Tags: Alternate Universe, Sick Fic, Unreliable Narrator, Slow Pacing, Tendershipping, Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Using Visualization to Process Emotions, Depression, Disordered Eating, Panic Attacks, Repressed Memories, Internalized Ableism, Codependency, Emotional Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Queerplatonic Relationship, Unhealthy Relationship, Millennium Ring, Soul Room as Mind Palace, Soul Magic, Bread (the most important tag), Cross-Posted to AO3

Author's Note: I am choosing to have this fic be weird, imperfect, and posted rather than rotting in my drafts forever. Thank you to all the people who post fan art and fanfics under the Yu-Gi-Oh tag on Tumblr. Scrolling through your stuff gave me the courage to post this.

The clock on his bedside table read '05:23' in glowing red numbers. Ryou Bakura pressed his palm against the headache growing behind his eyes. He propped himself up on his elbow and took the measure of his situation. The white-haired boy lay on top of his still-made bed. It looked like someone hadn't bothered to turn down the covers, or undress for the night. He was wearing one of his regular outfits, a blue and white striped t-shirt with jeans. A cursory run of fingers through his long, white hair confirmed it was hopelessly tangled. At least his shoes were nowhere to be seen.

Ryou pushed himself up slowly and dangled his legs off the edge of his bed. His thumb hooked under the leather cord fastened around his neck; he pulled it off in one motion. Rather than staring at the offending object contemplatively as often occupied his time, he tossed it at the nearest laundry basket with an amount of petulance appropriate to the situation. He hid a small smile as he heard it smack against the basket and impact the hardwood floor. These minor acts of revenge were all that were really afforded to him. He doubted that Bakura was paying attention anyway.

His first order of business was to ascertain the date and time, though the time was already known thanks to his digital alarm clock. 'Where' and 'when' were the two most important questions when he awoke from one of his "episodes," as his father called them. The 'where' proved to be simple enough: He was in his room. The second answer was also within reach as his phone sat on his desk across from his bed. The dark screen reflected the gleam of streetlights that slipped through his curtains.

Ryou pushed himself to his feet… and immediately sat down as a wave of dizziness overcame him. What he could see of his room spun around him. He breathed in and out once, then twice, and tried again. This second attempt was much more successful, and he made the few feet to his destination without issue, though he was still a bit wobbly on his feet. He leaned back against the desk, grasping the phone and tapping his thumb against the home button.

Bright light assaulted his senses, and he winced as his headache flared. He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. Ryou pressed the home button again. He held his hand in front of his eyes, allowing them a few seconds to adjust. He beheld the illuminated phone screen, properly this time.

The twisting in his stomach was familiar but unwelcome. Three days. His last memory was of Thursday afternoon, and his phone revealed that today was Sunday. He had lost three days. He gingerly set his phone on the dresser and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness once more.

Ryou ran his hand along the wall until he felt the light switch and flipped it. His room looked the way he had left it, with the addition of an Ancient Egyptian artefact on the floor. The Millennium Ring glinted oddly in the light, and the white-haired boy felt a familiar tug in his gut. Ryou sighed and leaned his head back against the door, allowing his hand to rest where the Ring normally sat. He felt exhausted even though he had just woken up. He doubted that Bakura had slept much in the time he had been in control. The spirit wouldn't have wanted to risk them switching back, assuming that he had been doing something important and not just messing about. On a positive note, if past patterns proved true, the spirit likely wouldn't bother him for at least a few hours. He was free to do as he wished, and Ryou, more than anything else at this moment, wanted a shower. Who knew where Bakura had been.

Having decided his next course of action, Ryou grabbed a loose-fitting grey t-shirt with a duck on the front and a pair of shorts and walked down the hall to the bathroom. The duck shirt featured a photo-realistic mallard and a speech bubble with the English onomatopoeia, "quack." He'd thought it was funny and picked it out on his shopping trip with Mazaki Anzu.

Ryou shut the bathroom door behind him and took stock of himself in the mirror. The picture was wholly unflattering. His hair resembled a rat's nest with bits sticking out at odd angles, his face was paler than normal, and there was a flush to his cheeks. Heavy bags sat below his red eyes, reinforcing his guess that he had not slept very much. Maybe if he showed up like this to class, girls would leave him alone.

