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He was a giant wound. Raw and festered. He was a blob of nothingness, existing in nothingness.
He was nothing but pain that radiated like a beacon.
Was he truly anything anymore? It didn’t seem like it. All he was was pulsing agony.
And then…
Light.
He was enveloped in light and sound and sensation that wasn’t pain.
He had a body.
His own body. The way he was in Kemet. Dark skin. Short stature. Himself. As he should be.
But the clothes were… wrong. They were just like the ones he wore when he occupied yadonushi’s body, strangely adjusted to fit his shorter form.
He blinked multiple times, attempting to orient himself to being in shadowed light, to breathing with his own labored lungs, to feeling the whole world on his own skin.
He covered his face with his hands, leaning back against the wall — where even was he? After a moment of just existing, he lifted his head and looked around.
Walls of buildings rose and loomed over him.
An alley. Very telling of his location.
He rolled his eyes and staggered to his feet. The world spun around him, forcing him to place a hand on the brickwork to keep from falling on his face in the middle of some alley with questionable junk littering the ground.
Once the world stilled and he felt stable on his feet, he crept from the alley and into the light of the street.
The light was glorious.
His eyes burned and watered. Spots danced in his vision from how bright his surroundings were.
Cars roared past. Passing people didn’t spare him a glance, not like that was anything new. He was used to existing like a ghost even when he lived among the ghosts of his village.
A prickling need crawled over his skin, tightening his lungs and strangling his throat. It was as if he wanted to start screaming, to get people to see, to hear him.
He shook his head, shoving the feeling down.
Stumbling from the entrance to the alleyway, he looked around for anything familiar. The first thing he needed to do was figure out where exactly he was.
That didn’t take nearly as long as he thought.
Looming in the distance like an egotistic overload was the very familiar KaibaCorp building.
Domino City.
He was back in the same vicinity as the pharaoh’s vessel… as yadonushi.
Rubbing his face, he allowed himself a moment to come up with a plan. After figuring out the date, he’d need to figure out his path. Should he go after the vessel to get back at the pharaoh — it sounded ideal — or should he do something that went against every fiber of his existence and see his ex-landlord?
The two ideas tore at his mind. He was pulled in two different paths, and he was split down the middle.
Date first.
He needed to know the date. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and slunk down the sidewalk. Despite people not acknowledging his existence when right in front of them, they at least avoided walking into him.
His eyes scanned his surroundings, taking in as many details as he could. Nothing looked too different from when he was last in Domino, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t still changes in its bones.
He passed by a stand with newspapers, causing him to pause.
March 14th.
Why did that date ping something in the back of his mind? He could hear yadonushi’s voice, words garbled and distorted, in the back of his mind.
So, the date was significant in some way, but he couldn’t get his brain to properly tune into the memory. He ground his teeth together, trying to focus.
His thoughts were static and jumbled, but slowly yadonushi’s voice came into focus. At first, he lost several words, making what was said unintelligible. And then everything finally clicked, and the cobwebs in the catacombs of his mind blew away.
White Day. One month after Valentine’s Day. The day when one would give reciprocal gifts to those who gave chocolates the month before.
He remembered how uncomfortable yadonushi often got on Valentine’s Day when his fan club tried to force their chocolates onto him, and he would beg for the Spirit to take over and reject them while he panicked in his soul room.
Despite the situation being uncomfortable for the Spirit as well, he managed to reject the chocolates. A strange, twisting pleasure would well up inside his stomach at the crestfallen looks on the admirers’ faces. Not like they knew anything about yadonushi like he did. They didn’t see the gremlin, only the angelic appearance.
But he saw it all. He saw all the way down to the very marrow of yadonushi’s bones.
A small smile tugged at his lips, recalling how yadonushi once gifted him with chocolates. Yadonushi swore that it was a thank you, but the thought was what mattered, he supposed.
Well, he might as well return the gesture. He might not be a tenant anymore, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t still pay rent. He could be nice if he absolutely had to.
