-19-

Bakura sat on the couch, playing with his new phone. He hadn't really told Malik exactly why he'd wanted it—it would sound stupid to say he wanted a phone because he'd had a dream where he'd needed one. It was stupid, he supposed, but it seemed to him he'd simply feel better knowing he had one. Besides, it wasn't as if there were any reason for him not to have a phone.

But he hadn't needed to explain it to Malik. It hadn't been difficult to get Malik to agree that it was a good idea for him to have a phone just in case, "for emergencies."

"You should call someone," Malik said.

"I already called you," Bakura replied.

"That doesn't count; that was just to check to see if the phone is working right. I mean actually call someone. You know, use the phone for its intended purpose."

"Who would I even call?"

"Ryou?" Malik suggested.

Bakura was hit with memories of the other night, when he'd been on the verge of panic and had wanted to call Ryou. Or rather, he'd dreamed about panicking and wanting to call Ryou. Not that he wanted to explain any of that to Malik. But it would be good to make sure he was able to call Ryou if he needed to for some reason. So he shrugged and said, "Sure."

Malik grabbed his phone and entered Ryou's number before handing it back to him. Bakura hit the button to call Ryou. He chuckled and said, "I bet he'll be surprised that I'm calling him on the phone." Malik and Ryou talked on the phone sometimes, but Bakura had never bothered to chat with Ryou on the phone himself, deeming it a pointless endeavor.

"Hello?" Bakura heard Ryou's voice emanate from his phone.

"Hey, Ryou. It's me!"

"Bakura‽"

Bakura had expected him to be surprised, but Ryou sounded absolutely incredulous. "Yeah, it's me. Is it really that shocking that I'm calling?"

"It's just...you've never called before...I didn't think you ever would…"

"Well, if I would have known it meant that much to you," Bakura said sarcastically.

"I'm glad to hear from you. You know...I miss you guys. You should come over here."

"You know I hate going out," Bakura said. "You should come here. I know Malik's invited you before."

"That's...not possible," Ryou said, sounding troubled.

"Why not?"

"Bakura...do you know where you are?"

Bakura's eyebrows knitted together. "Of course. What kind of question is that? I'm with Malik in our apartment."

"No, Bakura," Ryou said. "You and Malik are both—"

Suddenly a loud blast of static cut off Ryou's voice, and Bakura had to hold the phone away from his ear. "What were you saying? There was a bunch of static and I couldn't hear you."

He heard Ryou sigh. "That's what happens when I try to tell Malik, too."

"Ryou, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Ryou said, and he seemed to be trying to sound cheerful. "Just...have you noticed anything weird around there lately?"

"Not really," Bakura said slowly. For some reason, he felt compelled to add, "Well, I have been having some weird dreams lately, but…"

"What kinds of dreams?" Ryou said quickly.

"Just...nightmares. Nothing special. I don't really feel like going into the details about it with you."

Ryou sighed again. "Just...if you do notice anything weird, and you want to talk to someone about it, or need help figuring it out...call me, alright? Promise?"

"What on earth are you on about?"

"Oh, you know me, always interested in chasing paranormal stuff. Just promise me, okay?"

"Uh, sure," Bakura said, just so Ryou would stop asking. This conversation was really starting to make him uncomfortable. This wasn't how he'd expected this call to go at all. "Look, I've got to go, alright? Talk to you later." With that, Bakura hung up without saying goodbye.

Malik gave him a questioning look. "What was that all about?"

"I have no idea. He wasn't making any sense...but maybe I wasn't hearing him right. There was a bunch of static. You're right about the reception being ass in this place."

Malik nodded. "Well, I'm sure you can find something to do with the phone anyways. I don't seem to have any problems when I'm playing games."

"What? Those dumb phone games?"

"Some of them aren't bad." Malik shrugged. "I kind of like Neko Atsume."

"What's that?"

"Oh, you basically just collect cats. Seems like it might be something you'd like. Didn't you guys worship cats in Egypt?"

"I don't worship anything." Bakura laughed. "If I won't even worship the gods, I sure as hell won't worship anything else."

"I like cats, though," Malik mused. "They're independent, and proud, and self-sufficient. Plus, if a cat likes you, it actually means something. They're not all slavish like dogs. But they're still really loyal once you win their affections."

"So, you like them because they're like you?" Bakura winked.

Malik laughed. "Also, cats are the only animals that domesticated themselves. That's pretty cool."

