Ryou jumped backwards in surprise, which caused a wave of nausea to pass over him.

"Ba – kura . . . " he gasped.

In the darkness, he could just barely see Bakura's eyes narrow.

"So, you've re-christened me, have you? It's a bit weak, but it will do."

Ryou didn't have the strength to answer. He was leaning against the fridge, which was playing havoc with his temperature, and he was trembling from head to toe.

"Sick, are you?" Bakura frowned. "How like you to let your emotions overcome you and turn into a real, physical ailment."

Ryou's knees buckled under him and he fell to the floor.

"Yes, I know you've been struggling with my absence. Honestly, any sensible person would have been overjoyed to lose the psychotic presence haunting their brain, but not you. You were afraid that I was dead. Are you relieved to know otherwise?"

Bakura strode towards Ryou and bent down to his eye level. Ryou, vision feverishly hazy by now, barely registered the change.

"You shouldn't be. Do you know why, my young former host?" Bakura's features formed a snarl. "Because it means I chose to leave you. I wasn't forced anywhere, or having some ridiculous existential crisis like the Pharaoh. I simply decided to leave you all alone."

Ryou found that he was crying, unable to stop, and Bakura was jeering at him. He closed his eyes to try to drown it all out, and eventually it faded to nothing.

When Ryou woke up, he was still on the kitchen floor. It was light outside and he was alone.

He scrambled to his feet, remembering nothing but Bakura. Bakura, talking to him, being just inches away from him – had he felt Bakura's breath upon his face? He had been too sick to notice –

Just as the word sick went through his mind, he vomited on the kitchen counter.

He felt disgusting, but he couldn't slow down. He ran back to his bedroom and threw a jacket on over his pyjamas, then was straight out the door. On his way out he banged on the door of every neighbouring apartment, asking frantically if anyone had noticed a late-night visitor, but didn't care when every response was negative.

Bakura was alive. Here. Somewhere. University could wait.

"I saw him!"

Ryou's expression was wild and he was out of breath, but he couldn't contain his excitement. And that wasn't to mention the fact that he wasn't dressed.

He had caught Malik just leaving home for class, luckily, and Malik had stopped dead, obviously thinking something terrible had happened. In fact, upon hearing the news, he took it as such.

"Bakura? You saw him? Where?" he asked sharply, abandoning his books on the footpath. "Bloody hell. You look fine, but if he did anything – "

"He didn't." Ryou was flushed with eagerness. "He came to me, in my apartment . . . "

He explained the night's occurrence. By the time he finished, Malik's face had fallen.

"Okay, now are you positive that's what happened? It was definitely . . . real?"

Ryou said he didn't quite understand.

"You say you were sick, and, well, fevers can give you some pretty messed up dreams. Or hallucinations," Malik explained seriously.

Indignant, Ryou said shrilly, "I know when I've had a dream, thank you!"

In all truthfulness, the same thought had occurred to him on his run here – he hadn't had a fever hallucination before, so how would he know how it felt? – but he dismissed it in the end. He just knew it really happened, despite all probability being to the contrary.

So he was sick. And painfully alone. And wishing for nothing more than a one second glimpse of Bakura before, even if it meant never seeing him again.

"I believe you," Malik said. "I just didn't want you to be overreacting about nothing. I don't want to see you in any unnecessary pain."

Ryou remember all of Malik's claims that Bakura returning would be nothing but bad news, and had to wonder about this 'unnecessary pain' he was talking about. Did he mean the pain of realising Bakura had come back, or hadn't?

"It was real," Ryou said firmly. "And so we're absolutely clear, I'm not scared by that."

Malik nodded, disregarded university completely, and invited Ryou inside. Ryou accepted, and only remembered about Marik when it was took late.

Malik didn't give him any warning or anything, just sat him down on the lounge and looked amused when Ryou jumped as Marik emerged from the bedroom.

Marik's hair had been spiked up – probably out of his desire to look as little like Malik as possible, because really, they were identical in every other respect. Even Yami and Yugi had looked more different than this. Ryou didn't know who made the rules about what the spirits' new bodies looked like, but it seemed whoever it was had a sick sense of humour.

"Don't mind me," Marik said. His voice was raspy; it sent chills down Ryou's spine. "I won't bite. Not you, anyway."

Malik just rolled his eyes. "Ryou, just ignore him. He says stupid things and gets a kick out of scaring people."

Well, Ryou was definitely scared. Asleep, Marik had merely looked cross, but awake, he seemed to exude darkness itself. Ryou was sure that if they touched, Marik's skin would burn him black. Or perhaps poison him. All his instincts said to keep away.

