Archive of Our Own ^beta

 Some people put their feelings upon a pedestal, so high that they cannot reach them, and maybe that is the point.

They act as though hate, or wrath, or want are the only things on the ground, in the dirt and in the mud. As though we are better than what we are.

But love, and agony, hope and hideous regret are down here in the muck with us. To pretend otherwise is to treat liars like lepers, and behave as though those with truths to tell, come bearing gifts instead of arms.

Initialization

It was hot. It was humid. The air was hard to breathe, harder still to take, and Atem so desperately wanted to not be standing in the doorway. His back in the cool of the air-conditioning, but his face towards the wet warmth of the day. A streaky line of sweat ran down past his jaw, but he didn’t move to brush it away. He waited, poised in the thickening swelter of summer, in his doorway, and looked down at the curled up, flushed deadbeat outside his home.

It had to be Bakura. Bakura, not Ryou. Ryou would have knocked, or sent ahead, or just been somewhere - anywhere - else. Not on his doorstep. A mess on his doorstep would be Bakura, and he had so little doubt this was a mess. The only doubt he had was that Bakura was unconscious.

Bakura looked unconscious. He was coiled into a ball, head tucked inwards, perfectly still and weight collapsed against a wall. The heat had turned Bakura’s hair into thick tangles, plastering against his neck and face with sweat. The skin, where Atem could see it, in odd flashes of wrist, and sliver of his jawline, was flushed. Red like blood, and bug bites. And the breathing. The breathing was heavy, swollen, slow.

He looked unconscious, which was why Atem was certain he wasn’t , and so, he slowly backed into his home and closed the door.

Bakura was still there at noon, because of course he was. Still curled up, breathing a little cleaner, but skin still a dirty-looking red. The sweat in Bakura’s hair had begun to dry, sticking together into spine-like strands, but his skin looked dry. An old warning sign that Atem’s gut recognized before his thoughts had. In the open doorway, Atem leaned against his door jam, narrowing his eyes at Bakura.

If he had been someone else, he might have described the feeling as uncertainty. Instead, Atem padded back into the house, door left wide, and returned a moment later with a bottle of water. It had been opened earlier, and was still sweating from the fridge, but fresh or not, it was water, so Atem placed it near Bakura. Waiting a moment for a response that did not come, Atem could feel the wavery feeling - tight, and hot in his stomach - clench.

“Bakura,” he crouched close. “Are you awake?”

In the tight curl of Bakura’s arms, and the sweat-stains of Bakura’s hair, Atem finally saw Bakura raise his head. The glitter-sharp glow of brown eyes, staring out at Atem with a glazed, but ferocious expression. The doubt, which had flowered in Atem, guttered; Bakura was awake, he had probably been awake the entire time.

Atem went still, watching Bakura back-- there was a slow, dazing blink--

Bakura shifted, one hand sluggishly moving away from the cavern of his body, and reached for the water. Unscrewing it with his teeth, Bakura began drinking in earnest. Which was when Atem saw what he had missed from the doorway, missed from this morning, and had almost missed now: Bakura was holding a baby.

Even in the awful heat, Atem went cold.

Bakura was surprisingly weak, entire body opening up like unfolded paper when Atem yanked his arm up to look more closely.

Yes. Yes, that was a baby.

Perfectly still, and a little pale in Bakura’s arms, but a baby.

“She’s asleep.”

Atem started, looking up at Bakura and his hot, glassy gaze again. Bakura looked overheated, and Atem shivered with uncertainty.

“ Fuck .” The cuss stang in Atem’s mouth, burning as he pulled Bakura to his feet. Bakura’s skin was searing, feverish, dry as a shedding snake, and Atem had made him wait. Atem had left Bakura, panting, and burning on the doorstep with a baby in this heat.

He pulled Bakura into the disciplined cool of his home, slamming the door shut behind them, and led Bakura towards the bed. All of Bakura’s weight, and whatever weight had come with the child fell into Atem, and Atem tripped on his own pace, balance swaying under him. By the time they had reached the much-nearer couch, Atem was dragging Bakura towards it by force. It was the couch, or the floor, and Atem knew which he’d fancy.

They collapsed into the couch like melting ice, Atem gulping for breath, and Bakura grunting, weak but clearly pissed off. Didn’t matter. Atem was on his feet again, staggering and then darting for the kitchen. Heat stroke , Atem knew what to do, as familiar with it, as he was panicked. Draping a soaked cloth on first the child, and then on Bakura’s pressure points, Atem rocked back on his heels. Uncertain what to do for the child, Atem finally knelt next to them, setting a water bottle nearby.

At first, he tried to draw the baby from Bakura’s arms, but Bakura’s grip was unexpectedly sure. Tight.

He didn’t want to yank at a baby . Atem’s teeth gritted, “Bakura, you need to-”

Again that predator-like glance from Bakura, eyelids snapping open to eye Atem. A single look was simultaneously rude, and dismissive, amused and defiant. If looks could kill, then Atem had a feeling this one would be closer to twisting the knife.

He sat back on his heels. Then nodded once. “Okay.”

Slower, Atem took a new cloth and squeezed a few droplets of water into the baby’s slack mouth. After a moment, the droplets ran down the child’s jaw, and Atem turned his attention to Bakura again. He leaned forward, easing a few sips of water into Bakura’s mouth, and what he got for that trouble was Bakura’s free hand swiping at him. It was a pathetic swat, but it knocked Atem’s hand back.

Sighing, Atem drew back into a crouch by Bakura’s side as Bakura reclaimed the water bottle. He was careful not to touch Bakura, wary of the warmth in his own skin, despite how cold he still felt watching this. “Bakura,” there was no answer, Bakura too busy greedily gulping at the bottle of water. “Bakura,” Atem repeated, a little louder this time, “where did you get that baby?”

There was a slow silence, Bakura pulling the bottle away and sloshing water down himself. A few droplets reached the child, producing a soft sound and squirm, but Bakura simply watched Atem with his hazing, wandering eyes.

He didn’t say anything, no matter how long Atem waited, so Atem tried again. Pushing at the matter.

“Did you steal her?” A beat. “Who does she belong to?” Atem hissed under his breath when Bakura didn’t even react to that. “For Gods’ sake, do you at least know her name ?”

At last, Bakura moved, head dipping and his gaze checked downwards to the baby lying against his chest. “Nobody will come looking for her,” he said at last, voice cracking like dry earth.

“That’s… that’s really not what I’m asking you.”

“She’s not wanted,” Bakura insisted tiredly, eyes lidding and then closing.

“Bakura, that isn’t--” The bottle slid loose, leaving a streak of wetness on first Bakura, then the couch, and Atem set it aside. “Bakura…?” he tapped at his wrist, gently at first, and then firmer when there was no weak slash of nails. Considering, gaze focused on Bakura’s hands, all too aware of how tight and quick they would feel around his throat, Atem reached for the child again and eased her out of Bakura’s arms.

This time she came away. Standing up slowly, Atem turned the girl about in his arms. He touched at the blanket around her, smarting at the sweat-soaked fabric, before checking the tag for a name, for a sign, for anything to tell him who this was. An intense, overwhelming bewilderment settled somewhere in him, as he tried to hold the dark-haired bundle better, wrapping the blanket up around the girl again. The fabric was clammy, sticky on his fingertips; he had to find something else, something better. He stared down at her. “You’re a baby,” Atem murmured a little uselessly.

Unsure, hesitant, Atem slipped the blanket off her, adjusting her one way, then the other, before he rested her against his chest. The blanket might have been cold with sweat, but her skin was dry, and the fabric of her clothes only smelt of sweat. How long had Bakura been there before Atem had discovered them at all? The uncertainty grew, and grew, questions collapsing into Atem, as her weight collapsed into him the same way Bakura’s had.

Whoever she was, she was a trusting, quiet thing. Deer-delicate, and doe-boned in his arms, and suddenly, so suddenly staring up at him with ill-focused, jet-black eyes. His heart stuttered still, hesitating in his chest.

“You’re a baby,” he repeated. The realization he was holding a person was palpable. “My Gods, you are a baby.” He could feel his eyebrows furrowing, a faint headache clawing inside him. “Where on earth did he find you?” She was dark-eyed, and weighty, and a baby . Atem’s gaze slid past hers, reaching Bakura’s strewn out shape again. “...why did he bring you here ?”

Polarization

Bakura woke slowly, in layers- like dipping paint in water, and watching the colours film across the paper. Awareness was slow, sensation sluggish. Each sense slid into place, slow and unsteady. The first thing he was aware of was the cold lightness over his chest, the damp cloths pressing across his throat and forehead. The second thing was Atem’s quiet, accusing gaze from across the living room, and that more than the first made Bakura’s blood frost.

Bakura pushed himself up, dizzy, but already reaching out towards Atem. Towards the limp bundle in his lap. “Give her back,” he growled out, slumping to the other side, and looking at Atem with a hot, angry stare.

Atem only adjusted the child against his chest. “Who is she?”

The drawn-out, narrowed, watchful stare Bakura gave was downright hateful. Hateful, but considering, clearly thinking over exactly how much he would tell Atem.

“Don’t know,” Bakura decided.

Atem snorted. “Where did you get her?” Bakura only looked at him with a steeling silence. “You can’t exactly claim she’s yours,” or was that exactly what Bakura would claim? “So where did you get her?”

“...don’t know.”

There was a metal-tone to Bakura’s voice, and Atem watched him. Careful, then sighing, “you’re lying.”

A strangely tight, but sincere smirk stretched across Bakura’s face. “Only a little,” he murmured, teasing Atem.

Bakura pushed out of his seat, struggling in the way a cat might, determined to disguise it, and disdainful of pity. Which was fine, Atem had none to offer Bakura. He held the girl out of Bakura’s reach, tucking her against his body. She was still, and silent, and everything Atem thought he knew of babies was very different to this quiet, motionless bundle in his arms.

“She’s not yours,” he told Bakura, looking up at him.

“She’s not anybody’s.” He was wavering on the spot, but still managing to blandly eye Atem through it all. “Give her back.”

“You are the last person I would give a child to.”

Bakura shrugged, as though it was barely a problem, sliding into the seat next to Atem heavily. Despite Atem’s fierce expression, Bakura merely chuckled at him, and reached out to take the girl. There was a certainty to his grip, a flatness to it, that Atem couldn’t argue with, and couldn’t fully resist; they would have been reduced to pulling the child to pieces, and somehow, Bakura seemed willing to do it.

So Atem let go of her, little by little, and she eased into Bakura’s hands.

But Bakura didn’t leave, merely stayed in place, a little slumped against Atem’s side. Heavy, and exhausted, adjusting the girl on his lap, Bakura’s eyes lidded. The child fussed softly, giving a cotton-like noise that Bakura absently shushed, and Atem watched them both, eyes narrowing slowly.

“ Is she yours?” he asked.

“Dunno.” Once again, Bakura shrugged at Atem, looking at the girl as she fussed slow and quiet. Without glancing at Atem, Bakura nodded. “I guess.”

It was soft, indifferent even. A puzzling lack of connection to the matter at hand. There was a dedicated, if apathetic attention to the girl, Bakura giving her a fingertip to squeeze, and rubbing a curious thumb over the spiral of hair on her crown. He looked new, shocky, like his attention was flaking on everything it brushed over. He looked like a new parent, and that? That was impossible.

