Invisible- Chapter Five
Series:YuGiOh
Title: Invisible
Author: Fictatious
Character(s): Bakura Ryou, Yami-Bakura, Yami-Yuugi, Kujaku Mai, Rebecca Hawkins, Mutou Yuugi
Rating: M
Warnings: SEX!
Summary: On an inexplicable impulse, Bakura, a professional criminal, takes in a bruised and beaten teenager whom he's seen around but never spoken to before today. Tendershipping.
Previous: 1, 2, 3, 4
“No, I want to put it on my plan,” Bakura corrected irritably; the clerk nodded and went back to talking to a bean-counter in some distant state or country as he tried to arrange a new cell-phone package.
“You’re rather serious about this boy, aren’t you. Where did you know him from before Tuesday?” Yami asked, still following Bakura around.
“I told you before: none of your fucking business,” Bakura snapped, glaring.
Yami rolled his eyes. “Can you not at least appreciate my concern?” he asked.
“No.”
“I really want you to start seeing a counselor,” Yami said in a firm voice.
Bakura glared at him silently for a few seconds.
“Sir, do you want to upgrade to a family-plan or add the new phone as a separate plan on your account?” the clerk broke in.
“What’s the difference?” Bakura asked, doubting that it was much. “I’m set up for unlimited talk and text, right? So it’s not like sharing minutes on a family plan or something is going to affect my use.”
“Er,” the clerk faltered, looking unsure. “The price, I guess...”
“Fine. Make it a family-plan,” Bakura snorted and then turned his attention back to Yami. “I want one who can take a look at Ryou too. Somebody fucked him up bad.”
Yami looked slightly startled, probably at how easy it had been to make Bakura agree to seeing a shrink. “Sure,” he said with a small nod. “Battery, I’m guessing?”
“I don’t know- fucked-uppedness!” Bakura snapped. “Battery’s got to be part of it, but he’s got some serious -I don’t know- self-esteem issues too.”
“Does gender matter?”
Bakura shrugged.
“Sherrie Holsgate works with some abuse victims,” Yami said. “I’ll find her number and send it to you tonight.”
“Okay.” Bakura looked back at the clerk, who was talking to the bean-counter on the other end of the line and scribbling down numbers on a carbon-paper form.
“I have a late lunch with Mister Wong on Monday. He wants you to be there too,” Yami said after a minute.
Bakura groaned. “... Of course he does.”
“I’m meeting him at two o-clock at the Szechuan Paradise,” Yami said. “Best behavior.”
“I know,” Bakura grumbled.
000
Ryou was so distracted, he didn’t even hear the door until it closed. He looked up and turned slightly, as the sound of the door was soon followed by an indignant yell. “Hey! Brat! What the hell?!” Bakura demanded, glaring at Rebecca accusingly.
“We’re going to start a role-playing group!” Rebecca announced cheerfully, ignoring the look.
“You’re huh?” Bakura frowned, looking baffled, as Ryou pushed himself up and walked around the couch to meet him in the living room.
“Sorry, they came over an hour or two ago and we’ve been talking about games,” Ryou said, stopping in front of him.
“Don’t apologize,” Bakura said, frowning slightly. “It’s fine. Besides, I’m betting you were ambushed.” He leaned around Ryou to cast another glare at Rebecca, who stuck her tongue out.
“We should probably be getting home though anyway, Becca. It’s getting kind of late,” Yuugi said, glancing at his phone.
“Ooor, we could all order pizza and watch a movie!” Rebecca suggested, throwing her arms in the air enthusiastically.
“No,” Bakura shot back flatly.
“But--”
“No. My house is not a daycare. Go home,” Bakura said in a firm monotone. “I just want a quiet evening without any interruptions or disasters or anybody trying to spy on me.”
Rebecca pushed out her bottom lip, her face stormy, and crossed her arms. “Fine. Are you going to at least give me a ride home?”
“No,” Bakura snapped. “You got here on your own, you can figure out how to get home on your own.”
“Fine!” Rebecca shouted, throwing her arms in the air again. She jumped to her feet and stomped around the couch.