Ryou spun around and immediately regretted all his life decisions as he was forced to lean back against the sink, the material cool against the hand he used to push himself back up. He set his sleep clothes on the counter and scrubbed his hands down his face. The intensity of his headache was increasing in increments. He contemplated just lying down on the cool bathroom tiles and going back to sleep. His hand reached for the centre of his chest; it met nothing but cloth.

Ryou turned on the shower and let it heat up while he undressed. He inspected each article of clothing for any damage or particularly stubborn-looking stains, then set them in a neat pile on the floor. He grabbed a fluffy blue towel and set it next to his clean clothes, then tested the temperature of the water. Satisfied, he shouldered past the shower curtain and pulled it closed behind him.

The water felt nice. It was warm, not too hot. Ryou faced the showerhead and allowed water to gather in his palms. It formed a pool then spilt over, joining the split-splat sound of water hitting the shower floor. He focused on these sensations and breathed. (In and out, just like his mother taught him.) Association called forth the visualization of his emotions, a grey, writhing mass at the centre of himself. He presumed he had stuffed away these emotions to deal with later. Well, it was later, and Bakura wasn't there to muddle everything, so it was time to handle the sinkhole that was his psyche.

Visualizing the process made it easier, so he turned the undulating mass into a sort of tumbleweed of snakes. Snakes were nice, with their little flicking tongues. They squirmed, twisting in and around each other. The white-haired boy hesitated, asking himself the first question. What was he feeling right now? He shouldn't worry about whether the emotions were negative or positive; just see what's there for now. Ryou dropped his hands, balling them against his legs. He hated this; he hated this a lot. Tears pricked at his eyes, as they did every time something threatened to overwhelm him. He breathed and focused on the feeling of water running down his skin.

Ryou steeled himself and drew out the first snake from the bunch: a green emotion he identified as Fear. (Don't react, just acknowledge.) Wrapped around the end of the fear snake came red Anger. He set them both aside. Next came a sickly yellow snake called Shame, then a splotchy blue one named Sadness. He held that one in his hands for a minute; this snake seemed to always be with him. It slithered up one hand and wrapped itself around his forearm, blinking up at him with liquid eyes. He smiled softly. Sometimes, the visualization got a bit away from him, one symptom of an active imagination, he supposed. Ryou reached for the final snake that he could name, it was black with milky white eyes, but it reared back and hissed. That would have to do for now. The emotion blob was much smaller now and had mostly stilled. He released the mental image, and each emotion returned to its place in his heart. They weren't gone, but he better knew how to deal with the situation now that he had identified what he was feeling. That would have to be enough for now.

Now that his mind was less of an absolute mess, it was time to deal with his body. A cursory examination yielded only a few small mystery bruises. Good, no awkward questions at the A&E for him today. Though the lady at the desk there was rather lovely. He wondered how her kids were doing. Ryou washed his hair, navigating around the knots as best he could. Then he attacked the long, white strands with conditioner and a comb, only satisfied when the comb ran smoothly through.

Ryou turned off the shower, watching the final streams of water escape down the drain. He leaned against the shower wall and closed his eyes for a second. He felt the cool tiles against the heat of his forehead.

Ryou knew that there were a few more things that he needed to do before he went back to bed, but the thoughts kept slipping through his metaphorical fingers. A moment of focus provided the answer: food and water. He should probably take something for his headache as well.

He patted himself dry and dressed. He could not conjure the effort to dry his hair right now, so he plaited it and fastened it off with a blue hair tie. Good enough.

Next stop: the kitchen.

Ryou squinted up at the ceiling as he waited for the kitchen to stop spinning. He brought a pale hand to his head, the appendage cool against his hot forehead. He remembered looking through his cupboards for something simple to eat. He finally just grabbed a piece of bread. That counted as food, right? He could see the bread sitting a few feet away. So much for that.

Panic coursed through him as he grabbed at his chest. His hand closed around the fabric of his shirt, and he let out a breath. He hadn't been possessed again; he had only fallen. Ryou propped himself up on his elbow and looked himself over. He was momentarily captivated by the image of a duck on his t-shirt, and a distracted hand traced its outline. "Quack," he murmured.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Ryou's elbow slipped, and his head cracked against the floor. Pain blossomed, overwhelming his vision. Distracted, he barely noticed the quiet sound of approaching footsteps behind his head. The boy on the kitchen floor opened his red eyes to meet an identical pair leaning over him. He stilled, then tilted his head back to see the rest of his doppelgänger. "…You're upside-down," he said intelligently. Bakura raised an eyebrow, and Ryou remembered his previous question. What do you think you're doing? His tone had been sarcastic. Ryou took a second to formulate his answer.