The next question was inevitable.

“Are you okay?”

Bakura’s gaze slid to meet his, delicate, and dangerous. He sighed at Atem, one hand pulling his fringe away from his eyes. “Dunno...”

Decided, Atem reached for a water bottle and offered it to the man resting against him. “Drink.” Clumsy, in a small way, unused to holding a child and plain with that fact, Bakura took the water with his off-hand. Watching him, Atem huffed, and then pushed back his own fringe. “Fine. Let’s try some questions you actually might answer.”

“Mh,” Bakura gathered a few drops of water on his fingertips, offering the pads of them to the girl and hissing like a cat when she closed her mouth around them. Still, Bakura let her suck the water from his fingertips.

“What are you going to do?” Atem asked.

Bakura slid his fingers free, glancing at Atem with all the weight of passing shrapnel. “I suppose that depends.”

Atem’s snort was quick, and sharp enough to attract the girl’s attention briefly. Circumspect, Atem lowered his voice, but still, he spoke derisively: “Don’t bother lying. We both know you have something planned.”

“If you say so, it must be true.”

“I said don’t bother,” Atem chided, leaning back in his spot.

“It does depend. It depends on you,” Bakura’s eyes lidded with a downright threatening show of teeth. “I need somewhere to stay.”

“Stay with Malik.”

“Go to hell.”

“Oh, burned that bridge already?” Atem leaned forward, showing his teeth back. “Not my problem. Stay with Ryou.”

Bakura scoffed. “Didn’t even build that bridge.”

“Liar,” he countered, “you saved his life.”

“After I stole it.”

“Point,” Atem curled a few blond strands around his finger, gaze slipping sideways slowly. “What happened with Malik?”

“Thought we were asking questions I’d answer,” Bakura spat, almost unexpectedly, and viciously bitter. Atem drew back slightly, pausing in the wake of Bakura’s reaction.

At last, Atem raised an eyebrow. “So did I.” Bakura’s bristling didn’t still, merely waited, and Atem pressed on, “why are you here, Bakura?”

“Revenge,” Bakura slid back in his seat, relaxing and trying to disguise weakness for it in a bluff Atem called as soon as he saw it. “At least, in general.”

“And in specific?”

He tossed his head, sneering, and turning the conversation back another way, like a snake weaving in sand. “I’m your responsibility.”

“How?” Atem raised an eyebrow.

“Pick a reason,” Bakura could be slumped back, but still speak so archly, with such defiance and demand. “For what your father did, for what you did, for what I’ll do to you. I’m not feeling picky.”

Bridling, Atem’s eyes flashed, “don’t bring my father into this.”

“Sore spot?” Bakura looked like a jackal sometimes, grinning and sleek-wet with blood. “It hurts me too.”

“Bakura,” warning him was no good, given the deepening grin. If it hurts you too, why bring it up? Atem sighed, looking off to the side, “so what will you be doing to me?”

“Revenge.”

Bored, Atem tapped his nails on his arm. “Specifics.”

Crowing, Bakura arched in his place, “you want the dirty details ?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Atem leaned his head in the palm of his hand, still resolutely gazing off to the side. Bakura said so little , Atem might as well be collecting teeth; why did he feel he’d have better luck punching answers out? “How long will you be here?”

Discomfort finally, Bakura honestly flushing with it. “I… can’t answer that.”

“That is…” Atem’s nose crinkled, looking back at Bakura with interest, “the most honest thing you’ve said so far.”

Bakura’s eyes drifted shut with a drawn-out purr. “You never could listen.”

“You never gave me the chance,” Atem countered, but Bakura’s eyes didn’t open. Atem cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Bakura?”

“Mh?” Bakura cracked an eye open.

“What did you do to yourself?”

“What?” It was so marvelously realistic, that annoyed huff of confusion, that Atem almost bought it.

And then, “oh don’t bullshit me. You can barely sit straight. What in the name of the Gods did you do to yourself?”

“Oh,” Bakura huffed, “ that .”

“Yes,” an emphatic stare, “ that .”

“Nosy, nosy,” he chided, eyes opening to gaze upwards to the ceiling. “The child needed healing.”

Atem turned his head, both eyebrows arched, and expression disbelieving. “That’s generous of you to use what’s left of your shadow magic for someone else, Bakura.”

“I’m a generous man.”

“Liar,” Atem’s attention trickled back to the girl, who was still suckling at Bakura’s fingertips. “Well, you did a shit job.” She had been a quiet, warm weight in Atem’s arms. Something curious, and a little new, but weak, very weak. Atem’s eyes moved back to Bakura, realizing he hadn’t even huffed at the Atem’s apraisal. His eyes were closed once more, body flayed out over on Atem’s couch. “But you’re here to rest?”

“Yes,” Bakura’s eyebrows furrowed, adjusting the weight of the girl in discomfort, “...and you owe me.”

Atem’s eyebrows raised. “Honestly at this point, I’m not so sure.”

Bakura gave a soft, raspy laugh. “Me neither.”

Pushing up from his spot, Atem paused, looking down at Bakura and acutely aware that it was a strange feeling. “For the girl,” he conceded. “For her you can stay for a few days.”

“Generous,” Bakura praised, slowly falling into the empty space Atem had left.

Ignoring Bakura’s sarcasm, Atem crouched and reached out to brush the girl’s hair thoughtfully. “Let me hold her for you. I can heal her a little, and you need the rest.”

“I’m fine,” Bakura lied, and Atem couldn’t help his sneer. That drew Bakura’s attention again, eyebrow raising and giggling. “Rude,” he rubbed a hand along the girl’s hair, quick little movements that brushed Atem’s hand away. Still, Bakura’s grip on the child slipped loose, and Atem took her up, bracing the girl against his collarbone.

She steadied against Atem, who let a small coil of magic seep between them, and Bakura slumped into the sofa.

“You need to trust better,” Atem stood, sighing and adjusting the child’s weight. “Come on,” Atem tossed his head in a direction, “I set up the guest room for you.”

Still laughing, fitful with it, Bakura ignored the hand, instead scrabbling on the couch. He turned over, fighting to his feet, freed without the girl clutched awkwardly against his chest. Atem watched, unimpressed, as Bakura swayed to his feet with a prideful defiance.

“You already let me stay, before I asked, before you say yes,” Bakura cast a lazy smirk his way. “That’s why I’m here; you’re trying so hard to prove you’re the better person between us. You’ll never do a thing to me.”

“Don’t be sure of that,” even with a baby pressed against his chest, Atem could bridle to his full height, eyes flashing with an old, and familiar warning: this is not a fight you have, or ever could, win .

Eyes lidded, Bakura arched his back, stood tall, and stalked regally past Atem towards the guest room. “Don’t worry,” he called back over his shoulder. “You don’t need to prove yourself to me.”

It left Atem a little speechless, and he palmed the light switch. “You can stay for now .” Atem he repeated, emphasizing dryly, as he leaned against the doorjam. Watching as Bakura walked a lap of the room, not deigning to look at Atem in the doorway, much less respond, and after a moment, Atem turned his head.

“Thank you.”

Atem looked up, to see Bakura watching him from the center of the room with a sharp, steady stare. The thank you was uncomfortable, the spectre of something human between them. Only a ghost though; Atem had so little doubt it was anything but a clever move, in a game he didn’t want to play anymore.

“Bakura, I’m… I’m not trying to prove anything,” His eyebrows furrowed, confessing slow and steady, words crowding. “I’m just trying to help. I’m done with--”

“Liar.” It was immediate, Bakura didn’t even want him to finish.

“Bakura--” Atem’s voice raised, cutting in his throat. “Can’t you just listen --”

Bakura’s head turned away. “That will be all.”

It was imperious, smarting, and Atem’s chest tightened slightly. Bakura’s turned face was daring, a sneering insult without ever raising his voice. Readjusting the child, marshalling his heartbeat, Atem nodded. “Fine. Let me know if you need anything.”

Internalization

Padding out into the living room, Atem held the girl against his chest, eyebrows furrowing. After some thought, and more trepidation, he began looking for his phone. He’d been playing on it before he’d let Bakura in, but- now that seemed an awful long time ago. Turning this way and that, slowed by the child against his chest, Atem cast about uncertainly.

Atem had never had children, although, he supposed he had meant to once. That was an oddly tight guilt in his stomach, pressing his insides into clumps. The certainty he was responsible for a woman’s death with something as complex as duty, and simple as desire. As for the child, Atem preferred not to dwell on it. A small thing never brought to life, drawn dead from another’s cooling body.

Of all the things he was sure of, fault was certain; he was sure that it was his fault; Atem was an only child, his father had only had one brother, and Set was the only cousin Atem knew of. His bloodline was thin, a family tree with its roots trimmed close.

Wryly, Atem thought: Death runs in the family .

He had never had children, and he wasn’t familiar with them, but Atem did not think children behaved like this. It was surprising. The girl was so quiet, and small against his chest. Even in the warmth, she was cool in his arms, and when he pressed his fingertips to the curve of her pulse, it was a flurrying thing. He tried to calm it with a touch of magic, and if it grew faster, or slowed, or did nothing, he could not tell.

Watchful, Atem placed her against his chest, and touched her cheek thoughtfully.

“Mysterious little thing, aren’t you?” he questioned softly.

She pressed into the heat of his fingertips, giving a pigeon-quiet cooing sound, and looking at him with a delicate stare. Atem touched his hand towards hers, nudging his index finger into her palm, and watched her fingers curls around it tightly. There was a weak feeling in his chest, uncannily like affection, and Atem sat back down onto the couch lightly.

His phone was there, tucked under the cushions, and Atem fished it out one-handed. Eyebrows digging into tight angles, Atem clicked through his contacts: his thumb faltered, pausing--

 Aibou

Atem quickly pressed down twice, ignoring the brief flash-show of Yuugi’s profile picture. He didn’t need that. Not now. 

Anzu

A sense of relief set into Atem when he pressed the call button. Anzu was a good friend, loyal, better after everything had happened. He tucked the phone against the curve of his ear, listening and waiting.

“You’ve reached--” ah, Atem was familiar enough with the bilingual answering message. Listening to Anzu’s flawless english, he supposed she would probably be asleep through the time-difference. Waiting the warm message out, Atem finally spoke up.

“Yo, Anzu,” the child was heavy and still against him. “It’s been a weird day, and I wanted to talk to someone about it. Be great if you could call me back sometime…” Atem paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Hope you’re doing good in America, still miss you.” An even longer pause before Atem nervously chuckled, “uh this is Atem, by the way.”

Ending the call, Atem leaned back against the couch heavily and breathed out with a huff. Anzu was a good friend, after everything that had happened, and she would get back to him when she could.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, the girl weighty against his chest, but he did remember opening his eyes to Bakura standing over him. Hands tensing in alarm about the small child, Atem started, and Bakura merely raised an eyebrow, mouth tilting in the thinnest smirk.

“Sleep well?” Bakura drawled.

“Get lost,” Atem huffed.