“Rebecca...” Yuugi called after her in a pleading voice as he chased her over to the entryway.
“It’s fine! I know when I’m not wanted!” Rebecca snapped, stuffing her feet into her shoes.
“When you’re being a relentless pest? Yeah, that’s about the time!” Bakura snarled back.
“Ass-hole!” Rebecca shouted.
“Brat!”
“Shit-head!”
“Midget!”
Rebecca stepped out the door and cast Bakura one final glare. “Dumb-ass!” she shouted and then slammed the door.
There was a second of quiet, and then Yuugi broke it with an overly cheerful, strained voice. “It was nice meeting you Ryou! See you around!” He turned and hurried out the door, pulling it shut much more quietly than Rebecca had.
“W-what was that?” Ryou asked, looking from the closed door to Bakura.
“Eh, nothing. She probably won’t even remember what we were yelling about in a couple days,” Bakura said in a casual voice, giving a little shrug. “Every few months she’ll tell me that she’s never going to speak to me again. Lasts about a week. It’s just a new twist on ‘you’re not invited to my birthday party’.”
Ryou stared at him. Bakura’s countenance held no trace of anger or any other remnant of the shouting-match. “...But...” Ryou mumbled lamely.
Bakura glanced at him, a concerned expression suddenly crossing his face. “Sorry, did that bother you?”
Ryou blinked slowly, considering the question. Was he asking if Ryou was so fragile couldn’t handle raised voices? “I’m fine,” Ryou answered, shaking his head. “Do you have a preference for dinner tonight?”
Bakura shrugged. “Anything is fine. I like all the stuff we bought,” he answered easily and then glanced down at the bag he was carrying. “I, um, hang on,” he muttered and reached into his coat-pocket. “I got a key made for you,” he said, holding out a door key on a generic plastic keychain.
“Thank you,” Ryou said quietly, accepting it. He glanced at the side of the bag Bakura was holding. It was white paper with a name and logo printed across the front in cobalt blue, Perfect Palette Art Supplies.
“And a phone, because, y’know, you need...” Bakura muttered awkwardly and handing Ryou a black and white plastic bag with a small-electronics sized box inside. “And you said, uh-” he faltered slightly and then held out the large bag to Ryou. “The woman at the store recommended a couple kinds of paper and some pens and pencils and stuff, so, pick out what you like and then we can exchange the rest if it’s crap.”
“Th-thank you,” Ryou whispered, staring down at the bag, heavy with art supplies. Should he start getting dinner ready or did Bakura want him to inspect the new art supplies right now? Like a gift? That’s what it was, Ryou supposed, there was no excusing sketchpads and pens as necessities.
Ryou walked slowly over to the dining table and set the bag down, before reaching inside and pulling out the thickest object, which rattled slightly as he lifted it. He stared at the box in his hands, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Copics,” Ryou breathed.
“Are they not good? I didn’t know, it’s just what the girl at the store recommended. We can bring them back if you want something else,” Bakura said with a little shrug.
“They’re the best,” Ryou mumbled, opening the folding package and looking at all 72 colors lined up in beautiful rows. “What the professionals use.” And worth over three hundred dollars, he didn’t add.
“Okay, good,” Bakura said with a little grin. “I didn’t know what kind of drawing you were into. The girl gave me stuff for a couple different kinds...” He gave another slightly awkward shrug.
Ryou reluctantly set the markers aside to unload the rest of the bag. The sketch pads and bristol-board and various weights of papers were all standard Strathmore and Canson products. There was also a large set of Rembrandt soft pastels and the big box of Prismacolor pencils, as well as a standard eight-set of graphite pencils and a five-pack of black Micron pens.
“These... are all really good...” Ryou mumbled, staring down at the collection now spread over the dining table, a voice in the back of his head informing him over and over that he was looking at about seven-hundred dollars worth of art supplies. It was a far cry from the 50-pack of Crayola pencils he’d had last week. “This- this is too much,” he whispered as the voice in the back of his head wailed at him to shut up.