He’ll just steal something and call it a day. Besides, he wondered how yadonushi would react to seeing him alive.
He glanced around at the nearby shops, spotting one that should have something nice and shiny to gift. Who doesn’t like shiny?
He slipped into the store, unnoticed by the worker or any of the patrons. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Dia—his ka was wrapped around him, concealing his presence like he was on one of his usual heists.
He wandered around, eyes flicking in distaste. He’d seen better shiny objects at a junk yard.
He was about to find some other shop when he caught sight of a necklace. It was simple, really. Nothing to even brag about, but the stone was bright and shiny. What stone even was it? Aside from fake, of course. He’d seen more authenticity in a toy store.
His fingers reached out to caress it. The moment he touched it, he was back in a tomb, reaching for priceless, shiny jewels to put in a satchel to be pawned for grain and other supplies needed to survive. The memory was vibrant and full of life, to the point that he could feel the rage rushing in his veins, the shame at his blasphemy coiling up within his chest.
He backed away from the necklace, mind now back in the present. His heart rattled against his ribcage, shaking free centuries' worth of grim that clung to his insides.
More memories flickered in his eyes. He clutched at his head.
An endless ocean of sand.
The steady gallop of hooves as a horse raced through a desolate village left in ashes and ruins.
Tombs broken into.
Traps avoided by the skin of his teeth.
Sarcophagi with smears of blood where he’d slammed his fists as he begged to understand why he and his village were forsaken.
Flames consuming buildings. Molten gold glowing in the night. Screams and blood. Bodies melting, melting, melting.
A lonely little orphan from a village that the royal family condemned, left to a sacrilegious life full of blinding rage, and grief, and pleas to be seen with the smallest amount of kindness.
Only for his prayers to be answered by the wrong god.
Bakhura staggered further away from the display. Nausea bubbled up in his throat. His head throbbed, feeling far too human and alive for the first time in centuries.
He swallowed down bile, ducking from the store to regain his bearings. On the sidewalk, he stood, clutching at his chest. Beneath his hand, he felt the steady thumps of his heart. A heart he swore was liquefied from that attack from Mahado. A heart that was supposed to be devoured by Ammit, or Necrophades, for his sins.
But there it was. Pulsing steady and strong. Proof of life.
A second chance that he didn’t deserve. Reborn on a day of reciprocal love with a chance to return the kind gesture from his host.
And he was going to give yadonushi some thoughtless, heartless necklace that was worth less than the sand in Kemet?
No. He’d do better for yadonushi. Something more in line with what he was interested in. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a gaming store in sight.
Bakhura massaged his temples and began walking. With Duel Monsters-obsessed Seto Kaiba practically owning Domino, there had to be dozens of game shops crammed around the city.
Avoiding the game shop was a priority, though.
Last thing he needed at this moment was seeing the vessel. It’d distract him from his current mission: get yadonushi a White Day gift.
He wandered for several minutes until a gaming shop came into view. It looked promising, but he’d give his verdict once he saw their TTRPG section.
He stepped into the shop, ignoring the jingle of the overhead bell. The shopkeeper glanced up with a dead-eyed, sleep-deprived stare before looking away once more into the mug in hand, a strange expression of betrayal in their eyes.
Okay then…
He shook his head, weaving through the display stands and around shelves.
Duel Monsters.
Duel Monsters.
Boring board games.
Puzzles.
Why is there an entire section dedicated to decks of regular playing cards?
Is he in hell? This had to be hell.
It took a disgusting amount of time before Bakhura found the Monster World section. It was a sad little stand of basic merchandise and gaming sets.
He reached out to riffle through the products, hoping to strike gold if he dug around. He froze at the sight of his own hand. It was scarred just as he remembered, and yet the scars looked wrong.
He held his hand up to the ceiling lights, focusing on the scars, tracing them with his eyes. It didn’t make sense.
He knew each scar as if they were a silent confession to the gods for his transgressions in order to survive. Each scar on his person carried a story with them, and he remembered them with reverence.