“Mmm,” Bakura sounded considering, crouching down to inspect the girl. She was still, and stiff in Atem’s grip, and when Bakura went to take her, her weight was liquid. “Morning,” Bakura murmured absently when the girl made a quiet huff as she passed between them. Glancing back at Atem, getting to his feet, Bakura’s stare checked over him, and Atem sat up straight, meeting a challenge he could feel under his skin.

Drained, no doubt by the events of the day, Atem could feel his back aching. All of this was, however, lost on Bakura. Instead, Bakura showed Atem his phone, waving it back and forth in front of his nose.

“You have a message from Anzu,” he prompted. Atem reached for his phone, but Bakura held it out of reach. “Ah- ah- ah-”

“Give me my--”

Even as he got to his feet, Bakura was still taller than Atem. The phone dangled precariously out of reach. “What do you want it for?”

“To talk to--”

“You can’t tell her I’m here,” Bakura said flatly.

Atem blinked, and then narrowed his eyes, “why?”

“I can’t tell you,” Bakura’s hold on the phone tensed. Atem stared back at him, defiantly-- it wasn’t like Bakura could stop Atem and Anzu talking, and they both knew it.

“Seems like there’s a lot you can’t tell me,” Atem rolled his eyes. “You can’t tell me this girl’s name, or where she came from, or what you’re doing here, or what you did to Malik, or what you have planned--” Bakura bridled, but Atem scoffed loudly. “Of course you have something planned; you always have something planned. You just won’t tell me, and now I’m meant to keep my friends at arm’s length?”

Something in Bakura’s gaze shifted, and for the life and death of them both, Atem couldn’t determine why, or how, but Bakura did hold his phone out.

“Please,” Bakura said simply.

It was the same as the thank you. Oddly frank. A favour requested with good faith it would be met, and Atem couldn’t imagine good faith between them. Much less what it would lead to.

“For now,” he answered irritably.

Like the thank you, it felt like a set card that Atem couldn’t avoid.

Bakura tossed the phone towards him, turning on his heel and marching across the room. Atem watched Bakura from the corner of his eye, as Atem sat down. He scanned the message from Anzu,  whilst Bakura padded back and forth across the room, shushing the child with disinterested noises. Atem found a bright-toned apology for not reaching him sooner, and a request for Atem to call back when he could.

As Atem crooked the phone against his ear, Bakura clambered into a spot on the couch across from him. Close, and watchful, he stared at Atem, and Atem squinted back at him.

Her voice was sunny, but sleepy, time-differences showing: “Atem! I was worried it was too early for you, how are you?”

“Anzu,” Atem’s gaze flicked sharply away, a grin spilling over his face despite Bakura’s unerring stare. “I’m- -ah-” and then he looked at Bakura again, who took the time to bare his teeth. “I’m alright.”

Yuugi would have caught the pause, but Anzu didn’t mention it, instead clicking her tongue: “Are you eating enough, Atem?"

When had he last eaten? His insides felt hollow, but heavy.

"Not as much as I should," he admitted. "Are you?" He turned it about on her.

"Of course I am," she huffed. "I'd collapse by the end of the day if I didn't!" They laughed together, before Anzu bid a little awkwardly, "are you really okay? You sounded--"

Anzu was sometimes too polite, and Atem scuffed his foot on the ground. "I sounded weird, didn't I?"

"I didn't want to say..."

"It's true," Atem crooked a smile, chuckling a little. "It's been a weird day."

"...did-" she hesitated.

"No," he can already guess what has Anzu faltering. "No, he didn't."

"Oh, Atem..." Her voice was so soft with sympathy, he can almost feel the hug she wraps around his shoulders. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time-"

"I've given him time, and space ," Atem doesn’t want to add, like he wanted . Instead, Atem lay back, sprawling over his couch. "It's almost been a year, Anzu."

"That can't be-"

It's been eight months, which felt like so long, so horribly long that Atem interrupted his friend. "I wasn't calling about that." He didn't want to talk about that.

Anzu paused, an ocean away. "Ah?"

Bakura was still watching from across the space of the room, his eyes sharp pools of oil. They were dark, flashing with warning. Atem glowered back. "An old friend showed up today, actually."

"Oh," Anzu hesitated before asking, "Mai?"

"...oh, no--" Atem hadn't seen her since before the Grand Prix. "It's not her, I--"

"It's not Jounouchi?" Anzu breathed in tightly, as though she can't quite believe the idea.

"Definitely not Jou," Atem almost laughed at that thought. “Haven’t seen him since everyone...” he trails off, the almost laughter gone. There’s a soft sound from Anzu, and Atem clears his throat. "I probably shouldn't say." Bakura's sharp gaze doesn't even relax, even though Atem is obviously making good on whatever agreement Bakura had extracted, but Atem is ignoring him anyway. He looked away from Bakura's wary look. "I think they're running from something."

Anzu was deeply quiet, before she murmured, "you wouldn't know anything about that."

"Anzu," Atem chided, voice chafing in his throat.

"Atem, are you okay?" she asked again, worry straining at her words. "Are they there now? Can you talk? If you can't then--"

"It's not like that!" Although, Atem's gaze jolts up to Bakura, gargoyle-closed on his couch. "He's just-- it's like Kaiba," Atem said at last.

"Kaiba...?"

"Mh," Atem watched Bakura, and Bakura stared levelly back at Atem. "He is here though..."

"...Kaiba is there?"

"No, I mean-" Atem huffed. "I meant, my friend." Friend felt like a strong word, particularly when Bakura mouthed a sneer at him. “They’re like Kaiba. Hard to read, especially when they” Atem paused, “might actually need help.” Bakura was still sneering, and Atem shook his head. “I wasn’t calling about that though. I was calling about- ah. They showed up with a...hm..."

Atem trailed off, and Anzu has to prompt him, "With a...?"

"Well," now Atem's gaze slipped down to the bundle in Bakura's arms. "With a baby."

Bakura's eyes narrowed, squinting in warning.

"A baby?"

Well Bakura can glower as much as he liked.

"A baby."

Anzu tutted again, thinking. "Well I'm glad it isn't Kaiba now. I'd be worried if he suddenly turned up with a baby."

Atem took in the image of Bakura coiled up like a snake, child pressed against his chest. He snorted, "yeah, well not sure this friend is less worrying."

"Like that, huh?" Anzu supposed. "What are you going to do?"

Atem switched hands, tucking the phone against his ear again. "No idea," he admitted. "I set up the guest room. Don't really want to toss them out, but it feels like trouble.” He huffed softly, “well, that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is I don’t know the first thing about babies.”

There was a very long pause at that, and Atem cleared his throat after a little too much of it.

“Atem,” Anzu sounded irritated . “Did you call me because you want help looking after a baby?”

“No, Gods no,” Atem insisted quickly. “Just advice.”

“Sorry, but I don’t know anything either.” A chiding chuckle. “Did you ask me because I’m a girl?” she teased.

“Ah,” Atem flushed awkwardly. “No, I didn’t ask because you’re-” he can’t quite get the words out right, which is ridiculous. “You were just the first person I thought-- I didn’t ask because you’re a girl.” Atem only has one friend in the world, three at a stretch, and he’s painfully embarrassed because he did not ask Anzu because she was a girl.

There was a soft snort from Bakura, who mouthed something at Atem that he couldn’t make out. He squinted, mouth quirking with confusion, but Bakura shrugged at him and finally turned his steel stare away.

Anzu, across the ocean, spoke up again, still amused with her friend: “Maybe try Kaiba?”

Atem looked away from Bakura, eyebrows furrowing. “Kaiba…?”

“Didn’t he raise his brother?” Anzu prompted.

“...I don’t think Mokuba was a baby.”

“Well no,” she agreed, “but it’s something at least?”

Kaiba, as it turned out, was as helpful as he was taciturn, and remarkably deft at managing Atem’s loose, and inaccurate grasp of the situation (“How old is the child?” “Uh.” “What size is she?” “Um...smaller than a duel-disc.” “...okay.”). He even went so far as to offer his time . The offer of resources, Atem expected -- Kaiba was kind to children -- but the offer of Kaiba’s time produced a startled bark of laughter from Atem.

It took time to smooth Kaiba’s ruffled feathers, but Atem knew his rival well, and it was with a sense of growing confidence, that Atem bid Kaiba farewell. Setting his phone aside, Atem looked up again at Bakura, who is playing absently with the child and a length of ribbon. It is a slow, and steady game of string, familiar to Atem.

“Umuzwa,” Atem provided, and Bakura looked up. “That’s what they called it in the South Nomes.”

Bakura looked down again. “Did they now,” he doesn’t sound so interested in what Atem has to say, but Atem is no fool. He knows Kaiba, and knows what binds them together, and this is something that binds him and Bakura with strings; a game, and more than that, history.

“They call it cat’s cradle in America,” he pressed. “And woof-taking in Korea.” Only silence from Bakura. “Did… you have a name for it?” There was still no response from Bakura, even at the question, and Atem was close to just leaving Bakura to his taciturn games.

Abruptly, Bakura spoke up, “they called it Nunia where I’m from.”

“Nunia?”

“Mh,” Bakura threaded his fingers through the next form, showing the loops to the girl. “As in, Nunia-business.”

Atem slumped back into his spot, rolling his eyes. “Got it,” he mutters. Right. Of course. He might as well try to communicate with living void--

“Why would it definitely not be Jounouchi?”

Bakura’s voice cut through Atem’s focus, which more than anything caused him to answer: “We don’t talk anymore.”

“Why?” Bakura lowered the cat’s cradle. “You two are friends.”

“Not anymore…”

“Why?”

A spark of irritation lit up in Atem’s ribcage. “It’s personal,” he said defensively.

“Ah, I see. Nunia,” Bakura smirked at him, already renewing his game with the strings.

Atem shoved his phone back in his pocket, frowning. “I just don’t want to talk about it,” he argued.

“Hey, I’m not pushing. Doesn’t bother me,” Bakura was still smirking, studying the ribbon looped about his fingertips. “Seems like it bothers you though.” Atem was glaring at Bakura, which was how he caught Bakura’s sly glance.

If this was how Bakura wanted to play it, Atem wasn’t going to sink to his level.

“Jou didn’t like how I handled things with Yuugi,” Atem explained as curtly as he could. “We haven’t spoken since then.”

Bakura tsked. “Things?” His voice twisted in a mockery of shock. “With Yuugi?” Bakura’s eyes lidded as he taunted Atem, “but you two are partners .”

If this was how Bakura wanted to play his games, then Atem knew the rules.

“How is your old partner? Malik, right?”

Bakura’s expression stiffened, fingers catching on the ribbon. Still, his voice was downright airy when he spoke next, “I didn’t like how he handled things with you.”

It sounded true, it sounded unbelievably true . In fact, Atem was sure it was true. That didn’t mean it was what either of them had meant.

“Seemed to me you didn’t like how he handled things with you ,” Atem remarked, matching Bakura’s airy tone tooth for tooth.

Bakura froze, hands dropping, now tangled and baring his teeth like a cornered animal. Atem was expecting something cutting, something painful, but Bakura only spat, “you’re an asshole,” before he pushed to his feet and stalked to the guest room with the girl held to his chest. Unsure if Bakura had folded, Atem returned his attention to coordinating supplies with Mokuba via text. 