“It’s no big deal.” Bakura looked away, drumming his fingers on the back of a chair.
“It’s- it’s creepy,” Ryou blurted.
Bakura gave him a startled look. “Creepy?”
“All this stuff! It’s like- it makes me feel like I’m getting deeper and deeper into debt to you!” Ryou exclaimed, gesturing uselessly at the items on the table. “I- I keep worrying that the other shoe’s going to drop or something and you’re going to turn out to be some kind of psycho and I’m going to want to leave but I won’t to be able to because I’m going to owe you too much!”
Bakura’s brows pinched together and he opened his mouth to protest but Ryou couldn’t seem to stop the tumult of traitorous words falling from his lips. “I mean- Yuugi said you’re not with the mob, but it feels like the same kind of principle as you don’t ever let the Mafia do you a favor because the minute you do, they’re into you for life! It’s- it’s creepy! How much do I owe you now? What am I committing myself to by accepting all these gifts?!” Ryou knew he sounded hysterical, but he couldn’t seem to calm himself down or stop talking now that he’d started down this path.
“You’re not committing to anything! There’s no obligation, no commitment, I’m not the Mafia or some phone company!” Bakura exclaimed, his voice elevated, not angry, just frustrated, confused. “I’m not trying to buy you! I just want you to have some basic stuff!”
“Seven-hundred dollars worth of art supplies?!” Ryou’s voice came out loud and shrill.
“It’s not a big deal!”
“It’s a big deal!” Ryou screamed and then hooked his hands in his hair and started pacing as he moved from a-little-freaked-out into a full fledged melt-down. “I can’t do this! I don’t know what you want from me!”
“I’m sick of being alone!” Bakura shouted, his hands fisted at his sides. “I’m sick of going to bed alone- I’m sick of waking up alone- I’m sick of driving alone- I’m sick of eating alone- I’m sick of BEING alone!” He shook for a minute, squeezing his eyes shut; he didn’t look like he was holding back tears, he looked more like he was trying not to strangle Ryou. “I’m so fucking lonely I got infatuated with a fantasy loosely based around some kid I saw at a bus-stop! When I saw you going into Bridget’s, it ruined the fantasy and I’m so pathetic I couldn’t handle that!”
“So tell me what to do! Use me! Slap me! Just stop treating me like some kind of guest or pet poodle! I’m a WHORE!” Ryou screamed.
When Ryou ventured to look up through his disarrayed hair, Bakura was pacing a tight circle and viciously biting his own knuckle. He looked like a caged animal about to snap and throw itself into the bars. He stopped when his eyes happened to catch on Ryou’s. They stared silently at each other for a few seconds and the Bakura dropped his hand. “Let’s go for a drive,” he said suddenly, holding out his hand. It sounded more like a command than a suggestion.
Ryou took his hand automatically, not even realizing he’d done it until Bakura’s fingers closed around his. “W-what?” he stammered as Bakura started dragging him towards the front door. “Where?”
“Don’t know,” Bakura said, shrugging brusquely. “We’ll find out when we get there.”
000
The sun had set almost an hour ago, but rush-hour was still on. Bakura blew through winding back-roads, going well above the posted speed-limit, until he hit the edge of the city and merged onto a sparsely populated freeway. He had the base on his sound system cranked up so that he could feel the music shaking through his body even as he heard it, like a heavy-metal massage.
Ryou sat quiet and still in the passenger’s seat, staring blankly through the windshield, the whole time. He was probably still freaking out -he looked freaked out- but Bakura hadn’t managed to get to his happy-place yet and didn’t trust himself to speak civilly. When they got past the suburbs, traffic dissolved into a fast-moving trickle of semis, and as he held down the accelerator and let the engine unwind at 80 and 90, he felt his knotted nerves starting to unwind too.
He began to mentally pick apart the fit Ryou had thrown over the art supplies into its component pieces. Ryou didn’t like having money spent on him; yes, Bakura had picked up on that at the mall yesterday. Buying the most expensive pens and crap the art store had to offer had been a stupid idea. If he had a problem with people buying him basic necessities for survival, of course he’d get edgy about receiving expensive luxury items. Bakura should have seen that one coming and kept it simple, but noooo.
