For some reason, his ears were ringing.
He couldn't really explain it. It had started shortly after he left the house, and it got slowly worse the further he got. His mind jumped to the books for reasons he couldn't explain, and to the words inside of the Compaendium.
Shadow touched.
It wouldn't leave his mind. It buzzed there, swarming over his thoughts in dark clouds, polluting his thoughts with vague musings inspired by those stupid books. If only he'd gotten to finish that paragraph before having to leave. Or had the forethought to snap a few pictures of the pages of the book so that he could read it at school.
Damn. He should have thought of that sooner.
After several train stops and what could have potentially been a colossal mistake in train choice, Bakura managed to find the right place to get off at and started walking in the direction of the school building, pawing absently at his ear as the ringing cut off.
The sound was gone, but the thoughts remained. And in this mess of thoughts, a realization slowly came over him. He stopped in his tracks outside of the school gates, ignoring the surging sea of students flooding into the campus.
He had mocked magic. Joked about occultism. All standard fare, really, as far as Bakura was concerned. He only believed in what he could see. But the entire night, he'd been speaking with an ethereal being only he could see, and he didn't even question it once.
He'd had so many opportunities to stop and ask just what the hell was going on, but the idea hadn't even occurred to him until just now. In the moment, it had felt so natural. Of course this strange, silvery creature was completely normal.
For it to be otherwise would be to assume that Bakura was less than completely normal, and while he knew that was true, he didn't think he was the type to imagine something like Hikari. If he wanted to create fictitious ghouls haunting his attic, he was pretty sure he'd make them gut-wrenchingly terrifying. At the very least, there would be a lot more blood involved than there was.
Bakura could mock the books all he wanted. People loved to create fake things like this, these Necronomicons and Munich Manuals. Their contents were probably a combination of creative writing and occult fanaticism. A fun read, probably. Bakura doubted it'd end up being more than that.
But Hikari's very existence, now that he considered it, was a threat to the assumption that everything was banal and normal. Hikari was… real. That alone should have stopped him in his tracks and made him think. And now here he was, mind full of words and phrases and stories ripped straight from an occult dream, wondering…
What if more than just Hikari was real? Nonsense. Hikari was a one-off thing. Ghosts could be real without there being demons and magic and fairies and other bullshit like that.
But as he started walking once more, his mind slipped back to that padlock. He'd picked tricky locks before, some with large numbers of pins, or strange arrangements of the tumblers. But he couldn't remember a lock ever actively working against him.
The lock hadn't just been difficult. It was almost as though it hadn't wanted to be solved. It had gone through eventually, but something that old and simple should have only taken a minute or two, max.
And after that whole ordeal, after he'd locked it up and thrown it to the other side of the room, it had appeared right there beside the chest, open, waiting.
He dragged his fingers roughly through his hair, scowling. He wasn't seriously thinking about this, was he? The guys back home would shit a brick if they knew Bakura was even considering the existence of the supernatural and paranormal.
But then again, they also never thought Bakura would move to Japan, and they certainly didn't expect one of his plans to fail. Unexpected happenstance was becoming a real pain in Bakura's ass, and he was getting sick of it.
Fuck it. When he got home, he was going to prove to himself that all of the contents of the books were bullshit, and as soon as he did that, he was going to be able to relax and enjoy them for the works of fiction that they were, regardless of whether that god damned ghost was a ghost or not.
He straightened his jacket. He still needed to get checked in and find his class, which was entirely determined by his answers to the Entrance Exam (which he at the very least passed, considering he was allowed in). He looked over at one of the wall-mounted clocks and sighed. Somehow, he'd managed to be right on time. Damn.
If there was one thing that Aunt Aiko could have mentioned before shipping him off to school, it was the ridiculous rules about appearances. The slipper thing, Bakura wasn't too fond of, but at least he knew well enough before coming in to trade out his shoes for the slippers they'd bought yesterday.