Normalization

Bakura’s presence became normal in the most uncomfortable of ways. Over the next two days, Atem found Bakura a suspicious, hungry guest, likely enough to take Atem’s food, but always waiting for him to eat it first. He followed Atem from room to room, rarely straying far from his side, and the one time Atem considered leaving the house, Bakura had quietly but sleekly distracted Atem with a game of duel monsters.

Suspicious, Bakura might be, but caring for the child was exhausting, and it showed. The humour of Bakura’s wry, smirk-ridden, “I feel like the dead,” soon lost all lustre, and Atem soon found himself putting more and more into that. However, even after proving himself endlessly with the Nyoro (frankly, Atem was more human with her than Bakura who resisted even the placeholder name), Bakura was still-

Just unceasingly watchful, and underfoot -- it reminded Atem far too strongly of a feral animal that could never, and will never decide to trust you -- and it was on the third day that the pent-up fever of the close quarters finally broke Atem.

“Anzu’s in town,” he announced firmly, holding Nyoro out towards Bakura.

Gaze drifting over her, and then up at Atem, Bakura shrugged at Atem. He didn’t take her. “...okay?”

“I’m leaving now.” Atem didn’t move.

“...oo-kay…?”

“Okay,” Atem had not expected the agreement, and taken off-guard, he studied Bakura’s face. “Okay then.”

Amused, Bakura giggled at Atem. “Okay.” He raised an eyebrow. “For good?”

Atem glared, “no.”

“No?” Bakura turned to flop back onto the couch, stretching like a cat. “Pity.”

Perhaps Bakura’s paranoia was catching, because Atem felt uncertain Bakura was ever suspicious of him. He stood there for a few more moments, Bakura smirking up at him, before Atem nodded firmly. “I’m meeting Anzu, obviously. She’s visiting from New York, but is leaving--”

“I know,” Bakura sounded bored with the conversation, yawning in a flash of teeth. “She’s leaving in a week.”

Okay, Bakura was still suspicious enough to keep tabs with Atem’s friends. Shockingly, knowing he had still gauged Bakura correctly, was a better relief than thinking he might have gotten it through to Bakura, that Atem wasn’t a danger. “I can get groceries too,” Atem plopped Nyoro onto Bakura’s chest, and Bakura made a huffing sound at the sudden weight, “is there anything you want?”

Bakura looked as bored as ever, not even taking the time to look Atem in the eye or answer him at first. Patient, Atem waited for Bakura to respond . When he finally eyed Atem, resettling Nyoro over his heart, Bakura raised an eyebrow at him.

“Groceries,” Atem prompted. “Do you want anything?”

“Not really,” Bakura looked away again, interest passing and finite.

“That part was probably honest,” Atem crossed his arms over his chest, one of Anzu’s bags bumping against his side. “He really doesn’t care what’s to eat; I wouldn’t be surprised if I caught him rummaging in the garbage.”

Anzu’s nose scrunched up, scandalized, “that’s disgusting.”

Atem had spent the last twenty minutes unwinding, unspooling the knot of irritation that tangled in his gut over everything Bakura does. There’s his hair clogging the drain -- a sympathetic huff from Anzu -- and beating all of Atem’s highscores, but writing ASS in the ranking list -- “that sounds really immature…” -- and leaving his dishes in the sink -- “couldn’t you talk to them about it?” -- and the neverending insults.

“Never.” Atem punctured his sentence, looking for all the world like something the cat dragged in. “Ending.”

They were walking along the mouth of tokachi-gawa, the sun warm on the water and lowering in the distance. By now, Atem was beginning to suspect they were headed to the Black Clown Arcade -- a familiar haunting ground for the two of them. Anzu, for her part, had been quiet for much of their time together, listening as always.

Struck by it, Atem adjusted his hold on her shopping bags, eyebrows furrowing slightly, as he paused between one complaint and the next.

“Yo, Anzu?” She looked over at him, blue eyes almost amber in the sunlight. “Thanks.”

“Huh?” a soft laugh. “What for?”

Atem rolled his shoulder, but kept his gaze on her steady. “You’re my best friend.”

Another laugh, this time embarrassed. She waved her hand at him, “you don’t have to thank me for that, Atem.”

“I do,” he insisted. He swallowed. It was hard to call such horrifying attention to Anzu’s feelings, faded though they have been.  “After everything that happened-- and I know this isn’t what you wanted…”

“Atem…”

“I know. I know this isn’t what you hoped for but,” he took a heavy breath, air tangling in his throat, “thank you for standing by me.” Atem looked out across the river. “I miss everyone ,” he looked down at the ground, eyebrows furrowing, an awful feeling yawning in the pit of his stomach, “but you never left, even though… the way you feel, and I- you know I can’t …”

“Atem,” Anzu touched his shoulder, watching him with a searching expression. “It’s okay.”

He breathed out heavily, “no.” He looked over at her. “It’s not okay. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you, and all I can do is talk about my annoying house guest.”

A wry smile slipped on her face, pressing dimples into the corners of her mouth. “Well it sounded like you needed someone to talk to.” Anzu’s smile faded, softening like a sepia tone. “Atem… I’m worried about you.”

“Mh?” He blinked.

“I’m just worried this has gone on for too long…” She fidgeted with her jacket sleeve. “We were all your friends too.”

Bakura must be contagious, because the heavy feeling in Atem is back with a vengeance. Suspicious, sensing… something in Anzu’s tone, Atem looked at her from the corner of his eye. He came to a stop, “Anzu… you didn’t.”

She flushed, smoothing her skirt down. “Someone had to,” she insisted.

“Anzu,” horror left a great empty, gulf in Atem’s stomach. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

She was only quiet, pulling her sleeves neatly down at her wrists.

Atem’s eyes narrowed.

“Anzu,” he asked slowly, “what did you do?”

“Someone had to,” Anzu was bright red, hands moving to set on her hips. “It couldn’t go on like--”

“Where are we going ?” he demanded.

“...the arcade,” Anzu jutted her head up slightly, deliberately making eye-contact.

“...Anzu?”

“Everyone’s meeting us there...”

Atem’s voice was soft, aching, “you didn’t .”

“I did!” she frowned, “Jounouchi said he’d come, so you have to come.”

Atem folded his arms back over his chest, eyebrow raising, “does Jounouchi know I’m coming?”

Awkward, Anzu’s eyes flick left and right, “well, he… he should.”

That was a resounding no. Atem sighed, and held her shopping bags out towards her. “I’m not going,” he looked away from her crestfallen gaze. “Anzu, they don’t want me there, and if I show up, it will ruin the entire evening.”

“No, it won’t,” Anzu frowned.

“Did Yuugi want to come?” he asked flatly. “When you asked him?”

“...he said he’d try but that…”

“That’s a no,” Atem gestured her bags towards her again, and reluctantly, Anzu reached for them. “He guessed you might do something like this, so he’s not coming.” Atem folded his newly freed arms over his chest. “You should at least enjoy your evening with Jou.”

She shook her head frantically, “but I wanted to enjoy it with you too.”

“You’re the only one,” Atem’s throat felt tight, aching, and he rubbed at his face, blinking hard.

“They’re your friends too ,” Anzu pleaded.

“They were,” Anzu was his best friend, Anzu was maybe his only friend -- Kaiba fell into a strange limbo sometimes -- but Atem could still see why Yuugi might avoid Anzu now. She hoped so hurtfully sometimes. “I’ll… I’ll just ruin the evening. Jou will get mad at you, again, and-- look I can’t. I’m not--”

“Atem, please .”

“I can’t .”

“Atem--”

“No,” he said as firmly as he could, with his voice shaking the way it was. “I’m not going through this again . Not for you, not for anyone .” Atem could feel his eyes watering, and he rubbed the heel of his hand deep against the prickling tears.

“...you’d do it for Yuugi,” Anzu mumbled.

“Yeah,” Atem rubbed at the other eye, but it wasn’t doing any good now. “Guess I didn’t get what I wanted either.”

He didn’t need to snap at Anzu, but there was a burn in Atem’s throat, and he all but threw his keys across the hall. Kicking his shoes off harshly, and stalking into the house in his socks, Atem was halfway to his room, when he saw Bakura peering wide-eyed over the back of the couch.

“...sorry about that,” Atem stopped in place.

Bakura’s eyebrow arched. Shifting about, setting his glass down on the coffee-table and adjusting Nyoro in his lap, Bakura watched Atem steadily. “She annoys you too, huh?”

Anger sparked up in Atem’s chest like a firecracker. “Don’t talk about my friends like that.”

“Uhuh,” Bakura’s nose wrinkled. “I just figured you might want to talk about it.” He turned about again, wriggling down in the couch until he was comfortable again. “Whatever.”

Atem had spent most of his day talking about one person or another, mostly another; the same person who had acknowledged Atem’s anger without judgment. Amusement, perhaps, but-- Atem had spent his day bitching about Bakura behind his back, and rather than feeling guilty about it, Atem decided to-- even the score as it were.

He moved over to sit on the couch, arms stretched out so Bakura could ease Nyoro into his arms. Eagerly, obviously exhausted at having to care for another human being for too long, Bakura passed her over. Her weight tipped against Atem, and he made a hushing gesture, as Bakura drew his legs up on the couch, leaning his cheek against the seat back.

“What did she do?” Bakura asked, with a plain sort of interest.

It was easy to answer, breathing out in a sigh at himself. “She was only trying to help.”

“That bad, huh?” Bakura’s simple, even stare doesn’t shift.

Atem still shook his head, absently stroking Nyoro’s hair. “Anzu just wanted to help. She meant well.”

Bakura snorted quietly, “doesn’t mean she was doing anybody, but herself, any good.” Another snort. “Good intentions are so self-centered.”

“Good intentions are why I let you stay,” he reminded Bakura, looking down at the spiral of curls on Nyoro’s head. They were unruly, and he stroked them gently to order. “She wanted everyone to meet up at the arcade, but--” there was no way to really explain this without letting Bakura in.

“That doesn’t sound shitty,” Bakura scoffed.

Yeah, without letting this asshole in on something personal.

“Things are kind of… complicated with everyone.” Atem hedged.

“Complicated,” Bakura repeated in a giggling sneer.

Atem jerked his head up to glower at his guest. “Would you shut up? I’m trying to explain.” Bakura held both hands up peaceably, leaning forward to take a sip from his drink, before dropping heavily against the sofa’s back, with an expectant smirk. Atem took a heavy breath, and held it for a little too long. “I-- we’re not all talking with each other, and she just wanted to… make it better.”

“Mm…” Bakura inspected his nails thoughtfully. “You can’t make everything better. Sometimes things are just broken.”

“...yeah.” Bakura wasn’t talking about hurting friendships, or tangled cross-crushes, or even failing those you love. But, there was some understanding here. “She just really wants things to go back to how they were, and I’m… I just don’t think they will ever be.” Atem groaned quietly.

“Between… everything- and Jou getting pissed off at me, and nobody telling me anything, and I couldn’t win - which yeah, laugh it up Bakura, but I couldn’t win with Anzu, and I couldn’t win with Jou, and I definitely couldn’t win with Yuugi.” He rubbed his forehead slightly. “And she knows I’m gay, so I wish she’d stop- ugh. She’s not even doing anything. She’s just being my friend.”