It wasn’t just about the art supplies either, Ryou had made that pretty clear. He was scared. And what the hell was this about Yuugi? Yuugi had told Ryou about Bakura’s work? What the hell was he thinking? Bakura’s fist would definitely be having a word with Yami’s face about this one.
Ryou was concerned about some kind debt, but that was probably a combination of factors one and two. Factor one was something Bakura had no idea how to address other than the way he had. A few hundred dollars here and there wasn’t a big deal. But that was a difference of opinion and not likely to be solved any time soon.
The second factor though, that was definitely something that needed correcting.
Bakura leaned forward, without taking his eyes off the road, and turned the volume down on the radio. He leaned back and took a breath, trying to compose the most straight-forward, non-threatening means of approaching the subject and figuring out what the micro-Mutou had blabbed. “What did Yuugi tell you?” he asked in an even voice. Simple, straight forward.
Ryou looked down at his knees and was quiet for a few seconds, then he mumbled, “Nothing.”
“Ryou, I know he told you something. You were talking about the Mafia earlier,” Bakura said, trying to keep his voice calm, even though frustration was starting to itch at him again.
“...He just asked me if I knew what you did,” Ryou said softly, still staring at his knees.
“And?” Bakura snapped before he managed to rein it back in. “What did you tell him? What did he tell you?”
“I- I- The only thing I asked him about you was if you were Mafia, and he said there was no connection!” Ryou said, his voice suddenly louder and once again panicky.
“Why did you think I was?” Bakura asked, glancing at Ryou for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road.
“I don’t know,” Ryou said, hugging his arms against his stomach and leaning forward in his seat a bit.
“There’s got to be a reason,” Bakura insisted, trying hard to keep his voice level. “You’ve known me less than a week.”
“I don’t know!” Ryou protested, his voice getting shrill. “I just had a feeling that you were into something illegal and that you were good at it! Like a professional or something!” A little hiccupping sob followed the words and Bakura glanced sideways again to see that Ryou was curled in on himself even more and covering his face with his hands.
“Are you crying?” Bakura demanded, the weak threads holding his patience together snapping. “What? What did I do now?!”
Ryou let out a louder sob. “I’m scared!” he shouted. “We’re having some kind of fight and you think that Yuugi told me something I shouldn’t know and now you’re driving me out into the middle of nowhere and it’s like you’re looking for a place to dump my body!”
“God damn it!” Bakura shouted, slapping the edge of the steering wheel. Why had he not considered how ‘let’s go for a drive’ sounded to someone convinced he was a mobster? He’d made a bad misunderstanding ten times worse due to his glorious wealth of stupidity. Bakura shook his head violently before turning back to the road, so as to not kill them both, and watched in horror as his mouth started getting ahead of his brain yet again.
“I’m not mafia!” he barely managed to keep his tone below an exasperated shout. “I don’t dump bodies! There are no bodies! I hate bodies!” Bakura was trying really hard not to get angry at Ryou, but this whole thing was just so stupid. Ryou had his head ducked and his body curled down towards his knees and the stretched-out seatbelt wobbled around above his crouched form.
Suddenly Bakura had a desperate need to not be trapped in a confined space with Ryou. His eyes flicked to a rest-area sign and he slid across the lanes, dropping carefully around a semi, and onto the off-ramp. He rolled into the large parking lot way too fast and he could feel the breaks protesting as the car skidded to a stop right in the middle. Bakura didn’t bother to fit it into one of the spaces, it was the middle of the night and March; nobody else was going to drive in.
He set the break and turned off the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition, before fighting off his seatbelt and throwing himself out the door. The chill outside came as a sudden shock, but Bakura ignored it, slamming the car door shut and striding across the pavement to the grassy little berm that ran along one side of the parking lot. He dropped down onto the scraggly grass and hunched over for a few seconds before tipping himself back and laying on the frigid, spongey ground, staring up at the sky.