"I suppose I like cats, too. They're not quite as good as snakes, but…" Bakura trailed off. He looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling worn out.

"What's wrong?"

Bakura sighed. "I'm just tired."

Malik moved closer to Bakura on the couch and started to gently rub his back. "Not getting much sleep? Because of the nightmares?"

Bakura nodded. "I don't know what my problem is. I mean, I've always had nightmares, it's just...I don't know, these are more bothersome. Even aside from the scratches and stuff, these just seem so...real."

Malik nodded. "I've been having more nightmares than usual myself. But I think it's just the time of year. I swear, it seems like it's dark out almost all the time now."

"Yeah," Bakura sighed. Bakura fingered the pendant around his neck, the moon jewelry Malik had made for him.

"Feel like taking a nap?"

Bakura snorted. "Knowing my luck, I'd just have another nightmare."

Malik suddenly shifted, flipping around so he was sitting with his back against the armrest of the couch, and then he grabbed Bakura and pulled him over so that Bakura was sitting between his legs. He guided Bakura's head down to lay against his chest. "Go to sleep. I'll stay awake, and if you start looking like you're having a bad dream, moving around or making faces or noises or anything, I'll wake you up."

"No, that's stupid." Bakura struggled to get away from Malik, but Malik held him fast. "Quit it, Malik. Don't coddle me."

"I'm not. I'm not sleepy at all. It's the middle of the day." Malik gave a glance to the darkened window and scowled. "Or at least it should be." He rolled his eyes at the darkness outside, and at that moment, the wind howled. "I was just going to play around on my phone. So it won't bother me at all if you're sleeping on me."

"But—"

"I suppose you can stay awake if you really want to, but I'm just going to be playing games on my phone either way. So it makes no difference if you're sleeping on me, or sitting on the other side of the couch awake."

"Well...if it doesn't make a difference…"

"Stop annoying me and go to sleep," Malik said.

"You're annoying," Bakura mumbled. But he rolled onto his side and curled up, closing his eyes, and soon fell asleep to the sound of Malik's heartbeat and the feeling of Malik's fingers combing through his hair.

-20-

Malik ripped open the front door, then slammed it behind him as hard as he could, as usual.

The sound made Bakura look up from his place on the couch. He noticed it as soon as he glanced at Malik's face—there was a giant bruise covering his left cheek.

Bakura let out a little gasp before he could help it. "What happened to your face?" he asked sharply.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Malik ripped off his jacket and tossed it towards the coat rack. He missed, and the jacket fell to the floor. Malik didn't bother to pick it up.

But Bakura barely noticed Malik's uncharacteristic action of leaving clothing on the floor. Instead, his eyes were focused on the line of bright red scratches that covered his bicep, revealed by his sleeveless shirt now that his jacket had been discarded.

"You have a huge bruise on your face. And look at your arm—there are a bunch of scratches on it."

Malik forcefully kicked his shoes across the room. "What?" he snapped. But then he seemed to register what Bakura had said and looked down at his arm, starting a bit when he noticed the scratches. He reached up to touch his own face, and winced at the contact as his fingers poked at the bruise.

"What happened? How did you get hurt?" Bakura's instinct was to go to Malik and fuss over him, but he wasn't sure how well received it would be at the moment, what with Malik being so irritable, so he stayed put.

Malik shrugged. "I don't really remember."

"What do you mean? How can you not remember?"

"I dunno. Maybe I had a little accident with my bike."

Bakura looked at him like he was crazy. "Are you seriously trying to tell me you wouldn't remember crashing your bike?"

Malik snorted. "Well, I'm sure I'm more banged up than the bike is. Obviously I'd remember if Death got messed up."

"That still doesn't make any sense." Bakura frowned. "How would you not remember whether you just got in a wreck or not, even if it was minor?"

Malik shrugged again. "Well, maybe it was something else. Like I said, I don't really know how it happened."

"Does it have anything to do with why you were just slamming the door and throwing your jacket and shoes all over?"

Malik looked surprised, as if he'd only just realized that he'd done that. He glanced at the jacket on the floor, and slowly walked over to pick it up and put it on its hook where it belonged. "Maybe. Probably."

Bakura gave him a worried look. "Malik…"

Malik glanced at Bakura, and suddenly looked extremely tired. "Look, I...actually you're right, I'm really not in a very good mood." Malik reached up and gingerly touched his cheek, wincing again. "And now that you mention it, I'm actually pretty sore. And...I'm totally exhausted. I don't even want dinner—I just want to pass out."

