Chapter 20: Change of heart

Atem had spent enough time in the world of the living to know that Sundays were supposed to start late, sluggishly, and preferably with the kind of breakfast that reminded him of his days as king. They weren't supposed to start with phone calls, and definitely not with angry phone calls from Seto Kaiba.

"Seto," Yuugi was saying, sounding apprehensive, "hang on, slow down, I just woke up—"

Atem stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes, and pushed Yuugi's half-open door. He found his partner sitting on the bed among a bundle of covers, holding the phone an inch away from his ear.

"What's going on, aibou?" Atem mumbled, voice gritty from sleep.

Yuugi made a helpless face and pointed at the phone. "Sorry, Atem, I didn't mean to wake you up—" Noise erupted from the speaker of the phone and Yuugi grimaced. "Yes. Yes, Seto, he's up. Yes, he—Okay fine." He extended the phone towards Atem with an apologetic face.

Atem took the phone and coughed once to clear his throat. "Hello?"

"Pharaoh," Kaiba said instead of good morning. "I'm calling to let you know that I did what you asked. And it's over. I'm done with this ridiculous business."

Atem stood straighter, the last traces of sleep fading away. "You mean you didn't find anything new?"

"I'll tell what I found! I found a virus in Blackwood's files, meant specifically for me, which means they're on my trail! And if I want to keep my name and my company away from a very public scandal, I gotta step out! But, to answer your question, no, I didn't find a damn thing, which was hardly surprising, since there is nothing else to be found!"

"Wait, what do you mean, a virus—?"

"You've had me chasing ghosts for weeks and, as if that wasn't enough, another one of my super-computers had a meltdown trying to translate your stupid Spellbook! Which brings the tally up to four! And these aren't your run-of-the-mill computers; I designed and built them myself, and we are talking about millions of dollars worth in repairs—dollars, not yen! Those computers were one of a kind, and your project cost me four of them, and—!"

"Whoa, Kaiba, calm down, please."

"Stop ordering me around, Pharaoh, and listen to what I'm saying! I did what you asked, and I consider my end of the deal closed. My part is done. I'm currently on my way to New York, but once I'm back I will have my duel. Are we clear?"

Atem rubbed his eyes again. Those were too many words to handle first thing in the morning. "Um—Okay. But are you sure—?"

"If you ask one more time, Pharaoh, I swear I'll get that Spellbook and shove it down—"

"Okay, okay, I get it."

"So, just to be clear. I honored my part of the agreement. Now it's your turn. So you'd better prepare your deck."

With that, Kaiba hung up. Atem stared the phone for a while, and Yuugi stared at Atem.

"Uh... So..." Yuugi said.

Atem handed him his phone back. "I guess it's over."

"You don't sound happy about it."

Atem let out a heavy huff and crossed his arms across his chest. "You know what I think about it, aibou. But... Kaiba's right. He honored our agreement. And if he found nothing, then..."

He trailed off. He wasn't too happy about it, no, but Kaiba had made a valiant effort. Atem couldn't really complain. Not if he wanted to be fair. But...

"Hey." Yuugi smiled at him, eyes bright. "That's good news, right? It means there's nothing to worry about!"

Atem smiled back. "I guess."

Yuugi climbed off the bed and approached him, putting his hands on Atem's tightly wound arms. He angled his face enough to look under Atem's bangs, straight into his eyes, and smiled. "It's over, Atem. We can let it go."

He was radiating warmth. Atem allowed himself to relax a fraction.

There was no lie hiding behind Yuugi's expression; it was open and bright and honest. He believed those words he'd just said. Atem might have had a hard time believing it all by himself, but it was easier to believe in Yuugi.

Never getting any answers sounded like agony. But—

Maybe he already had his answer. He just couldn't accept it because it wasn't the answer he was expecting. He was so used to fighting, that the concept of not doing that anymore sounded absurd.

To have no fight. No mission.

What was a King's role when there was no war to be fought? What was a King supposed to do during an era of peace? What did a King do when he was no longer needed...?

Well... Perhaps there would be no need for Atem to be a King any longer. Perhaps now he could just go back to being himself.

The problem was he wasn't sure he knew how. There had always been a battle to be fought, ever since he could remember. He was raised to be efficient and effective in times of danger. He wasn't meant for peace.

He looked at his hands. Without a sword, or a duel disk, he felt obsolete. But that couldn't be true, could it? There must exist a part of him that could thrive in peace. He just had to discover it. He guessed that could count as his new mission: to find out what it meant to be just himself.

To be himself...

He didn't know where to start.

When he thought of himself, he thought of a kid, lying on the plush greenery of the palace's gardens, looking up at the white sun even though it made his eyes water and feeling like he was floating, smiling at the warmth that baked his skin. A tiny Atem, small and happy under the blinding sun, his heavy crown discarded a foot away, his hair free; and, later, playing Senet with Mahad while the purple light of dusk made everything hazy and slow, and digging his fingers into ripe peaches while Mana giggled and dropped more fruit on his lap.

That had been him. But he'd also been the skinny, short boy that threw the jacket of his partner's school uniform around his shoulders like the cape he had used to wear, and that searched into forgotten drawers to dig out every chain and piece of jewelry he could find. He'd been the one that had laughed along with Yuugi at Honda's jokes, and that had nagged Yuugi to try out every new board game that came out.

So... where to start?

Probably at shopping. He had to stop wearing Yuugi's clothes. Or Yuugi's coats. Or Yuugi's shoes. If he were to be himself, he'd have to stop being Yuugi's shadow.

Yes; shopping had started sounding more and more like the next necessary step.


Atem looked around at the huge shopping mall, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Going shopping at the neighborhood's convenience store was one thing, but this looked a lot more... complex.

"Here, let's start with this one!" Yuugi said, tugging Atem's arm and pulling him towards a clothing store. The dark-colored and carefully ripped garments on its window display looked like exactly the sort of thing high schooler Yuugi would wear, complete with chains and belts and plenty of leather.

Something else caught Atem's eye, however, and he dragged Yuugi to the store next door. Ten minutes later, Yuugi watched with disbelief and a slightly scandalized frown as Atem tried on a baggy, colorfully printed shirt. "I think this looks good, aibou. What do you think?"

"It's, umm... Not what I expected."

"What about this floral one? I think it's exquisite."

"Well, if you like it..."

"And the skirt! I gotta have the skirt."

"Um—I think it's called a kilt, but. Alright."

"Aibou, over here!" Atem beckoned at Yuugi to join him in an aisle full of baggy, loose knitwear in an array of bright colors.

"Are you sure about that?" Yuugi asked.

"Yes! Wait, I want to try these on."

Atem took an armful of clothes and entered one of the dressing rooms. He enjoyed the colors of these garments; they reminded him of the reeds that lined the Nile, and the clear blue sky, and the murals he had walked by every day. These clothes were soft and loose, creating interesting shapes around Atem's body, full of volume and contrast.

When Atem walked out of the dressing room, Yuugi had to blink many times. He stared at him, rather dazed, with his mouth hanging half-open long enough for Atem to frown in concern.

"What is it, aibou? It doesn't look good?"

"No, um, it—" Yuugi cleared his throat and swallowed. "You look great. You look—" He didn't finish his sentence; instead, his cheeks and nose seemed to turn rather pink.