A moment’s search brought him the location Orion’s belt and sword, and then Ursa Major. A familiar sky, comforting sky, where darkness protected the stars from the sun’s fire. If only the air weren’t polluted by the orange light from a few dozen extra-tall street-lamps dotted through the parking lot, the stars wouldn’t be so dim and weak. Light made things too confusing, too overwhelming and intense; darkness was so much simpler. In the darkness all of Bakura’s senses were sharper and he knew where he was- he could feel it, the ground, the air the something-else that he couldn’t quite define. Daylight blocked all that knowledge and left him adrift.
Adrift like he was now, even in near-darkness, presented with so many intangibles that he couldn’t seem to get a grip on. He didn’t know Ryou. He didn’t know enough about him to understand his actions and reactions and it was frustrating that human beings had to be so very complicated. And for any interaction between two human beings the complications doubled as the complications of the one were added to the complications of the other. Or maybe it ought to be product rather than sum. And even if Bakura were to understand all the factors, he still couldn’t seem to speak the same language as Ryou.
The cold was starting to seep down deep into Bakura’s body. In a way it was uncomfortable. In a way it was soothing, like he’d been fevered before and the cool around him was pulling his body temperature back down to normal. Or maybe it was just numbness. No, he hadn’t been out long enough for that to start yet, had he? How long was it now since he’d abandoned the car?
There were footsteps; sneakers crunching against loose pebbles strewn over the pavement. They stopped a few feet from him. Bakura blinked slowly up at the weak stars and then his voice came out quiet and dull. “Can’t drive, huh?” he asked. He’d left the keys in the ignition; if Ryou really thought his life was in danger he could have driven away and left Bakura sprawled on the berm. Unless he didn’t know how.
“... No,” Ryou’s voice said quietly.
“Bummer,” Bakura murmured.
“I- I wouldn’t leave you out here anyway. It’s winter. You’d get hypothermia. You might die,” Ryou whispered.
“Isn’t it me or you though? You think this is a body-dumping mission, right?” Bakura closed his eyes, deepening the darkness but loosing the stars in the process.
“I know that it’s stupid,” Ryou mumbled. “I just got scared.”
“I’m not mafia.”
“Yeah,” Ryou acknowledged quietly.
“I’m a thief.”
Ryou was silent for a few seconds. “I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that.”
Bakura opened his eyes and looked back up at the stars again. “It’s better than letting you go on thinking I’m a murderer,” he said, trying to remember where Cassiopeia was this time of year. “Besides, without any specifics, if you just went into the police station or something and told them that you believed I might have stolen something at some point, they’re just going to be like ‘yeah, okay, we have real work to do, kid.’”
“I suppose so,” Ryou agreed and then moved, his steps getting quieter as his shoes moved from the pavement onto the grass, and sat down next to Bakura.
“...I’m not good at talking to people,” Bakura admitted softly. “I usually just let Yami deal with that.”
There was a short pause and then Ryou started speaking in a slightly muffled voice. “If you’re trying to explain yourself because you think you’ve done something wrong, you don’t need to. This thing wasn’t your fault.” Bakura could hear him swallow and shift. “You’ve been perfectly nice to me this whole time and I’m throwing it back in your face because I’m paranoid.”
Bakura turned his head slightly to look at Ryou’s shadowy profile. “I don’t know how to make you believe that I’m not trying to hurt you. All I can do is say it, but I know I tend to come off as insincere.”
Ryou shook his head slowly and then dipped it a little, resting his chin on his knees and hugging them closer to himself. “You seem sincere to me,” he whispered. “But even if you’re sincere, what does that matter? People can be completely sincere and honestly want the best, but their actions will take them in the opposite direction. Because our brains are made of pieces, and even if the cerebral cortex wants to take the higher ground, our animal-brain is still run by violent survival instincts.”
Bakura studied Ryou’s outline carefully, the soft glow around the edges as the starlight reflected against his hair, the dim suggestion of features in the muddled darkness. “He’s the kind of person who would beat you up and then get all weepy and give you presents and promise to never do it again?” Ryou remained silent, hugging his knees a little tighter. “Is that why you don’t like presents?”
