the tips of his fingernails red, Yami Bakura punched the mirror. His hand connected, with an audible crack, sending spider web cracks along the mirror in the opposite direction of the point of origin. A tinkling filled his ears as glass shards rained to the floor. Now, as he stared into the mirror, partially zoned out in the pleasant fog similar to the day before, all he could make out were four splotches of bright red blood staining the once smooth surface. He inhaled, pleased to note how much easier he breathed without his body reacting strangely.
The pain didn't register until Ryou questioned him from the hallway, a sharp, bruising pain interspersed with shooting jabs that occupied every thought, enough to keep the rising panic at bay long enough to make small conversation with his former host. He deterred Ryou's questioning long enough to clean up the worse of the mess and bandage his hand, similar to the time he stabbed Ryou. His hand shook pleasantly as the pain kept his mind blissfully blank; he plucked a shard from the mirror and pocketed it without considering why.
…
A/N:
A genkan is probably closest to a foyer or a mudroom. It's a room in most Japanese homes where everyone is expected to take off their shoes before entering, rather than a mudroom where it is generally considered polite to remove your shoes. Some business and schools have lockers where students put their outdoor shoes and slip on indoor shoes. In a home, socks or slippers are usually accepted.
I don't know if paint for ceilings is common in Japan. I could probably find out, but I personally love staring at paintings (I use paintings loosely; really anything with paint) and at the individual brush strokes, so I foisted this interest on Yami Bakura.
In my other two fanfictions (in case anyone has read them and plans to call me out on terminology haha), I use the term toilet to describe the room with a toilet, because a bath/shower is in a separate room from the toilet. However, apartments in Japan do combine the two sometimes. In my head, while writing this, I imagine Ryou's apartment has a bathroom with a toilet and shower/bath, and a toilet (or our equivalent of a half bath). …I promise this detail will be important in about six chapters.
I also promise the name confusion for our two main characters will clear up in chapter five. ^_^
