Chapter 7: Promises
Honda dropped Ryou and Malik off outside Ryou's apartment block and drove away while little Miko shouted cheerful goodbyes at the top of her shrill voice. The two friends waved at her with identical wide smiles, until Honda's car took a turn at the end of the road and disappeared from view.
As if on cue, both Malik's and Ryou's smiles faded.
"Malik?"
"Hmm?"
"...Want a drink?"
"Oh, gods, yes."
They made their way to the main entrance in silence, keeping their hands in their pockets to protect them from the cold. As Ryou started fumbling with his keys, Malik lifted his gaze to take a look around. He glanced from the pavement to the streetlamps and the towering buildings. He couldn't help thinking that Bakura had been there just a night ago.
He still remembered him from the days of their... alliance. He remembered the way the man stood, the way he talked, the way he sneered and scoffed and laughed. It wasn't hard picturing him there, standing on the very spot that he was. It felt... surreal. Eerie.
He did not like thinking about Bakura. The guilt over Battle City would never go away—he had come to terms with that—but everything became worse when he thought of how he and Bakura had used Ryou. Ryou, whom they had stabbed and let bleed. Ryou, whose conscience they had locked away in a prison within his own mind. Ryou, who had turned out to be his best friend.
Malik shuddered and took his gaze off the street.
Bakura being back was not good news for any of them but, at least, this time he would made sure to be on the right side.
Ryou's apartment building was old, and its elevator was a tiny, crackling thing that spent most of its days out of service. It was operating properly at the moment—or as properly as it got—but Ryou ignored it and led the way up the stairs without a word. Malik followed him with a rush of thankfulness warming his chest. The climb to the fifth floor was long and winding and it always made Malik feel dizzy, but it was nothing compared to the unease the stuffy and half-lit elevator evoked in him. He had made the mistake or riding it once, and the panic attack that had followed had made him promise never to do it again.
When they reached the fifth floor, Ryou unlocked the door to his apartment—a door so frail and decrepit-looking that Malik wondered whether locking it actually made a difference.
The inside of the apartment was dark, since all of the shutters and curtains were decidedly shut. Ryou walked in first and kicked off his shoes. He threw the keys, aiming for the bowl on the nearby stand, and missed; they clanked and rattled loudly as they bounced across the tiles. He ignored them and went straight for the couch, where he collapsed face-first.
Malik closed the door quietly behind him. He picked up the keys and put them in the bowl, to spare his friend the search; he suspected that Ryou hadn't even noticed he had missed his target in the first place. He proceeded to move from window to window, opening the shutters and pulling the curtains aside to let in as much light as possible. The place was in dire need of some fresh air, so he cracked open the balcony door, too; the cold of December rushed in to fill the already chilly apartment.
Ryou did not stir at the change. He was hiding his face, so all Malik could see was tangled white hair splayed on the pillow.
The bright light of noon illuminated the mess that Ryou's apartment was. Books were piled up in the most unlikely places, papers with notes stacked on top of them. Clothes and mugs were strewn about. It seemed that this place had not seen a vacuum or a duster in quite some time—not to mention the dishes that had started piling up in the sink.
Malik shook his head. He knew Ryou had little to no time for house chores, but he also knew how much his friend valued cleanliness and neatness. The state of his apartment was proof of just how screwed his timetable was, what with working and trying to graduate. Or... It could be just a reflection of how Ryou was feeling lately. Either way, it did not make Malik particularly happy.
He sighed and approached the couch. He sat on the armrest, right next to Ryou's feet, and prodded him gently.
His friend shifted and turned around to look at him with eyes bleary from the lack of sleep. "Okay, let's see..." Ryou huffed. "I've got beer in the fridge, but if you want something stronger, there's only vodka."
Malik rolled his eyes. "Of course there's only vodka."
Ryou gave him a playful kick. Then he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
Malik's gaze followed Ryou as he closed the balcony door and walked to the small kitchen; the open plan of his apartment meant that the kitchen and the living room shared the same space, so it was easy to not lose sight of him. He saw Ryou rummage around for a while, presumably looking for glasses. He didn't miss how his hands seemed to shake. His profile was awfully pale, even by his standards.
Malik got to his feet and strode into the kitchen. He grabbed Ryou's shoulder and nodded towards the living room.