Bakura looked at Malik with concern.

"I seriously don't mean to freak you out. Just...can we please go to bed? I promise we can talk about this in the morning." Malik gave him a pleading look.

Bakura looked at Malik skeptically, but slowly said, "Alright...okay." He definitely wasn't going to let Malik forget his promise, but he didn't think he'd get anywhere by pressing the issue right now—not with Malik being in the mood he was in. And Bakura was incredibly tired himself. He was almost always tired lately.

Malik looked relieved at Bakura's acquiescence, and immediately headed for their bedroom without a word. Bakura followed. Once in the bedroom, Malik shed his jeans, and Bakura pulled off his top and pants and tossed them to the floor. Now both in their boxers, they climbed into bed.

Malik put his arms around Bakura and drew him close, and Bakura let him. He let out a heavy sigh, placing his head on Malik's chest and trying to relax, trying to ignore his worry, and the alarm bells in his head telling him something was wrong, very wrong.

Despite how tired he was, he didn't think he'd sleep any time soon; he was too tense with stress and worry. But only minutes later, the steady rhythm of Malik's heartbeat had lulled him into a deep slumber.

Bakura opened his eyes to darkness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move in the shadows.

It's just a dream, he told himself. Just a dream like the others—it isn't real.

Suddenly, a great, dark creature leapt out of the blackness, pushing him to his back and knocking the wind out of him.

It was too dark to see anything other than shining white teeth and claws, which were soon sinking into his exposed flesh and ripping, tearing. Bakura screamed.

"You're a tasty one," the demon rasped. "And we have forever to get to know each other. How lovely is that?"

He felt a talon encircle his leg, and then it snapped closed, crushing the bone in its grip, then continuing to constrict even further, grinding sinew and muscle to shreds with its strength. Bakura bit his tongue until it bled, trying to keep from crying out.

It's only a dream, he told himself again.

Then, a glowing light caught his attention, and though he barely had the strength to do it, he turned his head in the direction of the illumination.

Someone was walking through the darkness—someone human. How long had it been since he'd seen another human soul?

The figure pulsed with a golden glow. He didn't need to get a look at the person's face to know who it was. The light pulsed with the beat of Malik's ib, glowed with the essence of his ba.

He felt him before he saw him, but then he did see him—Malik had wandered close enough now so that he could see his violet eyes, his cheeks streaked with tears that had smeared his kohl.

"Bakura?" he called. "Bakura, where are you?"

Bakura almost cried with relief. His pain seemed far away now. Malik's light was the only thing he could feel. His heart pounded with the knowledge that Malik had come for him—he really had. He was here, he was looking for him.

"I wouldn't answer him if I were you," the demon said in a hushed rasp. "Do you think he'd want you like this? Look how broken you are."

Bakura looked down at his mangled body, covered in blood, flesh torn, bones shattered.

"Not your body. Your soul," the demon said. "Besides, it might be...dangerous for him if you call him over. If you're quiet, he won't notice us."

"Bakura! Bakura, you asshole, I'm not leaving without you!"

"Malik!" Bakura cried. He couldn't think about the demon's warnings. He needed Malik. Besides, Malik was a stubborn bastard; if he said he wasn't leaving until he found Bakura, then it was true.

It only took the one shout, and then Malik was running towards him. The demon immediately let go of Bakura and pounced on Malik, landing on his back, its weight knocking him to the ground—or the darkness that passed for ground in this place.

But, somehow, Malik managed to throw the demon off and struggle to his feet, despite the pain that showed on his face from the heavy blow to his back. He reached Bakura, and immediately took him into his arms.

"Bakura...Bakura, come on. You have to get up."

Bakura tried. Malik let Bakura lean on him, supporting his weight. Bakura didn't know how he managed it, but somehow, once inside the glow around Malik, he was able to stand.

Then they were running—or rather, Malik was running, and Bakura was hobbling alongside him, hanging onto his arm for support.

He let Malik lead them, and eventually they got to a place where the darkness looked a bit different in a way Bakura couldn't quite describe. Malik spit out some words in Arabic, then reached into his pocket and tossed some kind of sparkling powdered substance in front of them.

But nothing happened.

"Damn it!" Malik cried. "The spell was supposed to—"

They heard the thunder of heavy footsteps behind them, something running towards them on all fours.

"We'll find another way," Malik said. "Come on."

