Chapter Text
Ryou lay on the edge of awareness, listening to the rhythm of his own heartbeat. If he remained in limbo, staying in the moment between sleep and wakefulness, then he wouldn’t have to face it. He didn’t know what it was, only that it existed. With Bakura, missing time meant there was a mess for Ryou to clean up, sometimes literally. He wasn’t naïve enough to think this time would be different.
His chest rose then fell—one breath, two, then three. At first the repetition was slow and even, but it crept faster as sensations broke through the fog. Ryou ached, his muscles sore and stiff, and a throbbing pain emanated from within his skull. He pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned. Emotions hovered at the edge of conscious thought, ready to pounce as soon as he relaxed his guard, but he didn’t have time to process them right now. That would have to wait.
Ryou needed to know if anything was out of place. The thought repeated until it could no longer be ignored, like a woodpecker tapping at his mind. He finally opened dull red eyes. His room was dark, a gleam from nearby streetlights peeking through patterned curtains.
It was night. Shit.
Ryou pushed himself to a sitting position, taking stock of his situation. He was dressed in casual clothes: jeans and a blue striped shirt. Somewhat different from the school uniform he last remembered wearing. Well, he was at home, so that at least made sense.
His fingers trailed down the leather cord that secured the Millennium Ring around his neck. In a fit of pique, he hooked a thumb under the cord, pulling it over his head. His gaze landed on his laundry basket. He tossed the Ring. It dinked off the receptacle, clattering to the floor, and Ryou hid a small smile. It was a pitiful revenge, but it was better than nothing. He doubted the spirit was paying attention, anyway.
Ryou attempted to run fingers through his long white hair, but they caught almost immediately. He sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to detangling the unkempt mess Bakura usually created. Oh well, there was little he could do now.
The digital clock on his bedside table presented the time: 05:23. Ryou scanned the room for his phone, catching a glimpse of it sitting on his workbench. He had the time. He needed the date.
Ryou pushed himself to his feet, then immediately sat back down as a wave of dizziness overcame him. He breathed in and out once, then twice, and tried again. This second attempt proved more successful, and he made the trip to his destination without issue, though he remained a bit wobbly on his feet.
Ryou grasped his phone with trembling fingers, tapping his thumb against the home button. Bright light assaulted his senses, and he winced as his headache flared. He closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. Pressing the button again, he held his other hand in front of his eyes, allowing them a few seconds to adjust.
The twisting in his stomach was familiar, but unwelcome. Three days. His last memory was of Thursday afternoon, and the screen revealed today as Sunday. He had lost three days. Ryou gingerly set his phone down. He pulled clasped hands to his chest to keep them from shaking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness once more.
Ryou flipped the light switch. His room looked the way he’d left it, with the addition of an Ancient Egyptian artefact on the floor. The Millennium Ring glinted oddly in the light, and he felt a familiar tug in his gut. He sighed and leaned his head back against the door, allowing his hand to rest where the Ring normally sat. He felt exhausted even after just waking up, though the early hour probably contributed to that.
Ryou frowned. He doubted Bakura had slept much in the time he had been in control. The spirit wouldn’t have wanted to risk them switching back, assuming that he had been doing something important and not just messing about. But, if past patterns proved true, then Bakura likely wouldn’t bother him for at least a few hours. He was free to do as he wished.
Ryou needed a shower. Who knew where Bakura had been, what he’d done? He grabbed a loose-fitting grey t-shirt with a duck on the front and a pair of shorts and walked down the hall to the bathroom. The duck shirt featured a photo-realistic mallard and a speech bubble with the English onomatopoeia, “quack.”
Ryou took stock of himself in the bathroom mirror, his reflection unflattering. White hair resembled a rat’s nest, with bits sticking out at odd angles. His face looked paler than normal—which was a feat in of itself—and there was a flush to his cheeks. Heavy bags sat below red eyes, reinforcing his guess that he hadn’t slept very much. Maybe if he showed up like this to class, girls would leave him alone. One could only hope.