"Go sit down."
Ryou, who was in the middle of reaching for his last two clean glasses, smirked at him. "Did I offend your barman pride? I can fix a drink, too, you know."
"Nah, I don't trust you," Malik said and snatched the glasses from his hands. "Besides, you look like shit. Sit down, I don't want you collapsing."
"Sir, yes, sir," Ryou sneered, but his heart wasn't really in the tease.
A creak from the couch told him that Ryou had gone back to the living room and sat down. Malik reached for the topmost shelf, where he knew his friend kept the vodka, and was surprised to find that the half-empty bottle had gathered a fair share of dust.
He turned to Ryou and fixed his eyes on him over the kitchen counter. "You haven't been drinking for a while," he remarked.
Ryou shrugged. "Oh well... Y'know," he said vaguely.
Malik's eyes turned back to the bottle. He considered it for a while, weighing it in his hands, and then put it back where he had found it. If Ryou had started cutting back on his bad habits, he sure as hell wasn't going to encourage him back in them. He set the glasses down and grabbed two mugs instead. He scoured the cupboards until he found what he was looking for.
When he put a steaming cup in front of Ryou, the latter sniffed at it and raised an eyebrow. "Linden tea? Some barman you are."
"Shut up and drink it," Malik said, even though he was not able to hold back an endearing smile.
"If they find out about this at the Crow, they're gonna fire you," Ryou kept teasing him. Malik chuckled and sat down next to him, holding a steaming mug for himself.
Despite how much he'd love it to, Malik's stuntman job was not his only one. There weren't nearly enough productions to make a living out of it, and it wasn't as if being a stuntman was the best-paid job in the world. He could go for months without a part, so he came to realize pretty soon that he'd need a more stable job in order to have a respectable income. So, whenever he wasn't in a shooting, Malik worked as a barman in a rock bar in downtown Domino.
He knew that in America there'd be no shortage of jobs for a stuntman of his caliber, but he wasn't willing to move. He did not want to leave Domino. There was something about this place that was drawing him - enough so to make him leave Egypt and his family.
At first it had been the need for redemption. All he had wanted was to return to the scene of the crime and make amends, both with himself and the people he had hurt. In his mind, Domino had been the place of second chances, of hope, of absolution. Since then, things had changed quite a lot, and Domino had turned into something more.
He had built a life there. A real life. He had friends. A job he enjoyed. A home—an actual one, not a tomb that reeked of fear, nor the headquarters of an underground criminal organization. An actual home that he sustained himself, with the honest work of his hands. These things might seem simple—petty even—to a man with ambitions and dreams but, for someone like Malik, this was all he wanted. This was what he had craved his whole life: to be able to do a simple, petty thing, such as going out and riding his motorcycle under the open sky. Or to kick back and have some tea with his best friend, even when the circumstances were less than ideal—like now.
He sank in Ryou's couch and took a sip from his mug before he asked, "Do you have to go to work today?"
Ryou sighed tiredly. "Yup. Afternoon shift. Gotta be there in a few hours."
Malik shook his head. "You don't look like you're up to work today. Can't you call in sick?"
Ryou shot Malik a stern look. "Ιn the middle of the holiday season? No one will be able to cover for me. We are all working overtime as it is."
"Do you really care whether they find someone to cover for you or not?" Malik asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"No, but I care whether I keep my job or not. And I can't afford to lose a day's wages."
"The only thing you'll earn if you go to work like this is fainting."
"Well, there's not much that I can do about it, is there?" Ryou snapped. "I'll just stick it out until evening."
"You could take a nap," Malik suggested. When Ryou just looked indignant, he raised his voice. "You look ghastly, Ryou! Come on, just two hours of sleep. I'll stay right here until you wake up."
"I told you, I don't need a baby-sitter!" Ryou shouted.
"I beg to differ," Malik said with equal levels of stubbornness. "Have you even eaten anything?"
Ryou closed his mouth and scowled at his lap. "...No," he said at length.
Malik set his mug down and stood up. He went straight to the kitchen, ignoring Ryou's commands to sit back down and leave his fridge alone.
There was not much in the fridge, anyway. Malik poked around for a while until he had to admit defeat. He sighed and took out his phone.
"What are you doing?" Ryou asked with a suspicious frown.