They started running again.

But suddenly everything went dark, and Malik's grip was gone from his body.

The next time Bakura was aware of anything, he was already struggling against some kind of invisible force that suspended him in the air. But he was unable to move.

He heard a scream, and suddenly realized Malik was laid out in front of him, trapped underneath a huge, black demon. The demon gave a roar, and then sunk its claws into Malik's back and drew them downwards.

Bakura gasped, startled, and not just because of the horrifying scene in front of him. He remembered having this dream before—remembered the demon tearing apart Malik's back.

Malik let out heart-rending cries of utter agony as the demon's claws ripped apart his back, the flesh tearing off in strips, leaving bloody gouges in the wake of the giant claws.

Bakura shouted with rage and tried to break away from the force holding him, to get to Malik, but he couldn't move a muscle.

"You do not belong to me...yet," the demon rumbled in Malik's direction. "But the thief does. You cannot take him. I suggest you forget him and leave this place while you still can."

The demon finally released Malik, but Bakura found he himself was still bound by invisible chains.

"You're free to go," the great black thing said to Malik. "Leave him."

Malik's arms shook as he tried to sit up, pain twisting his features. Bakura gave him a pleading look, feeling unable to speak.

"Never!" Malik spat. "He risked everything to help me...he died trying to save me and my family...I'll never leave him here! He's not yours, he's mine!"

The demon roared, and slapped Malik back down to the ground. Then it turned to Bakura. "Your lover is strong. Stronger than you, I think. Maybe I would rather have him for my own. If you desire to escape this place, I shall keep him instead of you."

The force holding Bakura suddenly dissipated, and Bakura fell to his knees. He groaned in pain as he dragged his broken body away from the demon. He crawled into Malik's arms, and Malik held him weakly.

Malik's hands came up to cup Bakura's face, his thumbs stroking his cheeks. "It's alright. Please go. I only wanted to get you out. That's all that matters."

"Listen to him," the demon hissed. "This is your only chance to escape eternal torture. Let me have him, and you can go."

Bakura mimicked Malik's motion, placing his hands against his cheeks. He looked back at the demon and shook his head. "I won't leave him." Then he turned back to Malik. "You sure you don't want to get yourself out of here?"

Malik shook his head. "I'll stay with you. Always."

Bakura gave him a pained, crooked smile. "Then I'll stay with you, too."

The demon shrieked, almost sounding as if it were in pain, but Bakura barely heard it. He only heard Malik whisper his name, and then they were kissing, and the demon's screams reached a crescendo, but its sounds of rage seemed to grow quieter as Bakura felt himself fading out, almost as if he were fainting.

But he was still kissing Malik, and now he could suddenly see light through his closed eyelids. He opened his eyes, and saw Malik's wide pupils staring back at him.

They both looked around. They seemed to be in an entirely normal bedroom.

"What happened? Where are we?" Bakura asked.

"I don't know. But we're here together. It's going to be fine," Malik said.

But Bakura could see the darkness swirling outside the window.

Bakura awoke with a start. But he immediately calmed when he noticed Malik's arms were already around him. They were in exactly the same position they'd been in when they'd fallen asleep earlier that evening.

"Bakura?" Malik murmured. "You alright?"

Bakura gazed at Malik's face. "Yeah. Just a nightmare."

"You need me to get up?" Malik still hadn't even opened his eyes. He was obviously exhausted.

"No, it's fine. Go back to sleep."

"You sure?"

"Totally sure." Bakura snuggled in closer to Malik.

"Mm. I'll make you a really good breakfast in the morning...not just cereal...something like…" but Malik fell asleep before he even finished the sentence.

Bakura gave Malik a soft smile that he couldn't see. It had just been a dream. Everything would seem better in the morning.

-21-

Bakura awoke to the noises of dishes clinking and cabinet doors closing. For a moment, it seemed as if it were a normal day like any other as Bakura woke up to the sounds of Malik making them both breakfast in the kitchen.

But as he came fully awake, he remembered the previous evening. Malik had come home with bruises and scratches, hadn't remembered how he'd gotten them, and had then refused to talk about it. But Malik had promised they would discuss it in the morning.

He didn't want Malik to slip out and go to work before they had a chance to talk. So he called out, "Are you going to work today? Because we need to talk before you go."

He heard Malik's laughter drift back to him. "What are you talking about? You know I've never worked a day in my life."

