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)
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."
Bakura leaned back in his chair and looked around the kitchen. It didn't feel real. The pale blue cupboards, the pancake cooking in the pan, the stains on the white roof. He wasn't meant to be there. Bakura closed his eyes. "I don't want you to do anything," he whispered. "Just play a game with me every now and again." And stay up so Bakura didn't fall asleep.
A timer buzzed, and Ryou stood up to check the pancake. He placed it on a plate and then filled the pan with mixture again. He set the plate down in front of Bakura, and handed him a knife and fork. Bakura took them but didn't start to eat. Not yet.
Ryou gripped the handle of the pan, knuckles white, even though it sat stationary on the hob. "I think you should go to see someone," he muttered into the pancake. Bakura's breath caught. "A counsellor or a psychiatrist or- or something. You need to get help."
Bakura dropped his fork onto the table. Ryou flinched at the noise. "I'm the one that needs help with your shitty dad?"
"I never said I don't need it." Ryou's jaw set as if Bakura had called him landlord again. "What I'm saying is that you need help too. Bakura, you've hardly left the apartment in months. You got a job with Kaiba specifically so you would never need to talk to anyone at work."
"And there's something wrong with that?" Bakura's lip curled up. "My apologies, love; I didn't realise that earning treble my last wage was a bad thing. I'll hand in my notice."
"Don't do that!" Ryou turned on him, eyes flashing, nose scrunched by his furrowed eyebrows. "Don't twist my words like that. That's not what I mean and you know it." He had a thing about people twisting his words. "You sit and stare at the wall for hours at a time without doing anything else. You wake up screaming nearly every night and you won't tell me what you're dreaming about. You-" Ryou took a slow breath and sank into his seat again. "You need to talk to someone."
Bakura's nails dug into the palms of his hands. "What I need-" He looked up at Ryou. "-is for you to stay out of my business. I don't need to talk to anyone, least of all some whack doctor." He pushed away from the table.
"Where are you going?" Ryou sighed.
"Out." He could go out if he wanted to. Fuck Ryou. Fuck everything he said. There was nothing wrong with Bakura. He stormed over to the door and yanked his boots on.
Ryou followed him to the door and leaned against the wall. "Where?"
"I don't fucking know." Bakura tied his laces and pulled the door open. "Eat your breakfast and go to work or something." He stuffed the key into his pocket. "It's not like you wanted me back either, so you shouldn't care what happens to me."
He saw Ryou's eyes widen and his face pale, but slammed the door before any tears could fall. His own eyes burned. It was true. Ryou hated him, and he knew it. Everyone hated him. Everyone should hate him.
He dragged his feet as he made his way down the street. He didn't deserve any of the help he was getting. He deserved to go back to the shadows. He squeezed his eyes shut. His throat was burning, and too tight for him to breathe. What had Ryou said to do when that happened- no, Ryou wasn't meant to help him.
Bakura slumped into a bench and tried to control his breath. His arms seized up, too tight. It hurt to move them. Something was coming. Something was coming. He opened his eyes, looking around. Where was it? Something coming. Coming. He pressed a hand to his face. It was meant to calm him down - the touch - but his hand tensed, needed something harsher. His nails pushed his lip against his teeth and he curled in.
Too much. He was taking up too much space. It was too much.
"Hey."
Bakura tried to react. He tried. But he was stuck - stuck in the air like that damn Priest had trapped him in something, compressing him. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
"Hey, are you okay?"
His heart pounded so hard he could feel his pulse in his chest. He forced himself to look up. A boy in a school uniform holding a skateboard stood in front of him. A blue uniform with a high-collared jacket.
"I'm fine," Bakura wheezed. He still couldn't breathe. "Just tired."
"Do you need some water? Or have you got an inhaler?" The boy was frowning. He looked genuinely concerned.
Bakura closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm fine." He was shaking. "Just go to school before you're late, dumbass."
After a moment, he heard the skateboard rolling away. He curled in on himself again and twined his fingers in his hair. He pulled his head down further. The sharp pain helped - ground him, release him, he didn't know. But it helped. The wheeze slowly faded and he released his hair, leaning against the back of the bench. He looked up.
The sky was so dull in comparison to how it used to be, the smog clogging the air. It was warmer too. Bakura had never ventured out of Egypt, but he didn't think this temperature fit what he had heard of other countries from slaves he had freed. He didn't move until he had caught his breath.
He pushed himself up from the bench and looked around. He had walked farther than he thought - he must have zoned out. Again. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a slow breath. He was eight or nine blocks away. He still knew where he was. He was fine.
He looked around again, and wandered towards an internet café. He paused at the door and scowled. No wallet. Of course. He scanned the door, almost involuntarily. Ads for an English and maths tutor jumped out at him, Taekwondo and kendo classes, and then North East Counselling.
Bakura looked away, and then back. It didn't give any information but the name, the address, and a contact number. After a moment, Bakura typed the name into Google. One of the best counselling services in Domino.
Slowly, he took a breath and punched the number into his phone. He rang, and it went to voicemail. That was what he got for trying to get rid of the burden the gods had given him. He stuffed his phone into his pocket again and began his walk back to the apartment.