Bakura’s eyebrows raised slightly at that information, but he let it be. Instead, he said, “you sound tired of friends.”

It was an oddly gentle observation, and Atem nodded weakly.

“I tried doing everything to fix this, tried doing everything right. I tried waiting, I tried fighting, and now I’m just-- tired.” Atem looked away. “But it’s hard to just give in. I don’t know how. So how can I be so angry at her for feeling the same way.”

Bakura shrugged, a wry smirk prying at his mouth. “Beats being angry at yourself.”

“I can’t even accuse her of still having feelings for me; she just wants Yuugi and I to be okay,” Atem admitted weakly, because that had been frustration. Atem’s own desire to please as many people as possible, and his anger that Anzu wouldn’t allow him that. That neither of them got what they actually wanted, and the person who did wasn’t even there anymore.

“Yuugi, hm,” Bakura’s hum broke Atem’s concentration, realizing he’d said a little too much on that. Bakura’s interest was piqued however, and he shifted like a coiling cat as he slowly reached out for his glass again.

It dropped. The sound was sharp, and Atem scrambled back. There was the briefest of blinks from Bakura, the glazed look vanishing too quickly for Atem to be sure of it-- “fuck!” Bakura yelped, pushing back to study the broken glass on the couch. “Fucker--” he sucked at the pad of his thumb, drawing blood from the small wound.

Atem had stopped looking at the glass, and was instead watching Bakura plainly. Bakura had a small shard of glass between his teeth, and he dropped it into his open palm.

“Fucking hell,” Bakura’s thumb was flush with blood again. “Keep holding the damn girl,” he waved Atem back, but Atem hadn’t moved, motionless and uncertain, “I’ll clean this shit up.”

Atem had seen Bakura handle a knife as though it was made of silk. He had seen Bakura play with a handful of cards with an elegance, and sleight of hand that promised cheating. He knew Bakura to be deft.

Deft, and quick, reactive-- ready to spring back when Atem kicked his shoes off, or threw his keys.

Bakura was not a person who dropped a glass, and didn’t move away when it shattered, and that , that caught Atem’s interest and held it tight enough to choke.

Realization

Bakura had brushed away the shards of glass, and was absently licking at the raw cut on his thumb. Nyoro had been whining softly in Atem’s arms, more noise than Atem had heard from her in the time he’d known her, and despite bouncing her gently, it did nothing to hush the quiet whimpers.

“My bad,” Bakura ran his tongue along the pad of his thumb.

“Mm…” Atem looked down at Nyoro. There was a soft, even hazardous silence, before Atem asked, just as softly, “Bakura, are you okay?”

“Hm?” Bakura paused mid-lick. He popped his thumb out of his mouth, and inspected the cut. He squinted at it: “It’s not that deep.”

“No, I mean--”

“It hurts, sure,” a roll of his eyes, and Atem closed his mouth with a near inaudible clip.

Maybe Bakura had been disoriented, or upset about the discussion. Distracted, perhaps, emotional. It sounded unlikely, even as Atem thought it. Bakura hadn’t immediately flinched when the glass shattered, Atem didn’t think he’d even reacted when he cut himself, not straight away.

Something had to be wrong.

Atem watched Bakura resume licking at the pad of his thumb, and sighing held one hand out: “Come on, let’s clean that.”

“It’s already clean,” Bakura refused to offer his hand to Atem, side-eying him with a sneer.

Atem’s eyebrows raised. “How?” Bakura didn’t answer, merely continued laving his tongue on the pad of his finger. “Licking it does not clean it,” Atem protested, and Bakura snorted.

“Fucking fancy aren’t we,” he drawled, and with that, they moved onto other subjects. Specifically how to actually clean a damn cut. Which wasn’t with your tongue. It shouldn’t have surprised Atem how long it took to even pry a compromise from Bakura, after-all, compromise was not something Bakura did by any measure, or half-measure.

However, as he was bandaging the wound, Atem watched Bakura’s dismissive returning stare. The soft huff he made. The brightness of his eyes. The deliberate picture of rebellion. It was perfect, and Atem almost had to admire how Bakura had succeeded in not talking about what had happened, but Atem had not forgotten.

It was like dueling, at least, in that everything was sort of like dueling. Once Atem knew what to look for, it was everywhere. Bakura would check out during conversations, he would lose track of himself seemingly at random, Atem became increasingly paranoid Bakura would drop Nyoro. Looking back, Atem didn’t understand how he’d missed it; something was wrong, something was wrong, like setting weight on a broken bone.

But Atem waited. Watched. Did both until he was certain .

Bakura had fumbled Atem’s phone, and when it had slipped, it had dropped on the ground with a loud crack. Coming out of the daze, Bakura cussed, turning the screen off and on again, sliding Atem’s pattern password in quickly.

Atem, for his part, sat across from Bakura, Nyoro held tightly in his lap. He felt too sure, not to say something. “Bakura--”

“It’s fine!” Bakura turned the phone up to Atem with a laugh, showing the game he’d been playing. “See, working just fine.”

“Bakura…”

He held it out towards Atem. “You can try it out if you don’t believe me.”

“Bakura--”

“What?” Bakura huffed, laughter replaced with irritation. “You can see the--”

“Fuck the phone,” it burst out of Atem’s mouth a little unexpected; Atem rarely swore, and Atem blinked, surprised at himself. He blames Bakura, Atem decides, for Atem’s lapse in manners. Still, whatever wisdom Bakura did have, and Atem didn’t think it was a terrible amount, but whatever it was, it kept Bakura quiet whilst Atem cleared his throat. “Bakura. When did this- -this- that start?”

Slowly, Bakura’s head tilted. “... that?”

“The-” Atem only had one hand to gesture, the other holding Nyoro close in his lap. “When you daydream.” No, not that word. “When you’re not here .”

“...I am here?” The corner of Bakura’s mouth quirked slightly, amused.

“This- Bakura this isn’t funny.” Everything was so funny to Bakura, the slightest thing drawing laughter.

“I mean,” Bakura’s flat-out smirking now. “It is a little; you sound drunk.”

“It won’t be funny if you hit your head next time.” He still remembers Bakura falling that once, and a dreadful chasm bubbled in Atem’s stomach remembering the crash. The heavy sound of Bakura’s body.

A snort, “you think so?”

“Bakura!” Atem has had it with Bakura’s sick sense of humour, and Atem was trembling when he jolted to his feet. His heartbeat was thrumming through his chest, through Nyoro’s, and back into his skin like a feedback loop. “You know what I’m talking about, would you do us both a favour, and talk about it too?”

Bakura’s gaze was frank, and cutting, staring at Atem like an alien ; curt, and inhuman. He hadn’t even said anything, and Atem was already frustrated by what he was about to say.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Atem argued, eyes burning. Bakura’s expression was cold, but not so cold it didn’t melt a little in the blistered heat of Atem’s anger, and worry.

Still, it only left disdain, and a feral defensiveness. Bakura got to his feet in answer, bared his teeth at Atem, and spat, “I don’t want, or need your help.” The phone was thrown at Atem’s feet, this time harshly, before Bakura turned on his heel.

Exhausted, watching Bakura stalk to the guest room - and what a guest room it was, with the state Bakura has left it in, mess crawling like something possessive across the floor - Atem sank back into the couch. Nyoro was still in his arms, but Atem’s limbs felt numb, and her weight felt heavy and insubstantial all at once.

All Atem knew from this conversation was that he, if not Bakura, had reached a limit.  Slowly, gingerly, he reached for his phone. There was a crack on the screen, from side to side, but it came to life anyway. Atem didn’t know what to do anymore, and there was only ever one person who had taught him how to handle ruthlessness without being ruthless himself.

The phone was heavy in his hand, ringing noisily when he cupped it to his ear.

It connected, with just as heavy a click.

His voice was so heavy, he had to clear his throat twice before he could speak, “...aibou?”

Minimization

“You’re going out?” Bakura had been tailing Atem through the process of getting ready, Nyoro held in his arms - though Atem had tried to press Bakura into taking her. He leaned in the doorjam, watching Atem struggle to pull his shirt overhead with a baby in his arms, and when Atem had finally got it on, huffing with annoyance, Atem looked back at Bakura.

“What?”

“You’re going out?”

“Yuh-huh,” Atem rolled his eyes, and pulled his phone out, double-checking the location once again. New Coffeeshop, near the game store, across from the stairs. Coffeeshop, game store, stairs.

“I didn’t know you were going out,” Bakura remarked.

“Good,” Atem shoved his phone back into his pocket, adjusting Nyoro in his arms. “Lots of things you don’t know.”

A snort, and an attitude Atem really didn’t have time for.

“Here, take Nyoro.”

“I’ve told you I don’t like that name.”

“And I’ve told you I have to call her something , it’s not even a name-- oh forget it,” Atem pushed Nyoro into Bakura’s chest. “Just take her.”

Bridling, Bakura adjusted Nyoro against his chest, eyes narrowing at Atem. “Well why so suddenly--” when had Bakura’s paranoia become this anxious, Atem wondered.

He turned back, glancing at Bakura as he swapped his shoes out. “Have you always been this attached to me?” There was a satisfying sound as Bakura closed his jaw with a clip. “Oh, right, yes- thousands of years of it. Silly me. Bakura’s always been this clingy.”

“Fuck y--!” Bakura’s snarl was cut off as Atem closed the door behind him.

Yuugi blinked at Atem from across from across the narrow space of the table. His legs were tucked in towards himself, and Atem felt unwelcome, so unwelcome, with Yuugi closed up like folded paper.

“You said you’d give me space,” Yuugi played with his soda cup, tapping the straw against the side of it. The lid sat off to the side, unused.

Atem cleared his throat, “except if--”

“Except if you needed me,” Yuugi’s gaze flicked up to Atem’s, checking him abruptly. Their definitions on that differ, and Atem looked away.

“This is important; I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

“I know,” Yuugi agreed. Gentle. He could be so gentle, even when he uprooted you, and a flash of anger bubbled in Atem’s stomach. “Are you okay? You’re not sick are you…?” Sick was said so, very carefully.

“No,” Atem shook his head, resentful when Yuugi breathed out with relief. How anyone could love him so much, and want so little to do with him? “No, not that. Not me.”

“Oh,” Yuugi straightened, no longer tapping with his straw. “Someone you know…?”

Atem studied the table before him like a duel field. “It’s-” Atem’s heart clenched, like seeing a laid down card and knowing it was a trap and daring anyway. The urge to tell his partner was like his next breath, like drawing out that trap to see what it held. But he held it. Held his ground.

“I can’t tell you who it is.”

He hoped he kept Bakura’s secrets for Bakura’s sake, but there was a nasty suspicion burning in Atem’s gut that said Yuugi didn’t want to share Atem’s life, so he can have exactly what he asked for: space. Atem doesn’t have to share anything with Yuugi anymore, and he was not sharing this.

Atem wasn’t keeping Bakura’s secrets, he was withholding from Yuugi, and Yuugi didn’t look hurt, merely nodded without question. Atem paused. It stung, like Bakura’s slap, making Atem’s face heat sharply and shamefully.