At Malik's words, Bakura felt like he'd had a bucket of cold ice water dumped over his head.

How could it be that Malik had never had a job? He was at work all the time.

Then it occurred to him that Malik was, of course, only kidding. He had laughed as he'd said it, after all. That was the only thing that made any sense.

He supposed he could ask just to make sure, but he didn't want to interrogate Malik about a dumb joke. Malik would think he was crazy.

Still, though...the scratches and bruises Malik had come home with the previous day...something strange was going on. He needed to figure out what it was.

But he seemed to feel a tug at the back of his mind telling him to drop it.

Then a flash from the nightmare he'd had the previous night suddenly came to him. He remembered Malik running towards him, and then being knocked to the ground by a giant demon that had jumped out of the blackness. He felt the pain in Malik's back as if it were his own.

He could remember nothing else about the dream. He tried to think back to the events of the nightmare, but nothing else came to him.

All that was left was a lingering sense of wrongness, though he couldn't tell where it came from. The dream? The incident with Malik's bruises and scratches yesterday? The weird joke Malik had just made? All of those things?

He didn't want to ask Malik about his work, but the feeling of wrongness was too pervasive, and he knew he'd only feel better if he were sure. So before he could talk himself into stalling further, he called, "You're kidding, right? You do have a job, don't you?"

"Of course not. I've never had a job," Malik called back. "What are you talking about?" There was a pause, during which Bakura felt stunned and unable to speak, and then Malik called, "Bakura...are you alright?"

Bakura heard footsteps coming towards him then, Malik heading back to the bedroom to check on him, but somehow the sound seemed far away.

He felt a cold ball of fear beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach as he thought about the implication of Malik's words.

And then it wasn't just Malik's footsteps that were coming from a great distance—it was everything; everything seemed far away. He realized he didn't feel entirely connected to his body any longer.

Then the sounds ceased altogether, and the light disappeared. Before he knew it, he was again standing alone in the dark.

Hadn't he just been sitting up in bed?

Was he dreaming again? Was that all this was?

Something smacked him hard in the back of his head, and he cried out before he could help it as he was knocked to the ground. A bright flash of pain streaked across his back, and it took him a few moments to recognize the sensation of claws slicing through his skin.

"I love it when you sleep," a rasping voice said, and Bakura knew that voice, had heard it before. "So long since you've seen your lover...the magic has all run out."

Bakura felt a heavy blow to his stomach, and he sucked in breath and clutched himself, the wind knocked out of him. He could hear himself retching as the voice spoke again. "So nice that I found you before he could get to you. I do so love playing with you this way."

A wavering image appeared before Bakura's eyes. It was familiar. He'd seen it so many times in so many dreams: the fire, the wailing spirits, his dying people, all their faces.

But suddenly, seemingly for the first time, he truly recognized the image. It was his mother, his mother's face. But it was distorted, screaming, melting with the heat of the gold, skin dripping like wax, and he knew then that this was the only way he'd ever remember her face looking.

Grief and sorrow radiated from his core, and he was choking on it, gasping for breath. Then a dark appendage shot through the image, obliterating it, and struck him on the shoulder.

As he grunted in pain, a deep voice hissed, "Do you know what we are doing to your lover at present? Let us just say...it is something worse than this."

Before Bakura could react to that he felt a hard, painful smack against his thigh, and the voice spoke again. "I could keep you for a while yet...however...I believe it may be more fun to send you back alone."

Bakura heard a low growling noise, and then there was another hard impact against his head. He could still hear the growling and what almost sounded like soft, animal laughter as he felt his consciousness slipping away. Before he faded out, he felt the claws swipe over his back once again, leaving a stinging pain in their wake.

When he came to, he was lying in bed again. His head pounded. He instinctively curled into a protective ball.

Then he suddenly felt sick, and he ran for the bathroom.

Throwing up didn't help. After being sick, he was shaking, skin covered in a sheen of cold sweat, head splitting with pain, and his stomach didn't even feel better.

He reached towards his head and felt a large lump on his skull. Slowly, he turned his head, twisting around in front of the bathroom mirror in an attempt to see his own back.

It was covered in bright red scratches.

He was sick again. The effort of throwing up seemed to make his head throb harder, and even after emptying the contents of his stomach he still had a gnawing pain deep in his belly.

But he didn't feel like he needed to vomit again, and so he made his way to the living room on autopilot, feeling far away from himself.

He already knew what he would find. If Malik were home, he would have heard him being sick and come to check on him.