Atem looked at his reflection in a full-body mirror. He liked the strong colors and the loose fabric, even though he supposed the combination was rather unusual—at least, compared to the garments the people around him were wearing, including Yuugi. But it felt right to Atem. The formal blacks and neutral greys hadn't felt restful against his skin. Now, when looking in the mirror, it was much easier to think that, yes, this was him. His body. His eyes looking back at him. His existing self.

He adjusted the scarab bracelet, enjoying the way the blue of the lapis lazuli looked against his loose red sleeve. "I need earrings," he said. And more bracelets, too; and necklaces; and sunglasses. And rings! He'd love a ring or six.

Yuugi laughed. "Alright, take it easy. First we need to get you shoes and a coat—"

"But, aibou. Earrings. Earrings are important."

Yuugi smiled at him. It was one of those smiles that made Atem forget what he was doing and think only of how much he'd love to freeze that moment, trap it in crystal and keep it between his palms forever. "Alright," Yuugi said. "I had my ears pierced in the past, but I haven't worn any earrings in years, so I think you might need to get them pierced again."

"I don't mind," Atem said. He felt his earlobes and located the tiny bumps over the spots where the old piercing holes had been. He couldn't wait to adorn his ears with gold again.

It was funny how effortless this felt. It was as if a sort of dam had broken, and now Atem was swept by all the possibilities and the endless potential and the sheer abundance of options. He could do anything. He had felt afraid to leave a footprint in this world, or to take up space that did not belong to him, but... What if it did belong to him? For as long as he was there, he wasn't stealing this air or this time from anyone. It was his. And, if he were to take up space, he'd rather take up space as himself.

So he'd get his ears pierced, and choose all the bright-colored sweatshirts, and wrap himself in gold and silver. He was feeling good, much better than he'd felt in ages, or ever, and he could feel himself moving through the world with amazing solidity, his own existence reaching to the tips of his veins.

He got his ears pierced. And his navel, even though it shocked Yuugi and made him look even more pink around the cheeks for a long time.

"I've had this done before, aibou, don't worry," Atem said, after Yuugi asked for the fifth time if Atem was alright or if his new piercings stung.

"You have?"

"Yes, of course. In my time, the Pharaoh was the only one who could get his navel pierced."

"And of course, you didn't pass up on the opportunity," Yuugi snickered.

"How could I?" Atem said with a grin. Maybe it was vanity, but he couldn't help relishing the look of precious metals and stones against his skin. Vanity, or the desire to intervene in his body until his soul felt content in it. His people had always known how important that was. And Atem was coming to understand that better now.

As he walked side by side with Yuugi in the shopping mall, carrying bags and talking, he couldn't stop looking at their reflections on the shop windows. For the first time it didn't feel like looking at Yuugi and his slightly-off replica. For the first time, he saw Yuugi and himself. Separate. Distinct.

He saw himself.

Never before had the reality of his return hit him with such grounding intensity. It was as if up until now he had been still in the Puzzle, always hovering one step behind Yuugi, looking like Yuugi, trying to not mess up Yuugi's life or schedule too much. And now he was out. The taste of the air was sweet.

He reached out and grabbed Yuugi's free hand.

Immediately, Yuugi turned bright red instead of pink. "What are you doing?" he murmured, looking down at their hands.

"See?" Atem said quietly, squeezing Yuugi's hand. "I'm here."

Yuugi smiled, and the whole world came to a halt. "Yes, you are," he said.

"Do you mind?" Atem nodded towards their hands.

"Umm..." Yuugi, impossibly, seemed to turn even redder. His whole face was on fire. "I... Um. No, I don't mind. It's... good. I mean, it's fine. I mean—"

"I'm sorry. I didn't think," Atem said hastily, withdrawing his hand. Of course, matters were still complicated with Anzu, and Yuugi might not want to be seen holding hands with someone else in public, let alone a man—and, even though Yuugi's relationship with Atem wasn't what people might think it was, Atem didn't want to make him uncomfortable or—

Of course, Atem didn't know if the fact that he was a man mattered to Yuugi. He had never asked if—

Did he need to? Yuugi was married to a woman, so—

And why was Atem wondering about that right now, anyway? It didn't matter. Yuugi was Yuugi. His aibou. His friend.

Atem's face felt very hot. Had he turned as pink as Yuugi? That was not very king-like. He was making a fool of himself. And he had no business wondering about such a thing about Yuugi, anyway. Sure, Atem might have had zero interest in girls throughout all the years of his existence, but that did not mean that Yuugi—

This line of thinking was getting ridiculous. He'd better stop.

Yuugi did not try to take Atem's hand again, but he took a step closer, until the sleeve of his coat brushed against Atem's. That gave Atem enough courage to clear his throat and keep talking.

"So, aibou..." he started, feeling his pulse in his throat. "Have you ever had any other relationships? Besides Anzu?"

Why in Ra's name was he so nervous?

Yuugi looked a bit taken aback by the question, but he said, "No, not really. I've been with her since college. Why are you asking?"

"No reason," Atem said at once—and really, why had he asked? It was none of Atem's business.

Still, something inside him sank. Yuugi had only ever had a relationship with one woman, so it was impossible to tell how he would react if...

If—

Atem felt his face go up in flames and looked away. Was he going through this just to see if it would be okay to hold Yuugi's hand in public? That was stupid. Very stupid. Atem was being a moron.

Just to direct the conversation elsewhere, he suggested they get something to drink, and Yuugi took him to the top floor and ordered something called bubble tea. As it turned out, it was some sort of sweet drink—definitely not tea—full of small, colorful jelly bubbles that burst in their mouths. Atem was not sure if he liked it.

They strolled around the mall, slurping their drinks and idly gazing at the store windows. Atem could feel his new piercings throb, and he kept touching the simple silver studs in his earlobes. All five of them. He couldn't help but smile every time, despite the dull sting of pain.

"Have you?" Yuugi asked suddenly. The blush was back on his cheeks, and he very distinctly avoided looking at Atem.

"Have I what?"

"Been in a relationship. Back when you were... in Egypt."

Atem chuckled softly. "I was the Pharaoh. This whole relationship thing was not simple, in my case."

"But had you fallen in love?" Yuugi stole a glance at him, still looking very pink.

Atem hesitated.

Fallen in love.

He remembered that time the ruler of a neighboring kingdom had visited, bringing his daughter with him and heavily implying that he'd love to give her hand to Atem in marriage. A great feast had taken place, as was proper, and the girl had been perfectly kind and sweet and very, very pretty, but Atem remembered how he'd found the king's son far more interesting to look at, or talk to. Of course, Atem had been young back then; fourteen years old, maybe?

But it hadn't been just that. He had often been surrounded by far too many female dancers, but he'd always found the male ones more to his liking, and the prospect of marrying a princess had never held any appeal to him. Back then, he hadn't given it much thought, because there had always been other, pressing things to worry over, but now he guessed he was quite relieved to have gotten out of that obligation.

Fallen in love, though?

He shook his head. "No."

"Never?" Yuugi sounded surprised.

Atem gave him a thin smile. "I died too young, I guess. And, since then, the only person I've ever wanted to be around was you."

Yuugi turned beet-red. "That's not the same, though," he said, pushing around a green bubble with his straw.

Atem did not speak. He looked at Yuugi in silence.

He had always wanted to be close to Yuugi; that was the truth. He'd always wanted to keep him safe and happy, and that hadn't changed, even after all these years. It had always been like that.

In the end, he shook his head. "I wouldn't know the difference, I think. The matters of the heart are uncharted territory for me."

Yuugi frowned. "Really?"