What he hadn't known was that dyed hair was not allowed. Technically, this not a problem for Bakura. Except for the fact that it led to a lengthy debate with administration about whether or not his white hair was a real color or came from a bottle.
After producing photographic proof in the form of his aunt's facebook wall (where documentation of every last event in every relative's life was recorded dutifully, including old pictures of his parents' wedding day and from their funeral service) that he had, indeed, inherited the unique color, he was allowed to keep his hair as it was. Although, ironically enough, they advised him to dye his hair black. This was somehow not a violation of the rules.
Bakura asked him if all of their policies were hypocritical like this. They glared at him and spoke icily. It was a great first impression all around.
After this lovely little talk, they gave him unhelpfully vague directions to a room number they'd scrawled on the top of the piece of paper he was supposed to present to his teacher. He didn't ask them to elaborate. They didn't see the need to do so.
He left with a small smirk. He considered this a victory won.
Finding the room was easy enough, but he didn't go in right away. He lingered in the hallways, making himself comfortable leaning against a window. He used this as an opportunity to leer at anyone who stared at him and study the flow of people.
He watched the way they referred to each other, the way they spoke. There was a bit of slang and phrasing that wasn't textbook or the way he'd been taught growing up, but as long as he kept track of what and how they said things, he figured he'd pick up on the mannerisms soon enough.
And in a way, it wasn't entirely different from a high school anywhere else. Same teenagers, though they spoke another language. Same cell phone obsessions, although slightly amplified. People stared at him more here, but that was expected, not surprising.
They traveled in packs, socialized till the last moment, and flocked to classrooms before it was too late.
Finally, when he was a full sixty seconds late, he decided he'd waited long enough. He headed into the room, passing the note to the teacher as he passed. The teacher, a youthful looking man dressed a little more formally than the other teachers, smiled at him. Bakura barely resisted the urge to scowl.
The classroom quickly fell silent, not necessarily out of respect, but out of sheer curiosity. One by one, voices tapered off as they noticed the strange, white-haired guest in the room who wore their uniform, and who certainly hadn't been in class at the start of the year. Summer vacation had just ended; however, unlike in England, this was not the start of the school year.
Classes started back in spring. Which meant Bakura was showing up in the middle of term, and wasn't that just the most awkward time to start at a new school.
Naraki-sensei's brilliant solution to diffuse this situation was to have Bakura introduce himself. Bakura couldn't think of a worse idea.
He looked out at the twenty odd students in the room with him, wondering if they thought this was as pointless and awkward as he did. "Hey. My name's Bakura Kuro-" he coughed and made a face. Way to go, Kurokawa. Fucking things up already, and he was only eighty four seconds into the school day. "Kurokawa Bakura."
A month, and he was still struggling with the name thing.
The class was expressionless. Not welcoming, but not hostile either. Tired, mostly. Unlike Bakura, they probably rolled out of bed ten minutes before class started or something equally enviable.
Naraki-sensei clasped his hands together and smiled. "Would you like to tell the class where you're from and why you've transferred here?" he said, as though speaking to a class of elementary school students rather than to near-adults.
Bakura's face twitched slightly. Keeping an outright glare off of his face was harder than he'd expected, and Naraki wasn't making the task any simpler. Life's just a game, he told himself silently. Play along while the cards are shit, and eventually, you'll be dealt a hand you can win with. Just keep a straight face and bluff like there's no tomorrow.
Bakura took in each of the faces of his classmates in quick succession. "England. I'm here because people can't keep their noses out of my business." He couldn't help himself. He threw a thinly veiled glare at Naraki-sensei, who pretended not to notice.
"Thank you, Mr. Kurokawa. You may take a seat in the open desk near the window." Bakura rolled his eyes and slouched his way to one of the two open seats.
Naraki-sensei opened up a math textbook, ready to begin the delayed class, when the classroom door opened. A boy with wild, multicolored hair sprinted into the room, panting and finally resting his hands on his knees, faintly doubled over. His uniform was ruffled from his run. Bakura wondered vaguely how his hair had been allowed.