Ryou turned and immediately regretted all his life decisions as he was forced to brace himself on the washbasin, the ceramic cool against his hand. After giving the room a few moments to stop spinning, he pushed himself back up. He didn’t know why he kept forgetting how dizzy he was.
He set down his sleep clothes and pressed a palm to his forehead. The intensity of his headache increased the longer he remained conscious. Ryou contemplated just lying down on the cool bathroom tiles and going back to sleep. A spike of anxiety hit him at the thought. His hand reached for the centre of his chest. It met nothing but cloth.
Ryou turned on the shower, letting it heat up while he undressed. He inspected each article of clothing for any damage or particularly stubborn-looking stains, then set them in a neat pile on the floor. He grabbed a fluffy blue towel and set it next to his clean clothes, then tested the temperature of the water. Satisfied, he shouldered past the shower curtain and pulled it closed behind him.
The water felt nice. It was warm, not too hot. Ryou faced the showerhead and allowed water to gather in his palms. It formed a pool, then spilt over, joining the split-splat sound of water hitting the shower floor. He focused on these sensations and breathed. In and out, just like his mother taught him. Association called forth the visualisation of his emotions, a grey, writhing mass at the centre of himself. He had stuffed these away to deal with later. Well, it was later, and Bakura wasn’t there to muddle everything, so it was time to handle the sinkhole that was his psyche.
Visualising the process made it easier, so he turned the undulating mass into a sort of tumbleweed of snakes. Snakes were nice, with their little flicking tongues. They squirmed, twisting in and around each other. Ryou hesitated, asking himself the first question. What was he feeling right now? The mass pulsed, pressing against the bounds of itself as the snakes’ movement grew more wild. He felt too much; that was the problem.
Ryou dropped his hands, balling them against his legs. He hated this. He hated this a lot. Tears pricked at his eyes, as they did every time something threatened to overwhelm him. He breathed and focused on the feeling of water running down his skin.
Ryou steeled himself and drew out the first snake from the bunch: a green emotion he identified as Fear. Wrapped around the end of the fear snake came red Anger. Next came a sickly yellow snake called Shame, then a splotchy blue one named Sadness. That one always seemed to be with him. It slithered up one hand and wrapped itself around his forearm, blinking up at him with liquid eyes. He smiled softly. Sometimes, the visualisation got away from him, one symptom of an active imagination, he supposed.
Ryou reached for the final snake—black with milky white eyes—but it reared back and hissed. That was the feeling he would not, could not name. What he’d done already would have to be good enough. The emotion blob had mostly stilled. He released the mental image, and each emotion returned to its place in his heart.
Now that his mind was less of an absolute mess, the time had come to deal with his body. A cursory examination yielded only a few small mystery bruises. Good, no awkward questions at the A&E for him today.
Ryou washed his hair, navigating around the knots as best he could. Then he attacked the long, white strands with conditioner and a comb, only satisfied when the latter ran smoothly through.
He turned off the shower, watching the final streams of water escape down the drain. He leaned against the shower wall and closed his eyes for a second, feeling the cool tiles against the heat of his forehead.
Ryou knew there were reasons he couldn’t just go back to bed, but the thoughts kept slipping through his metaphorical fingers. A moment of forced concentration provided the answer: food and water. He should probably take something for his headache as well.
Ryou patted himself dry and dressed. He could not conjure the effort to dry his hair right now, so he plaited it and fastened it off with a hair tie. Good enough.
Next stop: the kitchen.
Ryou squinted up at the ceiling as he waited for the kitchen to stop spinning. He brought a pale hand to his head, the appendage cool against his feverish forehead. He remembered looking through his cupboards for something simple to eat, finally just grabbing a piece of bread. That counted as food, right? He could see the bread sitting about a meter away. So much for that.
Panic coursed through him as he grabbed at his chest. His hand closed around the fabric of his shirt, and he let out a breath. He hadn’t been possessed again; he’d only fallen. Ryou propped himself up on his elbow and looked himself over. Captivated by the image of the duck on his t-shirt, a distracted hand traced its outline. “Quack.”
A voice appeared from the air. “What the fuck are you doing on the floor?”