"Ordering takeout."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Malik-"
"What exactly are you trying to achieve with this, huh?" it was Malik's turn to snap. "Not eating. Not sleeping. Not accepting help. What are you-?"
The rest of his sentence died in his throat. The whole scene seemed disturbingly familiar all of a sudden, like a deja-vu. He had said those words before, and Ryou had stood looking at him with the same air of irritation, defiance, and despair. Only, back then they had been much younger, barely out of their teens and with all kinds of wounds too fresh on their skin.
Malik sighed and drove a hand through his hair. He did not want them to revert to that. It had not been a good time for either of them. Hell, he was determined not to let things come to that again.
Ryou kept staring at him coldly. "I'm not trying to achieve anything. I thought you knew."
"I know, and that's the worst part," Malik said quietly. He put his phone back in his pocket and approached Ryou. He sat back down next to him and sighed softly. "I don't like seeing him affect you this much already. It's barely been a day and... You're falling apart."
Upon hearing that phrase, Ryou shot him the most deadly-looking glare he could achieve.
"I don't think you'd be able to act so calmly if you'd seen Mariku from up close," he said, biting frost covering his voice.
Malik felt his face blanch at that. It wasn't because of Ryou's tone; he knew that his friend could be pretty harsh when stressed. It was because of the words themselves. The implication that he wasn't as at peace with the idea of Mariku's return as he'd like to seem.
He guessed there was some truth behind that statement.
"No, I guess I wouldn't be," he admitted in a low voice. "But I wouldn't give up and let it destroy me, either."
"I haven't given-!"
"Oh, yeah? And what do you call this?"
"A sensible reaction!" Ryou screeched. "At least I'm not walking around pretending that this is the most natural thing in the whole fucking world!"
"Should I freak out, too, then? Would that satisfy you?" Malik asked coldly.
Ryou opened his mouth but apparently could come up with no suitable retort. He struggled for a while and then resigned to a huff. He fixed his eyes on the untouched mug in front of him.
For a minute, the only thing that moved were the rivulets of steam that rose from the mug. Then Ryou whispered, "How can you stand it?"
"Stand what?"
"Not knowing." He turned back to Malik with anguish etched on his pale features. "Not knowing whether he's back, whether he's close... Watching you. Aren't you... afraid?"
Malik considered his question for a moment. He let his body sink into the pillows of the couch, fatigue pulling him under. He looked straight ahead and replayed every minute of the past twelve hours in his head.
"I don't know if fear is what I'm feeling," he said slowly. "I mean... Sure, there are moments of paranoia when I look over my shoulder, expecting to see him behind me, but... Fear? I don't know."
He kept looking ahead, but he could tell Ryou's eyes were fixed on him, huge and concerned. He sighed.
"You know, I... I always thought that, if Mariku ever came back, it'd be because of me. Because of something I'd done. So I tried so hard not to screw up again." His palms curled into fists. "So now... To think that, after all the hard work I've put into becoming a decent person, he could still come back, is... Infuriating, actually."
Ryou remained silent at this. Malik sipped at his beverage, just to occupy himself with something and wash away a bit of the resentment he felt. Resentment was not a good emotion. Neither was anger. Not good emotions at all—and he hated that he felt both at the time. After all his hard work...
"But... Wouldn't it better that way? If his return is not... your fault?" Ryou asked in a quiet and careful voice.
Malik let out a strangled laugh.
"It's just as bad. Or even worse, because it means that he would no longer need me to... create him. It means that I would have no control whatsoever over him. And not having control sure brings back some memories, doesn't it?" he concluded bitterly.
Ryou's look softened. For the first time that day, the scowl slipped from his face.
Malik tried to smile. "Still," he said, his confidence returning, "there's been no proof of his return, so I try not to dwell on this stuff. It's no use."
The frown returned to Ryou's face, but it was mostly a look of exasperation, not irritation. "How can you choose not to think about it?"
Malik shrugged. "I can't afford to freak out over something that might never happen. The world doesn't end, you know. There are things I've got to do: a scene I've got to shoot tomorrow, a book we have to find, a friend I have to protect," he nodded towards Ryou's direction with a small smile. "If I let the mere idea of Mariku hold me back, then... I'll have lost to this negativity once again. I'll have lost, whether he's back or not."