The boy weakly passed a crisp note to Naraki-sensei. "I'm sorry... I'm late..." he panted. "Got lost... Missed the train..."
"You're just fine, but I do hope you'll be on time from here on out," Naraki-sensei said. Bakura frowned. Was it just him, or did there seem to be a hint of malice in those words, lurking under the smile?
"I promise!" the boy said cheerfully, straightening up. He was absolutely diminutive, easily a head shorter than Bakura. Probably more, if Bakura ever wanted to actually find out for real, which he doubted would happen.
Naraki-sensei smiled once more at his class, who looked placidly back at him. "It looks as though our second new student has arrived. Would you care to introduce yourself?"
"Good morning! My name is Motou Yugi! I'm so glad to be in your class!" The boy bowed low, grinning from ear to ear.
"And where are you from?" Naraki-sensei prompted.
"Oh, sorry!" The boy bowed and flushed in embarrassment. "I used to attend a school just outside of Battle City. I'm taking care of my grandpa, so I transferred here!"
"Wonderful," Naraki-sensei said. He inclined his head towards Bakura. "You can take the open seat beside our other new student, Kurokawa Bakura. Now. Let's get started on Riemann Sums. Open your textbooks to page 89-"
Bakura watched through narrowed eyes as Yugi walked past him to settle in the desk immediately behind Bakura. Kid was too damned happy. Whatever his mental defect, it would get annoying very quickly. Bakura could already tell.
The day dragged on longer than the schedule would have seemed to suggest. The morning was excruciating. First came the math lesson, followed by chemistry. At least the lunch his aunt made for him was good.
While he ate, he felt a finger press into his shoulder blade. He ignored it, glowering down at his lunch. The finger buried itself in his shoulder again, and then once more. His eyebrow twitched.
"What?" he asked, glaring back.
Yugi smiled brightly up at him, extending a hand. "Hello, Kurokawa-san. I'm Motou Yugi! Looks like we're both new here. I didn't hear where you came from. If you don't mind me asking…"
"I do."
He turned back and continued to eat. Yugi leaned forward. "Come on, Kurokawa-san! Don't be grouchy!"
"Grouchy?" Bakura asked incredulously. What was he, a five year old with a temper?
"Yeah, grouchy! I don't mean to be rude, but you don't look like you're from around here, and I was really curious."
"Nose out of my business," Bakura snapped, clicking his chopsticks together with an irritated little flick of his fingers. Maybe he was a five year old with a temper.
"Aww, come on, Kurokawa-san! Everyone else got to hear. I came in late," Yugi said with a pitiful little pout. His lower lip jutted forward.
Bakura had to physically keep himself from punching that goddamned pout off of that kid's baby face.
"If I tell you, will you leave me alone?" he asked through gritted teeth. Yugi nodded. "England. My mother was British, my father was from Tokyo. And yes, I'm only half Japanese. Happy, Motou?"
"Ooh, so scary," Yugi chirped. His eyes were big and purple and wide with excitement. Bakura glared again and turned back around. "So I was wondering, since we're both new, would you like-"
"Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Motou," Bakura ground out, teeth clenched. His expression was fit to kill when he turned back. "I don't want friends. I don't need friends. I like being alone. And I especially like it when meddling, annoying brats keep their snot noses out of my business. Understand?"
Yugi leaned back, blinking at Bakura. "Gosh, I'm sorry, Kurokawa-san. You've had it rough, haven't you? But that's okay. I'm not upset. I'll just let you cool off," Yugi said. He smiled that thrice-damned happy-go-lucky grin once more. "Sorry to pester you like this."
Bakura snorted into his lunch. "Whatever." He couldn't help but feel as though, somehow, Yugi had managed to win this one. And for reasons he couldn't quite explain, that pissed him right off.
"Why were you so mean to him?"
Hikari stirred a bit from where he had pooled himself into a dip in the blankets, resembling a wind-stirred silver puddle.