Ryou moved in what might have been recognizable as a shrug, if Bakura were looking at him from a different angle. Bakura sighed and turned back toward the stars. “... I’ll tell you a secret that doesn’t have any legal repercussions attached to it,” he said quietly. “When I was about eleven, Arthur- that’s Rebecca’s grandfather- started checking me for cuts and burns and scratches every couple days because I was hurting myself when I got stressed. I still do it sometimes, but I learned how to not leave marks a long time ago.” Bakura stared blankly up, not quite seeing the stars anymore, and took a deep breath. “My point is that if I lose it and need to hurt someone, it’s not going to be you.”
There was a long silence, maybe more than two minutes, and then Ryou’s voice came out small and wavering. “You bit your hand. Back at the condo.”
“Yeah,” Bakura agreed, nodding slightly. “If I do it in the right place, the mark only lasts about an hour and then it’s gone... And it lets off a little tension. I’ve heard it’s an endorphin thing.”
“... You’re kind of old for that sort of thing,” Ryou mumbled.
“I don’t do it very often anymore.” Bakura shrugged a little. “Just when I really need to clear my head.”
They were quiet again and in the lull, Bakura noticed an odd, tiny sound; it took him a few seconds to place. Ryou’s teeth were chattering. Of course he was cold. He hadn’t been wearing a jacket when Bakura dragged him down to the garage and Bakura hadn’t even bothered to notice.
Bakura sat up and reached over, grabbing Ryou around the waist and pulling the startled boy into his lap. He did his best to wrap his own coat around both of them and hugged his arms tightly around Ryou, who was stiff for a few seconds but then relaxed and leaned into Bakura. “Sorry about this,” Bakura whispered, rubbing a hand up and down Ryou’s arm in a feeble attempt to warm him through friction. “Driving helps me relax.”
Ryou nodded and stayed silent, leaning his forehead against the side of Bakura’s neck as he trembled. “We should find a place to eat,” Bakura decided. “What mile are we at? I think we’re close to a really great Thai place. Do you like Thai?” Ryou nodded again. “Okay, good,” Bakura said, letting out a little breath. “A little pepper will get you warmed up.”
000
It was a modest-sized but richly-furnished restaurant with an elephant theme. A carved, wooden sculpture near the middle had four elephants facing away from each other in the four directions with their heads and trunks swung upwards; they looked like they could have supported a table. It was much nicer than Ryou had expected from a little place in a strip-mall.
His eyes skimmed back and forth over the menu a pretty hostess had given him, over vaguely familiar words and completely foreign ones. Ryou chewed on his lip and he felt his face heat up a little. “Um...” he mumbled after a few moments of surveying the unfamiliar selection. He looked up to find Bakura staring back at him in that disturbingly intense way he did. Ryou’s eyes returned to the menu and he stammered awkwardly. “Could you... recommend something? Not too spicy or weird?”
There was a brief pause and then Bakura responded in a conversational tone, without any noticeable derision for Ryou’s ignorance. “Pud thai is good and not too adventurous. It’s rice noodles with tofu and egg and meat and a sweet sauce,” he said. “The spice level in most of these is tailored to the order. You tell them the star-rating you want, between one and five, one being not spicy and five being very spicy.”
Ryou nodded. Noodles sounded safe. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
A few minutes after they’d ordered, their waitress brought cups of some sweet soup that wasn’t quite egg-flower and wasn’t quite miso, and a salad made mostly of cabbage. The menus gone, Ryou found himself looking for a new excuse to avoid Bakura’s eyes. He stared down at the soup, stirring it slowly around with his spoon.
“... Are you warm now?” Bakura asked quietly.
“Yes.” Ryou nodded.
“That’s good.” There was an awkward silence.
“... Did you do something dangerous today?” Ryou asked in a soft voice just above a whisper. “When you were out?”
“Dangerous?” Bakura sounded baffled. “I just went to meet someone.”