Yet, for some reason, they didn’t look right. As if they were supposed to be an explosion of agony, a blooming star burst of scar tissue.
And oh…
That’s why. It wasn’t yadonushi’s scars that he was seeing. They were his own. Scars that he hadn’t properly seen in lifetimes.
His scars were secrets of his story, and yadonushi’s… they were reminders of Bakhura’s mark on his life.
“Oh gods…” he whispered.
A twisting feeling boiled inside his gut. He could picture it clear as day, the tines of the sennen ring burying into his host’s chest, as if trying to wrap themselves around yadonushi’s heart in a macabre hug. He could feel the near-paralyzing agony of the diorama spire piercing through a hand not his own, the sharp kiss of a blade across his arm. Pain he’d inflicted without thought, without care. Over and over, a symphony of cruelty etched on pale flesh.
Without even thinking, Bakhura bolted from the shop. His lungs screamed at him, fighting and failing to pull in oxygen. His palms smacked against the bark of a tree, tucked out of the way so no passerbys could witness this moment of utter weakness.
He’d caused that pain, spilt all that blood.
He’d done that to Ryou.
Oh gods. He’d hurt Ryou repeatedly. Left dolls harboring the spirits of his friends behind in a morbid display of affection.
The fuck was he thinking?!
Why couldn’t he have been normal enough to have left food in the very least?!
He sank to his knees in the shade of the tree. His chest heaved. His lungs burned.
Why couldn’t he breathe?
His stupid fucking lungs should know how to function. That was their purpose!
His fingers clawed at his throat, hoping beyond hope that if he ripped open a hole, then he’d be able to breathe normally.
Before he managed to break the skin, a strangled sob erupted. Tears drowned his eyes, flowing down his cheeks in relentless waves.
He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, attempting to stifle the sound of his sobs. This wasn’t his village, where his sobs harmonized with the agonized wails of his village and were swallowed up in the desert sands for no one to hear, even if they had any desire to listen.
Bakhura pulled his legs to his chest, fingers tugging at the roots of his hair.
He was a monster. Ryou shouldn’t bear any of the scars that Bakhura left on him. They should have automatically transferred over to Bakhura when he came back into existence.
He was the cause of them; it was only right that he bore them in Ryou’s stead.
As much as Bakhura should avoid Ryou to spare him from his presence and future hurt, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to do one thing for Ryou.
A kindness for kindness sake.
A White Day gift was truly the least he could do. It wouldn’t be enough to atone for his crimes against Ryou. Nowhere near enough.
The blasphemy of stealing from pharaoh tombs stirred up less shame compared to what came from hurting Ryou. Hurting Ryou was the greater crime. And nothing could bring absolution for such sin.
He swallowed tightly, wiping at his face to remove traces of his tears. Tears wouldn’t heal the hurts he’d inflicted upon Ryou. They weren’t a balm or a salve. Tears didn’t knit scar tissue together into unblemished flesh. They didn’t replenish the blood stolen from gaping wounds. They were just that. Tears. An expression of emotion manifested physically.
Once Bakhura felt like he was in control of himself, he got to his feet and made his way to a specific store that Ryou stumbled upon some time back.
Bakhura wasn’t sure if Ryou sensed the magic that wove into the different products. Not like he actually purchased anything. He would go in, spend some time simply wandering around before leaving once more, empty-handed and with tears in his eyes, carrying a heavy weight on his heart that Bakhura felt even through the veil of the sennen ring.
It always baffled Bakhura why Ryou would visit the shop repeatedly without ever purchasing anything, and always leaving with the feeling of drowning without water.
But there’d been something there that called to Bakhura. Something he wanted to grab and cradle despite never seeing it. It was a siren song, echoing within his own soul.
Bakhura felt the magic of the shop before it even came into view. It permeated the air, casting a soothing, protective aura over the surrounding area.