Bakura glared. "Well, he was being a pain in the arse. That, and... Hell. There's something wrong with that Motou kid."
Bakura, leaning back precariously in his desk chair, wobbled a bit and straightened himself out. He kicked his feet back up onto the desk. His fingers resumed their languid movements over the cover of the books, as they'd done earlier while he relayed the highlights and lowlights of the day to Hikari. The little ghostie wanted to know about everything. The people, the classrooms, the lessons, the color of the tiles on the floors of the bathrooms.
Bakura answered the endless questions to the best of his abilities, but his details of other the students were… sparse, much to Hikari's displeasure. All of them except for that goddamn Yugi, who Bakura could see being a problem later on.
"You didn't have to be cruel," Hikari admonished him. "He just expected to find a kindred spirit in you. When he finds his own friends, I'm sure he'll never bother you again, if that's what you want."
"Why do you sound so sulky?" Bakura asked. He watched the silver puddle lighten. Interesting. Wisps could blush. Or at least, Hikari could.
"No reason."
Bakura stared closer at the wisp, hoping he was looking at the north end rather than the south. "Hmmm... You're jealous, aren't you?"
"No!" Hikari said indignantly. The silver color lightened further. "Maybe..." he added, softer.
"Well, if I could bring you to school, I would. It'd be easier to just show you than to explain all of this stuff. Have you even tried leaving before?" Bakura asked.
Hikari rose up a bit. "Yes. It... Doesn't go well. I- well, just watch."
He took on his humanoid shape once more and drifted towards the window, hesitating. Bakura stood with a faint groan and pulled back the curtains to watch.
Hikari wavered a second longer, looking back once at Bakura before letting out a deep breath. He passed through the window pane and made it maybe two or three feet before freezing in place.
An arc of black light ripped across Bakura's vision, striking Hikari like a thunderbolt cast down from the heavens by a vengeful god. Hikari screamed, and the lights above Bakura's head flickered. The power all down the block wavered and then returned.
Shadows rose from Hikari like smoke, and he whimpered faintly as he was whipped back through the window by some invisible force. He spun head over heels through the air, passing through glass and wall alike in the direction of the chest, until he eventually drifted back into the room.
Hikari's pale silver color was darker, as though burnt. He was shaking.
"Shit, I didn't think it'd be that bad," Bakura said.
Hikari collapsed back into a puddle at the foot of Bakura's bed, trembling.
"Y-yeah. It isn't fun. I can sometimes get farther, but it's even harder and more painful. But... now you can see… It's okay. I'll just stay... Here... Forever..."
"Fuck that," Bakura drawled. He grabbed the Compaendium. Real or not, there was always a possibility that it held a nugget of useful information. "We're gonna figure this out. And then, you're gonna go outside."
Hikari stopped shaking. "Really?" He asked.
Bakura considered it for a moment and nodded. "Yeah. How hard can it be?" He thumbed through the book, glancing at the illustrations.
He tried not to think about how this was really just a test for these books. Finding nothing helpful to the situation wouldn't mean all that much. But if he found anything... Hell, if he found a picture or a situation resembling this one...
Either the author had gotten lucky, or there was something else at work.
He skimmed over text and glossed over the images, trying to compare them to legends and stories he'd heard before.
A lot of it seemed like fairly standard occult practices, the chanting, the circles, the squiggly symbols. Nothing really suited to the situation at hand.
The pictures were dark and lurid. Most of them were rough sketches done with a slant-tipped fountain pen in the margins of the book or in gaps between the text, the image unbelievable without the context within the blocks of handwritten prose.
There were strange beings with tentacles and fangs, horned beasts and creatures that seemed human but bore infernal adornments of a beastial, ferine nature: claws and forked tails and razor teeth. Diagrams of complicated circles inscribed inside with many-pointed stars and foreign pictograms of a long-lost language.
