Yin – Yang:

Theory of Relativity

Authoress Notes: Something I forgot to mention in the first chapter - I am about the least consistant writer you will meet. Unless there appears to be a real love for the story, chances of my stopping in the middle are high. Also, I have no internet at home, and very little access to it, so if I'm slow to update (Like a month...) then I appologise in advance. It happens. I have a life, and no internet.

Chapter One

The margins of his notes were adorned with doodles this afternoon. The assignment was finished, and the bell was soon to go, but the class took no notice. To one side of the room a large group was pestering a classmate for answers, and to the other a group was studying and discussing a novel.

A hand shot into the air, and was yanked down with a burst of laughter, before a single student approached the teacher's desk.

"Sensei?"

"Yes?" the teacher glanced up from his marking at the girl.

"What's the theory of relativity?"

"That's a good question," smiling, the teacher stood and approached the whiteboard.

The class slowly quieted as the teacher began to write. "The theory of relativity states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction," he stated, writing it on the board. "For instance, if you stay out past your curfew, you'll have fun longer, but your parents will likely get angry. At the same time, if you do your homework on time, you may have been bored shortly, but in the end it could mean the difference between you getting a pass or fail…"

Ryou pondered this concept a little. The bell rang, and he stood and left to join his friends in front of the school for lunch.

It occurred to him then that the theory had to have some basis of truth, and that day to day he lived with the reactions caused by his actions. Many of those reactions were scars burned deeply into his back.

Perching on a wall beside Anzu, he pulled out a sandwich and continued mulling the thought a bit. If you throw a small rock, you make small waves, he thought, much like my protests to Yami-sama. So, if I threw a large rock, would I be utterly washed away as punishment, or will things change?

"Bakura-kun?"

Looking up, he noticed all eyes were intently on him, and he blinked, "yes?"

Yuugi walked a bit closer, tilting his head at Ryou. "A large rock, Bakura-kun?"

He nodded absently. "A large rock. A very large rock."

"Where've you been?" Bakura grouched from the living room, hearing the door close. There was a short thumping noise as Ryou tossed his bag aside, and emerged in the living room, leaning in the doorway. Looking up, Bakura opened his mouth to say something, and instead choked on something, gaping a bit.

"No? Don't like it?" Ryou asked, as casually as he could. He was trying to convince himself that he wasn't afraid. Ra, if he was punished for this one, he'd totally understand – but this was only the start of a growing wave.

"Y-your hair!" Bakura stood. Yes, his hair. He didn't have the guts to change the colour, and no hairdresser in all of Japan would let him; however, it now sat as his chin, with a wisp or two reaching his shoulders.

"Like it? Decided I needed an upgrade." Ryou shrugged, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

With a strange breathing pattern, Bakura approached. "Your clothes…?" was next. Sure enough, he had taken advice from both Yami and Malik, and took only the portions that suited him.

"Mm, Malik-kun says they're sexy," Ryou held his head high, but not high enough to meet Bakura's eye.

Nevertheless he could feel the eyes roaming his flawless alabaster stomach, analyzing the close fitting black crop top, and ever so hungrily eyeing the net top that broke one's concentration on skin. Black gloves with short belts at the end weaved through his fingers and a deep purple trench coat brushed at the bottom of casual black dress pants. The philosophy behind this was to take after chaos's personae. Look the part before you play it.

And he could see the look generally pleased his Yami, until Bakura examined his face. The dark emitted a low growl and his nose wrinkled into a short snarl.

"Take that disgusting crap off your face," he spit out, referring to the dark liner adorning Ryou's eyes. "People will start thinking you're some Goth or something."

Ryou watched as his darker half disappeared and felt a small swelling in his chest. A small smile lit his features, and he made a chipper humming noise as he disappeared into the bathroom, cleaning the make-up from his eyes. He could feel a strange glowing feeling in his stomach as he walked to his room.

Perching on the edge of his bed, Ryou examined himself, loosely, with a smile. Now he looked the part – next was to learn his lines.

Bakura sat in his room, staring at the knives decorating his walls. There was a strange feeling in his gut, a twisting, wriggling feeling. In fact… it felt almost warm and fuzzy. Disturbed? Yes. Content? Yes. Suspicious? Oh hell yeah.

There was only one explanation for these strange feelings – Ryou. His hikari's sudden new clothes, the show of fragile strength; it was unexpected, uncomfortable, and completely acceptable. He felt something akin to pride in his light, which he quickly squashed with a grumble.

"Bloody light and his bloody ideas," he muttered, grabbing a pillow.

Something inside him wanted very strongly to punish Ryou for his sudden display of independence, but nothing in him wanted Ryou's pain right this second.

An irate hiss escaped him and he stood, heading to Ryou's room. Knocking only briefly, he stepped into the room, watching Ryou's gaze flick casually in his direction. He was steady until a knife glinted from Bakura's hand. He flinched lightly, but being that this wasn't the bathroom, he knew it wouldn't be the same as Thursday night.

Bakura grabbed a glass from Ryou's desk, and pulled it closer, putting out a hand. "Your wrist," he grumbled, and Ryou bit his lip. "Don't trifle with me, hikari," Bakura inched closer. Ryou hesitated for a moment longer – just long enough to irritate Bakura, and his hand shot out to grab Ryou's hand, yanking the sleeve back and baring the Briton's wrist.

He cut a careful, but deep line across the wrist, watching hungrily as the crimson liquid trickled thickly into the glass until it had filled, needing to press the knife deeper to extract enough blood.

Ryou had turned his head away, refusing to watch. His stomach twisted in disgust and a return in full flare of his previously suppressed fear. He felt Bakura hurriedly wrapping his wrist, and glanced over his shoulder, watching as Bakura sipped at the blood. He felt slightly more queasy.

Bakura, seeming to notice, turned and left to finish his drink elsewhere, as Ryou returned to staring out the window, lightly fingering the cloth that made his wrist injury inaccessible to his seeking fingers.

It was out of the blue, and nearly painless, and there had been no yelling involved. It was an observation Ryou made with utmost pleasure, straightening the sleeve over the reddening bandage and laying on his bed.

End Chapter