When he haunted the ring, the magic had caused physical pain in his disembodied soul. It made Necrophades snarl and slink further away from the surface of the ring, away from Bakhura. And during those beautiful, agonizingly brief moments, he’d felt like himself again.
Now, the magic didn’t hurt. It didn’t pull at his soul as if it was trying to pluck him apart. It was welcoming, reminding him of his mother’s embrace back when he was a child.
What he was planning on doing was reckless, but for Ryou, he’d risk everything, even angering whoever possessed this magic. He slipped through the door of the shop, its overhead bell oddly silent. The shopkeeper wasn’t at the counter. He couldn’t sense any other presence in the shop with him.
Bakhura made his way to the jewelry display, following that familiar call. Instead of carelessly reaching out to grab a piece, he examined and sensed each one. His heka scanned each item, letting the properties of the jewelry register in his senses.
When his heka brushed against one piece, everything inside of him screamed yes. That was perfect for Ryou. And it was the very thing that called out to him.
The necklace fit Ryou flawlessly. It was a crescent moon with a real moonstone embedded inside its belly of the moon. Nestled between the two points was a spider whose abdomen was a white 20-sided dice wrapped in wire to keep it contained.
He gathered the necklace into his hand, feeling how the subtle magic of it wrapped around him, accepting what he wanted it for. All the symbolism of the piece hummed in pleasure, excited to finally have a home to go to.
Stealing was a necessary evil, something he once prided himself in his prowess in despite the guilt and shame he carried on his shoulders because of it. Stealing this piece weighed heavier on him than any of his other thefts. It shackled his soul tighter than carting the body of the pharaoh’s father into the royal palace had. For all his rage and anger at the man, he’d still been a living god. Someone his damned soul still worshipped with the rest of the tribunal.
He clutched the necklace to his heart that seemed to beat in tandem with the steady pulses of magic. He pulled in a breath, feeling oddly cleaner and lighter than he felt since the fire.
“You’re going to need this.”
Bakhura spun around, facing the shopkeeper who stood directly behind him, holding a jewelry gift box out to him. His eyes flicked down to it and then back at the shopkeeper.
It was a young girl with silvery-white hair that was braided back. Her eyes were dark, almost familiar. They were deep pools of wisdom that shouldn’t have been possible for someone of her age.
She looked too young to run a shop. She looked the same as she had when Ryou first found the shop. Exactly the same. As if time didn’t touch her. Like she was someone completely otherworldly.
Thinking about it, Bakhura couldn’t recall Ryou ever interacting with her, despite her always being present during each visit.
A smile filled her lips. She took one of his hands, setting the box in it.
“I don’t…” he trailed.
“It’s already paid for,” she said, a mischievous lilt in her tone. “Happy White Day, Bakhura.”
Before he could get another word in, the shopkeeper practically skipped off to the counter where stacks of letters sat. waiting. Some papers were aged to a yellow hue. The letter that sat open on the counter was a pristine white, the ink practically glistening as if still wet.
She picked it up with a happy hum, a smile decorating her lips.
Slowly, Bakhura placed the necklace into the box and pocketed it. How in the world did she know his name? He knew for a fact he never said it. He hadn’t actually heard his name spoken since his village was last alive.
He cast another glance at the young girl, watching as she clutched the letter to her chest. A tear rolled down her cheek despite the smile still filling her face. She mouthed i-love-you to herself before looking down at the letter once again.
Understanding that he shouldn’t bear witness to this moment, he stepped from the shop, nearly blinding himself from how bright the sunlight was.
The magic of the shop wasn’t as potent anymore. When he glanced over his shoulder to spare one last glance at the girl, the building was gone, revealing a gate. Beyond the gate were countless stone obelisks that wove and merged with the surrounding nature.
He felt for the jewelry box, feeling it still in his pocket. Just in case, he pulled it out and peeked inside. The necklace was still in the box.
It’d been real.
Bakhura looked back up at where the shop used to be, but it hadn’t returned. Deciding that he shouldn’t question anything, he repocketed the necklace and made his way back to the shopping district.
