Archive of Our Own

Night slowly blanketed Domino City. Noise pollution released its choke hold as people quietly and wearily made their way home. Light pollution was a different story: neon letters, blinking lights, and the back-and-forth dancing of cartoons in obnoxious colors inundated the city—all begging for the attention of curious eyes on the main streets, drowning the tiny stars above.

Away from the city’s nightlife, the residential area would be lost to the shadows if it weren’t for big, artificial, white shiny spheres lined up along its dark streets; they accentuated the sharp edges of its buildings, the metallic shine of vehicles and the infinity of electric cables that acted like its black blood vessels. The inhabitants walked with their eternal dark companions. Train tracks sliced through neighborhoods.

As the hours passed, the quiet breeze that caressed the weeds along the train tracks became colder. The railroad crossing’s loudspeaker echoed the periodic clanging from the bell recording and, as their daily final hour approached, the trains’ rhythmic metallic thumping spread more and more apart.

It had been long after dark when the lights of a struggling car approached the railroad crossing. Although there was no indication of an incoming train, the small gray sedan came to a screeching halt just before the crossing line; its tires’ cries echoed through the silent, slumbering neighborhood.

"Bakura, stop!" Ryou exclaimed, holding onto the dashboard as his feet subconsciously tried to press the nonexistent brake pedal.

"Goddamn it, Ryou!" Bakura yelled as he hit the steering wheel in frustration. "Why do I have to stop when there's nobody around?!" He gestured to the surrounding lone streets outside of the car.

"Because," Ryou gave an exasperated sigh, releasing his hands from the dashboard. "You have to stop at every railroad crossing even when the gate is up. It’s the law. For safety’s sake."

Bakura growled to himself, holding onto the wheel tightly. He had lost his patience long ago; all these trivial rules were pissing the hell out of him and Ryou’s nagging was not making it any easier.

"You're lucky there's no one around to witness this," Ryou looked around nervously. “What if a policeman sees us?"

"Ugh, whatever," Bakura dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "That's why I have the permit."

"The only reason you even have that permit is because Kaiba helped. Again!" Ryou complained. "Otherwise you'd be going to driving school. He is saving us a lot of time and money, so you should be more grateful. Especially with the way you’ve been driving."

Bakura just rolled his eyes.

Ryou tried to release his tension with a sigh. He looked around and after a few seconds he decided they were ready to continue. "Alright, after making the stop, you have to check both ways and listen for incoming trains. Once you know it's safe, you can go."

"I'm over this, Ryou."

"We’re almost done, ju—"

"No," Bakura hissed, holding the steering wheel so tight it was becoming painful. "I… hate driving. I hate being inside this—or any other metal box, for that matter."

"I know you hate it, Bakura," Ryou touched his arm lightly. "But that's life in the city. You don't like taking the bus or the train either, and there will be times when I won’t be able to drive you around."

"I'm fine just walking."

"I know, but it would really make me feel better if—in case of an emergency—you could drive yourself around."

Bakura crossed his arms in a petulant manner and refused to move, completely ignoring he was in the middle of the street. The shadows hugged his figure as the glow from the streetlights met them halfway to accentuate his angry features.

A sudden pair of lights reflected on the rearview mirror, distracting them both, so Ryou decided it was time to leave.

“Why don't you pull over? I'll drive us back," he said as he shook Bakura's arm lightly. Bakura did as he was told and crookedly parked on the side of the road.

Ryou couldn’t get a word out before Bakura took his seat belt off with unnecessary force and exited the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. Ryou did the same, albeit dejectedly. Before he could fully exit the car, Bakura had already made the walk towards the passenger's side; his face stuck on a frown as he stood impatiently next to the door. He couldn’t wait to leave and forget about this stupid activity once and for all. As Bakura started to get in the car, ready to—no doubt—slam the door closed, Ryou grabbed his arm.

"Not now, Ryou. Just take me home," Bakura stood still, not looking at Ryou.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad!" Bakura snapped, pulling his arm off its hold. "I'm just fucking over it!" He slammed the passenger door closed as he stood outside, making the car rock with the force.

"Stop slamming the doors,” Ryou said as he got in between Bakura and the car. He was starting to get annoyed by his antics. "It’s really unnecessary."

"No, this is what’s unnecessary! I don't care, I don't want it! I'd rather fucking walk than being inside one of these claustrophobic pieces of junk. I’m done!"

Bakura moved to open the entrance to the vehicle but Ryou refused to get out of his way; he remained indifferent and unmoved as Bakura glowered at him. The standoff only lasted a couple seconds before Bakura stepped away with a frustrated growl. He considered walking away into the night but settled on broodingly leaning against the car, crossing his arms and looking away.

Ryou huffed at Bakura’s immature display, fingercombing his long white hair. He was at a loss on how to make Bakura see it from his perspective. He knew driving wasn’t easy, but they had already talked about this. Why couldn’t he understand?