"As pharaoh, some of my experiences were... terribly limited. I interpret being in love as wanting to be around someone, but I suspect it's not just that."

"No, it's not," Yuugi said.

"What is it like, then? Being in love?"

Yuugi swallowed. "Well... Wanting to be around someone, sure. And also thinking about them all the time. Not being able to get them out of your head, and feeling like you're not really breathing unless you're breathing the same air, and—feeling incomplete without them, like a piece of you is missing. Being close to them feels like being the best kind of drunk, like you're flying, and you wonder..." Yuugi's voice trailed off.

"You wonder what, aibou?"

Yuugi looked at Atem, a bit peevishly and hesitantly, but his voice was soft. "You wonder if you were even awake before. If you were this alive."

Atem stared at Yuugi. He wanted to say, How is that not the same, then?, but the words sank in just as he thought them and—

Oh.

Oh.

"Is it just... Just that?" Atem asked, feeling his throat dry.

"Well, there's also the physical thing, I guess," Yuugi added. "I mean... Physical attraction."

Atem nodded, feeling a strange sort of panic rising up his throat. Physical attraction. Cool. That wasn't the same, right? It wasn't as if he'd wanted to do more than hug Yuugi, or kiss his forehead goodnight on occasion. He'd never—

Atem looked at Yuugi's mouth as he was smiling, still sheepish and embarrassed in the most adorable way, and Atem wondered if his lips would taste like bubble tea or if it would be more Yuugi than sugar. He'd wondered that many times before, and he couldn't stop thinking of drinking tequila, with Yuugi's hair loose around his face, his lips shining after sucking on a lemon slice. Back then, he'd thought that the alcohol had made him think again and again of how Yuugi was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen in all the eras of the world he'd lived in, but—

There was no alcohol in his bloodstream now, and he still thought that.

His pulse skyrocketed. His face was burning.

Oh, Ra, he was in great trouble.


So, Ryou was aware of two things.

One, he had let himself go off the rails for the first time in years. He'd had a pretty good grip up until now but, last night... Last night, he'd went and dived head-first into one of his worse old habits. Now that he was thinking back to it, with a clear head and a nice dose of caffeine and nicotine in his system... He could see it had been stupid. And scary. He'd scared himself. And, if he were honest, he was pretty damn lucky nothing bad had happened to him after Bakura had left. Things could have gone horribly wrong.

"Shit..." he whispered through a puff of smoke.

He didn't want to go back to the time when behavior like this was the norm. He was supposed to be climbing out of that hell pit, not willingly descending back into it.

The second thing he was aware of was that he'd blurted out way more things than he should have. Why the fuck had he accused Bakura of 'not caring', and... all that stuff? What had he expected to achieve? He'd acted like a hot-headed teenager who couldn't control his emotions, and now—

Well. If Bakura was clever, he'd use Ryou's slip-up to his advantage. It would only take a bit of connecting the dots to realize what sort of ammunition he had in his hands. Frankly, Ryou was low-key worried. There was no telling what Bakura would decide to do, especially now that the masks were off. He could make it hurt, if he wanted to. He could make it hurt more than it already did.

'I'll hate you as much as you hate me.'

Ryou let out a bitter chuckle before taking the last drag from his cigarette. It had all been a charade after all. This... cooperation, the 'working together' shit, the joking around, the donuts and the coffees and all that teasing... All premeditated and calculated. As always. Playing Ryou's feelings like a fiddle.

Fuck him. Fuck him fuck him fuck him—

He'd given Bakura way too much power over him. If Bakura's behavior could affect Ryou this badly... It meant he'd already given him control again.

He really, really had to get a grip.

Alright, you bastard, he thought. He put out his cigarette and climbed to his feet. Fine. Let's see what you've got.


That night, at Malik's, things were... heated, to say the least.

"It makes sense."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes, it does!"

Ryou and Bakura were glaring at each other over a Spellbook page, while Malik was sprawled on the couch across from them, leafing through a magazine in an overt display of boredom. "Guys," he sighed. "Please stop shouting." Ryou and Bakura directed their glares towards him; Malik, unfazed, kept reading an article about motorcycle engines.

"You've got it all wrong," Bakura growled, snapping back at Ryou. "You have no idea what you're talking about—"

"And you think you've got it all figured out and refuse to listen to anyone else's opinion—"

"It's not a matter of opinion! I know the shadows, and what you are saying does not make any—"

"It makes sense! Look at this line. See how it seems to continue from this page to the next? It's interconnected."

"This page and this page have nothing to do with each other! It might look the same to your eyes, but I can tell there's a difference!"

"What is the difference, then?"

"They don't have the same... vibe."

Ryou raised an eyebrow, making an effort to look as sarcastic as possible. "Vibe? That's what you're working with?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Guys," Malik said again, halfway scolding them, halfway resigned.

"I'm telling you," Ryou went on, "we should be looking at these two as a pair."

"Great. Fine. Okay. Let's look at them as a pair. Now what?" Bakura folded his arms across his chest and stared at Ryou like a stubborn child.

God, he was infuriating.

Ryou huffed loudly through his nose and turned to the pages. And yeah, okay, Ryou was working based on a hunch, but so what? If Bakura could keep going based solely on vibes, then Ryou was allowed to follow a hunch.

Next to him, Bakura murmured something that sounded a lot like 'fucking know-it-all'.

"At least I am making an effort," Ryou snapped. "You've done nothing but stare at these pages and sulk."

"I am trying to remember!"

"Well, try harder."

"Searching through all the scrambled shit Zorc left in my brain is not exactly a field trip, you know."

Ryou narrowed his eyes at Bakura. "Oh, I do know," he said, the temperature of his tone dropping several degrees.

The annoyance in Bakura's face took a harder edge, too. "Then you should know how hard it is."

"Is this supposed to make me feel bad about you?"

"No, you idiot. It's supposed to make you understand how hard it—"

"You never cared how hard it was for me, so why should I care how hard it is for you?" Ryou spat. "Try. Harder."

Bakura stared at Ryou with a hard glint in his eyes. "Is this your idea of revenge?"

"Guys." This time Malik's voice had a warning ring to it.

Ryou did not back down. "No; it's my way of making sure I'll get rid of you."

Bakura smirked, slowly and savagely. "Funny. I remember many instances when you could have gotten rid of me, but you didn't."

Ryou felt the blood drain from his face. There it was. Bakura had went for a hit below the waist. He was obviously talking about the Millennium Ring, and all those times Ryou had willingly sought it back—as if that was a fair argument to make, or as if it held any merit at all. Back then, Ryou's head had been so fucked up, thanks to this asshole, that half of the times he didn't know what he was doing or why, and he'd been lonely and lost and the Ring was all the company he'd known, and—it wasn't fair, it was low, it was—

"Hit a nerve, landlord?" Bakura's smirk widened.

Ryou felt the blood surge back up to his head. "You fucking piece of—"

"Alright, time out!" Malik threw his magazine aside and sat up. "Ryou. Kitchen. With me. Now." His tone was so commanding that it didn't even cross Ryou's mind to disobey. He huffed and got to his feet, throwing Bakura a dirty look as he did so.

Once they were both in the kitchen, with the door firmly closed behind them, Malik asked, "Did something happen between you two?"

Ryou looked away, suddenly fascinated with his fingernails. "Nothing out of the ordinary, no."

"Ryou."

"Oh, I don't know, Malik. Maybe he got tired of pretending he's changed?"