He passed by a convenience store. A thought crept into his mind. While the necklace was perfect on its own, Bakhura wanted to give something extra to Ryou.
Something sweet. Literally.
He scanned the aisles, searching for a specific brand. One that Ryou enjoyed. It wasn’t cream puffs — Ryou’s absolute favorite — but it was the next best thing in Ryou’s opinion.
Bakhura spotted the chocolate bar in question. He swiped it, stashing the chocolate in a hidden pocket of his jacket. He left without another thought.
Maybe this will be the last time he indulged in his sticky fingers. He wasn’t quite certain. This was a second chance at living, and he hoped that he could live it the way he wanted.
Once outside the store, Bakhura stood for a moment, feeling a familiar pull in the direction of where Ryou lived. A smile curved at his lips. Even without the ring, he could still feel the bond between him and Ryou.
His heart galloped in his chest as he made his way down the familiar path. He honestly was startled that Ryou hadn’t moved despite the time that’d passed since Bakhura was gone.
A part of him wanted to indulge in the idea that Ryou stayed for him. It was wishful thinking, a fantasy.
The building felt almost deserted, with how empty it seemed. Getting to Ryou’s floor and apartment door was a blur of emotion.
Bakhura shook his head and picked the lock on Ryou’s door. Nothing changed inside the apartment. Monster World paraphernalia was scattered around the apartment, covering nearly every available flat surface. Notebooks and sketchbooks were spread out with campaign notes, marking up the pages.
The apartment smelled exactly as he remembered it, even though his senses had been dulled at the time. He ran his fingers across the wall as he made his way through the apartment.
It felt like he was coming home, but he wasn’t. This was Ryou’s home. Not his. That didn’t change how he felt, though. It’d always feel like home to him.
Tucked in bed, still asleep, was Ryou. His hair was shorter, but had a more wild edge to it. Deep bags marred underneath Ryou’s eyes.
Had he pulled another all-nighter?
Knowing the gremlin, he probably had.
Rolling a super critical for stealth, Bakhura slid onto the bed next to Ryou without disrupting his sleep.
Bakhura reached out to tuck a lock of hair from Ryou’s face, but paused before he could touch. Not only would he end up waking Ryou, who looked like he needed as much sleep as he could get, but it would be crossing a boundary. He’d crossed so many in the past, he couldn’t… wouldn’t cross this one.
Instead, Bakhura leaned back against the headboard and picked up Ryou’s cellphone from the nightstand. He smiled when he saw the games installed.
How much time he spent playing games, Bakhura couldn’t exactly say. He’d lost himself in the game he was playing that he missed the early signs of Ryou waking up.
Ryou released a soft, disgruntled moan as he shifted. He tugged at his blankets, but they refused to move with Bakhura pinning them in place.
Bakhura paused his game, glancing over, watching as Ryou’s eyes fluttered before opening slowly.
Their eyes locked, and Bakhura wanted to completely drown in the depths of Ryou’s eyes. A smile tugged at his lips as Ryou seemed to register that he was actually there.
Shock, maybe a bit of panic, filled Ryou’s features.
“Happy White Day,” Bakhura said. He probably should have already pulled out the gifts for Ryou so he could have offered them as he said the words, but oh well. He’d lost the opportunity already.
Without missing a beat, Ryou shrieked, striking Bakhura with his pillow. He flung himself off the bed, throwing himself into a corner of his room.
Bakhura blinked several times. Had… had Ryou actually struck him with a pillow? He stared at Ryou, who held a hand to his chest, breathing deeply. Why the pillow and not the knife that Bakhura knew Ryou kept tucked under the mattress? Not that he wanted Ryou to actually stab him.
He covered his mouth, trying desperately to stifle the laughter that bubbled up inside his chest. His shoulders shook, and the laughter tumbled out.
“Holy shit,” he wheezed.
Ryou scowled at him, and Bakhura could only laugh harder. Ryou stomped over and attempted to shove him off the bed.