He decided they could talk about Bakura’s stubborn and petulant behavior later. For now, all he wanted was to make peace so they could go home without a fight looming over them.

He leaned against the vehicle, right next to Bakura, who was still looking away as he tapped his fingers restlessly. Ryou bit his lower lip as he reached out to touch his boyfriend’s arm.

The abrupt ear-piercing roar of what turned out to be a sports motorcycle startled them both, demanding their attention as it swiftly sped by; its booming rumble covered every corner of the street, echoing up to the skies. Not a second passed before a police car appeared, chasing after it; its shrill sirens stabbed at their ears and its red flashing lights momentarily blinded them.

Mocking the vehicle after it, the motorbike’s engine revved up and flew at an even greater speed. As it maneuvered dangerously on the narrow street, it quickly took a sharp turn into an alley; the night’s black sheet aided its escape by making it a blur. The police car took on the challenge with wonky movement right after. The echoes of both the furious roar and the screaming sirens drifted away into the night—it was over in an instant.

Ryou and Bakura stood still like white-haired statues whose stunned faces mirrored each other, gazing at the labyrinth of buildings where the vehicles disappeared. Their brains barely registered what had happened when a single square-shaped yellow light emerged from the blackness; the faraway sounds of the city were brought back to life as if someone had pressed “PLAY” on their momentarily paused existence.

A slight smirk crossed Bakura's features. "Kind of reminds me of myself," he said.

"Running from the authorities and acting like a fool? I bet it does, Mr. Thief King," Ryou replied with unabashed snark. “Let’s just go, you can reminisce about your mischievous past on our way home.” He started walking to the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“Mischievous?” Bakura repeated sounding mildly insulted. “I think you mean, glorious, magnificent, and legendary!” He spread his arms in an ostentatious display.

Ryou looked back at the almost ridiculous way his partner looked. He grabbed his chin in between his thumb and index finger, humming in pretend deep thought. “Yeah, I agree I chose the wrong word. I should’ve said, arrogant, pompous, and fe-lo-ni-ous.”

Bakura gasped in shock. “You little shit!” He pointed an accusing finger at Ryou. “You wish you had been there! You wish you had had my adventures and lived like me!”

“Have I offended the great King of Thieves?” Ryou said with amusement.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you have.” Bakura turned his back to him. “You little traitor.”

Ryou giggled and walked back to his silly boyfriend’s side and stood next to him. Why was he back in this position?

“Mr. Thief King?” he shyly asked as he poked the former thief’s arm, who only harrumphed as a reply, pointedly trying to ignore him. At this point Bakura’s antics were more amusing to him than annoying; it was too endearing. He considered the silence with a smile as he felt the soft cold breeze; it carried with it the smell of broth from a lonely ramen shop a couple blocks away. It reminded him of late nights at the museum… before Bakura’s return.

“You know,” Ryou started as he leaned on Bakura’s arm. After a moment’s pause and noticing Bakura hadn’t moved away, he resumed, “I do actually wish I had been there with you. Just us two. Without the darkness and everything else.”

After a moment’s hesitation, a glance managed to escape Bakura who immediately became ensnared by a meek smile; his already faltering indignation melted completely at the sight. He laughed internally at his feeble attempt to stay mad at Ryou. Trying to challenge that smile would be as pointless as trying to block the sun with a finger.

“Hmm, yeah,” he relented as he turned his body closer to Ryou. “That would have actually been great. We would have had ‘mischievous’ adventures riding throughout Kemet as we traced the river and went through villages. I would’ve taught you how to be a proper thief and we would’ve been unstoppable. Stealing every treasure we’d find, raiding tombs and fucking everybody up!”

Ryou smiled at Bakura’s enthusiasm. He wistfully looked up at the sky that was painted with the glow from the lights below it. “I think it would’ve also been very romantic. We would’ve lived in the open desert, gazed at the horizon…” He pointed at the empty sky, “Seen the stars every night—”

“And fucked every night,” Bakura’s warm whisper into Ryou’s ear caused an instantaneous shiver down his spine.

“Hey!” Ryou protested, touching Bakura’s face and deflecting it from his own.

Bakura burst out laughing. “As if you weren’t thinking it.”

Ryou became crimson at the comment. “I was not! I was trying to be romantic, but I see that’s a losing battle with you.”

“Having your body every night is pretty romantic to me.” Bakura was incorrigible. Ryou could only roll his eyes. And although he agreed with that last statement, he would not admit it out loud.

Bakura gave one last chuckle. “Alright, alright. Sorry for interrupting you. Tell me, what else would we have done?” He leaned in closer to his lover’s familiar warmth. The chilly air carried Ryou’s comforting smell—it easily helped him relax.

“Oh!” Ryou said with a new spark. “We could have actually gone into all the chambers and admired the stunning paintings! We’d learn the origins of the treasures we got that day! All those artifacts,” he exhaled in awe, “to be able to hold artifacts and relics from Ancient Egypt in my hands, as they first existed!”