Nothing that resembled the small, harmless Hikari that panted from the foot of his bed, wheezing and coughing pitifully. His eyes darted up every now and again, although he wasn't sure why. The need to do so was alien in nature, but entirely irresistible.
Whatever this need was, it abated gradually as the color of the puddle returned to its usual hue, and the breathy, chime-like voice slowed its insistent pants. Bakura found it easier to focus on the content within.
But despite the quick pace at which he turned pages, the ruffle of old, yellowed pages filling the air with rhythmic swipes, progress was painstakingly slow. The book was deceptively long.
"This isn't working," he groaned. "I'm not finding squat. Why can't there just be a simple little message at the front of the book that says something like, 'Oh, just use salt like in the movies', or…"
He paused. Hikari had snapped up into the air at those words, staring at him with eyes that Bakura couldn't discern from the rest of Hikari's anatomy, a small 'OH!" coming from that direction.
"What?" he asked. He drummed his fingers on the wood as Hikari started to bounce left and right.
"Salt!" Hikari cheered. "Salt, salt salt! I remember!"
"Yess…?" Bakura said. "Care to elaborate?"
"Yes! I remembered! I can't move through salt! A ring of salt traps me inside and I can't leave it!"
"And that means… Oh," Bakura said, his eyes suddenly widening. "Oh. Oh, I see." A smile spread slowly across his face.
"Yes! YES YES YES!" Hikari cheered. He whirled through the air, spinning corkscrews around Bakura's head.
"But will it work?" Bakura asked.
Hikari paused his whirling, but he wasn't quite capable of holding completely still. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean," Bakura said, "that there's no guarantee that this'll work. Even if you can't move through salt, who's to say that you won't still be stopped? Is the salt or the house more powerful?"
Hikari shivered. "I… I don't know." He slowly drooped. "No… what if this doesn't work? I-"
"Hey," Bakura said, looking at Hikari where he thought eyes might have been. "Let's just try it. Make a mobile salt ring. Maybe it'll work. And if it does, we can revise the design a bit so it's easier to carry around. A plate with salt on the rim should work, right? Come on, let's try it."
He hopped out of the chair and started down the stairs, skidding to a stop as he reached the kitchen. His aunt was in there already, although she had yet to notice him. He glowered at the door.
How would he do this? Brave the kitchen, grab the plate and salt, and waltz out with no explanation as to what he was doing? And then later, he would have to deal with her superstition-addled questions, and have to come up with some sort of excuse about why he was doing odd things. No, there had to be a better way…
He watched her move back and forth between the stovetop and the fridge. The salt was already on the counter in easy reach. The plates were on the other side of the kitchen. He sized up his odds and made a quick decision. Nothing for it.
He slipped in, ducking behind the counter until he could hear her stirring something. He poked his head up. Aunt Aiko was facing the pot, paying him no mind. He grabbed the salt shaker and a nearby cooking tray that presented a better opportunity than the plates, and he slid back out of the kitchen. She never heard a thing.
He set it up outside on his front porch. He unscrewed the salt shaker and dumped a generous measure onto the tray. With his fingers, he pushed and prodded the salt pile until it roughly resembled a circular line.
"There. Let's try this," he said, looking at Hikari with a grin.
"I can't get in there. Break the line for a moment. Just a little, though."
He frowned. Of course, Hikari couldn't cross the salt to get in without the line being broken and reformed. But how much was enough? He dragged his finger through the salt line to make a path. "How broken does it need to be?"
"That's plenty," Hikari said. He slipped between the lines, settling himself comfortably inside of the circle. Bakura reformed the enclosure.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
Hikari hesitated. "Uh…"
"No time to back out now!" Bakura said. He stood up, bringing the tray with him. He kept his movements fluid enough to keep from disturbing the salt. Hikari remained suspended above the tray, so it was good so far.