Yuugi placidly waited for Atem to continue, and swallowing hard, Atem began slowly. “He-- they moved in more than a fortnight ago.”

“Oh,” Yuugi’s head cocked. “Do I know them?”

Atem looked down at the table, before rolling a shoulder. “...no. Not really.” He wasn’t sure he did either, that was all this time had told him.

“Hm,” Yuugi’s hum was unconvinced. “So you’re worried for them?”

“Hm,” Atem pressed his fingertips against the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to pry-- but something is wrong.” Still unconvinced Yuugi waited, and Atem tried to explain. “They… stop responding, or talking and- stare off into space for,” Atem paused, “I mean sometimes it’s only a few seconds, but sometimes it’s closer to twenty seconds, and he drops things when he gets like that, and it’s like they’re not there -”

“He’s having seizures,” Yuugi’s head was resting in the crook of his palm. He looked off to the side. Atem had gone still, and Yuugi’s gaze flicked over towards him, and he gave an awkward smile. “That’s just what it sounds like, I mean. Absence seizures. Or petit mal.”

“Petit mal,” Atem repeated carefully.

“Yeah, it’s a mini seizure. It’s, um--” Yuugi sat up straight again, eyebrows furrowing. “So, I guess it’s like your brain electrocutes itself for a moment.”

Atem’s heart near stopped in his chest. “Electrocutes itself?!”

“Hey!” Yuugi held both hands up. “That’s just-- it was just a metaphor, it’s- like it’s--”

“Is it dangerous?” Atem demanded. It sounded damn well dangerous.

“That’s… hard to answer,” Yuugi scuffed his feet under the table. “I guess it depends on why, but-- as long as he doesn’t fall and hurt himself, I think he should be fine, I mean dad was always...” Yuugi frowned, still scuffing his feet. “Doesn’t he already know this?”

“Who knows,” Atem hissed, “he refuses to admit it’s happening.”

“He… might not know?” Yuugi offered, “that’s not unusual. They’re called absence seizures for a reason.”

“He knows ,” Atem insisted, and Yuugi’s expression went cold.

“He knows, or you just think he knows, and you’re always right about other people?” he asked harshly.

“He knows ,” Atem’s eyes narrowed, hand clenching as he gestured it between them. “He had a seizure yesterday, and I told him,” It sounds strange to put it like that, a little too real for Atem’s tastes; Bakura was meant to be untouchable, beyond death, beyond life, beyond anything . “I tried to bring it up with him, at least get him to see a doctor, but he-- refuses to even admit there’s a problem, let alone deal with it.”

Yuugi’s gaze was a placid, demanding thing, and Atem dropped his hand, staring across at him.

“Wasn’t that our problem?” Atem asked finally, exhausted and disappointed.

“That was your problem,” Yuugi replied frankly.

Atem shoved his chair back with a screech, but he didn’t make it to his feet. Instead, Atem breathed out levelly, fingers knotted into fists, but safely concealed in his lap. He lowered his eyes, and nodded curtly.

He’s-- furious, but the truth is, he loves Yuugi. Still loves, and probably always will, and it was such a helpless feeling. Inevitability is something pressing on his ribcage. Something he can breathe.

He breathed out again.

“Yes.” Atem’s heartbeat was a white noise in his ears. “That was my problem. I admit it, and I- I need help getting someone else to admit it too.”

Yuugi shook his head. “You can’t.”

Voice pained, Atem pressed, “if you could get me to--”

“I didn’t . You can’t help someone admit anything,” Yuugi was mumbling softly, having the good grace to at least look away guiltily. “With us--” There is a painful catch in Yuugi’s voice. “With us, I tried to tell you, but you didn’t want to know--”

Yes I did , Atem insisted inside himself. It was loud, almost a cry of pain.

“What do I do?” he said instead.

“...show him how it feels,” Yuugi said at last, still not making eye-contact. “That’s all I could ever do.”

Prioritization

Atem had barely got in the door, before Bakura - as always, holding Nyoro against his chest - announced: “You used to date Yuugi,” Atem barely had time to absorb Bakura’s expression, before Bakura pressed on, “you broke up with Yuugi.”

The tightness in Atem’s chest felt like it was going to tear. “Yuugi broke up with me,” he corrected. He slipped out of his shoes and into the entrance way. “How did you--”

Bakura held Atem’s phone up towards him.

Lurching forward, stomach churning, Atem snatched the phone from Bakura’s fingertips. Flushed, nerves splayed like lightning through earth, Atem glared at Bakura. “You’re a piece of--”

“That’s why you were fucking weird today,” Bakura interrupted, “you were meeting up with your ex.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Atem spat. “I didn’t want to talk about this.”

Bakura looked unconcerned, rolling his shoulder. “You still haven’t,” he pointed out finely. Atem could have punched him for the delicate nerve of it. “What happened to--”

“No, shut up,” Atem threw his phone to the left of Bakura’s head, and Bakura leaned away from it, briefly glancing back as the phone clattered down the hallway. “You’re an asshole . You don’t respect my home, my things, my wishes --”

“Like you weren’t telling Yuugi all about me,” Bakura hissed bitterly. Atem froze, and Bakura looked triumphant, disdainful and furious all at once. “Yeah. I read that part too. How you needed to talk to him about someone from your past. You lied to my fucking face--”

The highground, after Yuugi’s distance, and Bakura’s sneering, was almost intoxicating.

“I didn’t ,” Atem bit out, relishing the look of uncertainty that flashed in Bakura’s eyes. “I didn’t tell Yuugi. I didn’t betray you. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Liar,” another hiss.

“Not this time,” and then Atem took a step forward, anger pushing him forward like a swelling river. “Not ever . You’re the only one who lies between the two of us,” Atem cocked his head at Bakura, “guess I shouldn’t be that surprised you think everybody’s lying; it’s all you ever do.”

Bakura’s hold on Nyoro shifted, holding her between them, and Atem instinctively stared Bakura down over her head. Feeling a little drunk on the knowledge he was in the right, Atem stepped forward again until Bakura finally leaned back, bridling. It wasn’t quite a flinch, but it was close enough that Atem felt satisfied that Bakura was listening to him.

“You lied to me, you lied to Ryou, you lied to Malik, didn’t you?” Atem saw Bakura swallow harshly. “That’s why you won’t go talk to him, isn’t it?” It was like holding a puzzle between your fingers, and not quite knowing how it fit together, but feeling each edge. Atem traced the thought, watching Bakura’s glassy flicker of feelings--

It was, as always, an interesting way to hide your thoughts. Each one lit up on Bakura’s face, and then tumbled away again. Not much of a poker face, but fast, cryptic, still hard to read, still hard to grasp.

“He saw through your bullshit ,” Atem concluded, and Bakura’s teeth flashed so sharply, Atem almost missed it. “That’s it, huh? He calls you on it?” Atem took one last step, and Bakura’s back pressed into the wall. “I’m calling you on it.”

There was a split moment, too fine to call it a second, where Atem realized he had misread, and miscalculated. By the time, he registered it, expression softening, Bakura had shoved Nyoro into Atem’s chest, pushed past him and ran . It was a feral, stray-boned show of violence, and Atem went stumbling, clutching Nyoro to his chest and slumping into the wall.

Bakura broke his window, the sound unmistakable.

Struggling to find his footing, ankles feeling like wet sand, Atem followed the noise. There was the glitter of broken glass, the dust of the damage, and no sign of Bakura. It was almost expected, and yet, Atem had done nothing to prevent it.

That- that had always been his problem.

He breathed out in a slow, seeping sigh, the sound settling in his shoulders. The child was heavy, weight numbing in his wrists, but Atem began cleaning away the stray glass. He thought Nyoro might be more distressed, but she was quiet, as she always was. Too exhausted to do much more than internally note to have the window repaired, Atem took a seat on the couch and simply waited.

He hadn’t been sure Bakura would return, but there was the quiet sound of the door pushing open, and the scuff of Bakura changing his shoes into slippers. That last one interested Atem; Bakura had never done that before. Atem set Nyoro down on his bed gently, fascinated by how still and soft her movements were, even when she was asleep.

Stepping out into the hallway, Atem padded forward to meet Bakura. “Hey,” he murmured.

The hallway was darkening in the late evening, and Bakura stood, an uneasy shadow in the way.

“When I came back… I tried to give up on this… on you… on whatever this shit is, I wanted to be done,” Bakura began slowly, talking himself into circles. His gaze wouldn’t focus on Atem, flickering around the room like dying firelight. “I… I wanted to build something, I wanted to live. I wanted to live with someone I cared for.”

“With Malik?” Atem guesses.

“Yes,” there was a guilt in Bakura’s eyes, lowering his stare to the floor at Atem’s feet. “I loved him.”

The word love seemed surprising in Bakura’s mouth, and Atem’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t… realize,” he said at last. “I thought--” what had Atem thought? They’d struck him as barely allies -- baring their teeth at each other, and using each other up. “...when?” he asked finally.

Bakura looked off to the side, unwilling and reluctant. “Battle City, after the other Malik,” his arms crossed over his chest, shielding himself in a standoffish gesture of body language. Bakura always seemed to feel vulnerability in his organs, Atem realized.

“Malik asked me to save his brother’s life. Stupid brat,” Bakura sighed, “always fucking his plans up, and my plans up, and always slowing everything down so much faster than I could figure out.” Atem saw Bakura’s teeth glitter in a sneer. “Couldn’t possibly work with him if I wanted you dead--”

Atem huffed, “sorry your hatred of me got in the way of your romance.”

“Shut up ,” Bakura was almost plaintive, words catching. “It didn’t. Why would it? He gave me back my--” Bakura fidgeted, gesturing, “he made me human again. For once. Or something.” Bakura’s breath sucked in between his teeth, cold and he shivered. “He asked me to protect his family, and I did it.”

Bakura paced from one side of the hallway, to the other, and Atem waited quietly, weight shifting from foot to foot in unsteady silence.

“I wanted to give him your death, that’s why I--” Bakura stopped. Went limp. “And he asked me to save his brother’s life instead. He made me a better person,” he turned, catching Atem’s look and frowning at it. “I know all you can see are your enemies, I know all you can see is something awful, but Malik knew I was human. Malik could see that in me .”

In a way, Atem could understand; Malik had called on the last of Bakura’s humanity, and something in Bakura had responded to that. It was humanizing. It was faith, and it was familiar. It was a guiding hand into the light, and Atem closed his eyes, because he had needed that too.

He hadn’t surrendered what he and Yuugi had; he’d lost it.

Atem’s eyes stung, and he opened them, blinking back tears. “Bakura, why aren’t you with him now?” he asked instead, and then he followed the thread of his instincts to ask the truer question: “...why did you leave him?”

Bakura looked away, face still in the growing shadows. “Malik always saw through me…” he confessed, voice dying in the darkness, failing in his throat. “He was-- he was like the sunlight, Atem. He lit up places inside me, he eclipsed me, he changed me, I didn’t know who I was around him --”

“You ran.”

No wonder Bakura was so ashamed. He had left the person he loved. Atem wasn’t even sure someone like Bakura could look back, let alone would, but if not regret, then shame. Deep shame, and anger at himself.