Bakura snorted. “Your ‘archaeologist’ side is showing, Landlord. I’d expect you to have a problem with us stealing in the first place. Seems I’ve been a good influence after all.”

“Can you blame me?” Ryou replied, ignoring the quip. “You know there’s so much that the world is still missing. All those treasures buried and lost to all of us! All of them dedicated and made for the pharaohs—”

“All those treasures were made from the sweat and blood of the people of Kemet,” Bakura retorted sharply. He shook his head disapprovingly. “The whole point of taking them was to show the powerful that those treasures and artifacts were made by their people, and that they should belong to the people. Not meant to be kept in a hole in the middle of the desert, wasting throughout millennia, alongside a useless fucking cadaver.”

Ryou winced at those words. He hadn’t meant to sound like an insensible jerk who got carried away by his own excitement and forgot about Bakura’s underlying pain.

But he had also noticed Bakura’s enthusiasm and the way that incorrigible smile was cemented on his handsome face as they fantasized about their made-up delinquent lives—it gave him confidence that they could one day talk about his grief with candor and hope, rather than avoiding it altogether.

He decided to take hold of that small fantasy and bring it back; he looked forward to what it could reveal.

“Well…” he started leisurely, testing the waters. “After stealing all those treasures, adventuring all day and spending the nights together, I would’ve loved to listen to you boast about your greatness and how your unique set of… skills helped you acquire such precious items. Would you care to share a specific one?”

Bakura looked back at Ryou but didn't reply. He took a long pause; he scratched the back of his neck.

A specific item? Was he able to even come up with that?

Never abandoning the somber expression he eventually responded, “You could say it wasn't as much about the gold, gems, precious stones, all of that. As good as I was, after a while it all just looked, felt and made me feel the same way. The purpose of stealing those treasures was to take away their meaning. To show how worthless it was to have them. To raid, rob and pillage—as fun as it was—was about sending a message: I. Was. There. Even when everyone tried to get rid of me every single day of my existence, they would never accomplish it; I would remain. I would be the crocodile in the river, hiding in plain sight, making everyone think twice before they got too close, wondering if they’d ever be safe. I was more than a thief, more than the King of Thieves—I was Kul Elna’s survivor, Ryou. More than anything, I was the one that was going to kill the pharaoh and avenge my people, by any means necessary.”

Ryou just looked at Bakura with an aching heart, realizing that his life had been doomed from the start. A homeless, anguished child whose whole world had been taken from him, with nothing left but his pain and no one there to help or guide him; that is, no one but a dark god with a corrupted, manipulative promise of justice. There was never coming back from that.

Now more than ever, he truly wished he had been there with him.

Ryou moved to stand before Bakura and looked directly into his eyes. “Was everything you did in your past just a calculated plan for vengeance? Are there no good memories that you have? Not something to piss off the pharaoh or society, but something that simply made you happy. Something just for fun. Just for you.” He really needed to get Bakura out of those dark thoughts. He wanted to know about his past life, but there had to be something positive; it couldn’t all be the darkness.

Bakura took pause at that question, visibly confused. As he gave it some more thought, he figured there was so much more missing than he had ever realized. He confessed his realization:

“Ryou, most of what I remember from my past is just that. Everything I did was to piss off the pharaoh and his people. Of course I had fun! But not the way you’re thinking. My idea of fun activities was not the same back then.”

“Well, what about the guy on the motorcycle? You had a huge grin when you said he reminded you of yourself.”

“Yeah! Running away from the guards, after a bit of trouble-making,” Bakura said with that same grin.

Ryou exhaled dejectedly. “It just—it saddens me to think of you, all alone. Your whole life being ruled only by hatred and resentment.”

Bakura’s grin vanished at that confession. His eyebrows furrowed in a troubled stare.

“Come here,” he said, pulling his lover by the arm to stand right next to him. Bakura didn’t know if he’d ever get more memories back, or if his past life would remain fragmented and in the end be buried in the sand, forgotten with the rest of his people. Right now, all he cared about was reassuring his other half.

“Listen,” he whispered as he put his arm around Ryou’s shoulders. “I know you’re looking for something positive, something good in me. Unfortunately, I can’t offer you that, at least not from back then. Most of what I have are just random memories about tombs, caves, jewelry, death and chaos.”

Ryou nodded in defeat.

“However, I also have many a story about escaping the ‘authorities’ at dangerously high speeds, just as that guy did. Back when ‘rules of traffic’—or any rules for that matter—didn't apply to me.” He lifted his slender finger to point it at the darkest alley in their vicinity, his voice caressing Ryou:

“It started with me lurking in the shadows, blending in and staying invisible. If someone happened to figure out my motives and ruin the hunt, I’d be forced to retreat. Easy escapes on foot; pretty boring, to be honest.

“The true fun would be when I’d have to deal with actual stubborn pests attempting to apprehend me after some not-so-subtle thievery and I’d be forced to escape on horse. Not gonna lie, I would actually welcome these chases. Hell, sometimes I’d purposely seek them out; I’d just mock the guards’ incompetence and get them to chase after me. More than the anticipated promise of treasure, the thrill of a pursuit and the escape afterwards would be much more exciting.