Ryou stared at him with an odd expression on his face. Slowly, all fight seeped out of him and left him looking drained.
"Damn it, Ishtar... I could learn a thing or two from you."
"Took you ten years, but you finally acknowledged it," Malik sniggered.
"Shut up," Ryou murmured and let his body tilt towards him.
At first Malik thought he was aiming for his shoulder, but Ryou let his body fall sideways until he lied with his head on Malik's lap. It was a two-seat couch, which meant that Ryou couldn't fit his body properly on it when lying down, but he accommodated himself as best as he could. He sighed deeply and curled into himself, assuming an almost fetal position, with his head resting on Malik's thighs.
Malik smiled endearingly at the head on his lap. He drove his fingers through the white tufts and brushed them with slow and soothing movements. He felt Ryou's body gradually relax and grow heavier. Soon, his breathing slowed down.
He knew that Ryou was starved for this: for a gentle touch, for something to make him feel safe. In some aspects, he believed Ryou was worse off than him. Sure, Malik himself hadn't grown up showered with parental love, but he'd always had Ishizu and Rishid by his side. Even now, even though they lived so far away, they supported each other. They were there for him, and they'd always been.
Ryou never had this. Or, more correctly, he had it once, but he lost it so young it didn't even count. He'd grown up without a mother or a sibling and a father that was away more often than not. For a long while he hadn't even been able to keep the friends he made. And, after Bakura, he became so distrustful and distant that it had taken a truly great shock for him to drop his defenses and allow someone to approach him. In many ways, Ryou was still like that. The first few years after Bakura had crystallized his current self.
Not that Malik was one to speak. Their adventures had left them both with more scars in their souls than their bodies - and, in Malik's case, that said quite a lot.
"Malik?"
Ryou's voice broke him out of his melancholic reverie.
"Hmm?"
"What will you do if Mariku is back? If he has a body like... the rest?"
Malik pondered this for a few seconds. "I don't know. Perhaps... I'll stay away from him. If he has his own body, I guess that means he'll be his own person. A separate individual. So I'll stay away, 'cause I don't think I'll have anything to gain by associating with the likes of him."
Ryou chuckled weakly. "Is it really that simple for you?"
"If you see him like any other person, then... There's not more to it, really."
"Yes but... Will you be able to see him like that? Like just another person?"
Malik paused. "...I don't know. But I'll try."
Ryou sighed. "I wish I could just ignore Bakura." Malik was mildly surprised to hear him actually call him that, but he did not question it, and Ryou went on. "I wish I could just pretend he's just one person that I don't like, and leave it at that. But I can't get him out of my head. I hate him so much"—his body turned rigid and tense—"I feel I'm gonna burst with the intensity of it."
He rolled on his back to be able to look at Malik.
"I don't want him to exist, Malik. I don't want him here. But now that I know that he is back... It's all I can think of."
"You told him to stay away from you," Malik pointed out calmly. "I doubt that you will go looking for him. There's a big chance he'll stay out of your life, so there might not really be a difference."
"Even knowing that he's around makes a difference. It's like..." He paused, searching for the right words, until he gave up and he huffed irritably. "I don't know. It's like the world turned upside down and I'm sixteen again."
"You're not, though. And you stood up to him."
A dry smile stretched Ryou's lips. His expression was oddly vengeful. "Yeah... Yeah, I did."
"Try not to think about him," Malik said firmly, wanting to wipe that unsettling look from his friend's face. "Get some sleep. Eat. Plus, we have the Spellbook to worry about, don't we?"
"Tell you what. If there's a spell in there that reverses this rebirth thing, I'll walk all the way to Egypt to claim that book myself."
"First you'll have to take a few days off work, and I doubt they'll allow it."
Ryou groaned and rolled to his side again. "Malik Ishtar, you villain, always killing my hopes."
Malik laughed softly and resumed stroking Ryou's hair.
When too many minutes ticked away in silence, Malik glanced at Ryou's profile and realized that his friend had fallen asleep on his lap. His worn-out face had relaxed and he was breathing deeply through parted lips. Malik smiled, quite pleased with himself. Now he had to make sure Ryou stayed asleep—at least until he had to leave for work—because he knew his friend was stubborn enough to exhaust himself to the point of fainting.
