A/N: Surgery went fine. I'm on a six week bed rest, which I'm totally fine with the opportunity to write and finish the many books and fanfiction I'm currently reading—on doctor's orders, of course! Though, with everyone spoiling me and feeling bad for me, it's hard to get into Bakura's perspective.

Today is Ryou Bakura's birthday if you didn't know. September 2, 1998 is a very eventful day for our characters. Since we're only in April, I guess you all will have to wait and see what happens 15ish chapters from now. ^_^

Chapter 6: First Day

The next morning found Bakura gazing at himself in the cracked mirror in the bathroom. His reflection stared back at him, distorted by the shattered, spider web design of the mirror. Bakura ran a hand through his newly dyed black hair, marveling at the feel of his hair ending right at the tip of the shoulders. "That horrid gym teacher won't bother you about the length," Ryou had said with a wince. Bakura recalled that incident; he felt a smirk tugging at his lips at the thought of how he could torture the teacher. Then he remembered the Pharaoh would also be starting today with him, and the smirk vanished. Without his shadow magic, he wouldn't have any advantage over the gym teacher. Bakura scratched at his arm underneath his sleeve.

He really needed to find a place for the razor. Thoughts shifting, he glanced at the top dresser drawer, the current location of the busted razor and two blades, and contemplated. He threw on the familiar school uniform, not taking the time to keep the skirt crease free, like Ryou did. Idiot.

A knock on his door. Bakura whirled around, pointedly looking in any direction but the dresser. Ryou opened the door and stepped in the room. He made a noise in the back of his throat, a sound Bakura equated to a cross between a gag and a sneer. "You're uniform..." he trailed off.

Bakura ignored him, brushing past Ryou to the kitchen. A plate was set up on the table: a very protein focused breakfast spread, complete with omelet, fish strips, and leftover stir fry chicken take out. "You're not eating?" he asked as he sat down in front of the plate, noticing the lack of a second table setting.

"I already ate." Bakura rewarded Ryou with a grunt and ate the meal alone.

Ryou stared at the wall. As Bakura ate, Ryou seemed to recite a rehearsed list of his, still keeping his eyes level to the wall. "We should all be in the same class. Yugi, Yami, me ,you, Joey, Tea, Tristan. I'm not sure how he managed that, but it will be easier to help with your assignments." Ryou smoothed out a wrinkle Bakura swore didn't exist, switching topics slightly. His voice changed to a higher—forced—pitch. "Oh! We have math, language and culture, um, English. And there's a new elective class being offered. Kaiba signed all us up for it..."

Bakura mindlessly chewed a piece of omelet and a bite of fish together. He wondered how much the Pharaoh would act up, or at least annoy him. His arm itched underneath his uniform shirt and jacket. He cursed himself for being so weak, so pathetic. He had been the thief king; he most certainly could stand up to him; hell, he held his own just fine in Millennium World. Bakura wondered if he should risk bringing a razor blade with him. He hadn't actually used one, aside from pressing the blade into his skin until it bled. That didn't count.

Ryou stopped chattering; Bakura noticed the silence. He murmured a response that hopefully fit what Ryou was blathering about. "...fascinating, really. But I hope it won't be too difficult for you and Yami. Ryou finished the sentence with an upwards draw, like an over excited puppy. He sneered around a mouthful of tomato and egg, but Ryou didn't notice.

School, Bakura found was as it had been when he borrowed Ryou's body: the classes dull and trivial, interspersed with monotonous breaks, all cycling in endless tedium, day on day. The elective class Ryou had been chirping on about over breakfast turned out to be psychology, which Bakura didn't mind as it was the second to last class before lunch. Over the past seven years, in and out of schools acting as Ryou Bakura, Bakura found he actually gleaned some of the taught information and had few problems keeping up in math and languages courses. It greatly amused him to watch the Pharaoh's expression shift from slightly pinched worry to outright panic, wide eyed deer-in-the headlights, over the course of a single class period.

After morning classes, Bakura lagged behind Yugi and his group of friends, simply following Ryou out of habit as they made their way to the courtyard for lunch.

Bakura nearly jumped out of skin when a plastic bento was thrust into his hands. Ryou just smiled at him, also holding a bento. "Here, I made you a lunch." Bakura raised his eyebrows in response, settling on the grass a few feet away from the rest of the group. He dug into the contents of his lunch, ignoring the others' conversation and general pleasantries. He ate without thought, sinply eating the traditional Japanese style food Ryou had prepared, until the silence made him look up.

He glanced, first, at the center of the lack of noise—Yugi and company, then to where they were looking, identical faces of confusion mingled with horror. Bakura smirked, and then took in the cause of disturbance at the school gate.

Marik, tanned skin a few shades paler than normal and a disheveled appearance, messy bed head hair and ghastly pallor, climbed up the gate that remained locked during school hours. Bakura chuckled as Yugi and Ryou ran over to the gathering conglomerate of teachers who loudly threatened to call the police on Marik.