"Now," said Malik. "Back to your crisis."

"It's not a crisis."

"Right. Well, it's a something. What are you going to do about it?"

Ryou didn't hesitate. "I've got to find him. Seeing him . . . knowing he's really nearby . . . "

His words caught in his throat as he considered what this meant. These long weeks of isolation could be over. They would be over. Even if Bakura didn't want any part of Ryou's life, Ryou couldn't let him escape again, ever. He had to be selfish about that.

Then, there was what Bakura had told him last night about wanting to leave him alone and not being forced to do it. It was painful, if it was true, but he was used to that sort of pain. He knew he could resist Bakura's cruel tongue after all this time, and besides, Bakura didn't mean half of what he said anyway.

"You're talking about the thief?"

Marik was across the other side of the room, surveying Ryou with new interest.

"Why do you care?" Malik asked sharply.

"Oh, my weaker half, so quick to assume the worst of me! I just happen to have a little bit of information on this particular subject that might be of interest - for Ryou's ears only."

Ryou's mouth went dry.

"Tell him what you know!" Malik snapped. "Whatever you have to say, my crazier half, you can say it in front of me."

Marik laughed. "You know your demands don't compel me."

"No? Will a broken jaw compel you any better?"

"If I thought you posed any physical threat to me at all, I'd have disposed of you long ago."

"No threat?"

Malik launched himself off the couch at lightning speed and charged toward Marik. Meanwhile Ryou, who had no idea the verbal sparring would escalate into actual violence, reeled back in horror. "Wait! Malik, you don't have to – "

"He has to learn!" Malik barked back, though as he wrestled with his dark half, he was clear that he was the one being schooled. Marik successfully got him pinned against the wall with his legs flailing uselessly beneath him.

Ryou then noticed something strange. Even though Malik was struggling and now snarling obscenities at Marik, the venom didn't reach his eyes. In fact, if Ryou was reading his friend correctly, he was amused by what was happening.

"Now, as I was saying," said Marik casually (he was now holding Malik in place with one arm; God, he must have been strong! Or was Malik just not putting up a fight?), "I have information just for you, little Ryou. Kindly tell your attack dog to stop barking at me."

Malik's eyes flashed, but he said, "Fine. You win. But if you do anything to Ryou, I'll choke you while you sleep."

This made Marik laugh and whisper something Ryou couldn't hear, but that made Malik's cheeks flush. Whether in anger or something else, he wasn't sure.

Malik shuffled into the hallway, out of conversational earshot, and Marik took his place across from Ryou on the couch.

The dark aura surrounding him had abated somewhat; Ryou believed that had been done on purpose, either to be polite or to lull him into a false sense of security. Without the shadows, he was definitely feeling less fearful, though he didn't know if that was wise of him.

Marik chuckled. "You should be."

"Should . . . be what?"

"Scared of me. I know the look on your face. Everybody who sees me wonders why they have the instinct to run."

Uncertain, Ryou decided to test the waters. "You sound so proud of that."

"Ah, what can I say?" Marik reclined himself back into a relaxed, lying position, and Ryou was relieved. It was clear now, at least, that Marik wasn't going to lunge at him or anything. "Fear is delicious. I thrive on other people's dark feelings. I need them to survive."

"Like Malik's hatred."

"Of course. I'm glad you remember. That brought me into existence, didn't it? Why, if he started becoming a pure saint, I'd cease to be."

"But Malik's good." Ryou frowned, bemused, as Marik laughed derisively.

"Oh, he's far from evil, I know! If he weren't good, what use would he have for a separate dark personality? But I get strength from his every vice: anger, jealousy, lust . . . " He paused, looking amused. "But that's neither here nor there. I was being so kind as to offer my help."

"Yes," Ryou said quickly. "And thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me yet. You mightn't like what I have to say."

Marik sat up straight again, and looked around as if expecting to spot Malik eavesdropping from some corner. Ryou leaned in eagerly.

"So, you and Yugi and my lighter half orchestrated your plan to give us our own bodies. We had no objections to this, of course, the thief and I. The Pharaoh put on his serious face for a while about ancient spirits not belonging in this modern world, but I didn't have to listen to that. And the thief didn't care, either – he said simply that his reason for living was still here, so he had no intention of leaving.

"Naturally, the Pharaoh ignored him. He approached my lighter half – all right, Malik then, stop furrowing your damn eyebrows at me – and requested that instead of granting us bodies, he expel us into the netherworld. Apparently you protested quite violently."

"I what?" Ryou didn't try to conceal his confusion. "I don't remember this happening!"