Ryou’s elbow slipped, and his head cracked against the floor. Pain blossomed, overwhelming his vision. Distracted, he barely noticed the quiet sound of footsteps approaching behind his head. He opened his red eyes to meet an identical pair leaning over him. He stilled, then tilted his head back to see the rest of his doppelgänger.
“…You’re upside down.”
Bakura raised an eyebrow, and Ryou remembered that he’d asked a question, a valid one considering the circumstances. He took a second to formulate an answer.
“Dying, I think, at least it feels like it,” he said, measuring the spirit’s reaction. Bakura snorted and took a step back, resting his weight against a counter. Ryou let out a breath. It seemed the spirit had deigned to gift him a bit of space.
Ryou blinked a few times to combat blurry vision. It was odd to see Bakura in sleep clothes, with a few strands of white hair hanging in front of his face. He wondered not for the first time why Bakura didn’t just get his own clothes. Maybe he didn’t care. Ryou wouldn’t if he were in a similar position.
“You’re not wearing the Ring,” Bakura said, his voice casual. Ryou’s fidgeting hands stilled for a second and he averted his eyes. He wondered how Bakura meant him to respond.
“Yeah.” Fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt. The Millennium Ring rested on his bedroom floor, but Bakura would already know that as its occupant.
Bakura sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose like he also had a headache, and Ryou wondered if he’d done something wrong. “Get up,” the spirit said finally.
“I don’t think I can.” Something told him that if he tried standing, he would just fall back down. Probably experience.
Bakura sneered, displeased with his response, which wasn’t fair because this was all his fault.
“I’m cross with you,” Ryou said because his filter was apparently on holiday.
Bakura’s gaze sharpened, then turned considering. “Are you now?” He pushed himself off the counter, looming over Ryou, and chuckled, a bit of light shining in red eyes. “You’re mad about the time.”
How could he not be? Ryou chewed his lip, resisting the urge to scoot out from under Bakura’s gaze. “What happened?”
“A minor incident. I took care of it.” He smirked, leaning closer. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, landlord.”
Anger pooled in Ryou’s stomach at the spirit’s dismissal. “I was out for three—”
“Two and a half. Whatever will you do?” Bakura’s body language looked casual, but his tone was clipped.
Ryou huffed. He pushed himself to a sitting position and turned so he faced Bakura. Wrapping his arms around his legs, he rested his cheek on his knee.
He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know why he bothered. His headache pounded, and the rest of his body ached. He got dizzy anytime he moved and was fairly certain he had a fever. He’d exhausted himself doing practically nothing, and now Bakura had appeared for whatever reason. Even though he knew that Bakura couldn’t take over without the Ring, he was hesitant to fall back asleep.
So new plan, sit here until Bakura got bored and left. The spirit wouldn’t listen to him, anyway. He didn’t know why Bakura was here in the first place.
Bakura crouched in front of him, reaching forward, tucking a flyaway piece of white hair behind his ear. Translucent fingers trailed down Ryou’s cheek before grasping his chin. He resisted the urge to pull away; it wouldn’t do any good.
“You’re sick. Let me help you,” Bakura said, red eyes falling half-closed.
Ryou tightened his hold on his legs. “No,” he bit out. Emotions gathered at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back. Now wasn’t the time.
Bakura hummed and let go. He sat down, crossing his legs, seeming unbothered by the refusal. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
“Fair enough.” Bakura shifted, resting his chin in his palm. “Is your brilliant plan to sit there until you pass out?”
Ryou studied the floor. They both knew he didn’t have a plan.
“Tell you what, why don’t you stick around? I won’t push you into your soul room. That way, you can keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t do anything too nefarious.” Bakura wiggled his fingers.
The last thing Ryou wanted at that moment was to give up control, but he didn’t have many options. He looked up at Bakura. The spirit seemed sincere enough. Well, as sincere as he could be.
“Besides,” Bakura said with a soft smile, “that’s the deal, isn’t it? I handle the things you can’t.”
It was relief and condemnation in one. Ryou hesitated, then nodded. What good would resistance do him now? Bakura held out his hand, and Ryou took it. He felt a weight settle against his chest, and they switched.