He looked around at the messy apartment. He wasn't going to leave before Ryou woke up, that much was certain; in the instance Bakura did decide to show up, he didn't want to let him find his friend sleeping and defenseless. So, since he was going to stick around for a little while more, Malik guessed he could make himself useful.
He slipped his hands around Ryou's head and lifted it off his lap gently enough to not disturb his sleep. Ryou's breathing didn't even hitch; for Malik, this was just more proof of how exhausted he was. He slithered away as carefully as he could and placed Ryou's head back on the cushions of the couch. He spotted a throw on the nearby armchair and used it to cover Ryou's form, then stood back with a satisfied smile.
Alright. Time to get to work.
He made his way to the kitchen and looked at the overflowing sink. He whispered a few curses as he searched for a sponge and the dish wash liquid. He hated doing the dishes more than any other of the house chores, but if he could be of any help to Ryou, he would take it. He couldn't tidy up because he had no idea where any of Ryou's stuff was supposed to go and he couldn't vacuum without waking him up, so... Dishes it was. He sighed and attacked the pile that awaited in the sink.
It took him an hour to get everything done. By the time he finished, his back was aching and his hands were freezing; there'd been no warm water, so he'd settled for cold all the way. His fingers had gone numb, but he was proud to see the sink empty and shining clean.
He tried to rub some warmth into his hands as he went to the apartment's fusebox and looked for the boiler switch. He flicked it to heat some water, bent on getting Ryou in the shower before sending him off to work.
Perhaps he was being overprotective, but he hated seeing his friend like this. Ryou's behavior made dread bubble in Malik's stomach, because he knew where it could lead. He knew how easy it was to fall—as he knew that falling was infinitely easier than standing back up.
Thank the gods, Malik was determined. He would let none of them fall, and no yami would shake his resolve. Neither Ryou's, nor his.
Ryou opened his eyes to find Malik crouched before him and shaking him gently. He blinked a few times before he realized he was lying on his couch, securely wrapped in a throw. Judging by the patch of sky that was visible through the window, it was sometime in the afternoon.
He brought a heavy hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Did I fall asleep?"
"Excellent observation, Sherlock," Malik smirked.
Ryou scoffed at his remark and propped his body on his elbow. The light in the living room was on even though dusk was at least two hours away. Typical Malik.
Ryou's eyes searched for his phone to check at the time. Instead, his gaze fell on a pile of folded clothes that certainly hadn't been there before. Well, the clothes had been there, but they had been strewn about haphazardly instead of neatly folded.
"Did you tidy up in here?" he asked incredulously, looking around.
"I did my best," Malik said with a shrug. He pointed at the pile of clothes. "I folded whatever wasn't too smelly. The rest is in the laundry basket. You've got some time before you'll have to leave for work, so you'd better take a shower. There's warm water."
"Wow," Ryou mumbled as he sat up. "For how long have I been asleep?"
"Couple of hours. Look, I gotta run if I want to catch my train, so..." He rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "I didn't want to leave without waking you up. Didn't want to leave the door unlocked... you know."
Ryou examined Malik's face. He looked worried, almost anxious, and clearly reluctant to go. He was glancing up at Ryou uncertainly, biting his lip.
"I'll be fine, Malik," Ryou said in his most soothing tone. When his friend did not seem convinced, he added, "Really. You don't have to worry so much."
Malik gave a sharp laugh. "Well, let me be the judge of that."
"Worrying will make you age faster," Ryou said with a smirk. "It will destroy your skin."
"It'll still look better than yours, sweetheart," Malik shot back.
Ryou laughed tiredly and rubbed his eyes again. "Can't argue with that, Ishtar. I feel like shit." He felt marginally better than before but, if he wanted to be honest, he really needed to rest. Even though he'd just woken up from his nap, his body was screaming for more sleep. And food.
"Two hours of sleep are hardly enough," Malik said, as if reading his thoughts. "Try to get more rest tonight, okay?"
"Okay, mother hen."
Ryou earned a soft slap at the back of his head for that tease and giggled again. Malik got to his feet and stretched; under the glow of the lightbulb, his sandy hair turned golden.
"I really gotta get going," he said, checking at the time on his phone. "But, first..." He lifted his gaze and his eyes pierced Ryou's. "Promise me that you'll be careful."