He did his best not to zone out this time, taking note of everything near him. The shops, the trees, that one trash can that someone had spray painted a rainbow flag on. The apartment building, the stairs, the first floor, second floor, third floor, the door to Ryou's apartment.
Bakura let out a slow breath. He was back. That was why he didn't go out often. Why did he try again? He shook his head and unlocked the door. A muffled sob reached his ears as he walked in. Right - that was why.
Bakura closed the door quietly and crept towards the kitchen. Ryou sat at the table with the phone to his ear. "I know. I know, but- but Yugi, you didn't see him and-" He sniffed and tried to rub his eyes dry, but he only succeeded in spreading his tears. "I just- no. No, I can't-" He choked back another sob. "Gods, Yuugi, he just... he looked like he hated me and I- all I wanted to do was help, but I don't know how." He shook his head. "I know, but-" Another shake. "I can't just do that. I'm the reason he's back - he didn't want to come. If I hadn't- if I had just-" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm fine." His voice cracked and he covered his mouth. "I need to go. I'm sorry for ringing you."
Bakura could hear Yuugi yelling over the speaker, but Ryou pressed the end call button and let his phone drop onto the table. He dug the palms of his hands into his eyes and stood up to get a tissue.
Bakura froze as Ryou turned, wiping his eyes. Ryou's gaze landed on him, and he tensed. "How long have you been there?" His voice was shaky.
Bakura managed to swallow. "A minute or two," he admitted. Ryou looked away and wiped his eyes again. Are you okay? The words almost escaped Bakura's mouth. Instead, he walked closer to Ryou and wrapped his arms around his waist. Ryou tensed slightly, but Bakura rested his forehead on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have said that."
"You were right," Ryou scoffed but held him tight. His hands pressed a little too hard into Bakura's arms. "At least partly. I shouldn't have brought you back - I should have thought about what you wanted, or what could have happened or-"
"No." Bakura's head curled under Ryou's chin. "This isn't your fault, love." Ryou sniffled and hid his face in Bakura's hair. Bakura squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry."
"So am I," Ryou whispered. "I was selfish, and I should've- should have-" He shook his head and dried his eyes with the rolled up tissue. "I should've thought about what could happen." He pulled back, and Bakura found himself craving the human contact again. Ryou forced a smile. "Do you want something to eat?"
"No. No, don't do that." Bakura pointed at him. "You don't get to do that when you get mad at me for doing the same thing." Ryou's face fell, and Bakura lowered his hand. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, too dry to talk. "I'm not... good at this. You know that."
Ryou leaned back against the counter. "I'm not exactly a social butterfly either."
"Right." Bakura scratched the back of his neck. "And... okay, look." He took a slow breath. "Look. I didn't- I didn't want to hurt you, I just- I wanted to get out and-" His nails dug into the skin at the bottom of his head.
"It's okay." Ryou gave him a small smile. "Really. I overreacted." He turned to the pan. "Now do you want bacon or not?"
Bakura stared at his back, trying to form the words for his argument. Ryou glanced at him over his shoulder, and Bakura slumped. "Yes please."
"Great." Ryou smiled again and grabbed the stick of butter. "You're meant to be working now. You go start and I'll bring it to you when it's done."
Again, Bakura stared for a moment, trying to draw his sentences together. After a minute, he gave up and trudged towards his room. Any arguments were just as likely to make Ryou cry again as they were to fix things - if not more so.
Bakura closed the door behind him. He made Ryou cry. His eyes squeezed shut. Gods, he fucking hated when he did that. He hadn't done it in months. Motherfucking fuck. He rubbed at his eye. Don't fall again. Don't get stuck again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Maybe that kid could help him make it up to Ryou.
His thumb hovered over recent contacts. Just above Yugi and Ryou's names was the phone number he had called for the counselling service when he was walking.
He chewed his lip. He didn't need to talk to anyone. What could he even talk about anyway? He couldn't exactly rock up to the place going, 'Hi, I'm a three thousand give-or-take year-old spirit from Egypt and I saw my entire family burned alive for the 'greater good' when I was seven'. He turned and slowly, quietly, twisted the door handle.
He only opened his door a touch. Any more and it could creak. He could just see Ryou through the gap in the wall between the kitchen and their bedrooms. He was hunched over the frying pan. His shoulders shook, but he wasn't sobbing. Something dripped from his chin onto the counter.
Bakura closed the door again, pushing it with his little finger so it wouldn't make a sound. Once the doorknob was back in place, he dialled the number again.
It rang three times before someone picked up. "Hello, North East Counseling. How may I help you?"
Bakura took a shaky breath. "I'd like to make an appointment." His voice croaked, and his pulse was hammering I his head again.
"Alright, what's your name?"
"Bakura Yuuto."
"Perfect. Is this your contact number?"
"Yes."
"Alright then, Bakura. Our next free appointment is in two days at four thirty - is that alright?"
"That's fine."
"Do you have our address?"
"Yeah, I know where you are." Bakura hung up. He would sort out payment there. He glanced at the door again. If talking nonsense to someone who had no clue what he'd been through for half an hour would stop Ryou crying like that again, then fuck it. How bad could it be?
Hey, all! Hope this was alright for you. Sorry that this chapter is so short, but the next one will be a bit longer and have some Malik time in it. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Please review, and I'll see you next week!