A/N: 2713 words before author notes; longer than normal. Partially because I feel slightly guilty groveling for reviews. I had over 100 views (which made me ridiculously happy by the way!) since I uploaded last chapter, but the lack of reviews… Insert sad face. I will never not update because of a lack of reviews or demand reviews because I am writing this for myself too, but I want to know what you guys think. Not all chapters are set in stone. Please, please review? Love it/hate it: let me know.

Now enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 7: Change of Heart

After the disastrous first day, the school day fell into a cycler routine. One, which Yami was grateful for. He woke to Yugi's alarm, even from two doors down, at the same time five days out of the week. Clothes, breakfast, shoes: it became normalcy. He attended school, all the while pointedly ignoring the tomb robber, whom pointedly ignored him and Yugi's group of friends unless addressed. He hung around the backdrop of Yugi's friends, never quite feeling like he belonged. After a year of dueling by their side, it didn't feel right, especially after Marik's impromptu arrival. His partner deserved this time of peace; he didn't deserve the inclusion of his presence nor the thief's presence, so he tried to assimilate into Yugi's world as his cousin with little fuss.

As he slammed a hand against the alarm in his own room, which sounded a few minutes after Yugi's, Yami smiled at the thought of mostly content that he felt with his new chance at life, and finally left his bed to start the routine or the day. After school, the cycle continued with homework and an occasional visit with Yugi's friends, before dinner with his new family, not by blood but their acceptance of him made his chest swell in joy. Some time spent with his 'cousins', as the family bathed one after another, before finally sleeping in his room. Yes, for Yami, this shot at a mortal life was a blessing, and he was thankful to whatever gods allowed this.

At the Bakura's the adjustment was not nearly as cheerful. Their days fell into the same rhythm, preventing any major outbursts. Ryou pondered Bakura's passiveness, but chose not to question it aloud, lest the inquiry, for some reason, opened the metaphoric hatchet on the well of Bakura's anger and invoked the former ire he had witnessed during the duels a year ago against those Ryou considered friends. At the same time, Bakura felt like somewhat of a quasi caregiver to a terminal patient. He actively tried to ignore Ryou's antics or, hell, even his mere presence, but the boy's almost constant general poor health made Bakura feel, well, almost guilty.

He recalled the weakness and illness he usually shoved aside when he was simply a spirit attached to the Millennium Ring and possessed him, so he knew Ryou was frail, but, now living with the boy, he saw firsthand the mental weariness as it took a toll on Ryou's physical strength and sapped any of Bakura's mental stability. The pain from constantly relying on cutting himself bore proof of that.

It marked the cycle, a sick and twisted routine in its nature, of the Bakura household: Ryou stressed by the presence of Bakura ended up weaker as the illness ravaged his faculties and Bakura, guilt ridden and desperately trying to absolve himself of the foreign emotion forced himself to cast the blame on someone, anyone, other than him. The cycle continued: Bakura would cave after the pressures mounted too much, became too much, and finally collapsed against it, glass shard in hand, the stresses tricking down his arm. Then Bakura's anger; then Ryou's stress mounted.

Their lives continued in those first few school weeks, not ideal, not particularly happy, but routine. And Ryou and Bakura settled into that. One evening, right after Ryou cleared away the dinner dishes and set to wash the few dishes, he answered his cell phone to take a call from his father.

Bakura observed from the couch as he lazily flipped through channels on the television. Phone calls from Ryou's father were also part of their unhappy routine: they usually ended up badly. Just as it played out every time he called, Ryou ended p finishing the phone call with a polite, but surely noticeable anger in his parting. Bakura's ears perked when Ryou hung up the phone. The dishes in the sink crashed against one another as if Ryou was scrubbing at them harsher than normal.

Ryou's eyes blazed as he brushed through the living room, past Bakura on the couch, to where he always ended up after these phone calls, the bathroom for a long bath. Bakura raised his eyebrows; still channel surfing, perfectly content in allowing Ryou the luxury of deluding himself that a bath would relieve the stress caused by his absent and distant father. The tub began to fill with water, drowning out any noises from the bathroom.

Bakura resisted the urge to swing his legs like an impatient child as he waited on a bench designated for that entire purpose: for Ryou to emerge from the teachers' office. He felt the beginnings of that crawling sensation in his veins, right below his skin that demanded release, the sensation that made him want to reach for the shard from the broken mirror and let out everything he bottled up. Bakura settled for scratching at the back of his hand, the humming in his veins grew louder, causing his blood to boil and ricochet across his head in anger. He dragged a fingernail slowly, firmly across his hand. The slightly raised red scratch silenced everything.

Bakura leaned his head back against the wall in exasperation. He rolled his eyes in slow motion, then rolled them back. For all intents and purposes, the school day had been as monotonous and mind numbing as the last; Ryou had been alright—sick and overly quiet—but alright; hell, life was perfectly copasetic. He had no reason to feel so wound up—halted at the top of a hundreds of feet drop, anxiety coiled in his gut, wondering what persuaded him to get on this ride.