Atem breathed out, disappointed in someone who had never shown himself to be better . Maybe Malik had made Bakura a better person, but Atem wasn’t so sure Bakura deserved it.

“Yuugi told me he needed space,” Atem said at last, breaking the silence. “He said he disappeared around me. He said I became everything. That I made him only the sum of his parts, only that, nothing more.” The words were ashen in Atem’s mouth, perfectly remembered, and recited. “He said that he didn’t know who he was around me.” It hurt as badly as it had the first time, as it probably would always hurt. “He said I never even noticed that he couldn’t live with me.”

Bakura had looked up, but at the horrific parallel, he looked down again.

“I wanted to share my life with Yuugi,” Atem continued, voice thick with anger and loss, “like he had done for me, but I couldn’t see when I was taking his. I couldn’t see I was taking it. He didn’t want to share my life--”

“He ran,” Bakura confirmed softly.

Atem shook his head. He was done talking about this, about Yuugi. “Bakura, why did you come here? Why are you back here, fighting with me?”

“...you know why,” Bakura’s voice was cold, shuddery, shaking with it. “Because it always comes back to you.”

“You can’t do this forever,” Atem pressed, but he didn’t move into Bakura’s space. He had frightened Bakura - and that was what he had done - he had frightened Bakura enough for one day. “You can’t live like this. Really. You’re sick--”

“I’m not done,” Bakura said resolutely, and Atem snarled under his breath. Frustrated. Maybe Yuugi wouldn’t listen to Atem, but he wanted someone to.

“Bakura, you have to let this go,” he insisted. “You’re always destroying yourself. Even I’m tired of watching you die --”

Bakura’s voice came out in a curdling growl, “I am not giving in. I won’t. I have lost too much to ever give this up.” He closed the space between them, baring his teeth brightly at Atem.

“You are only losing more,” Atem insisted. “You lost Malik, Bakura. Bakura, I am trying to help y--”

“Fuck you,” Bakura spat. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Yes!” Atem threw his hands up. “You did! You came to my doorway and asked for my help!”

“Fuck your help,” Bakura yelled, “all I ask is that you burn !”

“Why?!” He couldn’t help it. Atem’s chest felt like it was cracking, and he shouted at Bakura, with a splintering voice, “I didn’t kill them!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Bakura screamed back, quivering head to foot like a struck note. He panted. Atem was breathless, lungs turning to blood in his chest. “You-” Quieter now, Bakura bared his teeth, eyes bright and glittering, face flushed. “You think I don’t know that you’re blameless? That you didn’t kill them? I’m not stupid .” He looked aside. “You were a child.”

And then Bakura’s expression hardened, blinking back the glow in his eyes until it was a bloody stare. “Well, so was I.”

Atem swallowed, forgetful of the close space between them and the bright-toothed snarl Bakura wore. Forgetful of how quickly Bakura lashed out at anyone. He took a step forward. “I don’t understand,” he said at last. “Why do you hate me if you know it wasn’t my fault.”

“I honestly don’t even know you,” Bakura muttered harshly.

“That’s not true,” Atem stared at him. “We’re--”

“We’re not friends,” Bakura snapped.

“No, but…” Atem stared at the man who had lived in his home all this time. Stared at the man who had quite honestly chased him through centuries, through irrationality, across eras. Atem couldn’t begin to understand, he didn’t understand, so did he know Bakura either? “Do you have to hate me?” Atem asked finally.

“No.” It was an ugly confession, and Bakura’s face twisted with fury and disdain.

“Then why ?” Bakura said nothing, and Atem pressed onwards, aware he was digging his fingers into a wound, but desperate to make Bakura say it. “Why hate me? Why, after all this? What is it even for anymore?”

“It’s because they’re still dead,” Bakura said without hesitation. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait, and that-- Atem realized terrified him about Bakura. Everything Bakura believed in was calculated, and weighted, and the only currency either was done in was loss.

There was no reasoning with Bakura; he knew too strongly what he was fighting for.

Atem held his ground, unable to do anything else. Unable to break the lock-pattern they’d found. Unable to divert the almost celestial force Bakura brought, a satellite circling and circling.

“You’re a damn fool,” Atem said flatly. “You don’t even want this anymore.”

“All I wanted was my family,” Bakura hissed, bristling at Atem. “I wanted to grow old. I wanted to see my sister grow old. I wanted to serve my fucking King. That’s all I ever fucking wanted.”

“This won’t bring them back!”

“ I know that!” Bakura screamed it, hand closing into a tight fist, and slamming it into the wall. The plasterboard cracked, collapsing inwards, and Bakura seemed almost surprised at how little force it had taken. Like the first time Atem had pushed a blade into an opponent, the first time he had been the warrior-king, and had found so little give in the human body.

Bakura pulled his hand loose, brushing off pieces of drywall. He showed his teeth, voice tight and low.

“Because they’re still dead. Because your father died before I could make him pay. Because this will hurt him the way he hurt me. Because someone has to live through what I did. Because someone has to understand.” Bakura looked as though every string in his nerves had been cut, leaving him limp, broken and staring at Atem. “Because you’re the only one left, you’re… you’re the only one left, and I am never letting this go.”

Synchronization

Bakura’s confession, his desperation weighed heavily on Atem. Their talk had ended sharply, Bakura coming back to himself enough to ask about Nyoro, and snarling when Atem admitted to leaving her asleep on his bed. It felt undeserved, the way Bakura bolted to retrieve her -- she was just asleep -- but by now Bakura had taken her back to his room, door closing loudly behind him. And Atem was back in his, door open to let the hall light spill in. His sheets were cool against his back, and Atem lay on his bed, staring up at a demanding ceiling with a heavy feeling.

Every answer from Bakura felt less and less like understanding him; for all Bakura’s lies, and secrets, he was honest. He was everything he said he was. He meant everything he was.

With everything Atem learned, each layer of Bakura’s defenses parted, all it ever did was prove Bakura was the Thief King, and who was the Thief King?

A man who came screaming out of a gutter myth. Atem had heard of the Thief King, always out of Atem’s earshot, but he had still heard ; Atem had heard the soldiers say he had red-blue eyes, and hair as silver as a god’s blood, Atem’s priests said the Thief King was a man, but Atem’s people whispered that the Thief King was ka given shape, another white dragon woman in Atem’s lands.

Everywhere, everywhere Atem turned, there were whispers of people’s souls leaking at the seams.

Then Bakura had come before him. Challenged him, and with a handful of words, and Atem’s father dragged behind him, had poisoned Atem’s council, brought Akhnadin’s corruption to the surface, tested Set’s steadfast loyalty, and drew first Atem then Mahaad from the safety of the palace. And they buried Mahaad.

With laughter, and a Goddess at Bakura’s heel, Atem had asked one question: “Why do you want the millennium items?”

And Bakura had answered true , and left Atem’s trust bleeding on the floor of his throne room.

“Ask the man you call father.”

The memory was glossy, as many of them were; flickering and dissolving in and out of the final rpg. Atem was never so sure what had really happened the first time, and what had only happened the second time. Still, the memory was heavy, weighing deep in Atem’s chest like a heart.

Bakura was hateful, angry, hysterical, amused by his own suffering, as much as Atem’s. That was who Bakura was. Someone wise enough to know he would drown in the grief.

Atem pressed a hand against his temples, grimacing, eyes closing tightly. What then? Could you reason with the river as it flooded? Could you ask spilled blood to retreat into the wound? Could you ask Bakura to set aside truths, and arms, and anger?

“That’s not him,” Atem sighed, heart aching.

Atem didn’t know where Bakura had found Nyoro, and he didn’t know what was infecting Bakura’s nerves from the inside-out, and he didn’t know anything except what Bakura had told him from the very beginning .

He was here for revenge. He was here to hurt Atem, somehow, someway and knowing that was as useless as it had been when Bakura told him first.

Bakura found Atem waiting for him when he staggered into the kitchen, Nyoro pulled close to his sternum. Dazed, sleepy, hair tangled around Bakura’s face, Bakura addressed Atem with a tired sneer, “can I help you?”

“No.” Atem said flatly, arms crossed over his chest. “I can help you.”

“Hah!” Bakura was too tired to really put energy into it, and he faltered into one of the chairs.

Atem went to stand by the kitchen table, hands flat on the surface and staring.

Bakura looked like shit. Hollow looking, and skin almost translucent, bruising under his eyes like something was rotting in his blood. Their eyes locked, held, the same stardance, satellite-spinning, and leaving snarls and sparks where they met. Atem’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

“You came here to die,” Atem said finally, the puzzle fitting together in his hands, the cat’s cradle effortlessly forming under his fingertips.

There was a thin, thin pause-- but this time Atem saw it coming. Nyoro was pushed aside, Bakura abandoning her across the table, leaving her whining, whilst Bakura lunged towards Atem.

They collided in a show of sparks, Atem’s back crashing into his kitchen counter. Pain lanced up along his hip, and Atem shoved Bakura sideways into the counter. They changed positions, like the changing of the guards. Startled, eyes checking around with a genuine fear Atem could see, could see , Bakura reached for a knife.

It was a kitchen knife, a fleck of onion skin interrupting its gleam, but it was still so bright when it flashed in Bakura’s hands. He struck.

Atem took his wrist. Twisting it, and Bakura was liquid, like spilling milk, a snake shedding its skin. They turned, grappling. Bakura’s teeth were gritted, and Atem was grunting with every push he made.

Bakura got his knife out of the way, freeing himself in a cunning movement that was almost pretty except he slashed at Atem. Atem smashed the heel of his hand up, up, upwards into Bakura’s jaw, and a wet yelp sounded.

A trickle of blood slid down Bakura’s lip as he feinted back. No--

Forward again, always forward, never looking back. The realization came late, and Bakura’s knife found Atem’s skin, marking it, slipping--

Slipping out of Bakura’s hand.

Atem caught Bakura, gasping under his weight and the knife hit heavy into the floor by their feet. “Gods,” he braced Bakura, as Bakura’s focus returned. At once, Bakura turned into a snapping snake in Atem’s arms, and Atem pinned him.

No, he didn’t pin him, Atem clung to him. Holding him still, yes, but holding him, still.

Nyoro was whimpering from the table, and Bakura’s voice was choking, thick with anger and frustration: “Why won’t you just die ?” he sobbed furiously.

“Just let me help you, please let me--”

“You can’t help me, you fucking martyr,” Bakura’s gaze was glazing, but hot, burning as it turned towards Atem. “Isn’t your own pain enough for you? You need more to really feel good for what your father did?”

It stung, deeper than the cut on Atem’s arm, and deeper than a slap. It ached.

Nyoro’s voice was getting softer, softer, until Bakura finally said, staring at Atem with his hateful, fiery stare: “If one of us doesn’t touch her soon, she’ll die.”

Polymerization

Atem went still, but part of him went reeling. Bakura was still heavy in his arms, a weak and tired enemy that Atem was tired of fighting. “...what?” he asked finally.

“Nyoro,” Bakura tried to pull away, tried to steady himself but he was still braced on Atem. “That’s the name you gave her, right? Nyoro?” Atem didn’t say anything. “She’s dying there.”

The truth sank in a little too deeply. Atem felt sick. His arm was still bleeding slow, and sluggish.