Malik did not look convinced. He gave him a look that clearly said he knew Ryou was hiding something. "I can tell something happened. I saw you leave together yesterday—"

"We left together cause he insists on following me home—"

"Did you have a fight?"

Ryou let out a fake laugh. "No."

"Ryou—"

"Why don't you ask him? You're such good friends, anyway," Ryou snapped. He regretted it the moment he said it.

Malik's expression darkened. "Is that what this is about?"

"No—"

"Was that why you were so pissed yesterday, too? Because I'm on speaking terms with Bakura—?"

"You are not just on speaking terms; you're on his side!" Ryou said before he could stop himself.

There was a short pause. "...His side?" Malik said in the sort of calm voice that meant he was angry.

Shit. Ryou kept making things worse. He was supposed to be getting a grip.

"Well," he started, looking around as if Malik's kitchen cupboards would help him find a way out of this. "I... I just don't see why you have to be this friendly—"

"We've been through this, Ryou. You said you trusted me."

"I do! I'm just—"

"Jealous?" Malik finished his sentence for him.

To avoid answering, Ryou focused his gaze on the sink, staring at the furring around the faucet.

Malik went on, letting out a chuckle that sounded horribly distorted. "There are no sides, Ryou. Not this time. There is one single goal—and, in case you've forgotten, that goal is to send Bakura back to the afterlife. Not to keep him here. And trust me, I'm fully aware of that. I know he won't be sticking around."

"Then why are you so friendly—?"

"Because everyone deserves that much! Bakura is a human being. And, frankly, I don't think anyone has ever treated him with kindness in his life, and I know how that can mess someone up—"

"I did," Ryou said, sharply enough to make Malik falter. "I showed him kindness, again and again. I believed him every time he said he's changed. I gave him chances."

Malik huffed, running his hand through his hair. "Yeah... Okay, yeah. I know. But it's not the same—"

"Of course it's not the same. Cause this time he's changed, right?" Ryou sneered.

Malik gave him a serious look. "He's a dead man walking, Ryou. He'll be gone as soon as we translate this fucking book. A bit of kindness is the least I can give him."

A dead man walking, Ryou's brain echoed, distantly shaken at the idea, even though he knew that already. He knew. Malik was right, but—

"He doesn't deserve it," Ryou said, feeling that he'd said that a hundred times already.

"I don't care," Malik replied at once. "I'll show him kindness, because that's who I've decided to be. And no one can take this from me. Not you, nor him, nor—anyone else. Okay?"

They stared at each other down, both equally pissed off—but damn it, Malik was right. He was being the bigger person here, and Ryou couldn't demand of him to act shittily just to satisfy his own jealousy. That was way too low, even for him. Malik always made an effort to be kind to everyone and, if anything, Ryou should admire him for it. He did admire him.

And, after all, it was just for one more day, right? Malik was leaving for Tokyo tomorrow, and Ryou wouldn't have to see Bakura for a whole week. Or possibly more. He could last one more day.

He huffed and looked away. "Okay, fine," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I just..." He trailed off. He just what? What was he going to say? That he couldn't focus on the tiniest thing without getting sidetracked by his feelings for Bakura? It was pathetic.

He rubbed his eyes again, unwilling to look straight at Malik. Now he was both angry and embarrassed.

"I'll try to be more polite," he murmured.

Malik sighed. "That's not what I was hoping to hear, but... Whatever. I guess it'll do."

Ryou walked out of the kitchen like a whipped dog, even though he believed that Bakura should have received a similar dressing-down, too. After all, they were both acting like assholes.

He's a dead man walking, his brain supplied again, and Ryou stole a glance at him. The yami was glowering at a Spellbook page, his brows wound so tightly together it seemed his forehead would stick rumpled like that forever. His leather jacket was thrown over the back of his armchair, his coffee mug was steaming on the table, and his boots lay on their side by the entrance. His presence felt so... established, it was hard to think it would be possible for him to disappear in a wisp of air.

Ryou swallowed and took his seat.

"I think I'll start packing," Malik said. He looked at the stuff around the room with a resigned expression and then disappeared in his bedroom. A short while later, Ryou heard him dragging something on the floor—presumably his suitcase—and opening drawers.

Bakura was not looking at Ryou. Ryou wondered if he'd overhead them talking in the kitchen—and exactly how much he'd heard. Then he decided it didn't matter. It wouldn't change anything.

Ryou took the Spellbook page he'd been working on and his notepad. Continuing from where he'd left off was hard; he had no idea what he had been working on before he'd started arguing with Bakura.

"Page six, bottom right," Bakura said without looking up. "But it's no use."

"How did you—?" Ryou started, but Bakura got up and held out a different page to him.

"Look at this," he said, pointing at something near the top.

Ryou took the page in his hands. He recognized it: it was page seven. The jumble of lines Bakura had pointed at was familiar... sort of. Ryou could recognize some of the shapes, but there was some kind of abrupt change halfway through. He brought the page closer to his face. "It kinda looks like Zorc's symbol."

"That's what I think, too. But it's not clear."

"It's weird," Ryou said, squinting. "It should be Zorc's symbol, but then it sort of... changes?"

"I think it's covered by the rest of these symbols."

"Hang on," Ryou said; he had to see this on paper. He turned to a fresh page on his notepad, grabbed his pencil and tried to tell the shapes apart. Differentiating the lines of Zorc's symbol from the rest of the mess was as painstaking as always but, maybe, if he could isolate it, he'd be able to see clearly what was so weird about it.

He had drawn Zorc's symbol so many times already his hand knew the movements by now. A downwards swoosh. A curved line on top. A sharp angle. Another downwards swoosh, curling inwards, then another line on top—

Ryou paused; his hand hovered over his notepad. The tip of his pencil was touching the paper, ready to draw the next line, but his gaze was glued on the Spellbook page. The line he was supposed to draw wasn't there. Or rather, half of it was there, but the rest of it was missing. It was as if someone had cut the symbol in half. The remaining shapes were nothing but messy surroundings, overlapping and creating the illusion that the symbol was complete, but... No. A closer look made it clear: half of Zorc's symbol just wasn't there.

Bakura looked at Ryou's hesitating hand and his half-drawn symbol and caught on immediately. "Where's the rest of it?"

"I don't know."

Bakura pulled the page slightly towards him, but he didn't take it out of Ryou's hand. He bit his lip in concentration, narrowing his eyes.

Somewhere in the far corner of the living room, Malik walked in with a pair of sneakers in hand, threw them a glance and chuckled. "You both make the exact same face when you're troubled."

They both ignored him; Ryou might glare at him at any other given moment, but right now he was too engrossed by the page to care. He was looking from the incomplete symbol he'd drawn to the Spellbook and back, when all of a sudden he got a glimpse of another familiar shape.

He let out a small gasp and pulled the page out of Bakura's hand. "Hey—!" the yami growled, but Ryou paid him no mind and turned the page upside down, searching frantically for the line that had caught his eye.

It was somewhere around there. Somewhere around there. Somewhere around...

"Here!" he exclaimed.

The other half of the symbol was further away, hidden among the rest of the noise and upside-down. It was easy to miss, but once he'd spotted it, Ryou was absolutely sure this was it.

"Shit, you're right," Bakura breathed. He trailed it with his finger, to make sure, but Ryou did not need that confirmation: the more he looked at it, the clearer it became. He didn't even need to make a clean copy of it to make sure.

"What is it?" Malik asked, poking his head out of his bedroom again. "What did you find?"

"Zorc's symbol is cut in half. The other half is upside-down," Ryou said.

