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When Ryou entered his room only to find a small mountain of golden jewelry, his blood ran cold.
He had a fairly good idea of what might have happened. How it happened, however, he wasn’t sure of. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know either, but. It was there.
Might as well ask the source.
"Thief King. Come out.”
The other one stepped into the room after him, his lips twisted into a proud grin. Ryou sighed.
Things had been a little touch and go since the Thief King had fully recovered his memory and somehow remained stuck in their plane of existence. At first, when Ryou felt the Thief King’s consciousness nudge at him, he’d been terrified. Then he became a bitter mix of sarcastic and resigned, as the Thief King kept moaning about unfairness, about how he should be allowed to rest (absolute ground for mockery, on Ryou’s mind), but he’d also happily kept pestering Ryou (absolute ground for misery, on Ryou’s part. He thought he should have been allowed to rest too.)
Well. At least the Thief King wasn’t so evil about it anymore. Ryou would still have preferred him to become fully independent, but of course, things could not be this simple. Apparently, with his soul leaving a permanent imprint on Ryou’s, Millennium Ring or not, the Thief King and him were bonded for good. Except, occasionally they kind of… glitched in and out.
As in, the Thief King sometimes borrowed Ryou’s body, sometimes remained dormant within his soul, and sometimes, somehow, found himself with his own body.
So.
That was fun to explain.
(Overall, they avoided trying to explain. Ryou spent a lot of time praying that it would never happen in a place where there were too many people.)
“Landlord.” The other smirked, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe. He made quite the figure, so blatantly proud and so blatantly out of place—and yet, looking like he’d always belonged here. “It’s nice to see you. How was class?”
Ryou couldn’t deal with it.
“It was… it…Nevermind. Thief King, did you rob a museum?"
The Thief King shook his head and shrugged. That damn smirk of his looked almost fond, now that it had lost its cruel edge.
"No. Only a private collection.”
Well that was... better, Ryou guessed?
“I heard that a man had been accumulating riches that were not rightfully his. They should have been the pharaoh’s. I thought, being closer to the pharaoh, they’d be better in your hands. Don’t they look nice?"
They would have looked nice on a pharaoh. They would have looked nice inside a museum.
They did not look nice in a pile on the ground of his room.
Ryou tried his hardest not to freak out and called Yugi for help.
So Ryou started to become concerned when he could not feel the Thief King’s consciousness anymore. Not feeling him close meant that he was roaming unsupervised.
This never was good news at all.
The golden jewels had been bad enough. The mountain of old manuscripts that had come afterwards had been awful to deal with: one the one hand, Ryou wanted to drown into that unexpected knowledge he would have never managed to get his hands on without the Thief King. On the other hand, it was from another private collection.
The thing was, the Thief King was thorough in his job: no one could catch him.
Ryou was not quite as sneaky when he tried to put
(He would never recover from the call he had to make to Kaiba, of all, to help him figure out how to put back the beautiful Bastet statue the Thief King had somehow lugged home. They had needed a helicopter. This had not been a discreet affair. Ryou can’t believe he got out of it unscathed—can’t believe Kaiba accepted to take the hit. He shuddered to imagine what Atem or the Thief King had promised in return.)
Which led them to where they were now: the Thief King and his proud, devastating smirk, looking at Ryou with expectant eyes; the pile of brand new dice, colourful and sparkly like diamonds on Ryou’s desk.
“Please tell me you didn’t go and steal from Yugi’s grandpa’s shop.”
“Oh, Landlord! While stealing from the pharaoh has been one of my favourite sports, you should know I know better now. If anything I helped by stealing from their enemies.”
Their enemi— oh. The competition.
A new game shop had opened two streets from Kame Game, leading to Sugoroku Muto moaning about losing customers.
Truth was, there was not much of a loss: their customers had always been regulars who would never give up on good old Kame Game, and Mister Muto was famous for going above and beyond to find the games that fitted the needs and dreams of his customers.
Ryou guess he could see where the Thief King came from, though.
So. Maybe he could… turn a blind eye, for now. After all, the Thief King never got caught.
Also, these dice really looked extra shiny, and Ryou was but a weak man.
Ryou fully believed that, having accepted one of the Thief King’s offerings, this would be the end of the weird streak.
He was wrong.
The smell hit before he even got inside the house. He pushed the door to the kitchen and found himself face-to-cloves with a mountain of garlic and…
“A… pigeon?”
“They’re really good when cooked over a fire,” the voice of the Thief King came from behind him. Ryou jumped. The other caught him.
That damn proud smirk.
Well. At least the Thief King had been kind enough to put all of this on the kitchen table, and not on the ground of his room.
Small mercies.
"....flowers?"
The Thief King shrugged, smirk as in place as usual, but somehow, his smirk had a little less edge to it. Almost like he was… self-conscious?
"I thought they were pretty."
Pretty. In the mouth of the Thief King, pretty meant ostentatious. Precious. Ancient, too.
But these? These were just colourful. Not shiny. Not lavish. Just plain daisies.
“It’s not deep, they just made me think of you, Landlord.”
Ryou’s heart couldn’t take it. Bouquet in hand, he gaped at the other.
"Why… why do you do all this?"
The Thief King’s smirk melted. His eyes suddenly looked younger, a little lost.
“Isn’t it… good practice to bring gifts to a host, here?"
Ryou gaped. The Thief King barreled on with his explanation, almost rambling.
"I thought you'd like them more than—"
The gash in my arm, yes. The burns on my torso, yes.
The “friends” you forced to “stay” with me, yes.
(Ryou knew he was being unfair. The Thief King was not fully here for this. The dark entity pushed most of these, and distorted the other’s intentions even when they were almost kind.)
“More than—”
The absolute headache of having to put back artefacts you somehow brought home, yes.
Also, last week garlic, yes.
(If Ryou had to see another clove in the next six months, he was going to die.)
“Hum, I also got these...”
The Thief King turned and revealed the table of the kitchen behind it.
Ryou remained awestruck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mountain of pastries and chocolates laying there.
“You didn’t seem to like the pigeon, and I’ve been told that you might like these ones better?”
Well. The Thief King was not wrong, Ryou admitted.
(Ryou would really like to know who he had been to to ask for advice; he made a note to investigate later.)
Ryou took a step towards the table and picked up a cream puff. He popped it into his mouth.
It was rich, fresh. He had no idea where it came from.
The Thief King beamed, before he schooled himself and put his smirk firmly back into place, crossing his arms again to cement the fact that he was a fearful ancient Egyptian, and not at all a teenager Ryou’s age.
“Thank you, Thief King.”
“Thank you for having me, Landlord,” and the mock sarcasm in his voice would have almost been convincing, had it not been tainted with something that sounded dangerously like relief.
Ryou picked up a chocolate and closed his eyes when the rich taste of it hit his tongue.
He heard the Thief King chuckle behind him, clearly pleased with himself, and the sound convinced Ryou to stop asking questions and let the Thief King roam freely.
Maybe next time, Ryou could be the one picking something for him; just so he feels more comfortable as a guest.
(Not garlic, though.)