“Is that why you’re here?” Atem asked, toneless.

“I came here to kill y--”

“Cut the shit ,” he shoved Bakura away from him, suddenly frantic to scratch away where they had touched. “Did you bring a dying girl here to- to what?” Bakura had said either of them could heal her. The sickness spread down Atem’s spine. “Of course.”

Bakura was clinging to the countertop, struggling to stop his ankles from giving in. He looked back at Atem, not a trace of truth on his face. It was clean, and clear, cautiousness itself.

“A parasite like you,” Atem couldn’t breathe, and it came out too fast, making his blood reel. “Of course.” If Atem was a martyr, then Bakura was a parasite; he’d leeched from Malik until Malik asked for something back, he’d taken Ryou’s life, he’d-- he’d taken Atem’s, once. Tears sprang to Atem’s eyes, hot and angry. Bakura had taken everything from Atem.

He crossed the room, strong where Bakura was carved out. Always digging into his own lifepoints to win. Typical , Atem snorted. Gathering Nyoro into his arms, feeling her suddenly breathe out at the touch, and Atem could breathe himself.

“Get out,” it didn’t sound like himself, Atem reflected. The steel in the voice was too furious. Too much bone. Too much gold.

“Atem…”

“Get the hell out of here, Bakura,” Atem twisted on his heel to face Bakura down. “You didn’t have to do all this shit , you could have asked me to save her, and we both know I’d throw my life down. You even told me that.”

Bakura faltered towards Atem, rather than away. Fearless, maybe, but unwelcome, and disgusting to look at.

“We’re done, Bakura, now get out,” for once Atem showed his teeth fully, eyes flashing, blood roaring in his veins, “before I kill you myself,” and Bakura averted his eyes, and left.

Crumbling, crumbling fast, Atem steadied himself with one hand on the table. Nyoro was pressed against him, quiet but alive, and his eyes closed. The ache in his arm drifted apart, turning to static in each corner of his awareness. Numbly, Atem staggered from the kitchen, to his room, to his bed.

Now that he knew what to feel, he could feel Nyoro sapping at his strength, pulling it away. Sand in water, pulled apart by the current.

He crawled into a ball, the girl breathing steady and slowly. She was gulping in Atem’s magic without Bakura to share it, and Atem couldn’t even feel particularly vicious as the realization set in: Bakura had won.

Nyoro was breathing, and breathing was always worth it, Atem decided, eyes drifting shut.

Cauterization

When Atem woke, he felt too dizzy to breathe; he knew he must be, but his head was spinning, thoughts doing nothing, and going nowhere, and doing both so quickly, he closed his eyes against the bright darkness. The bed dipped. Bakura over him, and whatever Bakura has done, he must feel so triumphant, he must feel so proud . There was the viciousness...

“I should have left you outside,” Atem said spitefully, but even now, even now he didn’t mean it, and they could both hear it. He sighed tiredly, and rolled away from Bakura, deliberately ignoring him and protectively curling about Nyoro.

“I found her in a locker.”

At first Atem didn’t understand what Bakura was saying. Her? Nyoro?

“You know the ones in the underground,” Bakura didn’t wait for Atem, “I guess they thought people checked those a lot. They don’t, for the record, that’s why I was…” He coughed. “Anyway, doesn’t matter.”

“...you’re annoying,” Atem mumbled.

Bakura pushed on, ignoring Atem. Deliberately. “I sort of… wish I could say I just, immediately thought of this - you know, magically poisoning you with a lich.”

Atem was definitely breathing, because he sucked the air between his teeth with a hiss. Nyoro was-- the word stuck in Atem’s thoughts, unwilling to exist. The- the baby then. The baby was already dead, and Bakura was letting Atem bleed out, all without a single stain to show for it.

“But… it wasn’t like that,” Bakura looked past Atem, watching the small bundle hidden in the curve of Atem’s body. She was dead. The child was dead . Nyoro was dead , and had been all this time. She had been dead the entire time.

“When I opened it up, she was just there ,” Bakura’s voice was strange, steady, “and I was tired of losing. Fucking tired of loss.” Angry, Bakura tensed on the bed, and Atem fought, trying to push up, wobbling and shuddering.

“Not just me, though,” Bakura’s voice fell, hushing. He was still tense, and Atem dropped back on the bed weakly. “My whole life, I’ve only been burying my losses with more, and more death , and I’m alive.” He breathed out a little too hard. “Against all odds. I’m alive, when everyone who loved me is dead, and gone, and I still can’t live with you in peace.”

Atem swayed, sitting up in the bed, eyebrows furrowing. He wanted to say something, anything. Bakura turned to look at him, eyes glossy-dark in the shadow of the room. Bakura’s voice was heart-broken, something Atem wasn’t sure was even real, but acutely aware Bakura wasn’t lying: “There was just this dead baby in a coin locker, and I was so- so sick of dying, so tired of loss...”

“Bakura…” Atem tried to reach for him, stumbling in his own skin.

He turned his head towards Atem, grinning in the darkness. “So now you know; this wasn’t some stupid plan , this is all my stupid mistake .”

“It wasn’t, Bakura, that isn’t--”

“Yeah it is,” Bakura tsked, and pushed his fingers into Atem’s sternum, pushing lightly. Atem fell back, breathless, stunned. “I sort of figured watching you die might be,” Bakura hissed slightly, huffing, “satisfying or something, but I’m just really fucking tired of death...”

At the end there, with Bakura snarling and refusing help, was there more to it? The layers of manipulation, misuse and the edge of something real and vulnerable were the same as they were when Malik and Bakura used each other, when Bakura defended Ryou. Did Bakura know how to care for people without using them?

Did he know how to use people without caring for them?

It took Atem a moment to realize what Bakura meant to do, and he fought, bitterly, when Bakura reached for Nyoro. But he was weak, half-poisoned, ka faltering, and Bakura laughed at his clawing.

Bakura was a dick .

“I’ll see you when I see you,” Bakura remarked, pushing away from the bed, the girl held against his chest.

Liar , Atem thought angrily, falling out of bed with a snarl. He was fighting to catch his breath, panting on his hands and knees, when Bakura matter-of-factly kicked him in the jaw.

“Sorry, not sorry,” Bakura drawled.

Stunned, furious, Atem lay on the floor, drooling into his carpet. By the time, he’d gotten a thought from his head to his hands, pushed up off the floor and wiped the saliva off from his mouth, Bakura was gone.

“Fuck,” Atem had to get up, but getting to his feet had him reeling, clawing at a wall for balance. “Fuck-” if he didn’t he wasn’t sure how many bodies he’d find, or whose.

Atem was weak. Nyoro’s-- her hawe was fading without the ka, and it must be so close to spent, because her body had spent weeks slowly sapping Bakura. Even with Atem helping, the sudden withdrawal of the second person couldn’t justify the empty gulf of strength in Atem.

He was weak, and by the time he had even reached his front-door, stumbling, and whining with frustration, Bakura had been long-gone. He got his door open, fist closing tightly against the doorframe--

“Fuck.”

This was where it had started. Atem’s hesitation to let Bakura in, and Bakura draining away on his doorstep. What had Bakura ever wanted? Death? Just to be let in?

Atem had to laugh at that; Bakura had changed enough, Atem didn’t need to wonder how deep, and how far, or when it had started. Bakura was out there, dying on his behalf, like some--

“Fucking Martyr,” Atem breathed it, and he was laughing again, even though it made his ribs sore. “Of course.”

Sometimes Bakura could be so obvious, Atem supposed. He always followed himself, circling like Mehen chasing the beginning, but then-- why not? Bakura wanted to close where he began. Bakura wanted his family back, he wanted to grow up, and old, and loyal, he wanted to not be the person he was.

Absurd, really. Bakura had come in like a venomous snake, and Atem’s court had shed their skins; Set becoming a King. Akhnadin becoming a traitor. Absurd, really, for Bakura to wish to be something he wasn’t, after-all, he was the Thief King.

That didn’t matter though. Bakura always went back to the beginning. The final game had been in their past, in Egypt. The final conflict in the catacombs of Bakura’s home. This began underground too, and growing in strength again, Atem went underground.

It was the third station Atem checked, that he found them.

There were things that could not, and would not be undone, and this - this - Atem knew to be one of them. He didn’t want to know, but, Atem slowed, heart still hammering in the viper nest of his ribs. He slowed, careful not to startle Bakura, and padded forward.

He didn’t mean to speak out, but Bakura was alive, and Atem felt a surprising, but real burst of relief.

“Bakura--”

“Shut up,” it wasn’t said viciously, only flatly.

Nyoro was a delicate, broken thing in Bakura’s arms, and Bakura’s fingers were tensed into claws, tight around her, holding on. There were things that Atem couldn’t make right, and things Bakura couldn’t find justice for, things without reason, and without validity. Atem touched her hand, and her skin was a cool, simple thing.

“She’s dead,” Bakura told him.

“I know.”

“ They’re dead.”

“I know, Bakura.”

He sat near Bakura, surprisingly near. Bakura’s shoulders were a tense, thorny set of fury, and his face was a blank mask of disdain, his eyes faraway and disengaged. They briefly flicked to meet Atem’s face, and then slid away with disinterest. Atem sat near Bakura, aware, distantly, that Bakura might well lash out at him.

He neither expected, nor didn’t expect viciousness; it didn’t matter. Atem sat near, because between them they had allowed this loss. If Bakura lashed out, then so be it, at least Atem would be near, and close.

“She deserved better.” Bakura’s voice wasn’t distant, no matter how disconnected his eyes were. His throat was overflowing with anger, an old taste of grief stinging once again.

Atem studied the angered arch of Bakura’s shoulders, the vengeful curl of his lip, and the dangerous gleam of his teeth. “I was afraid you were going to die,” Atem said simply. He wouldn’t dignify this with lies, not after they’d swept away so many of those.

Bakura shook his head, smirked weakly, “I refuse to die.”

“...You saved my life.”

The smirk disappeared, and Bakura shrugged again, the tension in his back cutting the movement into jagged shapes. His hold on Nyoro didn’t waver. "You're the only one left..." Bakura said so quietly, it was almost a whisper.

Watching Bakura for a long moment, before nodding in acceptance, Atem turned his gaze away from Bakura. He stared out into the darkness with Bakura. It was quiet, peaceful save the soft sounds of their breathing.

It was long before Bakura spoke again, and Atem couldn’t be sure he’d heard him.

“I can’t stand feeling so empty,” he had murmured, almost gently.

There was an ache where Atem’s breath caught in his throat, heart digging into his chest. It bled out in a strained whisper, “me too.”

Careful, so carefully, Atem thought Bakura might break, Bakura let his hand drop between them. It was nothing so blatant as touch. To touch Bakura’s skin was an almost obscene thought, and Atem flushed sharply. No. They didn’t touch, distance kept carefully between them, but Atem slid his hand across the bench, and left it next to Bakura’s.

Bakura’s eyes slid shut, eyebrows furrowing, and mouth crooking like fissured ground. He breathed out, shaky, but sure-- weighing something up, his heart, Atem’s.

“I’m done,” Bakura said at last.

Atem nodded, slow, steady. “Okay,” and then he let silence reclaim the space between them, the river flooding the emptiness at last.