"Really? What does that mean?"

...What did it mean? That was the crux of the question, wasn't it?

Bakura was staring at the page, dark frown still in place as he munched on his lower lip. "It's weird," he murmured. "It... changes it, somehow."

"Changes what?" Ryou said.

"The meaning. It's not the same."

"You mean it's not Zorc's name anymore?"

"...Yes and no."

Ryou let out a frustrated huff. Some help his yami was. "You mean it's still Zorc's name, but—" He trailed off as a thought crossed his mind. "Oh! Like a tarot card? The meaning changes if you reverse it?"

Bakura looked up at him. There wasn't a hint of aggression in his eyes; he seemed just as dumbstruck as Ryou felt. "...Yeah. Yes. I guess you could say so."

Malik took a step closer, holding a half-folded t-shirt. "Does that make any sense?"

"Of course it does," Ryou said at once.

"But words don't mean something else if you write them upside down."

"Sure, but these are not just any words." Ryou promptly sat down on the carpet and started drawing the new, reversed half of the symbol. This thoughts were racing. "This is a spell," he said as his pencil scratched the paper, "and an ancient one, at that. It wouldn't be surprising if all the new systems of magic are a distant echo of this book. This could be the forefather of tarot cards, and in that case, those symbols could have different meaning based on their orientation—"

"That sounds like a stretch," Malik said.

"It's not. Esoterists believe tarot was based on the Book of Thoth, and the Book of Thoth could easily be based on this," he gave the pack of Spellbook pages a quick rustle. "It adds up. And it's definitely on brand."

"I think you're reaching," Malik insisted.

"No, I think landlord's onto something," Bakura said, crouching down next to Ryou. "I don't know about the tarot thing, but the meaning is definitely reversed."

"So, what? Instead of Zorc, it's... The opposite of Zorc?" Malik mused. "Horakthy? Ra? Horus?"

"Zorc's name, flipped," Ryou said, nodding. "Or, part of it."

"Not Zorc's name," Bakura cut in sharply. "This means just 'darkness'."

"I thought we agreed that this was Zorc's—"

"This symbols don't just have one meaning," Bakura growled impatiently. "They are not words; nothing as... limited. They are... concepts. Vast concepts. They could be translated in many ways. So yes, this could mean Zorc, but Zorc is the darkness, so this could mean just 'darkness', or 'night', or 'void', or anything in-between. You can't assign a word to them; that would be incredibly short-sighted."

Ryou blinked at him, incredulous. "And you only decided to share that now?"

"I tried to explain last time! It's not my fault if you didn't grasp it."

"It's not my fault if you explained it poorly!"

Bakura looked ready to spit another insult, but after a few seconds he merely huffed through his nose and tapped the page. "Whatever. In this context, it means 'darkness'. Or 'dark'."

"How do you know?"

Bakura looked exasperated. "The same way we know anything about this shit! Guesswork and hunches!"

"And voices you hear in your heads, sometimes," Malik murmured.

"So, it's darkness, reversed," Ryou went on, deciding to ignore Bakura's scathing tone. "The opposite of darkness, then."

He looked at Bakura. Bakura stared back. There was only one possible answer, really.

"Light," Bakura said.

Ryou nodded. "Darkness and light. But—cut in half. Half a darkness and half a light—" He stopped speaking abruptly. He didn't like where his train of thought was taking him, but he could see it, plain as day. Darkness and light, split in two. That could mean...

He looked at Bakura, who was crouched next to him; his mirror image, but wrong, as if reversed. His darker half.

Ryou breathed in sharply, terrified by his own discovery. "I think this is it."

"This is what?" Bakura said.

"The spell. The spell that brought you back. I think it's... It's on this page."

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. An unspoken What? was written all over Bakura's face, but his frown had a hint of unease; a sort of distant disquiet. Ryou turned his gaze back to the page and started searching among the jumble of lines, nearly holding his breath. He could feel his excitement in his pulse, climbing up his throat.

"How the hell did you get that idea, landlord—?" Bakura started in a drawl, but Ryou cut across him with a sharp, "Shh!"

He trailed a few of the symbols with his finger. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and he knew it had to be there. If his theory was correct, then it would be there. It would. It was the only logical conclusion.

He located a familiar swooshing line and his heart jumped up to his throat. "Here it is!" he exclaimed. He pointed at a symbol with such fervor that his finger nearly tore through the paper.

He had found it. It was there, at the very end of the page: the two halves of Zorc's symbol—one of them regular, one of them reversed—except that this time the two halves were connected, creating one single shape. It looked so symmetrical; nearly damn flawless. If Ryou wasn't aware of what the two halves looked like on their own, he might have mistaken it for an entirely new symbol. As it was, there was no doubt. This was exactly what he had been looking for.

"Look!" Ryou said, pointing at his discovery with a shaking finger. "This is it!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Bakura took the page from Ryou's hands to give it a closer look. "This is what?"

"The two halves, combined! Light and dark, together! Look at it! Can't you see?"

Bakura didn't speak. He seemed to turn even more unhappy by the second, his mouth twisting in that sour way it often used to.

"For real?" Malik said.

"Yes, there's not doubt!" Ryou said. "It's the two halves—half a darkness and half a light—but this time combined, in one single symbol! United!" He turned to the page, practically shaking with the shock of his discovery. "This is it! This is the spell that brought them back!"

Bakura shook his head. "How the hell did you reach that conclusion?"

Ryou pointed at the two halves on top of the page. "Look at this! First, they are split in half. Half a light, half a darkness. Just like... Yuugi and Atem. Or—you and me, I guess. Yami and... host. Or, light," Ryou swallowed and kept talking, pretending the deeper implications of that symbolism had gone completely over his head. He pointed further down at the page. "The two halves are separated, but by the end of this page, they are brought together. United. Or... Re-united."

He felt Bakura's red eyes inches away, looking straight at him and—

Ryou looked up. Bakura's gaze bore straight into his with something deep and intense that made Ryou's pulse explode and shriek in his veins.

Two parts of a whole. Two halves. For more than a decade, that was what they had been—and still were, apparently, if that had been the way this spell had worked. They still were part of the same whole. In the split second before he looked away again, Ryou saw the same realization stir in his yami's eyes.

He looked back towards the page, feeling like someone was strangling him. "Reunited," he croaked. "Two halves, together again." He waved the page towards Bakura in a half-assed attempt to hand it back to him without having to make eye contact again. "There you have it. This is what brought you back."

He looked at Malik, just to look at someone who wasn't Bakura; Malik seemed both keyed up and skeptical at the same time. "Are you sure this makes sense, Ryou?"

Bakura snatched the page out of Ryou's hand. "It doesn't. This could mean a million other things—"

"Like what?" Ryou said.

"I don't know!" Bakura snapped. "But this makes no sense, or my return would have to be tied to you!"

"Wasn't it?" Ryou said turning to pierce Bakura with a glare; it made his pulse race again, faster and faster. "You materialized on the sidewalk outside my apartment. And Atem materialized close to Yuugi. Not to mention the way you look, both of you. So, I'd say your return was quite clearly tied to me."

Bakura did not speak, but Ryou could read him just fine. This wasn't news to him. He had thought of the exact same thing, possibly more than once, but for whatever reason, he seemed almost desperate in his effort to deny it now. Ryou couldn't blame him: he didn't like the idea of being tied to Bakura any more than Bakura did.

Ryou turned to Malik for support. "What do you think, Malik?"