Ryou nodded again and felt himself flushing. “I- After you left, I realized that I didn’t know what time you were coming back... I didn’t know what time I should start being worried...” He stared down at the remainder of his soup, face burning with shame. “...So I just worried all day.”
“... You shouldn’t worry.”
Ryou nodded once more. “I know... But I do,” he mumbled. “If there’s a chance you wouldn’t come back... if you’d get shot or arrested or something... even if it’s a tiny chance...”
“If I told you which days to worry, would you be okay the rest of the time?”
Ryou blinked and looked up at Bakura, startled. “What do you mean?”
“Smash-and-grab tends to be a pretty short-lived career with a lot of jail-time. Any job I do has at least a month’s prep-time.” Bakura seemed to be studying Ryou like a complex math problem. “If I told you what days I was doing something ‘dangerous’, would you not be worried the rest of the time?”
“That...” Ryou turned the idea over in his head a little and then slowly nodded. “I think so,” he said at length.
“Okay,” Bakura said with a nod and picked up his cup of soup, drinking the remaining broth. “I’d usually be working at night for ‘events’. Outside of those, there’s a pretty low chance of me getting shot at and if I’m going to get arrested it would probably be while I’m at home. But also, not likely.”
“Okay,” Ryou said with another nod, picking up his cup and his spoon and taking a whack at his own soup.
“And...” Bakura’s brow pinched and he looked at his cup as he set it down. “You’re not expensive, Ryou. The reason I’m throwing so much stuff at you all at once is because you don’t have stuff right now and I just want you to have some basic stuff to be comfortable and not bored and all...”
“I... Yeah. I just don’t need... expensive stuff,” Ryou mumbled, tugging at a lock of his hair. “I mean, I just feel like, if you’re going to throw money at some charity case, there’s plenty more deserving than me...”
Bakura was quiet for a moment. “You mean like Amnesty International or the Red Cross? I have auto-pays set up at my bank for those. They get a check every year.”
Ryou looked up, surprised but with a pang of guilt for the feeling. “So... You’re Robin Hood then?”
“Robin Hood lived in a tree. I’m not that generous,” Bakura corrected with a little grin pulling at his lips. “I asked Arthur, a lot of years ago, how to pay him back for taking me in. He told me to give to charity. So I do.”
“...He must have been a really great guy,” Ryou said quietly, twisting the end of his hair around a finger and letting it go, then repeating the process.
“He was,” Bakura agreed softly.
“Gang gai, three-stars!”
Ryou jumped slightly at the waitress’s voice and Bakura straightened up, looking slightly embarrassed as he nodded to her. “Yeah, that’s mine.”
“Here you are, sir,” the waitress chirped cheerfully, setting down a plate with a perfectly rounded mound of rice and a boat of red curry. “And that would make you the chicken pud thai, one-star!” she noted with a grin, putting a dish of orangey noodles in front of Ryou. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, that should do it. Thanks,” Bakura said, giving her an awkward smile and picking a ladle out of his curry-boat to spoon the creamy stew over his rice.
“Thank you,” Ryou echoed in a quieter voice, poking a fork into his noodles.
“... So, anyway,” Bakura said after the waitress had left. “I’ll stop buying you frivolous stuff. Just things you need.”
“I have my own money.” Ryou spun some noodles around his fork and ate them without looking up at Bakura. “I can buy the things I need... You’re not charging me rent and that’s huge. I don’t need any more help than that.”
Bakura was quiet for a while and Ryou glanced up through his bangs to observe Bakura frustratedly stabbing at the pieces of chicken in his curry. “Shouldn’t- shouldn’t you be saving up for tuition or something?” he demanded eventually.
“Wouldn’t do me much good without a high school diploma.” Ryou shrugged, looking back down at his food and feeling hot shame in his cheeks again.
“...Why didn’t you finish?” Bakura asked more quietly.
“Needed to work so I could afford food and rent,” Ryou mumbled shrugging again. “I can’t get a full schedule at one job because I’m a minor and I can’t coordinate two jobs around classes.”