He exhaled deeply, but dragged it out so it came out near silent. He could just make out the conversation between Ryou and their homeroom teacher through the thin walls as he leaned his head. It didn't sound particularly pleasant, he thought with a grimace. Ryou spluttered similar-sounding varied excuses about his negligent performances whilst their teacher scolded him in a tone, a concerned plaintive, lament that resonated so strongly in a murmur through the thin wall that Bakura straightened his sleeves over the newest inflamed cuts and older scars.

As he listened thoroughly to the back and forth displeasures from the teacher and Ryou's noncommittal promises to work harder, he neglected to notice when Tea plopped down next to him on the bench. The hand placed on his shoulder and her greeting alerted him to another presence.

He jerked back as Tea's eyes widened, the lingering worry she had expressed still slipped past her surprise. "Yes?" Bakura asked, lowly, sarcasm filtering through the blunt reply.

"I just finished cleaning the class room, and saw you sitting here," Tea said. Bakura hid a scowl behind his shorter black hair. He had never been one to hide behind his hair, especially in ancient times when lice ran rampant and it was simply more convenient to keep his hair short or completely nonexistent. Even when he borrowed Ryou's body in the past, with the boy's long white hair, his normal stance had been head thrown back, long locks tossed at abandon to the wind, off his face. Regardless, since his return to the world as a mortal, he preferred the way his hair slid forward to mask whatever traitorous emotions that made it a habit to flit across his face. Tea brushed her hair back behind her ears, a stark contrast from Bakura who hid further and further behind the inky black locks. "Anyway," she said, "I wanted to see how you're doing."

"How I'm doing?" Bakura let his hair fall back, revealing his ugly expression. This time the sarcasm was conveyed loud and proud as he enunciated each syllable, dragging the words out slowly.

Tea leaned forward, hands clasped over her crossed legs. "Yes, I want to touch base, you know? See how things are going since…then," Tea started off strong, unperturbed by Bakura's reluctance, and trailed off, unable to explain Bakura's or Yami's existence as humans.

Bakura spat, "Well, I'm fine, yeah?" He crossed his arms behind his head carefully so to make sure the sleeves would not slip. He turned away to signal the end of Tea's inquiry.

Tea, meanwhile, did not verbally or physically express her dissatisfaction in Bakura's answers. Instead, she pointed, jerking her thumb behind her head at the wall, and asked, "What's going on?"

Bakura replied with a shrug, letting Ryou's appearance answer her question. Tea faced Ryou, who bowed to his teacher out of respect, and demurely said, "Thank you for letting me know, sir." The door to the teachers' office slid shut, and Ryou stood next to Tea, a questioning look twisted his face. "Hello Tea," he murmured, then addressed Bakura. "Thanks for waiting." Bakura did not acknowledge Ryou's gratitude, choosing to let Tea and Ryou to converse as he tagged silently behind the two as they exited the building and finally broke apart to go their separate ways, then Bakura walked behind Ryou.

In the Bakura residence, the first apartment on the eighth floor, Bakura sat cross legged on his bed, holding the remains of the disposable razor and the three sharp blades, while Ryou did something in the kitchen before occupying the toilet by his room. He glanced at the paper thin sharp objects. Aside from pressing one into his knee a few days prior, he hadn't used the blades; the glass shard from the mirror suited him just fine for the moment. Saving the razors for, well, a desperate time seemed like the best plan.

He still needed someplace to hide them besides his dresser drawer. He contemplated this as he threw on his uniform and rushed through his daily routine, as per usual. When he entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Ryou was waiting with breakfast and his bento lunch, which he responded with a cross between a grunt and a "Thanks."

Ryou nodded, rubbing at his eyes as he gathered last minute school items. In the process of neatly laying a stack of yesterday's homework into his folder, a small scrap of paper fell to the floor.

"What's that?" Bakura asked round a bite of rice.

Ryou leaned against the wall, holding onto it with a hand. "Hmm?" His eyes looked over at Bakura, unfocused as if the task of holding up a conversation was too exhausting.

Bakura swallowed to shove the strange revelation of concern back down then asked again. Even to him, his former host looked ill as he struggled to remain upright, even as he let Ryou kneel down shakily, then force himself up off the ground, as if gravity had multiplied in seconds. Ryou grasped the wall with both hands, the piece of paper clutched in-between his fingers, as he pulled himself upright.

"It's the Change of Heart card," Ryou said softly. Bakura's eyes widened; he remembered: Duelist Kingdom, the shadow realm twisted illusion duel, Ryou's first betrayal. "Here Bakura, you can have it," Ryou said as he handed him the card. Like the other older cards he owned, Ryou had the Change of Heart tucked into a card protector with only an opening on the top (which Bakura remembered Ryou paid a large sum of pocket money on the extra reinforced card holders rather than purchasing bulk flimsy newer ones).

Bakura shrugged, crumpling the card into his uniform pocket and resumed eating.