He reached the living room and as he'd suspected, Malik was nowhere to be seen. He slowly turned towards the window. It was night out again.

Was he still dreaming, even now? But the pain in his body felt too real.

He was dizzy and nauseous, and had to sit down. But as soon as he seated himself on the couch, he jumped at the feeling of a new pain, this one on the back of his leg, the pain flaring as soon as his thigh had touched the cushion.

He looked down and lifted his leg a bit to see the back of his thigh and found a bright red welt there. It looked almost as if he'd been lashed by a very thick whip.

He sighed and moved towards the front of the seat so the wounded part of his leg was no longer touching the couch. Then he adjusted a bit, pulling his legs up and scooting back again, making sure not to let the back of his right thigh touch anything. But he couldn't scoot back too far; his back still burned with bright pain, and it hurt him to lean it against the back of the couch.

His shoulder hurt as well, but it was one of his more minor pains. He absently reached up to massage it.

His head still ached, and he felt like he was about to pass out. He wondered if he had a concussion. How bad had the blows to his head been?

Maybe he really was just dreaming. Maybe he should let himself pass out, and when he woke up, he'd be in bed with Malik and it would turn out none of this had happened, not even the part where Malik had come home with a bruised face and scratches on his arm.

The idea was attractive, and he felt compelled to do it.

But weren't you supposed to stay awake if you had a concussion?

His back stung, and for some reason he felt the urge to touch it. His hand came away bloody.

This was all too real. He wanted to convince himself he was still dreaming, but he couldn't believe it.

He tried to force himself to think, though it was difficult considering the way his head felt as if it were splitting open.

Malik coming home last night with bruises and scratches...had that been real? He had a clear memory of it, just like he had a clear memory of Malik telling him earlier this morning that he didn't have a job. These incidents hadn't faded from his memory the way his nightmares tended to.

Could it really be possible that Malik didn't have a job?

He tried to think back, to remember any time Malik had said anything about his work, any time Bakura had talked to him about the subject.

The only thing he could come up with was the memory of the time a few months back when he'd woken up from a nightmare with scratches on his chest and arm. Malik had been nursing his wounds, and Bakura had asked if Malik was going to work that day, and Malik had responded, What are you talking about? Bakura had assumed it must have been a weekend day and dropped it, and Malik had then made a comment about Bakura's nightmare having scrambled his head.

Bakura frantically tried to search his mind for any other time Malik had said anything at all about his job, any time Bakura had tried to talk to him about it, but he was coming up blank.

And then he had to admit to himself that he had never, not once, actually talked to Malik about his job. If Malik did have a job, Bakura had no idea what it was. Or why he seemed to hate it so much. Or why he worked at all when he didn't need to.

They'd never had a single conversation about it.

And why not? Bakura considered the answer, and all he could come up with was the idea that he didn't like bothering Malik about his job because it seemed to put him in a bad mood and he got the impression that Malik didn't want to talk about it.

And since exactly when had he ever avoided a subject because it annoyed Malik?

Why did he even believe Malik had a job, when Malik had never said he did, and it really made no sense for him to be working at all considering how rich he was?

The evidence kept piling up, pointing to the fact that something wasn't right.

And Malik was gone right now. He was gone even though he'd promised he wouldn't leave without telling Bakura. And Bakura didn't even need the promise—he knew Malik would never do that.

Malik had always been protective of him, even from the very beginning. He remembered the day they'd first met, the way Malik had ripped up his shirt to bandage his bleeding arm for him, and had then laid his body over his bike and run a hand through his hair. He remembered shortly after that, when Malik had prevented him from getting attacked by those guys who had wanted to beat him up, how Malik had stood in front of him and taken a punch for him. And he remembered right after that, Malik holding him with his arm around him, helping him walk, looking down at him with concern.

And that was just the first day they'd known each other. Malik had only gotten more protective of him since then. So Malik would never leave him alone in the middle of the night without even telling him he was going out.

But Bakura was getting lost in old memories now. He needed to stay in the present, to figure out what was wrong. And something was definitely wrong.

He forced himself to focus on the current problem.

Malik had come home last night with visible injuries, and had said he didn't remember how he'd gotten them. And Bakura knew Malik wouldn't lie to him—if he said he didn't remember, then he didn't.

So what did that mean?