Bakhura pulled him fully onto the bed, hugging him briefly, needing the physical touch of their bodies connecting.
Ryou tensed against him. “Spirit?”
“Happy White Day, Ryou,” he whispered, face tucked against Ryou’s neck. He pulled out the chocolate and jewelry box, pushing it into Ryou’s hand.
Ryou leaned back, looking at him with a soft, almost vulnerable expression. “How is this possible?”
Bakhura shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure, but here I am.”
Ryou looked at the gifts, chewing on his bottom lip.
“No strings attached.” He tapped the gifts. “I just…” He shifted, discomfort welling up inside his chest.
Hesitantly, Ryou opened the jewelry box.
Bakhura looked away, unable to watch Ryou. His heart rattled against his ribcage. Was it about to burst from his chest? It’d be a really shitty thing to happen because of how it’d affect Ryou.
If Bakhura’s heart burst out, it’d create a mess that Ryou would have to clean up. Plus, he’d be a corpse that Ryou would be forced to deal with and explain to everyone.
Ryou sucked in a sharp breath. “Holy shit — Spirit. This is—”
“Bakhura. That’s my ren.”
“Bakhura.”
A shudder shot down Bakhura’s spine at the way his name sounded on Ryou’s tongue. How it sounded right. He swallowed, slowly meeting Ryou’s eyes.
There was an expression there that Bakhura couldn’t properly read. It made his heart skip a beat, and his breath quicken in his chest. He felt warm and safe.
“Put it on me?”
Bakhura shifted onto his knees. He tucked a lock of hair behind Ryou’s ear before realizing what he was doing. He pulled his hand away, feeling as though the brief touch burned him.
“Are you sure?” He stared at the scar on the back of Ryou’s hand. Guilt twisted in his guts.
This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have stayed. He should have put the gifts on the table and left, never letting Ryou know that he was back.
Ryou placed the necklace in the center of Bakhura’s palm, closing his fingers around it. “I’m sure.”
Swallowing with a dry throat, Bakhura slowly latched the necklace chain around Ryou’s neck. The scent of Ryou filled his senses, making him lightheaded.
“I missed you,” Ryou whispered against his ear.
“I missed you, too.”
Bakhura should move away, give Ryou space, but he couldn’t pull himself away. His fingers traced along the chain, down the side of Ryou’s neck.
He pressed his forehead against Ryou’s, closing his eyes. The contact made Bakhura’s blood heat, his heart soar. If given the chance, he’d stay like that for the rest of his existence.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching down to caress the scars on Ryou’s hand to indicate what he was apologizing for.
Ryou threaded their fingers together, squeezing Bakhura’s hand before bringing it to his chest.
Thump… thump…
Bakhura clenched and flexed his grip in time with Ryou’s heartbeats.
“I forgive you.”
Ryou really shouldn’t. Not so quickly. Not when he only apologized. A single apology shouldn’t be enough for forgiveness, to erase the hurt he caused.
Bakhura shook his head, but remained pressed to Ryou. “You shouldn’t.” His voice cracked with the words.
“I can and I will.” Ryou cradled Bakhura’s jaw. “You kept me safe.”
Bakhura snorted. “The scars tell a different story.”
“Maybe they do, but I’m talking about other instances. You protected me from Slifer’s attack.”
“Which was a situation I put you in,” he pointed out.
“Maybe it was, but you still protected me even though you didn’t have to.” Ryou pressed kisses to Bakhura’s eyelids.
A sad smile tugged at Ryou’s lips. The fatigue still clung to him.
Bakhura lightly brushed his thumbs against the dark circles under Ryou’s eyes.
“I’m glad to have you back.” Ryou pushed himself closer, as if he craved the closeness as much as Bakhura did. A choked sound escaped Ryou. “The other day… I wanted you back so much that it hurt. I needed you. And I feared that I wouldn’t ever be able to see you again.”
“What happened?” Bakhura asked, understanding what Ryou wasn’t saying. “Who hurt you?”
