Chapter Text
The sensation was bizarre, Bakura decided as the doctor was working on taking off his cast. It almost tickled, the humming buzz shaking through his whole arm.
"It will be nice to finally be rid of this thing. I want to improve my score in that rhythm game, and two hands would do wonders."
Bakura didn't reply, only rolling his eyes. Of course the thief was thinking about his arcade rivalry. There were a lot of things Bakura was looking forward to now that his cast was being removed, and videogames barely hit the list. Getting to wear some of his favorite sweaters now that it was cool out, sleeping comfortably, and braiding his own hair were what he was ready for.
Kaiba stood near, and Bakura looked to him with a small smile. "I'd watch your high scores," he playfully warned.
Kaiba smiled back, crossing his arms and taunting," Now I can finally stop taking it easy. Maybe I'll tie a hand behind my back."
"I've been beating him one handed, and he knows he'll be absolutely crushed in a fair fight."
"Oh my," Bakura breathed, amused but already a little tired of their one upmanship.
The doctor finished the second side with her saw, and began to wrench the halves apart. Bakura watched quietly, curious as to what his arm would look like. Kaiba had said he'd been through surgery. The x-rays didn't really tell him any more cosmetically about his arm.
As the cast cracked open, and the doctor began to cut away the padding, the pressure lifted and Bakura noticed just how much heavier his arm had been that whole time.
The thief scowled at the arm, not noticing as his own ghostly cast faded. "It feels so weird."
Bakura nodded lightly, a little too distracted by the interesting sight to pay full attention to the thief. His arm was so pale and slender. He wasn't a very muscular man by any means, but it was weird to see the definition of his bone so clearly. The skin was rather red from irritation in most places, but it was pale enough now that the scar on his hand was a little hard to make out at first glance.
"Now, I know it must itch, but try to refrain from scratching at it. You're skin will be sensitive over the next couple of days. Try soaking it for an hour or so each day…" She continued, but Bakura found himself zoning out.
The incision was swollen, but looked like it had healed well. A thin, red line that followed his radius from near his wrist halfway to his elbow was all that he could focus on as he wryly commented," Another scar I barely remember getting."
He looked to his side regretfully, aware the thief was looking on and afraid he might have hurt his feelings. The thief wore a light pout, but he said nothing in response. Already, Bakura was getting ready to apologize, but the doctor was giving him instructions again.
"I'll be sure to write all of this down," his doctor said with a light laugh. Apparently it was evident he wasn't paying a whole lot of attention.
"Sorry, I'd appreciate that," Bakura said, bowing his head. He said sorry again, in a way that would be quite normal as showing his gratitude, but he turned his head to the thief.
With a relaxed smile, she told her patient," Now we're just going to check pain and range of movement, and then you're all done!"
When she checked for pain, lightly pressing here and there and extending his arm this way and that, Bakura was relieved that none of it hurt much. Some of it felt weird, but that was because he hadn't been able to move his arm and hand like this for two months. He was a little dismayed to find he'd lost quite a bit of movement despite this.
It was hard to turn twist his arm back and forth completely, and his wrist couldn't bend backwards very far without putting pressure on it. It tingled when he did. From the way the doctor sucked in breath through her teeth, Bakura assumed this wasn't a good thing.
"There's always a chance you'll lose range of motion when you break a bone. This luckily doesn't seem too severe. We'll get you on physical therapy, and hopefully it won't need surgery," she explained as she continued to inspect his arm. "You'll only need surgery if the nerve damage is significant. It's normal to lose a little bit of your original range."
"Oh," Bakura sighed, waving his fingers and noticing how it didn't feel quite the same. It hadn't hurt, and he'd avoided using the hand for much, so he hadn't noticed how hard it was to straighten his fingers enough they reached backwards slightly.
"Don't worry, it should improve with physio," she assured him. "We can start right away."
With a deep sigh, Bakura smiled and thanked her again. It seemed like such a bother. He'd really hoped to be done with this now. He got his cast off a week before his birthday, it seemed like a good present to him to be all healed up.
Kaiba came in closer and squeezed his shoulder, and Bakura leaned into him. Raising and flexing his hand, Bakura looked at the new and old scars ruefully.
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Bakura didn't know how they switched while they slept, only that it happened more often recently. The thief didn't need the loud pull back to reality that Bakura required, being so constantly alert that a simple whisper would do.
"Shh," Bakura cooed softly, roaming to the side of his body and sitting cross legged. Any louder and he would set off the thief who already woke violently to gentle calls.
He watched his body try to get comfortable, the thief flopping their arm like it was still casted, forgetting it could lie normally again. His wet cheeks glistened in the faint moonlight that peeked through Bakura's blinds.
With another strangled gasp from the thief, Bakura shushed softly again. It was probably for the best they didn't have separate bodies. He'd reach out to soothe the thief in a heartbeat despite how much the thief would probably hate it. He draped his ghostly hand over a corporeal one though; it made him feel better at least.
"It's okay," Bakura reassured, barely putting breath to his words as the thief began to toss and turn in addition moans. No awkward position satisfied him, and their body squirmed as it began to look like the beginnings of yoga in more desperate attempts to find comfort.
Bakura cringed as the thief woke, grabbing the closest thing to him and pitching it at the door. The clock survived, Bakura was pretty sure, but he heard a solid chunk of door chip under the stress.
A shrieking gasp left the thief as he glanced around frantically, his chest heaving. He paused and looked around a little less panicked, then threw back his head with an exasperated groan and let himself flop back to his pillow. His breathing still strummed through him quickly, and Bakura felt slightly dizzy from his body's current stress.
"No," the thief grit out as he heard Bakura breathe in to ask a question. He ran his palms over his eyes roughly, bitterly ignoring the elephant in the room. The air chilled his wet cheeks and eyes.
"You don't even know what I was going to ask."
The thief huffed, and muttered," Fine. What is it, dear landlord?"
"What is it going to take for you to stop throwing my stuff?"
The thief laughed loudly, clear shock starting out the initial whoop. He had to concede that wasn't the question he expected. His host could surprise him from time to time, which was a relief right now. He didn't feel up to talking about what was bothering him; he didn't know that he ever could, but at least Bakura's companionship offered some momentary relief.