"You need to understand that you don't have bad mental health - you have mental illness."
Malik didn't teach Bakura how to love himself, but he was the bridge that helped him get there.
[ Credit for cover: samael_dire on Instagram ]
[ MLM, Thiefship...
Hey guys! Sorry that this is a touch late - I had an essay due today and I crashed a little after it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!
CW: Screaming, dissociation, anxiety attack/break down, very minor self harm (pulling hair/biting lip)
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Bakura woke with a start. He must have fallen asleep at some stage, curled into Ryou. Light peeked up through the top of his blinds, illuminating the room enough that it hurt Bakura's eyes. He grunted and rolled off his single bed - if Ryou wasn't there, he was up and doing something. That was an indication that Bakura should also be up and doing something.
He stumbled across his floor, trying not to step on the array of wires and half-fixed electronics, and grabbed the same jeans he'd been wearing for the last few days. He yanked them on and pulled the door open as he was buttoning them up.
"Shirt," Ryou called from the kitchen. Bakura huffed, turned around, and grabbed one of his shirts from his closet. Most of them were in the wash basket or scattered around it.
He hooked his fingers into a red one and pulled it over his head as he walked out of his room again. He made his way into the kitchen to find Ryou bent over a frying pan, a bottle of pancake mix by his side on the counter.
Ryou looked at him over his shoulder and offered a small smile. "Hey."
Hey. Bakura hated that tone. It was the same one Ryou used every time he woke up screaming, every other night. The same one, every damn morning. Bakura just grunted in response and dropped into a chair.
Ryou turned the heat on the hob down a little so the pancake wouldn't burn and moved to sit down across from Bakura. "You feeling a bit better?"
Another grunt. Ryou knew he didn't like to talk about his nightmares. He hadn't said a word about them in the entire time that he had been back. Why would he start now?
"Do you want some pancakes?" A shrug. "Bacon?" Another shrug. Ryou sighed, his head dropping a little. "Bakura, I need you to help me out here."
Bakura's eyes flickered up to him. "How?" He hissed through his teeth. "How am I meant to help you?"
Ryou rubbed his palms together. "I don't know. By talking to me? Telling me what you want?" He shook his head. "I can't read your mind, Bakura. I don't know what you expect me to do."
Kick him out. Bakura expected Ryou to kick him out, to hurt him, to hate him. He deserved nothing less than that after what he put Ryou through. "Nothing," he muttered. "I don't expect you to do anything."
"Well you obviously do." Ryou folded his arms. "Because you slouch around the apartment without cleaning up after yourself, you never cook, you barely do your job-" Ryou swallowed as Bakura looked away. "I'm not blaming you. I know you didn't ask to be brought back." Bakura closed his eyes. "But I need you to tell me what you want me to do."