"It's not funny, Bakura," Tea admonished, to which Bakura shrugged, unconcerned about the girl's opinion. "He could get into a lot of trouble." Bakura tossed Tea a glare, mostly to shut her up than in retaliation to her speech.

"Leave her alone," Tristan said to Bakura's glare. Bakura deepened his glare, before turning away from the insignificant lackeys, choosing to watch Marik make a fool of himself. Bakura noted his former host and Yugi try to pacify the teachers. Both boys used exaggerating hand gestures and pulled innocent expressions as they talked the teachers down from calling reinforcements.

He could make out a few words, mostly about Marik being distant family and there was an emergency and poor communication. Bakura smirked at Marik stuck halfway up the school gate as the negotiations took place, looking awkwardly out of place.

When the congregation of teachers and onlookers dispersed, Joey, Tristan, and Tea stood to join Yugi, Ryou, and Marik. Bakura followed.

"When did you call Marik, Ryou?" asked Yugi as they walked in a group from the school, effectively cutting their school day in half.

"Last night." Ryou tapped a finger against his lips. "I didn't think you could get here so quickly,' he said, glancing over at Marik as he spoke.

Marik grinned. "It was almost noon when you called over there," he shrugged. "And Ishizu has connections with the government, so…"

They walked a few paces before Marik spoke again, his voice tinged with a mix of dark emotion, "I wanted to make sure my spirit wasn't wandering Japan without me."

Ryou's eyes softened. "I don't think that will happen," he said in a way Bakura had a feeling he had elaborated this point to death, "the darkness in you was inherently created by you, not the Millennium items, while our spirits were attached to their items."

Marik scratched at his head, looking defeated with slumped eye facing the ground. Tea patted the Egyptian on the back tentatively. "Logically, I get that, but…"

"You're worried. It's understandable," Yugi finished and added his own words of encouragement.

Yami nodded. "It's commendable, you're actions after Battle City. You have changed for the better." The fact that you came—"

Before Yami could finish (his manipulative hero speech in Bakura's opinion), Joey and Tristan each lugged an arm around Marik in a necessary-but-still-masculine one arm hug. "Don't worry," Joey proclaimed.

"Yeah, it's cool. We know you've changed," Tristan said. Both boys immediately released Marik and the trio looked significantly more relaxed in their traditional walking gaits.

Bakura stared ahead, ambivalent. He acknowledged the conversation around him, but chose not to participate, going as far to deftly look away when Marik sent him pointed looks. In that passive way that his constantly stinging arm allowed him, he shoved aside the anger and bitterness regarding Battle City and Marik's subsequent shifting loyalties. He allowed himself to be lead to whatever destination the group chose.

After a few hours at the Mouto residence, thoroughly regretting his decision to tag along, Bakura returned to the apartment with Ryou, who chirped annoyingly, in the lead, about what the group had tentatively decided to do about Marik. Marik, after years of tomb keeping, then five years of scattered life as a gang-like boss, desired to integrate with society. Ryou's chatter unsettled Bakura, burrowing deep under his skin, an irksome thing humming in his veins.

Bakura slipped off his shoes before stepping up into the kitchen, for once, too tired to deal with the lecture Ryou would give him, too tired to hide behind his anger. Afraid his eyes betrayed his odd mood, Bakura slunk past Ryou, hair matted over his eyes, head down, to his room, where he hid behind the closed door.

Something foreign, something he could not place, rose in his gut, coiling upwards into his chest. This thing, this feeling, split him apart from inside-out. He let his muscles relax, slumping to the bed. He reached into his uniform pants pocket for the glass shard, fingers, out of habit, held the shard by thumb and forefinger, in a position that best suited a slicing motion. Instantly the sensation in his chest subsided as he stared up at the shard.

He set the shard on the covers of the bed, not really needing to use the object, but comforted by the sight. He tugged off his uniform, letting the three garments fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. He paused in his quest to put on a fresh shirt and pants, reveling in the cuts and scars on his arm. Already, only a few weeks in, and his non dominant arm sported a multitude of little white scars and more recent scratch-like cuts.

Bakura stroked the cuts and scars with a fingertip, the skin mostly smooth. The cuts formed small ridges and peaks that marred his arm, which would eventually heal and flatten to white track marks criss-crossing in a pale design. Staring, memorized at the damage on his arm, Bakura failed to notice the knock on his door, until the knob turned with a metallic click, and Ryou entered, uttering a soft, "Bakura?"

The reaction was instantaneous: Bakura threw a long sleeved top over his head, immediately sliding his arms into the sleeves, whilst facing away from Ryou, preventing the other boy from seeing the most recent cut on his knee. He screamed, barely masking the tremor in his voice, "The fuck!?"

He tugged his legs through a new set of pants, as Ryou stammered out an apology and swiveled around to face out into the hallway, until Bakura finally said, "What do you want?"