Ryou scoffed again. "Careful, how? It's not like I can do anyth-"
"Promise me," Malik repeated harshly.
Ryou closed his mouth, unnerved by the sudden change in Malik's demeanor. His friend's look had darkened considerably. His normally playful expression had turned somber, with lips pressed into a tight, pale line. And Ryou understood why.
He had been about to tell Malik that he could hardly control what Bakura decided to do, and that being careful was not entirely in his power, but he kept silent. Because Malik was not talking about this kind of caution.
Malik was talking about Ryou himself. About the lack of sleep and his too thin frame. About the dusty bottle of vodka on the shelf. About the countless empty bottles he had found scattered in his apartment over the years and all the times he'd had to shake Ryou awake from more unusual places than a couch. About his frail door and the bolt that he put to use much less than he should.
He wasn't afraid of what Bakura would do to Ryou... But rather, what Ryou would do to himself, given the right - or the wrong - push.
He swallowed and averted his gaze from Malik's.
"Haven't I promised that once already?" he said in a low voice.
"Please, Ryou."
He sighed deeply. "Okay. I promise."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malik nod once.
"Okay..." he heard him say. "Okay," he repeated with more confidence. "I gotta run. Call me if you need me, alright? I don't mind the hour. I'll keep my phone on during shootings, too."
"Will they allow it?"
"I don't care," Malik said, putting his leather jacket on. He leaned forward to ruffle Ryou's hair. "See you on Saturday, cream puff."
"You take care, too, smart ass. And..." Ηe gestured at the room around him. "Thanks for the help. I really appreciate it."
Malik, who was already at the door, flashed him a wide smile. "Don't mention it, I'm glad I could help. Lock after me, okay?"
And, like that, he was gone.
It took five minutes for Ryou to finally find the willpower to stand up. He locked the door - he'd promised, after all - and headed for the bathroom. As he walked past the kitchen, he noticed that the familiar clutter in the sink was gone.
He shook his head with a fond smile on his lips.
"Whoa, Malik."
Once in the bathroom, he turned on the hot water, hoping the steam would warm up the cold room before he'd have to take his clothes off. The sound of water hitting the bottom of the bathtub filled the small place.
He leaned against the sink as he waited and looked in the mirror. Deep brown eyes blinked back at him - tired, dim, and a little uncertain. As he stared, the gaze turned angry.
At some point in his life, mirrors had grown to be the stuff of nightmares for him. He had repeatedly looked in one only to realize that his reflection wasn't really his. He'd seen the way his eyes looked when a different conscience was ruling them. Even after the Ring was gone from his life, he had looked in that mirror each morning, half-expecting to see that foreign look on his face again.
He'd spent eleven years convincing himself that he'd never see that look again. And yet, yesterday he'd seen it from up close—and it hadn't been in a mirror.
The thought made him want to shatter the damn thing.
He looked in it now and all he thought was that the... other him was currently using the same body. There were two of them walking in the streets of Domino. There was no doubt about that - Ryou had seen him from close enough to recognize his own features. In a way, he was the host once more.
The urge to smash the mirror grew stronger.
And yet, they did not look exactly the same. Ryou had noticed that, too; he would never mistake his yami for his reflection. How could he? His face looked so different when he was wearing it. And it wasn't just the face—it was everything. They did not stand in the same way. They did not react in the same way. Their voices, despite the likeness of their vocal chords, were as different as night and day.
They weren't the same. Even after all this time, they were still Ryou Bakura and Yami Bakura. They were opposites. Light and dark.
He wondered how anyone was ever able to mistake the spirit of the Ring for him. He wondered whether his 'friends' would be able to tell them apart now that they dwelled in separate bodies.
A harsh, bitter laugh echoed in the small room.
He shook his head at his reflection.
"You are pathetic," he told to himself.
He took off his clothes and got in the tub.
Ryou was working at a clothes' store in central Domino. It was a popular one and it stood right in the middle of one of Domino's busiest market streets, which meant there was always an abundance of customers to serve and no chance to catch your breath.
It had taken quite a while for Ryou to land a job there. He'd spent years going from shitty, underpaid job to shitty, underpaid job. He considered this one pretty shitty, too, but at least the money was decent. That was the only reason he gritted his teeth every day and walked through that door. He knew it was the best a person like him could hope for - that is, a person that barely finished high-school and still hadn't graduated from college.