But Malik was looking at nothing, his fingers slack around the t-shirt he was holding. He had gone pale.

"Malik...?"

Malik blinked and shook his head. "Sorry. Sorry, I was just—It's nothing. Got distracted, sorry."

"...By what?"

Malik looked oddly alarmed, but he chuckled and said, "It's nothing, forget about it. You were saying?"

"I asked whether you think that my theory makes sense—"

"We don't even know if that's how this script works," Bakura said.

"Well, what does your hunch say?" Ryou sneered.

"My hunch says we shouldn't hurry to jump to conclusions!" Bakura snapped in a growl. "Just... Give me some time to think about it, okay?"

Ryou let out an impatient huff. "Oh, for fuck's sake, you've been staring at these pages for hours—"

"Yes, and we discover something new every day, so shut up."

"You mean I discover something new—"

"You didn't have much luck when you tried to read them all by yourself, did you?"

"Well, your presence hardly makes any difference now, so—"

"I was the one who pointed out the symbol!"

"And I was the one who found what it meant!"

"Just because you're raving based on half a drawing—"

"I'm not raving—!"

"You are just so desperate to find something—"

"And you just want me to be wrong so badly that—"

"Alright, shut up!" Malik's voice cut through their banter. They both turned towards him; the color was back in his face, and he looked furious as he pointed toward the door of his apartment. "Out! Both of you, out!"

"What—?"

"Go outside and calm the fuck down! Walk it off, smoke a cigarette, beat each other up, I dunno; do whatever the hell you need to do to cool off. Take a fucking break and when you calm down, I'll think about letting you back in!"

The look on Malik's face clearly said that this was non-negotiable—and honestly, Ryou wouldn't be stupid enough to try and negotiate when Malik looked at them like that.

Ryou got to his feet and grabbed his jacket. Bakura followed him, making sure to throw Ryou a look that clearly said 'this is all your fault', to which Ryou replied with a scathing look of his own.

"Don't come up unless you've both calmed down!" Malik warned before closing the door behind them.

Bakura very exaggeratedly rolled his eyes and headed down the stairs. Ryou trailed after him, simmering in his anger.

Okay, maybe a break wasn't a bad idea. In fact, it was brilliant. A cigarette would help.

Ryou walked outside, and at once he changed his opinion about the brilliance of this plan; the cold was bitter, piercing through his jacket in seconds. He huddled close to the door-frame, cursing under his breath in a stream of fog, and took out his pack of cigarettes. Across from him, Bakura leaned against the other side of the doorway, rolling a cigarette for himself.

Were they really about to do this? Stand side by side like two colleagues on a smoke break? It was ridiculous.

Ryou huffed. "Can't you find someplace else? Take a walk or something. Leave me alone."

Bakura chortled and caught a filter tip between his lips. "You walk, if you're so eager."

As if. There was no way Ryou would go for a walk in this cold; he'd stay close to the door and run back upstairs the moment he was done smoking.

He lit his cigarette and took a long, blissful drag; his fingers might be cold, but the burning in his throat was wonderful. He relaxed against the frame and threw his yami a lidded glare. "You know I'm right."

Bakura took his time, taking a drag and staring out at the street before them. "You need to calm down, landlord."

"And you need to listen for once! Seriously, just put your ego aside—"

Bakura laughed coldly. "My ego? I've been trying to read that fucking thing while you've been playing with your pencils—"

"My pencils got us further than your endless hours of 'concentration'—"

"Well, you told me to stop treating you as an ally, so excuse me for not taking your suggestions to heart," Bakura shot back, his eyes flashing red as he turned his head away.

Ryou scoffed out a laugh. "So, that's what this is? Payback for last night?"

"I'm doing my job, landlord. You're free to do yours however you please," Bakura drawled. He moved until he had his back to Ryou and let out a large cloud of smoke, signifying the end of the conversation.

Ryou shook his head, swallowing down all the retorts that flashed through his head. He knew Malik had meant it when he'd said he wouldn't let them back up unless they calmed down, and he didn't want to stay out in this cold a minute longer than necessary.

Well, maybe he should be glad that Bakura's payback for last night was something as petty and harmless as this. He could have been way crueler if he wanted to.

Really, why didn't he...?

Ryou looked at his yami's sullen profile. He observed the way his wild tufts were silhouetted against the light of the streetlamps, gleaming a frosty white in the night. So far, he hadn't mocked Ryou about yesterday's outburst, nor had he told Malik anything about it. It was... strange.

As Ryou was staring, Bakura breathed out a huge cloud of smoke and said, "You might be right, you know."

Ryou blinked, completely taken aback. "Huh? About what?"

Bakura gestured impatiently. "The symbol. The spell."

"Oh," Ryou said. "How come you changed your mind?"

"I said, you might be right. There is a chance. But I need some more time. To study it."

"I see," Ryou said, inwardly glowing in satisfaction. It had took him a while, but his yami had outwardly acknowledged that Ryou was on to something. Or, well—might be on to something. For someone like Bakura, that was huge. "We could have saved so much time if you weren't so stubborn," he murmured around his cigarette.

"We'd save time if you let me concentrate," Bakura growled.

"You just admitted that we might make some progress thanks to me."

Bakura huffed. "You're such a spoiled brat."

"And you are so damn pigheaded."

"Shut up, will you?"

"I will if you will."

"Fine."

"Fine."

He was so annoying. The most annoying person on earth. It made Ryou want to scream. Or maybe punch something. Maybe he should take up boxing too, to blow off some steam. On second thought, no—that would make him even more like Bakura.

Shit. He'd just have to endure it. It's just this one night, he reminded himself. He could hold out for a few more hours.

He should be satisfied, anyway. Bakura had agreed to at least consider Ryou's theory, so Ryou would give him space to 'concentrate', since he wanted that so badly, and wait for the verdict. He was extremely curious, after all. If a few minutes of looking at the page led to such huge leaps of progress, who knew how much more they'd achieve by the end of tonight?

He finished his cigarette at the same time Bakura did; Bakura put out the butt by grinding it to the ground with the heel of his boot, while Ryou just flicked it away and hit the buzzer that read Malik Ishtar, 1st floor. Next to him, Bakura waited with his hands in his pockets, quickly tapping his foot.

When nothing happened, Ryou pressed the buzzer again. Malik was not about to let them out in the cold as punishment, was he?

"Come on, Tomb-Keeper," Bakura grumbled next to him, nearly hopping on the spot to warm himself.

The characteristic buzzing sounded and Ryou pushed the door open. They rushed inside and nearly ran up to the first floor.

"What took you so damn—" Bakura started saying but, the moment they stepped in the apartment, Malik made a sharp hushing gesture and Bakura closed his mouth.

Malik was on the phone, pacing up and down the living room and saying, "Aha. I see," in a distinctly stiff way. "Okay, Yuugi. Thanks for letting me know. Sure, I'll tell him you said hi. Yeah. Take care."

He hung up.

For a couple of seconds, Malik stood looking at his phone, and Ryou and Bakura stared at Malik without moving, still in their jackets and shoes. Malik's face was grim, and his shoulders had climbed nearly up to his earrings.

"What's wrong?" Ryou said.

Malik looked up at them. "Well... Yuugi just called."

"Yeah, we gathered that much," Bakura said. "What did the runt want?"

The characterization would have earned him a scolding on any other given minute, but right now Malik simply glared at him. Then he huffed and ran his hand through his blond bangs. "Apparently, Kaiba's out."

"What do you mean, 'out'?"