When Ryou turned to face Bakura, the former tomb robber had a scowl planted on his face, arms crossed and leaned against the far wall. "I just got off the phone with Yugi." His smile caused the coiling in Bakura's gut to reawaken and unfurl. "He got a hold of Kaiba…"

As Ryou spoke, his relief and good cheer bouncing against the growing agitation in Bakura's stomach, Bakura nodded, muttering neutral responses, until, satisfied at last, Ryou left him to his own devices. His eyes burned and his chest felt tight like an over-extended rubber band. He grabbed the glass shard before his chest collapsed under this strange pressure, and the emotions bubbled out at abandon.

He cut into the flesh of his arm, the biting sting overriding Ryou's words that taunted him.

"Kaiba agreed to help Marik out too, since he only needs real identification papers," Ryou said.

Slice.

"He'll live with Yugi and Yami, as a distant relative. So I guess he's your relative too." Ryou chuckled as Bakura suppressed a strangled sound, akin to a small animal dying.

Slice. Furrowed brows masked the burning at the edges of his eyes. The pain cut through his chest, and the pressure lessened.

"He should be able to start school in a couple days. Oh!" Ryou interrupted himself as he remembered another important tidbit. Bakura shrugged, letting Ryou's words flow past him, as he told himself it didn't affect him. "We might have to educate him too." Bakura literally bit into his tongue. Apparently former mob bosses didn't learn much about modern culture during hostile takeover missions. Bakura wondered why; he expressed that sarcastic sentiment to Ryou, who actually laughed softly at the jab.

Bakura's fingers hovered over his exposed forearm, the glass shard shook slightly at the strain put on it. Bakura paused, then set the shard down, satisfied with the two cuts. Blood trickled out in small amounts, and the tightness in his stomach dissipated. He inhaled, then exhaled. Flopping against his bed, Bakura breathed deeply, mind beautifully clear.

Ryou closed Bakura's door behind him and quietly made his way to the living room. He drew himself up into a ball, knees tucked to his chest and arms curled around his knees, in the comfortable armchair his father chose to sit in when he spent time in the apartment. He racked his brain, searching for the motive behind why he chose to share information, to communicate with Bakura.

The information was purely neutral; it would affect him as Marik would become part of their everyday lives: however, Bakura's expression, the crossing of his arms, the languid way he leaned against the wall, the never changing sneer, conveyed his lack of interest rather clearly. Ryou picked at his fingernails, ignoring the small grumble in his belly, as he curled up tighter.

He supposed he was lonely. He desired companionship, any companionship, so Bakura's dour, sarcastic presence in his life would make do. Still picking at his fingers, he stole a glance at his phone in the dining area just off the kitchen. He could call Joey or Yugi: he knew that logically. Another embarrassing growl from his stomach stopped his thoughts, and Ryou stood.

He shut the depressing thoughts out of his mind as he set out to prepare dinner for Bakura. At least the task would quiet his mind for a short while. As he thumbed through one of the few cookbooks he owned, Ryou fixed himself a cup of tea. The kettle heating in the background, Ryou prepped vegetables for the meal, the knife chopping against the cutting board drowned out any thoughts.

A/N:

Ryou's POV is so hard to write! At least it is for now. ^_^

I'm not sure how much I mentioned about Japanese schools before, but… I think you could read this chapter and later chapters without any extra knowledge, like watching the English dub, without being too confused, but I know it bothers me. So:

The Japanese school year runs from April to March (?) with three terms: April to about August, which is summer break (which can be a month or more depending on location because most schools in Japan do not have air conditioning), then September to mid December (for a break for the New Year), then January to sometime in late March.

Japanese students are sorted into a class room or homeroom, which, unlike American schools (that I'm familiar with), the students stay in that one room while the teachers move from room to room. There's about a ten minute break between classes. After school activities and duties (at the end of every day students are tasked to clean up as there is no janitor—it is the students' responsibility to clean up after themselves) are important. I don't think I focus on extracurriculars because, really? Would Bakura ever participate?

Up until the early 2000s Japanese students had to attend class every Saturday for a half day session.
This is still practiced now in some schools, but it depends on the school: the school may choose to abolish this or students only have to attend every other Saturday. Since my fanfiction takes place in 1998, they will be attending half day Saturdays.

That horrid gym teacher is from season 0 or the early manga. He harassed Ryou about his hair length. Teachers bullying students can be a problem in Japanese schools, because of the culture. Students are taught to respect authority and never to question authority, so bullying teachers are given too much power. This could happen anywhere, but it was a problem in Japan as shown in season 0 and the manga (as an available example).

Ok, a disclaimer: my information could be wrong. This is only from my personal research. I've never been to Japan (would love to go!), so I could be wrong. Please don't flame me over it. Though do inform me if I am totally off.

I did check the time zones and how Ryou's phone call to Marik would match up. I have no idea what it is now, but I know it was correct when I wrote it back in June. :P