So, he went there every day and smiled, folded clothes and put up with customers for what felt like an eternity - or more - and tried not to whine too much to Malik when he asked him about it.
He knew this wasn't a bad job. Most of the other employees were happy about it, or at least grateful. However, the only thing Ryou was grateful for was his ability to appear polite whenever he needed to, even if inwardly he kept cursing every item of clothing he folded and every insane customer and every impossibly slow tick of the clock.
Still, nothing compared to how much he hated walking in there in that particular afternoon. Sleeplessness was taking its toll on him, the shower had done little to invigorate him, he still did not feel like eating and his nerves were frayed from constantly glancing over his shoulder all the way there. To make everything worse, it was the holiday season, which meant double the work, double the fatigue, and double the insanity.
He knew he wasn't exactly employee-of-the-month material, as he knew they'd hired him mostly for his looks rather than his sparkly personality. In a place like this, they valued an appealing exterior and a wide, polite smile - and, fortunately for him, Ryou had always had both. He'd always had girls fawning over him in high school, even though they always went back to keeping their distance when they discovered how much of a geek he was. Even now, when he did not look at his best, he often caught admiring or appreciative glances.
However, this day his exterior was far from being remotely appealing. He knew he looked like a mess, even by his current standards. He had tried to make himself as presentable as possible, but there were some things he just couldn't hide.
Oh well. If they didn't fire him for scaring off the customers, he guessed there was no harm done.
The store was stuffed with customers; their banter, combined with the music and the phones that rang, made for an unbearable noise. Ryou hovered on the threshold, feeling already exhausted.
Despite the overwhelming crowd, it was impossible to miss the disapproving look the manager of the store shot him. Mrs Nishimura was a tall and quite attractive woman in her mid-thirties, but the amazing thing about her was her ability to turn from sickeningly-sweet-mannered to a stern boss in a matter of seconds.
"You look awful, Bakura," she told him when he approached her and greeted her with a polite bow.
Ryou shivered. He was used to being called by his last name, especially in his workplace, but in the light of recent events it just sounded... wrong.
Mrs Nishimura narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him from head to toe. "Are you sick?" Even when asking a question like this, the authoritative tone did not leave her voice.
Ryou shook his head. "I'm just tired, Mrs Nishimura," he replied in a low voice.
"I can see that," she huffed. She opened a folder and frowned at the paper inside. "Well, I had zone one assigned to you today, but I can't have you at the front of the store looking like this." She shot him another disapproving look while Ryou tried his best to look apologetic instead of indifferent. She sighed and crossed out something at the paper in front of her. "I'm moving you to zone three. And smile a bit, will you?"
"Yes, Mrs Nishimura."
It was going to be a long afternoon.
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Hello! I'm back and I kept my promise! This update was a fast one! ...Kinda. XD
Anyway!
I wanted to clarify a few things about the yamis' appearance.
My intention was to have them look the way they did in the manga (and anime) whenever they assumed control of their hikaris' bodies. In other words, I didn't want them looking like their ancient-Egyptian selves, but rather like their modern versions. So, with that being said, their main differences from their hikaris are in body postures, facial expressions, behavior, way of talking etc.
I think I did not make it clear enough in the previous chapters and I apologize for it. I hope it's clear now. ^_^
(...and yeah, no matter how bad-ass the ancient Thief King looks - what with the scar and everything - I decided to go for the Yami Bakura look)
Another thing I wanted to say (concerning chapter 6) was that this won't be an Anzu-bashing fic (in case you were wondering). I think it's natural for certain characters to talk with... resentment towards her, but there are two sides in each story and, eventually, I'm going to have a chapter from her point of view, too.
Last but not least: there WILL be pairings in this fic. However... I'm not sure what is the proper way to tag them. I mean... does the term 'puzzleshipping' only apply when Atem is in the Puzzle and not in a separate body? To have 'tendershipping', does Bakura have to be merged with Zorc, and thus be considered as Yami Bakura instead of Thief King Bakura? This is all so confusing! D:
Veterans of the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom, share your wisdom!
Many thanks to everyone who has commented so far! As always, I'd love to know what you think!
So, how about a review? :D
