Deathshipping (Bakura Ryo/Yami no Marik)

. . .

"It's horrible, isn't it?" the voice drawled through the darkness. "Everyone's abandoned you."

This realm was bad enough without his voice echoing around him. It was a betweensort of place, one that his brain couldn't understand. Ryo couldn't feel his own skin or the sensation of his own air in his lungs, but he knew he was gasping for air and swallowing down shadows with each gasp. He couldn't see, not even if he waved his hand in front of his face, and he couldn't feel, even though he knew that his feet were hitting some kind of surface as he kept running, running, runningas fast as he could, away from—what?

From the cold, maybe. The cutting, biting cold and darkness that seemed to be his entire existence in this place. How had he even gotten here? He couldn't remember.

The only thing he knew with any certainty was him.

Ryo knew his voice, laughing and cruel and grating in the dark, the only thing he could hear. He knew his touch, the cold, slimy feel of his fingers grabbing at his hair or dragging down his shoulders, or the puff of his breath against the back of his neck, laughing at him as he kept trying to run even though he knew there was no point.

He was everywhere. This place was a prison, and every shadow washim. Every flash of clarity came with the glint of his flat purple eyes, or the gleam of his teeth as he threw his head back with a laugh.

Ryo wasn't supposed to be here. It wasn't fair—he hadn't lost, it had been the other him, hadn't it? Why was he, too, consigned to this? Why wouldn't anyone come for him? Where was everyone? Did they know he was gone?

"Keep running, Ryo-kun," the darkness laughed. "Or you might just die alone after all."

He swallowed his fear, his thoughts, his tears.

He kept running.

. . .

A/N: I shouldn't be surprised at the popularity of this ship, but I kind of am. Next is Dealshipping (Yami Bakura x Ryo x Amane).