“My magnificent beast, my one true partner in crime—shame I can’t remember her name now. She was so agile she’d easily outrun the guards in a beat,” he emphasized with a single snap of his fingers. “Those idiots would always think they'd finally be able to catch me. I loved laughing at their ineptitude, as I outmaneuvered and outsmarted them, every single time. They would never be able to capture—confine—me: Bakura, The King of Thieves!”

Bakura’s raucous laughter startled Ryou, who immediately tried to shush him. “You’re so loud!” He exclaimed in an attempted whisper. “Someone’s gonna come out of their home and yell at us.”

“Oh yeah?” Bakura turned towards the buildings and opened his arms in a defiant manner, “Who’s gonna do it?! Who’s gonna come and—”

“Bakura, please!” Ryou put his hand on Bakura’s mouth, muffling his shouting.

Bakura freed himself and grabbed onto his boyfriend’s shoulders, shaking them with enthusiasm. “I remember it now!”

“Wha—Remember what?”

“My first big heist! The first time I ever planned and attempted a great robbery that was more than just pick-pocketing and petty bullshit. You wanted a specific treasure? Try a fucking Horus statue during a festival, under everyone’s shit-faced noses!” Bakura had the biggest smile on his face. His red eyes blinked a few times to process what he started seeing. “I can’t believe I had forgotten about that. My brain—always fogging up, refusing to tell me more.” He tapped his right temple with his index finger. “But now, now I can see it.”

“Tell me, then!”

Bakura stared through Ryou’s eyes as he saw his past with such clarity. “It was one of those fuck-all festivals they’d have all the time. I was hidden in the crowd, waiting for the procession to pass, suffocating in everyone’s body heat and drunken breath. I had to move stealthily; had to, little by little, get closer to the front of the crowd, yet not draw any attention to myself. There was so much noise around me, but I needed to keep my mind quiet, keep my body still, stop my fingers from shaking from the anticipation and just keep my gaze fixed on my prize. I had planned this for so long; I studied the festival’s setup, accounted for every merchant, every guard and any idle person that could stand in my way as I considered every escape route.

“I only had one chance, one moment where Distraction and Negligence would open the doors for me to swiftly come in, stare into that statue’s eyes—a symbol of the, oh so beloved, pharaoh—and capture it before its worshipers would unfortunately notice too little, too late. Then, as I would flee, their screams of horror and anger and despair would become echoes being carried by the wind and fill my ears; and it would all turn into my delight.” A huge wicked grin spread across Bakura’s face, highlighting his white, shiny teeth.

“And it all worked beautifully,” he continued. “I carried that falcon on my back, ran as fast as I could to my horse, mounted her and just rode away. Full speed and never looking back.” A breathless laugh escaped him. “Being on my horse going at full gallop, I just felt—I felt everything. I mean, I felt invincible, like I was a god: unstoppable and all powerful. There was no one and nothing else, just me and my mount, being one with the desert. I remember feeling my heart beat so fast, yet every pounding felt so slow compared to everything else going on in my body. How does that make sense?!”

Bakura might not have had the words of an intellectual, but Ryou had been completely engrossed by his story. The way Bakura’s body emanated joy at the raw recollection; it spoke to him ardently and completely washed over him. His contagious smile provoked a yearning within Ryou, an earnest desire to reminisce the same way.

Bakura resumed, “I remember everything my body felt: the blood pumping in my fists that would not let go of the reins; the sweat running down my face and neck before drying off; the sound of the wind in my ears, how it stroked my matted hair, the way my robe flew behind me; the sand that violently entered my eyes and the tears that fought that bothersome dryness. More than anything, I remember the harshness of Ra.” He looked down at his arm. “The heat burning—”

The heat burning his skin…

The heat…

burning his skin…

Bakura’s body suddenly froze with a wave of cold that ran from the back of his neck to the bottom of his feet. His chest hammered loudly and his blood rapidly pumped in his ears as he stood completely frozen. The paleness of his skin darkening as his vision was consumed by a dark fog. Then it all went black.

On many nights he'd wake in a heap of sweat, his mouth dry and chest pounding. He would hastily scratch at his arms as he tried to get rid of the phantom pain. Even the coldest desert nights couldn't convince his skin that it wasn't reliving the painful, stabbing heat; the result of being so close to the lava cauldron, as it engorged itself with his people. The voices in his head would hiss incessantly and he would wearily kneel and desperately pull on his hair until it tore off his scalp. Anything to distract him from the screams:

Bakura! Bakura!

Boy! Help!

Bakura! Do something!

Help us, please! Please!

He would never succeed. All he could do was run away.

He would get up, stumble and fall, try again, and run as fast as possible hoping to escape his fate; he’d get on his sleepy and confused mount and aimlessly flee until the poor mare would exhaust itself almost to death.