Hikari glanced around for a moment, whimpering briefly before nodding. "Okay. Yes. Let's do it. I… I want to see beyond this house. Let's try it. The boundary is two feet from here. If you cross that… Well…"
Bakura nodded, sizing up the distance and walking right up to the edge. "3…"
"Oh, no, don't count down, please," Hikari shuddered, starting to quiver again.
"2…" Hikari tensed. Bakura stepped over the line. "1. Hey look, you aren't smoking."
Hikari was still shaking, cringing almost, but looked up with halting motions. His body turned inside of captivity, slowly taking in the new perspective.
"I- I'm not?" he said. "I can still feel it… it's like a weight on me, pushing down on me from all directions. It… it kind of hurts."
"Are you sure this is the line?" Bakura asked, glancing up and down the street.
One person was walking down the road, but other than that, the street was nearly empty. Good. As it was, the one person was giving him a funny look. Bakura glanced down at himself and stifled an amused snort. He probably looked mad, talking to himself and carrying a circle of salt on a baking tray.
Hikari nodded. "I'm sure it's the line. This is… this is great! Amazing!" Hikari started to bob slightly up and down, but he was still cringing slightly. Bakura gave him a skeptical look. The enthusiasm seemed slightly forced.
"You're sure?" Bakura asked, one eyebrow lifting. Hikari nodded, and then let out a sudden strangled whimper, which cut off as soon as it started. He curled in on himself. "You don't look so sure."
"I- I'm sure, I- I'm fine, I-" Hikari stuttered, curling up more and more, beyond the realm of possibility for human flexibility. Bakura stepped back over the line once more, and Hikari sighed with relief.
"Right."
"Heheh," Hikari said weakly. "Well, it sort of worked."
Bakura nodded. He broke the line a tiny bit, curious as to how small of a gap in the salt Hikari could fit through, and Hikari slipped through the less than centimeter wide gap without a problem. Bakura dumped the tray of salt with a tight grin. Good to know.
He started back for his front door with a shrug.
"So, on a scale of one to ten, how bad was it? Low enough to go to school?"
"Well…" Hikari muttered as Bakura left the tray on the table near the door and started for his room. "Actually, it might have been a six or seven. But considering that it normally is a 14, it's much better than it was."
Bakura hummed and shut the door. He pulled the Compaendium out of its hiding spot under his notebooks. "Well, salt sort of works. Can you think of anything else that might help? Maybe if we doubled it up with other things, we can reduce that number down to two or three, maybe even get rid of it."
"Really? You'd do that?" Hikari asked.
Bakura gave a nod and kicked his feet back up onto his desk. "Sure. Nothing like a problem to take up your time. And you're the first interesting thing about this place. You and these books, anyway. Gives me something to take my mind off of how fucking awful this place is. Can't wait to get out of here in a few months..."
He hadn't had anything to occupy his mind in weeks, and it was taking a toll on his temper. He lived his life absorbed by his whims, and all of them were stolen violently from him when he was shipped across the ocean. But maybe he could find a new little puzzle to play with, something new to obsess over for the coming months.
"You think you have it bad…" Hikari muttered. He drifted lower, brushing the top of the desk. "You can go to school and wherever else you please. I'm trapped in here."
Bakura harrumphed. "Well, if it's such a problem for you, help me skim. And anyway, you're not trapped here. You're trapped near the box. I think. I'll just bring it with me when I leave. Gods know these books are damn fascinating, and I'm sure as hell not leaving them to rot in that attic up there."
Hikari seemed to sparkle. It was blindingly bright. Bakura winced and covered his eyes.
"Eh! Too bright! Dim it down a bit, kid!"
Hikari eventually dimmed enough to look at him, if still slightly to the left to avoid looking directly at him. "Oh, Bakura! That's amazing!"
"Calm down, I just want to figure out what's with these books. Find out if they're real or not. And you're related to them somehow. So come one, let's figure this out, alright?"
"Of course, Bakura!" Hikari hummed delightedly.
Do... Do you guys want any shippings? I could probably throw a few in here if there was some interest in them. What pairs do you like, or want to see?