Marik nodded smugly. "I suspected as much when I heard. Evidently your Bakura didn't trust you to disagree with the plan."

That hurt. After all the things that Bakura had learned about him, imitated in order to impersonate him, he didn't think that he, Ryou, could be trusted to keep him alive?

"At any rate, Malik didn't agree either, so the Pharaoh had to shut his mouth. Glad of it now, I'll bet. The ritual was done, and I for one began enjoying myself rather than moping or attempting to fulfil my reason for living."

Which must have been what Bakura was doing, Ryou realised. He hadn't left out of spite, even if it was true that nobody forced him.

"And did Bakura succeed? Did he find his reason?" he asked. "Was that why he came back last night?"

"I have no idea. I haven't been sending him gift baskets," Marik said dryly. "In fact, I haven't seen him since the ritual, in case you thought otherwise, so I've told you all I know. Do with it what you will; it's my act of charity for the year."

Like at the flick of a switch, the conversation was over. Marik turned away from Ryou and boredly picked up a coffee table book. Ryou wanted to say thanks again, but it didn't seem like Marik wanted to hear it, so instead he uncertainly went to say goodbye to Malik.

Malik insisted on walking him outside, even all the way home if he needed it, though Ryou declined the latter.

"Well, good luck, then," Malik said once they reached the front gate leading out onto the footpath. "I'll try to catch the last of my classes, I suppose. Try not to miss too many yourself – I mean, obviously this Bakura thing is more important right now, but – "

"I know," Ryou interrupted. "Listen, Malik . . . "

There was something he was burning to know, but it was a very difficult thing to ask a best friend.

"Yeah?"

"Is there . . . kind of . . . something going on between you and Marik?"

Ryou said it quite quickly, and fully expected Malik to raise his eyebrows and ask what he was on about. However, Malik glanced away awkwardly and stood a bit more stiffly than usual.

"Ah," he said. "He said something?"

I get strength from his every vice: anger, jealousy, lust . . .

But that had just been the tipping point. Ryou bashfully recounted all the slightly odd behaviour he had noticed throughout the morning.

"I guess I have to explain, somehow." Malik sighed, still avoiding eye contact. "I don't know how I can do it without it sounding insane."

Ryou urged him to try; he wasn't judging (yet), but nor was he understanding at all. Up until today he had believed Malik and Marik hated each other.

"Right, well, there's no story or anything. It just happened one day out of nowhere, so I won't go into it. But . . . we're kind of an – an item, I guess you'd say."

"Not dating!"

"No." Malik's voice came out strangled, and Ryou instantly realised.

"Ah."

"Still not judging?" Malik laughed weakly.

"No – maybe. A little," Ryou admitted. "It's difficult to really believe. So that we're clear: you're . . . attracted . . . to Marik, and/or doing things that I desperately need to avoid imagining."

"Right. Yeah."

"He's evil and throws – threw – things at you regularly."

"Yeah."

"And fights you."

"Yeah."

"And, by all technicalities, is you."

"That's right." Malik gave a smile that read, pathetic, right?

Ryou didn't know if he found it pathetic. He didn't have a clue how he felt about this yet. It really hadn't sunken in. "It's quite a list. Does none of that stuff bother you?"

"What, that I'm a depraved, deviant, idiotic, masochistic, temperamental narcissist?" Malik threw his hands up in the air. "Everything bothers me, but I can't help it. I should be absolutely repulsed by myself and by him, but I'm just not. I'm crazy."

Ryou hesitated. "Are you happy?"

"That's the kicker. I'm so insanely happy with hi– with it, it's like I've never been happier. But I haven't told anyone, because they'd be disgusted and they'd be right. Think what my sister would say!"

"Maybe," Ryou said quietly, "if you don't want their judgement, you just shouldn't tell them. Don't make their reaction your own."

Malik's face had been contorted with grief, and he had winced as if expecting an insult, but when Ryou said nothing else he began to calm down. "Thanks. I – I won't tell people. No good would come of it."

"I thought you couldn't stand Marik."

"I can't." The response was automatic. "I hate him. Wish he'd die. But – but that doesn't – "

"I get it." Ryou smiled.

"I can't believe you're so okay with this. Do you actually understand?"

Ryou thought of Bakura, of the way people's gazes darkened when they spoke of him; of his high, cold laugh; of how Malik himself said Ryou was better off alone; and, finally, of how intensely he, Ryou, needed Bakura back in his life no matter what anyone else would have done.

"Kind of," he said softly.

He was standing outside Yugi's game shop, but wasn't planning on going in. The night was cool. He kept his eyes mainly on the road, but occasionally glanced at more unlikely spots – the shop's roof, for example – just in case.