"I mean he said he's done digging. He thinks there's nothing that connects Blackwood to—" he pointed at Bakura, "—our case."

Ryou gaped at him. "...What? What do you mean, 'there's nothing that connects—'?"

"I'm just repeating what he said."

"But that's absurd!" Ryou raised his voice.

"I know. But Kaiba said he's wasted too much time on this whole affair for nothing. He researched Blackwood as best as he could and said Bakura and Atem's return have nothing to do with him." Malik sounded calm, for the most part, but his forehead was rumpled and his movements jerky.

"Nothing to do with—? What about the Spellbook?" Ryou all but shrieked.

"He says he's found nothing that connects the Spellbook to their return, either. He thinks it's just a coincidence. Says we've been reading too much into it."

"Reading too much into it?" Bakura snarled, his face dark in his fury.

"That's what Kaiba says," Malik said. He put the phone back in the pocket of his jeans and rubbed his eyes. "I don't get it, either, but—"

"And Yuugi just accepted that?" Ryou said.

"Yeah, so it seems. Tο be honest, he sounded kinda... relieved about it."

"Relieved?"

"That's the impression he gave me. I don't know. I could be wrong."

Ryou doubted it. If Malik was good at something, that was reading the room and other people's mood.

Of course Yuugi would be relieved. For him and Atem, that was probably good news. They had no reason to want to reach to the end of this. To them, this whole situation was probably just a fun adventure.

Ryou took off his jacket and kicked his shoes off with so much force one of his sneakers toppled over.

"That's crazy," he murmured, starting to pace back and forth. His gaze fell on the Spellbook page he'd left on top of the coffee table; the one with the symbols split in half. "How can he say there's no connection of the Spellbook to this mess?"

"Well, there's no concrete evidence—"

"It's the Millennium Spellbook!" Ryou shouted. "It can't be a coincidence! Kaiba can't stop now! He—"

He was their fallback. Kaiba was the one they would turn to, if this whole enterprise with Bakura failed. Kaiba, and his translator AIs, and his hacking attempts, not to mention his brain. He had been the one who had gotten them these Spellbook pages in the first place; without him, they'd still be at point zero. Without him—

Ryou closed his eyes, pressing his lips together.

Without Kaiba, Bakura was all they had left. Their last resort.

Shit.

He turned to look at Malik, as if Malik could do anything to change this. "He can't do that. Not now."

Bakura was still standing in front of the door. "What about the pharaoh? Did he just go along with that?"

"Apparently, yes," Malik replied.

The disgust that crumbled Bakura's face was nearly tangible. "Of course he did. Avoiding his responsibilities again, huh? This good-for-nothing bastard." He'd probably spit in his face if Atem was there.

Nobody moved. Even Ryou stopped his pacing to scowl at his feet. He couldn't even fathom that the others had given up just like that. Sure, Kaiba had always been a skeptic, but... Yuugi? And Atem? Didn't Atem want answers, too?

Maybe he didn't, as long as everything worked out for him. It was Ryou who had gotten the short end of the stick again.

"So, we're all that's left," Bakura growled at last.

Ryou nodded sourly. They had lost all their alternatives.

"So... What do we do?" Malik asked. "Do we... stop, too?"

Nobody spoke.

To keep going without any hope for outside help seemed like a mountainous task. But to stop altogether... Right when Ryou was so certain he'd found the page that contained the resurrection spell; the very same spell that brought the yamis back—

If Ryou could translate it. Translate it and show it to the others. Wouldn't that be evidence enough? Not even Kaiba would be able to deny it.

Ryou was one hundred per cent certain that he was on to something. He just had to convince the rest.

"I say we keep going," he said. He pointed to the Spellbook pages. "The others don't know we've been doing this. They don't know how far we've come and how much progress we've made—"

Bakura let out a scathing chortle. "Have we?"

"Yes," Ryou said. "And we're about to make even more progress, so I say we keep going. We keep going and once we've got enough material in our hands, we show it to them. They won't be able to deny a thing then. It might even get Kaiba back on board, too."

Bakura scoffed and shook his head, but Malik seemed to consider it. "Yes, I think that's the best we can do at this point. What do you say, Bakura?"

The yami was looking at neither of them, grinding his teeth in frustration. "Whatever," he grunted. "I wasn't expecting anything more from the Royal Asshole, anyway."

Ryou nodded once. "It's still on, then."

Bakura kicked off his boots and marched to Malik's kitchen. He emerged a few seconds later with a bottle and two glasses; Ryou recognized Malik's favorite brand of whiskey. He left one glass on the coffee table and kept the other for him, pouring several inches of alcohol in. He downed it alarmingly fast, even by Ryou's standards, and filled it again. Then he grabbed the Spellbook page he and Ryou had been arguing over.

"Alright, then. Let's keep going," he rasped. He hid behind the page, keeping his glass of whiskey firmly in one hand, and didn't speak again.

Ryou allowed himself a small sigh and moved to take his seat on the couch. On the notepad by the pillow he saw his half-drawn symbols looking up at him. He pressed his lips together.

He could do this. He would do it by himself, if he had to. Anything to make sure he wouldn't be stuck with Bakura for the rest of eternity.

Malik sat heavily on the carpet and reached for the empty glass. "Damn it. I'm leaving at the worst possible moment," he moaned as he poured himself some whiskey.

Oh, right. Tokyo. Tomorrow.

If he were honest, stopping was the last thing Ryou wanted to do now. On the very contrary, he was fired up in a way he hadn't been in a long time. He had to go on now; he had to get to the end of this.

But there was no helping it. "Don't beat yourself up. You gotta go to work," he said, hoping to mollify himself, too.

"Yeah, but..." Malik whined. He swirled his whiskey a bit.

"It's fine," Bakura growled from behind his page.

Malik sighed. "I just wish—"

"It's fine, Malik," Ryou said. "Nothing changes. Next week, we keep going as planned."

"I'll be gone for a week. Or more."

Ryou hoped Malik wouldn't keep scratching that wound—because damn it. Right now, that pause wouldn't do them any favors. It would be a week of dead time. Without Kaiba working for them in the background, and without him and Bakura actively working on the Spellbook—

"I don't suppose Pharaoh Stick-Up-The-Ass and his rich friend will change their minds. So it won't make any difference," Bakura grunted.

"I guess..." Malik took a small sip.

Ryou forced himself to look at his notes again, but he couldn't stop thinking about the week they were about to miss. And right when they were so close...

In just two days, they'd found Zorc's symbol and the page that possibly contained the very spell that interested them. This daily grind might have been exhausting, but the more Ryou engaged with the Spellbook, the more sense it had seemed to make. After spending a week, or more, away from it, who knew if he'd be able to get back in the flow? He might find himself back to zero—and he guessed the same went for Bakura.

He rubbed his eyes.

Shit.

Shit, shit shit—

There was a solution, of course. There was one thing he could do. But he didn't like it one bit—and even thinking about it made him flinch inwardly.

But. If it meant he'd get to resolve this mess, Ryou was willing to do it. He would do anything.

Bakura tossed the page he was holding back to the table and got to his feet. "Fuck it. It's no use right now. I can't concentrate for shit."

Malik looked up at him. "Do you need another break—"

"No, I need to go and punch a heavy bag. Or the Pharaoh. Preferably the latter."

Malik glanced at the clock on his phone. "It's not that late. We could squeeze in a couple more hours of work—"

"I told you, there's no point," Bakura growled. He was already putting on his boots, looking eager to get out of there.