“Aigami… or Diva. He wanted revenge. He unmade me, in a way.”
Bakhura’s eyes widened. He didn’t know who this person was, but he wanted to rip them apart for daring to harm Ryou.
He pulled Ryou close, his arms enveloping Ryou protectively despite it being a foreign action.
Ryou held him in return, crushing their bodies together to the point Bakhura thought his body would break, that they would merge together until they were only a single person. As if Bakhura holding him was the only thing keeping him from fading away, from falling apart.
“Stay,” Ryou begged. “Please, please stay. Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t. I’m here. I’ll stay.” Staying hadn’t been his goal. Not in Ryou’s apartment, at least. He hadn’t actually had a plan after giving Ryou a White Day gift. Guilt tangled in his insides for the relief he felt with Ryou’s request.
Ryou pulled away just enough for their noses to brush together. Tears clung to his lashes, red blotches on his cheeks. There was something so tragic, but beautiful, seeing Ryou like that.
Bakhura gently swiped the tears away. He brought their foreheads together once again. He wasn’t nothingness. He wasn’t dead.
He was still a wound, but Ryou was his balm, his suture to help him heal. Their lips brushed in a faint whisper of movement.
Bakhura’s eyes slid shut, their lips connecting more firmly with the second brush. He cradled Ryou’s face, letting their tongues dance. Their mouths came together again and again until they lost count, until each kiss drowned out the heavy emotions for the time being.
And Bakhura allowed himself to be swept away in the vibrant light of Ryou’s lips on his. It cleansed his soul, making him feel whole.
He was home. It wasn’t the apartment. It was Ryou. Always had been. Ryou was his home.
When they parted for breath, Bakhura looked up at Ryou, who hovered over him, neither knowing when they fell into the position. He reached out, touching the necklace gently.
Ryou laid down, resting his head on Bakhura’s chest. His ear listening to the steady thumps of Bakhura’s heart.
Bakhura held Ryou close. “Rest,” he whispered. “You need it. I’ll hold you.”
Ryou gripped Bakhura’s shirt.
Bakhura closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of Ryou as if it were the only oxygen he needed. The weight of Ryou pinning him to the mattress grounded him, as if anchoring him to the world officially.
He drifted asleep, cocooning himself in the warmth of Ryou’s body.
He was alive.
He was with Ryou.
He was loved and wanted. Seen.
When Bakhura woke, he was still in Ryou’s arms, but their positions were reversed. Fingers carted through his hair. Beneath his ear, he could hear Ryou’s heartbeat. Steady and strong.
“Ryou?” he mumbled, hearing how Ryou’s heart sped up at the sound of his own name.
He tilted his head, meeting Ryou’s eyes. There was something soft in Ryou’s gaze, directed at him. Love.
Ryou placed a small chocolate square on Bakhura’s lips.
Absently, Bakhura parted his lips, letting Ryou push the chocolate into his mouth. The sweetness coated his tongue, but the taste of Ryou’s finger was the true decadence.
“Happy White Day,” Ryou whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Bakhura’s head.
Bakhura released Ryou’s finger. “I thought that was for me to say,” he quipped. “After all, I was the gift giver.”
Ryou chuckled, fond. “Honestly, you could have shown up on your own, and that would have been gift enough.”
“Sap,” Bakhura said, heat gathering on his cheeks.
“I know, but it’s also the truth.” He brushed their noses together, causing Bakhura’s breath to hitch in his lungs. “You’re the best gift the universe could have given me.”
A tear trickled from Bakhura’s eye. He wasn’t the gift, but he knew Ryou wouldn’t listen. Instead, he cradled Ryou’s jaw and dragged his lips against Ryou’s. Slow and deliberate.
The gift wasn’t him.
It was Ryou. It always was Ryou.
His host.
His angel.
His savior.
It was there in Ryou’s arms, their mouths connected and tongues sliding together, that Bakhura found absolution for his past crimes. And it was there with Ryou pressed to him, that he’d continue his worship.