After spending the afternoon wandering the city, hoping for a chance encounter with Bakura, and (let's face it) still trying to get his head around Malik and Marik, Ryou decided to start seriously thinking. It was surprisingly hard for him to establish what Bakura's raison d'etre could be, but then Bakura hardly ever actually told him his plans.

Assuming the Millennium Items were no longer his target – they were currently with Ishizu in Egypt, where Bakura clearly was not – the next logical step was the Pharaoh. Where lust was apparently now Malik's greatest vice, desire for revenge had always been Bakura's. It pervaded his every action. He never let go of his hatred, so it made sense that he would still be making some attempt on Yami's life. In fact it seemed shocking that, with circumstances as they were, he hadn't succeeded yet.

And Ryou still didn't know why, if his task wasn't complete, Bakura had visited him.

He was still positive he hadn't dreamed it.

Lights were on upstairs in Yugi's place, and Ryou couldn't help but look a little. Yugi's silhouette was there, and Yami's soon joined it. And, call him crazy, but it looked like the two silhouettes were embracing tightly. Surely not. Ryou just had Malik still on the brain.

He tore his eyes away from the window, not wanting to spy.

"Bakura," he murmured to comfort himself. "I'm waiting. You know I'm waiting for you."

There was no answer, of course.

By the time it hit eleven o' clock, Ryou resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to be able to catch Bakura here on this night. He couldn't stay out past midnight chasing nothing.

As he walked home through the dark and the cold, hopelessness began to wash over him. He had convinced himself that Yugi's place was where he would find Bakura, but maybe he didn't know the Spirit at all. He would come back here every day, of course, just to be sure, in case tonight was an off night, but there was little promise in that.

Really, it didn't seem fair. Why was he, Ryou, the one who had to suffer? The only one who had to suffer? Bakura clearly wasn't torn up about their separation. Malik had found absolute happiness in his twisted way. Yugi, by the looks of it, might have too. It was only he who had drawn the short straw, and he was so sure he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

He turned onto his street, heart sinking horribly. The world was moving on, oblivious to the fact that he was trapped in this mourning phase. He had missed the first day of university, would have to spend the rest of the week catching up, but he had lost all drive for his education. What was the point of getting a degree if it wouldn't make him happier?

He entered his building and climbed the stairs. By the time he opened his front door, he had begun quietly sobbing.

"So, it seems that every time I see you, you've started bawling. An unbecoming pattern."

Ryou's stomach jolted. Here, for the second night in a row, was Bakura, in his apartment. Leaning against the dinner table. Scowling. Looking like he didn't want to be here.

Ryou didn't hesitate, but nor did he move over-eagerly. He simply moved at a confident pace towards the table, and with his left hand he grabbed Bakura's wrist. It felt real. Warm. Solid.

"Good," he murmured, and Bakura raised an eyebrow.

"On the unlikely chance that someone has not yet told you, you shouldn't be seeing my return to you as good."

This was definitely Bakura, unchanged and unapologetic. Ryou couldn't bring himself to look at his face yet, but his body was something else. They were the same height, of the same colouring, and even dressed similarly – Ryou assumed Bakura had helped himself to his wardrobe. However, something had made Bakura look more sinister and strong; perhaps wherever he'd been living for the past several weeks had done it. He looked messy without being dirty, and it appeared that his hair was longer.

"You coming back has been the only thing I've been thinking about," said Ryou, his hand still holding Bakura firmly.

"I did nothing but hurt you."

"And by leaving, you still hurt me. So if you don't want to any more, stay."

Bakura laughed harshly. "This isn't me trying to repent. I'm just reminding you how stupid it is for you to want me back in your life when you know I made you miserable."

It did sound stupid like that, but Ryou knew there was something else that changed things. He didn't know how to express it. "Well, I do want you to stay. I know it's confusing, but – "

"On the contrary. It's perfectly clear why you're not thinking. You've got Stockholm syndrome."

Ryou was shocked into automatic response. "I do not."

To prove it, he looked straight into Bakura's eyes, glaring at him like an equal. Showing him there was nothing captor/prisoner about them.

"Don't you?" Bakura whispered. "What doesn't correspond? Didn't I persecute you? Didn't you wish over and over again to be free?"

"Only – "

"Wouldn't you have agreed to kill me, if I gave you that chance?"

"N – no, never!"

"And yet, after a time, did you not begin to see me as someone you needed? And hope that I felt the same?"

Tears were back. "Stop. S – stop it."

"So where exactly am I wrong?" Bakura spat.

