Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Ryou’s eyes shot open and was met by a pervasive, inky darkness. Mere seconds later, the place flickered to life. Just like with every other morning in recent memory, he was frozen by the sight. His eyes went wide in alarm as he took in the windowless concrete walls, their pocked and uneven surface painted an off white. The only light source in this room was a bare bulb hanging limply from the ceiling. Across the room from where he lay was a thick iron door, its handle worn from many hands.

His groggy brain finally clued into where he was. Sighing, he pulled the rough blanket up and over his head. For someone who is practically made of money, none of Kaiba’s fortune was spent on any of his surroundings. Still, this was a last-minute arrangement, and he was fairly comfortable.

The incessant buzzing continued, the blanket doing nothing to dampen the ruckus. With a sleepy murmur, Ryou peered over the edge of his cot and switched off the alarm clock sitting on the floor. The clock displayed 7:00 AM in bright green numbers, the only orienting fixture in this almost featureless room.

Another morning had come.

Ryou got up and made his way over towards the sink in the corner of the room to clean up. It was certainly not an ordinary sink, as this room was a large janitor’s closet stripped bare, but it had running water and a drain. Good enough for his hopefully short stay.

Today was day eight. He should have left this room yesterday, but he had thankfully been allowed to stay a little longer. Here in this locked room, they were making progress, good progress, but there was still so much more to be done.

Ryou grabbed the towel hanging off the tap and rubbed at his wet face. Once he was done, he glanced back towards the corner of the room that held the room’s other occupant.

Across the room nestled in a corner far away from the door lay the Millennium Ring. The object of his torment lay still, its contours caught the muted incandescent light, reflecting glimmers of gold onto the adjacent wall. It appeared rather unimposing to most, a strange golden artifact from a time long ago.

Ryou knew better.

For years, Bakura, the spirit from within had tormented him. Many of Ryou’s days and nights had been lost, blacked out as the spirit used his body to achieve his ill-advised ends. He had grown to fear the spirit within, to resent him for what he was doing. It was only after Yugi and his friends had returned from the elaborate shadow game that Bakura had crafted to best the pharaoh did he learn the truth and change his perspective.

Bakura was not pure evil. He was hurting, lashing out against the descendants of the people accountable for the unimaginable travesty against his people. Millenia of solitude trapped within the Millennium Ring had further grown and festered this hatred, driving the spirit insane.

Despite this newfound information, Ryou had still been convinced that there was nothing left of the spirit to salvage. Only when he had stood up for his fallen friend and looked into the spirit’s eyes for the first time across that stadium did he realized that he was wrong. Dead wrong.

Now here he stood, in a janitor’s closet within an underground bunker, locked in a room with the very soul that tried to split his in two.

Ryou quietly hung up the towel and crossed the room to crouch in front of the artifact.

“Good morning, Bakura.” Ryou whispered, reaching out to grasp the cord wrapped around the Millennium Ring. Quietly, he draped the artifact around his neck and waited for the voice.

Hello.

An involuntary shiver ran down his spine at the telepathic greeting. He fought the alarming memories that seemed to rush back at the sound of this voice. “How are you?”

I’m still here. Still locked away like you requested.

Ryou smiled slightly. They had come to an understanding early on that if Bakura were ever to walk free and not spend the rest of eternity at the bottom of an ocean, he would have to respect Ryou’s rules. That meant no possessions, no violence. Only talking.

By some miracle, the spirit had obliged.

“Good, but that’s not what I meant,” Ryou scolded mildly, his delicate British accent reverberating off the bare walls.

He was met by silence for a moment, then finally the spirit responded.

Our… arrangement had left me a lot of time to think.

Ryou stared intently at the artifact around his neck as he desperately wished that Bakura elaborate. Yugi and Atem had once explained that their own mind link was able to convey both words and feelings if neither erected a mental wall between them. Despite his efforts, the mental wall Bakura had fashioned around himself remained steadfast. It only ever wavered for mere moments whenever Bakura wanted to say something before reforming to swallowing him whole.

That is, until today.

The spirit’s next words were accompanied by a glimpse of something Ryou had only hoped to see.

… I miss them.

Those three simple words seemed to break down a portion of that wall, pain and a somber, pervasive loneliness bleeding through to coat Ryou’s own consciousness. His heart twisted in response, and without thinking, he mentally reached out.

Just before he reached that mental wall, he stopped. For a moment, Ryou wondered if this was the best course of action. Would there be retaliation? Would he regret this? Even if he was allowed to break that wall, there was no telling what he would find beyond.

No matter the consequences, he had to try. He had to see this through.

Mustering up that courage he had found under the stadium lights, Ryou reached.

At the contact, he felt the wall start to crumble.

In an isolated system, entropy can only increase.