It meant Malik was losing time again, he suddenly realized. How had that not occurred to him before? Sure, he'd been worried when Malik hadn't been able to remember how he'd gotten scratches all over his arm and a huge bruise on his face, but somehow he hadn't put it together that Malik not remembering getting injured couldn't mean anything else—nothing other than the fact that he was losing time again.

It seemed so obvious now.

So now the question was whether this was something new, or something that had been happening to Malik for a while.

Was the incident from last night the only incident? The only time Malik hadn't been able to remember where he was or how he'd gotten hurt?

He tried to think of whether anything similar had happened before, and he came up with a memory of the time Malik had come home from a supposed haircut with his hair totally mangled, scratches and bruises on his head. And Malik had been resistant to talking about how it had happened.

Bakura remembered how, after seeing Malik's disastrous haircut and the wounds on his head, he had half-jokingly questioned whether Malik's alternate personality was back.

Malik had eventually given him an explanation of sorts when Bakura had pressed him with questions about how such a thing could have happened to Malik's hair and scalp without him noticing, but his explanation hadn't made a lot of sense. And anyways, if Malik was losing time again, then even a decent explanation for the missing hair and the injuries to his head wouldn't mean much.

The fact that Malik wouldn't lie to him didn't mean everything Malik said to him was true; it only meant that Malik believed it was true.

He thought now of what Malik had told him about all the years he'd lived with his alternate personality. He'd told Bakura about how he'd always come up with explanations about the lost time for himself, how he'd created stories in his mind about what he'd been doing when his other personality was in control. He'd said he'd had to really believe those stories in order to remain unaware that his body was regularly getting hijacked by another entity.

So was that it? Was Malik's other personality back, taking over his mind again?

But then...that would only explain the strange things that were happening to Malik. Malik's alternate personality being back wouldn't cause all the strange things that were happening to Bakura as well. Bakura had been unaware that Malik didn't have a job, and it hadn't even occurred to him how odd it was that he'd never once talked about Malik's work to him. And Bakura had been having trouble lately telling the difference between dreams and reality. He'd had nightmares for as long as he could remember, and he'd never before been confused as to whether they'd really happened or had just been dreams.

He'd also been waking up from those nightmares with injuries. He was injured now, and these injuries were so severe he didn't believe he could have possibly done this to himself by thrashing around in his sleep.

Of course, it was conceivable that Malik's other personality would attack him while he was asleep. But that didn't explain the other things Bakura had been experiencing. Besides, Bakura was a light sleeper; he'd had to be in ancient Egypt. Normally, the slightest disturbance would wake him up. There was no way he'd sleep through Malik's alternate personality beating him bloody in his sleep and then not awaken until Malik was already gone.

But if Malik's other personality being back wasn't the explanation, what was? There had to be something that would explain why Malik was getting injured and losing time, and which would also explain all the disturbing things that had been happening to Bakura.

He tried to think, but nothing came to him, nothing that would make sense of all the strange things that had been happening to both of them.

Bakura felt a lightning bolt of pain slice through his skull, and he dropped his head into his hands. But the sudden movement brought on a flare of pain from his mangled back, and he cried out in frustration.

He was so tired, and in so much pain, and he couldn't think properly.

Again he wanted to believe this was all a dream, to go to sleep and hope everything was normal when he woke up.

The idea was attractive.

But what if he wasn't dreaming? Malik was gone right now, and he could be in trouble. If this was real, Malik almost certainly was in trouble.

If he wasn't dreaming, then something bad was happening not only to him, but to Malik.

Something bad was happening to Malik and he had to help him.

But what could he do? Every question he asked himself about their situation only brought more questions and more confusion.

Suddenly, he remembered his phone. He had a phone now, unlike the other times he'd woken up to find Malik gone. He leapt up to get it, though his thigh and his back and his shoulder screamed at him for this movement. But he ignored the pain and quickly hit the button to dial Malik.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised when the phone went straight to voice mail.

For a few moments, he just stared at the phone, feeling dumbfounded and helpless.

But then he remembered why he'd gotten this phone in the first place. He'd gotten it for the purpose of being able to call Ryou in exactly this type of situation.

He really did not want to talk about his personal problems to Ryou. But there was no one else he could talk to. And he felt that if he didn't talk to someone, do something to try to solve whatever was happening, he'd go crazy alone here in the apartment. And he could never forgive himself if Malik were in trouble and he did nothing. So he had to call.

He decided to imagine that he definitely was still dreaming. That would make talking about it easier.

He hit the button to call Ryou.