He’d wished the night's freezing cold would strike and pierce his skin, that the dry sand would bury his tears and enter his throat and suffocate him, that the gallop of his horse would stomp and drown out the erratic beat of his heart, that the wind would invade and muffle his ears, that his deafening screams would drown out the voices’ cries. He implored for Ra to come from the horizon and burn his eyes, just so he’d stop seeing the memories of that day; he would beg, and beg, and beg, just for a shred of mercy, to finally be burned alive. To be turned into ashes!

The King of Thieves once thought no one could ever catch up to him, but there was no escaping an obsession for Vengeance. How could he escape from something interwoven in his heart? How could he appease such unrelenting fury flowing in his veins? How could he silence voices as real as his own, calling for—

"Bakura?!"

His face was turned by a warm touch as he heard the desperate call of a familiar voice.

Finally able to break from his trance, the thief’s vision followed the voice, his cheek automatically leaning against the hand’s touch. He found his savior’s eyes and did not want to ever look away from them. Ryou’s blue eyes, those precious irises which reminded him of the clear sky of the desert, their effect the same as the sweet, intoxicating water of an oasis as it soaked his muscles with relief after running for miles in dry despair.

At long last, those eyes had what he'd been longing for millennia ago and would never want to deplete of:

Peace.

"Are you okay? You suddenly froze and wouldn’t respond to me." Ryou asked anxiously as his hand traveled from Bakura's cheek to his shoulder and down his arm. “You’re incredibly cold.”

Bakura’s only response were sporadic gasps that pierced his dry throat. ‘Okay’? How could he be ‘okay’? The disembodied voices that had eternally haunted him were taking hold of his soul again. Even in this new life, they refused to disappear. This was the darkness again—it had to be. Why couldn’t it just to leave him alone! He wasn’t that weak, inconsolable child anymore!

"Baku-san!" Ryou yelled, taking Bakura's face in his shaky hands. "Look at me!"

Bakura opened his eyes—when had he closed them?!—and was caught by Ryou's angry gaze. His arms were aching from the incessant clenching of his fists, trembling from exhaustion, or maybe the cold? He felt cold, but then, why was his forehead sticky with sweat?

Ryou’s rarely seen hardened gaze tethered him to reality. “Listen to my voice. Stay with me.” The steady, commanding words soothed his agitated heart and slowed the rise and fall of his chest.

Listen to him. Stay with him. Listen to him. Stay with him.

Stay with him.

Stay with him.

Bakura slowly loosened his fists, feeling the pain subside.

He leaned his body to touch his forehead to Ryou's, he took hold of the hands still on him—fuck, he was cold—and gave a slight smile, "I'm here, Yadonushi."

Ryou gave a relieved sigh and smiled back. "I'm glad."

Yeah, Bakura was not okay. He realized his past would never abandon them. As if the darkness was somehow still rooted within him, it would always try to taint this new life with his past putrid one.

But Bakura was not alone anymore. Stupid Thief King really needed to get it through his thick skull that his beautiful, witty, super nerdy White Mage would be right there beside him. And they would be ready to kick the darkness’ ugly ass.

They finally made it back home.

After entering their apartment and locking the door after them, Ryou gave a huge sigh and started towards the kitchen.

“That was exhausting! I need a cup of tea. You want a cup?”

He turned on the light in the kitchen, the sudden brightness attacking his tired eyes. After grabbing the electric kettle and filling it with water he realized he still hadn’t gotten an answer. He peeked around the kitchen wall and looked into the dark room, noticing none of the lights had been turned on. Bakura was sitting languidly on the couch, his head on the backrest and eyes closed.

Ryou didn’t want a repeat of what had happened so he got closer to his partner.

"Bakura? Would you like to go to bed? What happened to you must have been draining,” He said as he touched Bakura's shoulder.

Only a weak grunt was heard as response but Bakura didn’t move. The quiet of the apartment was calming and the kitchen light was distant enough to not bother him. He was fucking exhausted.

However, Bakura wasn’t quite ready to let sleep take him. His restless thoughts wouldn’t stop crawling in his brain. In that dark pit that were his memories he had found something he thought had been long gone, however small it had been: unfiltered happiness.

Granted, despair had found its way into said recollection, the same aggravating way sand slips into your darkest crevices and itches at your skin long afterwards, seemingly never to get rid of. And while the initial actions from said memory weren’t honorable (he scoffed at the thought), so be it. He knew he hadn’t lead an honorable life before, so he decided to focus on the happiness that riding freely through the desert had brought him. He had to focus on that, otherwise he would be dragged down into the pit of darkness, yet again.

Bakura opened his eyes and looked at the pale beige ceiling. In the corner of his vision was Ryou, his precious Ryou, caressing his messy bangs away. He couldn’t keep his lips from curving upward, thinking how fucking beautiful he was. He would never stop being in disbelief at how, really to a fault, kind he had always been. How, after everything that incorporeal voice had said and done to him, he had somehow seen some semblance of humanity in it. Even after Bakura came back (again, thanks to Ryou), he was the one that had inadvertently taught that body-snatching thief how to find that humanity he had forgotten was still there, somewhere inside him; and, like some sort of virtuous guardian, helped him escape the deafening emptiness.