"I don't . . . " choked Ryou. "I don't want my feelings explained away by some mental problem."

"You should be relieved that you're not the only stupid person with these feelings out there."

It stung. Everything was still wrong. Evidently Bakura equalled pain, at all times, no matter where he was. Ryou hated him – but still knew with absolute certainty that he couldn't leave again.

Ryou let go of Bakura's wrist, and instead hugged him tightly around the abdomen. A flash of surprise registered on Bakura's face, but vanished quickly.

"I'm not sick," Ryou whispered. "I don't have Stockholm syndrome. I don't think of you as my persecutor."

"Get off me," said Bakura.

"And I haven't just been hoping you need me. I know it. Why else would you have come back after all this time?"

That was new. Ryou hadn't thought at all before blurting that out, but now that it was out there, he was sure it was true.

Bakura had stiffened. "You're sorely mistaken," he said coldly. "I didn't come here because I needed you. I came because hurting you became my last purpose."

"Purpose?" Ryou didn't understand, but he had to know. "I thought . . . didn't you want the Pharaoh – "

"The Pharaoh," Bakura said through gritted teeth, "has lost all semblance of fight. There is no satisfaction in killing someone who wants to die."

Ryou loosened his grip on Bakura's midsection. So he hadn't been wrong to think Bakura would be after Yami, just too late. "So now . . . me."

"You." Bakura's tone was resentful. "After murder and Millennium Items, maltreating you was my greatest achievement. Without the other two to sustain me, my place was here, to do you further harm. Without that, I would have no purpose. I'd be as useless as the Pharaoh and that idiot Egyptian schizophrenia product."

Ryou sniffed and said nothing. Marik wasn't useless – he made Malik happier than he'd ever been, even after years of inner torture.

"But you had to make things difficult. Me returning to your life wasn't painful for you, because you missed me. You're sick, and stupid, and because of you, I have nothing to live for!"

Bakura roared that last part. Ryou flinched and sobbed but still didn't relinquish his hold. The neighbours must have heart that, but he couldn't even begin to compose himself enough to think of an excuse for them.

He crept himself up so their faces were level. Bakura's was livid, but Ryou also saw something very different: a very raw panic. Bakura's survivalist nature was doubting itself. He wanted to live, but it was like he was being commanded to die.

"Bakura." It felt strange to call him that to his face. "If you do have to hurt me . . . then . . . do it. Just don't go."

"Shut up," Bakura growled.

"I'm serious," Ryou insisted desperately. "I know you can still put me through hell by being around me. I'll live with it. Maybe I'll want you to die at some point . . . but without you, I want to die."

"Damn it, Ryou, you can't – "

But he didn't get any further, because at that moment Ryou had pressed their lips together.

It was desperate and irrational, but hearing Bakura actually say his name had set off some primal emotion he hadn't known existed: a desire to be closer, closer than physically possible, so close that their bodies could merge again.

But of course they couldn't And the kiss didn't give him any of what he wanted. It felt cold and tactical – like the only reason Bakura hadn't stopped it was because he was calculating how this would change his attack strategy.

Still right up against Bakura's, Ryou's mouth formed the words, "You can have me completely. Hurt me however you want."

Bakura was silent for a while, his expression giving away nothing, until finally he said one word.

"Fuck."

Ryou let go of him, took a step backward and bowed his head. Waiting for judgement.

"Fucking hell."

He still waited.

"Of all fucking things to ever fucking happen to fuck things up . . . "

Okay. It was getting hard to stay patient. "Bakura?" Ryou ventured.

"Fuck it all, Ryou. Don't you get it? I can't hurt you any more. I've completely fucked you up."

"That's not true."

"Listen to yourself. Did you hear what you just offered me?"

"Myself."

"That isn't something you offer."

"But I want to," Ryou urged. "I do want you to need me, you're right. I want you to want me. I don't care what you do with that. Just take me, and stay here."

Bakura slammed his fist on the table. "Fuck."

He stepped up to Ryou and put his hands on his shoulders. He leaned forward. "I could torture you. I could kill you in a hundred different ways before your body stopped feeling the pain. I could make you hate me, hate yourself and hate everyone you care about."

Ryou nodded without any hesitation. Bakura would stay with him, and that was the only thing he cared about.

Bakura kissed him, far from romantically, but properly. Sealing the promise. Ryou fell into it willingly, even though he knew he would never be as happy as Malik was with his dark half. But they were twisted too, in their way, so maybe this would become his own demented brand of happiness.

He had chosen his poison. Now he kissed it and murmured that it could do with him whatever depraved things it wanted. It was a greedy taker.

The End