Bakura scowled as he dragged a broom across the classroom floor during an afternoon cleaning session with Marik. Marik glanced up from the table he had been dusting with a rag, observing Bakura's dour expression. "Are you trying to cleanse the floor with your eyes?"

"I don't like sweeping," Bakura said akin to a toddler expressing his dislike of an exotic food.

Marik held out a hand with the rag: a symbol of generosity bordering on martyrdom. "Switch me."

"Eh?"Bakura paused in his pushing dirt around the floor in aimless patterns to focus on Marik speaking.

"If you don't like sweeping, you could do the dusting," Marik offered.

Bakura sneered and resumed dragging the broom across the floor. He curled his lips at the unpleasant task, equally annoyed at the prospect of being partnered with Marik. Then again, odds were against him with the high number of prospective partners in their class room thanks to a certain millionaire's money-exchanging favors. Better Marik than Yugi, he supposed.

Marik bent over a table and rubbed extra furiously at a non-existent stain. "Well, you don't have to be so rude about it."

Bakura narrowed his eyes at the Egyptian boy who had been intricate to his plans in Battle City, the boy who had switched loyalties right at the end, the boy who quickly assimilated into Yugi's circle of friends with one weak apology. Bakura retracted his earlier thought. Yugi would've been a more compliant partner. He spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable, "Fuck. Off."

Marik bristled, before reacting by placing a hand on his hip, stepping forward to gaze into Bakura's eyes. Bakura deepened his glare to distort any lingering emotions that did not convey rage. "Are you all right?" The question was laced with enough concern and empathy, Bakura was hard pressed not to scratch at his arm, lest Marik knew why he was scratching…

Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets, the abrasive action soothed the first layer of reaction to Marik's genuinely. When his fingers brushed against the card protector and the Change of Heart inside, something clicked.

"…I do understand, you know?" Marik talked nonsense that floated between Bakura's ears as incoherent buzzing as his thoughts ran, jumped, and bounced back in forth as an idea sprung to mind. "It isn't easy for me either. I mean, everyone is just too accepting of me, even after I tried to destroy my Pharaoh."

The paper card encased in the protector, clear on one side and emblazoned with the Duel Monsters logo—white against mostly black, would, could, be an ideal place to secure his tiny, paper-thin razor blades. He blinked at the thought just as Marik wrapped up his monologue concerning the last few weeks and his experiences at masquerading as yet another cousin of Yugi's with more good will from Seto Kaiba.

Bakura just nodded when Marik finally finished speaking, the conversation coming to a halt. He turned and continued fake sweeping, all the while looking forward to finishing so he could return home and test out his theory.

Marik dusted at another desk, satisfied that he had supposedly gotten through to the vicious tomb robber of ancient Egypt.

Ryou was just finishing off a plate of food when Bakura walked into the apartment, kicking his shoes off, letting the shoes fling against the genkan wall, before settling on the tiled floor, somewhere. Usually Ryou reproached him with a baleful expression, but today, Ryou just shook his head, before rinsing his plate off and adding it to the small pile in the sink.

"I'm going to take a bath," he said as a way of greeting. Bakura, too engrossed in his thoughts of blades and card protectors, simply nodded his acceptance and ignoring the plate Ryou had made him, slipped off to his room across the hall from Ryou's and the bathroom.

As water ran, filling the bath tub nosily, Bakura drowned in the ringing of thoughts in his head. He scooped up the three metal razor blades with one hand and uncrumpled the card protector against the top of the dresser with the other.

He sat on top of his unmade bed. With thumb and forefinger, he pressed against the sides of the card protector so the plastic edges split from the card leaving gaps in the front and back of the card. He coaxed the three blades into the plastic. Once the blades settled behind the card, invisible to inquisitive minds, he flipped the card upside down, the tiny slit at the top faced parallel to the ground, and smiled, pleased, at the effectiveness of the hiding spot.

He slipped the card back into his pocket without considering the meaning behind this action, and laid on his bed, hands clasped behind his head, until Ryou inquired about his uneaten dinner.

A/N:

Thanks to my mini essay on Japanese schools last chapter, I don't think I need to explain anything regarding that, but if you want more clarification I'll happily write another unintentional mini essay (pity my family that hears those on a regular basis.).

I had Ryou call his homeroom teacher sir, because teachers in Japan are generally referred to with the Japanese word for teacher: sensei, but it seems strange for Ryou to call the teacher: teacher in English.

Ryou Bakura's apartment number: I've seen it as 601 and 801. I don't know if that's a continuity error, but I went with 801 because that's the first number that popped in my mind when I thought about it. Correct me if wrong.

The razor blades hidden behind a trading card in the card protector does work, very effectively. I had to test it as I thought of it. If you want to see what the (no they weren't that expensive, but in comparison to other kinds...) card protectors look like, I photoshoped it into the cover picture (my god, the cover image makes sense now!), which can now be magnified so you can actually *see* the detail I angsted over.

Big thing coming next chapter, thought you guys should know. ^_^