Being reminded of all that made Bakura relieved he wouldn’t have to run away from humans anymore—spirits or otherwise. But it did leave him with this pent-up desire to experience that thrill again, the way he used to when going at dangerously stupid high speeds.

And, since a horse wasn’t around... he got an idea for a sweet compromise.

He finally cut the silence. "Say, Ryou."

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want me to learn how to drive a vehicle?"

"Do I still want you to?" Ryou was confused by the question. "Uh, yeah. Of course. But we can take a small break for now."

Bakura got up from the couch, a wicked grin appearing as he slowly came closer to Ryou, akin to a stalking predator.

"What are you doing?" Ryou asked as Bakura approached him. He became very confused at the quick mood change but also felt the familiar excitement of being watched that way by his lover, who kept his leisurely pace. Ryou started backing up to the nearest wall until it made contact against his back, Bakura's arms lifting and being placed at his sides, essentially trapping him. An anticipating “Bakura?” was whispered by a pair of nervously licked lips.

"Landlord. My sweet, precious, dear Landlord," Bakura's silky low voice interlaced with his unfaltering gaze on Ryou as he inched their faces together; it almost completed the spell. Almost.

Ryou’s alarm bloomed instantly.

"No!"

"'No', what?"

"Whatever it is you want… No!" Ryou repeated firmly.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," Bakura said innocently as he closed the distance of their bodies. His approach was halted by a pair of hands on his chest. He cocked an eyebrow and looked down at the offending limbs.

"I know you're plotting something. Whenever you do that—" sexy "—stupid smirk and start sweet-talking it means you want something, and most of the time I don’t like it, so you try to ‘convince’ me. But whatever it is, the answer is already ‘no.’” He showed a proud smirk, believing he had foiled the deviant.

Bakura chuckled, the low rumble making Ryou’s hands vibrate slightly; the tingling sensation traveled up to his neck and he instinctively swallowed.

“Is that so?”

Before Ryou could even consider removing his hands, Bakura trapped them firmly with his own. He pulled their hands away from his chest, without resistance positioned them at Ryou’s sides and intertwined their fingers. With a smug face he got a breath’s distance away from his prey. “You’re so ready to say ‘no,’” his voice a feather’s touch next to his lover’s ear, “without even knowing what I want?”

Ryou stood still for a few seconds before he finally grew their distance. His face a bright shade of pink as he flatly said, “Stop being a tease, and just tell me what it is.”

"I want what we saw out there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to ride a motorcycle.”

“W—what?!” Ryou yelled, releasing their hands. “But just a few minutes ago you didn’t even want to learn how to drive a car!”

Bakura was rattled by the scream at such close proximity and rubbed at his ear. “Because a car is a huge metal box, and it’s suffocating, and I just feel trapped in there. A motorcycle is very different. Did you see that guy?! The way he just moved so easily and freely!” He mimed the movements with his hands.

“Oh yeah. I definitely saw that guy. I also saw the way he broke many laws running away from the police. Just because you're on a motorcycle, it doesn't mean rules don't apply to you," he scolded Bakura. “Are you trying to ‘relive’ your old thieving days by imitating that guy?”

“I don’t want to literally imitate that guy, but I do want to experience that excitement again. The way I used to while riding on a horse. Run freely! No limits!”

“A motorcycle is not the same as a horse, Bakura. They go at much, much higher speeds and driving around the city is super dangerous. That’s why you have to learn how to drive a car. It's safer.”

“I can be safe on a motorcycle,” Bakura scoffed.

“Can you, though?” Ryou retorted. “The way you were driving today shows otherwise.”

“That’s because cars are big and complicated. I bet I could handle a bike much better.”

“You don’t even know how bikes work. Plus, even if you were to drive safely, that doesn’t mean others will do the same towards you. The number of deaths due to an accident is much higher for people on motorcycles.”

Bakura crossed his arms and scowled but made no reply.

Ryou pinched the bridge of his nose. His boyfriend was really getting on his nerves. He took a deep breath and thought of a compromise. “Why don’t you get a bicycle. Our city is very bicycle friendly—"

“A bicycle?!” Bakura exclaimed in outrage. “Come on, Ryou. That is so lame.”

“But it’s safe!” Ryou’s exasperation was getting the best of him as his voice increased in volume. “I think it would still be a liberating experience: you won’t be stuck in a car, you’ll get fresh air, and if you go to the countryside there are very beautiful long roads. And you could reach high speeds on those, too.”

“I don’t want to ride a bicycle. I want to ride a motorcycle.”

Ryou had to deviate this conversation. “Look, if it’s horse riding that you’re interested in, why don’t we save some money and we can go someplace in the country where they have horseback riding. That could be fun!”

Bakura looked at Ryou with skepticism. “And when will that happen? Would that be the same as racing?”