"Dying, I think, at least it feels like it," he answered semi-seriously, measuring the spirit's reaction. Bakura snorted and took a step back, resting his weight on one of the counters. Ryou relaxed. It was odd to see Bakura in sleep clothes with a few strands of white hair hanging in front of his face. Ryou wondered not for the first time why he didn't just get his own clothes. He probably didn't care enough.

"You're not wearing the Ring," the spirit observed, his voice even and precise. Ryou averted his eyes and wondered how he was meant to respond; thinking was a bit like wading through sludge at the moment.

"Yeah," he swallowed, fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt. The Millennium Ring rested on his bedroom floor, but Bakura should already know that as he was spiritually bound to it.

Bakura sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose like he also had a headache. "Get up," he said.

"I don't think I can," Ryou muttered. Something told him that if he tried standing, he would just fall back down.

"Great."

"I'm cross at you," Ryou said because his filter was apparently on holiday.

Bakura looked up and stared at Ryou. He narrowed his eyes. "Why?" Bakura didn't wait for an answer; he pushed himself up from the counter and stood over Ryou once more. He stared down at him for a second. "You're mad about the time."

Ryou chewed his lip and resisted the urge to scoot out from under Bakura's gaze. "What happened?" he asked finally.

"There was an incident." Bakura shrugged, finally averting his eyes. "I took care of it."

Anger pooled in Ryou's stomach at the spirit's dismissal. "I was out for three—!"

"Two and a half, and I needed the time." Bakura's body language looked casual, but his tone was clipped again.

Ryou huffed. He pushed himself to a sitting position and turned so he was facing Bakura. He wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his cheek on one knee. He didn't know what he was doing, didn't know why he bothered. His head pounded, and the rest of his body ached. He was dizzy anytime he moved, and was pretty sure he had a fever. He was exhausted from doing basically nothing, and now Bakura had appeared for whatever reason. Even though he knew logically that Bakura couldn't take over when Ryou didn't have the Ring, he was wary of falling asleep. So new plan, sit here until Bakura got bored and left; the spirit wasn't listening to him anyway. He didn't know why Bakura was here in the first place.

Bakura crouched down in front of him. He reached forward, tucking a flyaway piece of white hair behind Ryou's ear. Ryou didn't flinch. "You're sick. Let me help you," Bakura said softly.

Ryou tightened his hold on his legs. "No," he bit out finally. Emotions started gathering at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back. Now wasn't the time.

Bakura hummed and sat down fully, crossing his legs. He seemed unbothered by Ryou's refusal. "When's the last time you ate?" Bakura asked.

"When's the last time you ate?"

The spirit chuckled. "Fair enough." He shifted, resting his chin in his palm. "Is your plan to sit there until you pass out?"

Ryou studied the floor; he didn't have a plan.

"Tell you what, why don't you stick around? I won't push you into your soul room. That way, you can keep an eye on me or whatever. Make sure I don't do anything too nefarious." Bakura wiggled his fingers.

The last thing Ryou wanted in this moment was to give up control, but he didn't have a lot of options. Ryou looked up at Bakura and felt tentatively through their bond. He seemed sincere enough, well, as sincere as he could be.

"Besides," Bakura said with a slight smile, "that's the deal, isn't it? I handle the things you can't."

Ryou hesitated, then nodded. Bakura held out his hand; Ryou took it. He felt a weight settle against his chest, and they switched.

AN: My most genuine thanks to everyone who took the time to read this silly little project. I've been stuck on the second chapter of this fic for months and finally decided to polish up the first chapter and post it. It's definitely helped get the creative juices flowing again. I also had to accept that this wasn't going to be perfect and, more importantly, that I didn't want it to be. By all the principles of proper writing, I should have cut the part where Ryou works on processing his emotions. It slows down the pacing and doesn't advance the plot. But this story isn't about plot; it's about experience and sharing that experience with other people. Thank you for sharing this experience with me.

Question of the Day: What exactly does Bakura want in the last scene, and what does he do to try and get it?