"Yeah, but." Malik's guilt was written all over his face. "You won't get another chance for at least a week—"

"It's okay, Malik," Ryou said hastily, the gears of his mind turning fast. If he was about to do it, he had to it tonight. "I can't concentrate either," he lied. "Maybe it's better to call it a night."

Malik seemed ready to protest a bit more, so Ryou tried to give him the most reassuring smile he could manage as he gathered his notes haphazardly and stuffed them in his bag. He had the suspicion that Bakura wouldn't accompany him home tonight—not after everything that'd happened yesterday—so Ryou would have to hurry if he didn't want to miss him.

Bakura was so bad-tempered that he left without even bidding Malik goodnight. Ryou was still lacing up his sneakers when the yami walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"Shit," he said under his breath. He tied a harried knot, grabbed his jacket and said, "Sorry, Malik, gotta run too. Have a safe trip!"

"Wait, Ryou—"

Ryou didn't wait around to chat; he darted out the door and down the stairs, wishing the hasty lacing of his sneakers would hold. Outside, sleet was falling; a few degrees lower and it would be snowing. As for Bakura, he had already reached the end of the block, walking close to the buildings to avoid the icy wind.

"Shit," Ryou breathed again and started running.

He couldn't believe this. He was running after Bakura. If he wasn't so nervous, he might find the irony funny.

"Hey! Wait!" Ryou shouted.

The sleet was freezing on his face as he ran, and he could feel his sneakers slipping precariously on the wet sidewalk. Bakura heard him: Ryou saw it in the shift in his stance.

"Wait!" Ryou shouted again, out of breath. He came to a slippery, splashing halt next to Bakura, who didn't even turn his head to look at him.

"What do you want, landlord? Missed me already?" he drawled without a hitch in his pace.

Ryou struggled to keep up to Bakura's long strides. "Hang on. I need to talk to you," he panted; damn his smoker's lungs and his untrained body.

Bakura raised an eyebrow, still without looking at Ryou.

"Just—Wait for a second!"

Ryou grabbed Bakura's arm and that finally made him come to a stop. He looked first at Ryou's hand, then at Ryou himself. His red eyes narrowed.

Ryou gathered all his courage and said, "We can't stop now." His heart was racing, and he swallowed hard. "We have to keep going. Keep working on the Spellbook, even without Malik. We can't—we can't waste that much time."

Bakura stared at Ryou for a few seconds with something almost like surprise. Then he resumed walking, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Are you that impatient to get rid of me?"

Ryou was about to say Yes, but he didn't want to argue again. He decided to take the diplomacy route. "I want us to get to the bottom of this. And we are finally making some progress. We can't stop."

Bakura scoffed, creating a small white puff of fog. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Ryou said firmly. "And we can't lose more time. Every day we stall is another day Blackwood has the Spellbook in his hands, and who knows what else he's planning to do with it."

Bakura didn't speak. Ryou kept up with him, watching his profile as it was illuminated by the streetlamps they crossed: they made his red eyes take on a golden hue, then turn almost black. "What do you propose?" Bakura said after a while, his voice carefully neutral.

"We keep meeting up," Ryou said at once. "By ourselves. We keep working on the Spellbook. Translate it and rub it to Kaiba's face. To everyone's face."

Bakura's jaw tightened. "What made you change your mind? Was it the rich bastard's uselessness or the Pharaoh's laziness?"

"Bit of both," Ryou admitted. "They don't have a reason to want to speed this up. Whereas we..." He clamped down on the rest of his sentence, but Bakura finished it for him.

"We want me out of the way as soon as possible."

A dead man walking, Ryou thought.

"We want answers," he said instead, still trying the diplomatic approach.

"Don't sugar-coat this for me, landlord, it's not your style," Bakura spat, turning to fix Ryou with a glare. "We both know why we're invested in this. Let's not insult each other's intelligence."

Ryou clenched his jaw. "Fine. Still. We can't stop now. We finally had a breakthrough—"

"So you keep saying."

"We gotta keep going. We've achieved a good flow; we shouldn't disrupt it now. And you say you want this over and done with as much as I do, right?"

Bakura's gaze darkened somewhat. "Yes."

"Then what do you say? Are you in or not?"

Bakura did not reply immediately. He clamped his jaw hard, sullen and unhappy, but he was considering Ryou's words. Ryou could see it in his eyes. They crossed a street and the wind made the icy drizzle whip against their faces.

"Where will we meet?" Bakura asked.

Ryou allowed himself a small breath. That was an agreement, however indirect. They were doing this. Good.

"My place," he replied.

Bakura's glare took a disbelieving edge, which was mostly mocking than surprised. "Do my ears deceive me? You invite me willingly in your house?"

"I don't suppose you want us to meet where you live?"

"No fucking way."

"Then there you have it," Ryou said simply. "I guess I could also ask Malik for the keys to his apartment, but that sounds a bit ridiculous. It's not like you don't already know where I live."

"I'm glad you realized that much."

"There are gonna be rules, though," Ryou said, and Bakura's mouth twitched upwards in a sneer.

"Of course there will be."

"I don't want you getting too comfortable."

Bakura scoffed again. "Just set your rules, landlord, and get done with it."

"We meet up strictly for the Spellbook, and that's it. You keep it about the Spellbook, and we're fine. You start any other shit, you're out."

"I thought we already had that rule," Bakura said, bored.

"Yeah, and it's time you followed it," Ryou snapped. "I'm not Malik. So forget about small talk or all that friendly chit-chat. In fact, forget about talking at all."

Bakura made a face. "Fun."

"If I tell you to leave, you leave, no questions asked," Ryou went on.

Bakura's mouth twitched, as if trying to hold back a challenging smirk. "What else?"

"You stay strictly in the living room. You're not allowed in my room, and you're not allowed to go through my stuff."

Bakura waved a hand. "Whatever."

"You make sure to be on time. And I'll inform Malik of all our progress and everything that happens."

"Anything else?"

Ryou's eyes narrowed. "If you ever insult, threaten, or mock me in any way, you're out. If you ask me anything personal, you're out. If you—" Ryou's voice wavered and he cleared his throat, annoyed at himself, "if you mention the Ring, you're out."

"That's an awful lot of rules."

"I'm sure you'll manage."

Bakura whirled around suddenly, stopping in his tracks to stare at Ryou, narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth. "Alright, then, landlord," he snarled. "Here is my rule. Don't piss me off. I'll keep my mouth shut if you keep yours."

Ryou leaned forward, mirroring his stance and returning the glare. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Tomorrow, my place, seven o'clock. Don't be late."

Bakura let out a scoff instead of a reply and turned on his heel. He walked away, crossing the street in wide strides, with his shoulders taut and stiff under his leather jacket.

Ryou watched him for a while, wondering if he just made a ridiculous mistake. This could very well prove to be the worst idea he's ever had. After all, he had willingly invited his yami into his house.

Maybe he was out of his mind. Or desperate. Probably both.

With a sigh, he took out his phone and moved under an awning to protect himself from the sleet.

"Hey, Malik," he said when his friend picked up. "I've got an update for you. And I need a favor. Could you drop by tomorrow on your way to the station and bring me the Spellbook?"

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Author's note: Sorry for the big delay, peeps, life decided to sucker punch me. It has been a hard few months. Thank you all for your comments and your support, it helped me more than you know.
Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it, happy holidays to the rest of you, and here's to a new year better than the previous one! Cheers everyone, take care ️:*