Ryou hesitated, “I’m… not sure. But it won’t be long! I can do some research, focus on saving for a small trip. It’ll be great!”

“Ryou, I—”

“No, no, no, it’s fine. It should be no problem!” He tried to sound chipper. He desperately needed to get this “motorcycle” idea out of Bakura's head. “We could go on my next time off. What do you say?”

“It doesn’t sound like racing,” Bakura said.

“There’s plenty of horse racing around the country. Would you like to go see a race?”

“Ryou…”

“We could get some tickets—”

“Ryou—”

“I could take a personal day depending on the schedule—”

“Ryou!” Bakura held onto his boyfriend's shoulders with a yell, finally getting his full attention. "You know that’s not what I want,” he finished in a lower voice.

Ryou’s face hardened. He wouldn’t pretend to be okay with this anymore.“What you want is not possible. There’s no place for you to be galloping around on a horse.”

“That’s why,” Bakura imitated his tone, “what I want is to learn how to ride a motorcycle.”

“Well, you can’t. I won’t let you.”

Bakura gave a step back, baffled by what he just heard. “You won’t let me?”

“Shit,” Ryou hissed. “I—I didn’t mean it like that!” He rubbed at his face as he avoided looking at Bakura. “The tea!” he exclaimed, using it as an excuse to escape to the kitchen.

“How, then, did you mean it?” Bakura followed after him. “Fuck, Ryou. This is the first thing I’ve ever asked of you. The first thing that I’ve actually wanted just for myself,” he pointed at his chest.

Ryou took two cups from the cupboard and placed them on the kitchen table. He hesitated before glancing at Bakura. “I know that. And I understand that you want something for yourself. But why does it have to be something that will put your life in danger? Why can’t it be anything else?”

Bakura stared with no answer—he didn’t think he had one.

He sighed and slowly walked back towards the big couch and sat dejectedly in the dark, his elbows on his knees as his hands covered his face, a mild throbbing starting in his forehead. He heard Ryou walk in and after a long silence he looked up at him.

“Look,” Bakura said, “I know it sounds like a stupid request and I know I’m being stubborn about it. But having these memories back really showed me something I didn’t know I missed. In those fleeting moments I had no ties or cages, no thoughts of revenge or anger in my soul. I was free from all of it.”

Bakura stood and came close to Ryou.

“This is not about running away from guards after stealing or acting reckless. This is about being myself, chasing my freedom with nothing to hold me back; being one with the desert. My whole life I was just a slave to this hatred and rage inside me, being a puppet to a god. That’s most of what I remember, anyway. There’s so much that is just gone from my fucked up head, whenever I try to find anything else it feels like reaching into a hole in the sand, where all that’s left are destroyed pieces of jewelry, burnt clothes and… fucking human remains, all caked in tar and blood.”

He looked at his right hand, seeing the filth clear as day. “But today...” he turned his gaze back to Ryou. “Today might be the first time I’ve remembered something in a positive way. Something that, at the time, was the closest thing to knowing what happiness felt like. I can’t even remember most of my childhood or my life before the attack on Kul Elna. The fucking darkness fucked up so many things in my head; it still does!”

Ryou kept silent, but gave a barely noticeable nod.

“I want my past life to be something more than fucking residues of death and hate. So, if there’s any way that I can bring good memories back from oblivion, I want to try it. That’s why, as stupid as it sounds, I really think experiencing that thrill again will help.”

Bakura had felt hopeful when he looked to Ryou. However, the sole light from the kitchen made him look like a foreign shadow, his eyes only giving that ever-popular stare of doubt Bakura had become so accustomed to receiving from anyone that looked his way. He had never expected to see it again—not from Ryou. He suddenly became aware of the way the blood pumping in his ears overwhelmed every outside noise. He clenched his jaw and swallowed the painful knot in his throat. He kept staring, waiting for any type of response, but Ryou seemed to be waiting just as much. What was he waiting for? Was he waiting for Bakura to continue? Or, did he expect him to just walk away and pretend this conversation never happened?

Their still silhouettes, almost mirrors of each other, became a photograph of tension. Ryou was the first to break eye contact to look down at his hands with newfound interest. And Bakura got his answer. He now felt foolish.

He started to turn to walk away; he was tired anyway.

“I know I’m being obstinate,” Ryou murmured, rubbing his arm timidly. “And I’m sorry for that, it’s just—you know about Mom and Amane, and how they died. It wasn't even their fault,” his voice cracked at the memory.

Bakura gasped quietly, his eyes blinking in unguarded shock. How could he have forgotten? He was such a fucking idiot! In his own selfish desires he completely forgot about Ryou’s past—his trauma!

“I’m just so afraid of losing you,” Ryou continued. “I know you lived your life dangerously before, but I was hoping that would be over. That we would just do our adventuring together on Monster World models, play video games, go to silly haunted houses during Halloween season, travel and see the world; even just stay home and be bored.” A few tears started escaping Ryou but he was quick to wipe them off. He cringed at the thought of his display. He was just a stupid romantic that had woven these fantasies in his mind, that now, as they were being said out loud, made him feel pathetic. “I just—I wanted to have those silly types of ‘adventures’ and do stuff we’d both enjoy.”

But they needed to be said.

Bakura slowly, cautiously stepped closer to Ryou. He feared Ryou would disintegrate before his eyes, which was such a ridiculous thing to imagine, yet he didn’t want to risk for it happen.

“It’s selfish of me, I know. And I hate acting like this!” Ryou sobbed as he saw his approaching partner. “I just—I’m so sick and tired of losing the people that I love! Of being left behind! Just imagining what could happen—”

Bakura took Ryou’s face in between both his hands; he slowly, tenderly, yet firmly pulled their lips together. Ryou gave a relieving sigh that could’ve been taken as a moan in any other circumstance. He hesitated, but parted from the sweet lips. He wiped the tears that were still on Ryou’s soft cheeks.

Ryou took a few calming breaths. He eventually managed to say, "If this is important to you, if you think it’ll help, then I’ll support you. But please, Baku-san,” he implored, “I don’t wanna lose you. I couldn't bear it. I don't want this second chance we've been given to be ruined by—by a fucking accident.” He held on to Bakura’s shirt, afraid of letting go of even an inch, for even a second. If he did, his knees would crumble under him.

Bakura’s words abandoned him, only instinct compelling him to move—to tightly embrace Ryou. He breathed in the all-too-familiar scent of his soft, white hair: shampoo perfume faded by Ryou's fingers combing away his anxieties throughout the day. He felt the soothing warmth of Ryou’s body and the way every bone and muscle perfectly pushed against him; the accusatory way Ryou’s scars touched his skin, even through their clothes. Ryou’s chest moved with quiet sobs (an unfortunate change to its usually slow, muted movements) that became the only sound in their private world.

"I’m sorry,” Bakura whispered. “I got caught up in trying to chase these memories—which I don’t even know will ever come back—that I forgot you are here. I am here.” He held Ryou’s face, looking straight into his eyes, “I’m not going anywhere. We will create memories together; don’t you ever doubt that.”

Ryou smiled at those reassuring words and hugged Bakura again, nuzzling against his neck. Bakura’s voice rumbled against his ear, “We’ll have all the adventures you desire as the sassy White Mage and dashing Thief King each and every day, alright?” He could hear the smirk in Bakura’s voice. He only nodded.

They loosened their hold on each other, hesitating to let go completely.

“So… do you still want that tea?” Bakura said.

“Heh, yeah,” Ryou finished wiping his almost invisible tears and pulled Bakura with him to the kitchen.

Bakura took a seat at the kitchen table and silently studied Ryou as he prepared their tea. He suspected there was some tension still lingering in the air, but for now, they just needed to relax, have their drinks and go to bed. He exhaled wearily as exhaustion possessed his body. He tried to blink away the sting behind his eyes, feeling the impending headache.

Ryou sat down and, as he started pouring the warm water, gave a shy glance at Bakura; he was nervously moving his hands, not knowing what to do with himself until he received the cup of chamomile tea. As Bakura took the cup he absorbed the aroma and let it consume him. He enjoyed it for its properties, but the reminder of Ryou’s most menial way of taking care of him was what calmed him instantly.

The heavy silence that extended for several minutes only became interrupted by the occasional clinking of their cups.

“I think we’re ready to go to bed,” Ryou said as he rubbed his eyes wearily. “But I just want to say this before we start looking into the… logistics of it all.”

Bakura held on to his cup, looking into Ryou's bloodshot eyes, paying rapt attention. He felt the pang in his own eyes and guessed he looked just as tired, except for the puffiness and red nose.

“Before anything, I need you to promise two things to me. First: you will always, always wear a helmet. No excuses.”

Bakura paused for a second before replying, “Of course. I promise.” He knew it would be annoying, especially considering his long mane, but he also knew this was non-negotiable.

“Second: no reckless driving. Ever.” Ryou tensed his whole body in almost urgency, making his cup shake in his hands. “I know you want to ride and feel the excitement of years past. But you also have to understand this is no desert, the city is not the place to be going wild and—” He was stopped by a hand on his forearm.

“Yadonushi, I promise. I promise I’ll always take care of myself. I’ll also try not to get into too much trouble,” he smirked, not hiding his troublesome nature. “And to always come back to you. You know I always do.” He winked at his lover.

A small smile escaped Ryou’s lips regardless of his worry. For some reason he always trusted that smug attitude. “Of course I know. Too well, actually. So you better keep that promise.”

Ryou took a final sip of the warm, calming liquid. He closed his eyes and sighed as he felt the heat flowing through him. He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Shall we finally go to bed?”

To this, Bakura agreed and they both walked off to their room, turning off the lights on their way.

Ryou had a few calls to make the next morning. Bakura needed a motorcycle driving permit… and a new teacher.