Bakura nodded and chewed some coconut-cream coated vegetable slowly as he appeared to contemplate Ryou’s statement. “You don’t, now,” he offered very softly and then continued in a stronger voice. “Since you’re a minor, you’d probably be able to go back to school pretty easily without the government making a fuss about funding or whatever.” He seemed to falter slightly on the word ‘minor’ but pressed bravely onward. “I mean, obviously it would kind of suck to go back in with kids younger than you, but the state allows you to substitute classes at the community college to fill the high school requirements for a state-issued degree.”
Ryou picked up a sauce-filled piece of scrambled-egg on the end of his fork and looked at it. “I doubt if I could save up enough for tuition and take any classes before the clock ran out on my minor status,” he said quietly.
“You don’t have to. The state pays for it out of the high school budget,” Bakura said with a quirky, maybe encouraging(?) little grin. “I have friends who did it. Earning the college credits and high school credits at the same time and all, they got their associate’s all on the state’s expense. I think the deal still holds after you turn eighteen too, so long as you don’t apply for high school graduation until you’re ready to apply for a two-year degree too.”
“That seems rather dishonest,” Ryou noted, chewing on his lip.
“Anybody can do it, most people just don’t bother to look into it or go for it,” Bakura said and ate a clump of rice. “And anyway, do you think what you’ve been through is fair? If you’re a minor, somebody should have been looking out for you. If nobody else was, the state should have been. Somebody -your guidance councilor of vice-principle or somebody- should have tried to find out why you were dropping out and gotten you put on welfare or something. The state owes you.”
“I wouldn’t get welfare.” Ryou shook his head. “I have a father, I just don’t know where he is.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re owed,” Bakura said firmly.
Ryou nodded slowly, agreeing whether it was true or not. “Maybe I’ll look into it.”
“You should,” Bakura said in a quieter voice. “You’re definitely one of the smarter people I’ve met. I don’t think there’s a lot of seventeen year olds with your vocabulary.”
“... I like to read.” Ryou shrugged.
000
000
I don’t know, I feel like the ending here was a bit weak, but I’ve been trying to put together a closing for this part for a couple weeks (I was working on chapters 4 and 5 simultaneously) and I’m sick of looking at it, so I’m going to call this good-enough and move on to Saturday. Because I know several of you have been fiending for it, I’ve reworked the twins proper introduction and moved it up to the next chapter. I’ll also attempt to stick with my goal of a sex-scene every two chapters and maybe start off chapter six with a little steam.
I love reviews/comments! They inspire me to write moar!
Title: Invisible
Author: Fictatious
Character(s): Bakura Ryou, Yami-Bakura, Yami-Yuugi, Kujaku Mai, Rebecca Hawkins, Mutou Yuugi
Rating: M
Warnings: SEX!
Summary: On an inexplicable impulse, Bakura, a professional criminal, takes in a bruised and beaten teenager whom he's seen around but never spoken to before today. Tendershipping.
Previous: 1, 2, 3, 4
“No, I want to put it on my plan,” Bakura corrected irritably; the clerk nodded and went back to talking to a bean-counter in some distant state or country as he tried to arrange a new cell-phone package.
“You’re rather serious about this boy, aren’t you. Where did you know him from before Tuesday?” Yami asked, still following Bakura around.
“I told you before: none of your fucking business,” Bakura snapped, glaring.
Yami rolled his eyes. “Can you not at least appreciate my concern?” he asked.
“No.”
“I really want you to start seeing a counselor,” Yami said in a firm voice.
Bakura glared at him silently for a few seconds.
“Sir, do you want to upgrade to a family-plan or add the new phone as a separate plan on your account?” the clerk broke in.
“What’s the difference?” Bakura asked, doubting that it was much. “I’m set up for unlimited talk and text, right? So it’s not like sharing minutes on a family plan or something is going to affect my use.”
“Er,” the clerk faltered, looking unsure. “The price, I guess...”
“Fine. Make it a family-plan,” Bakura snorted and then turned his attention back to Yami. “I want one who can take a look at Ryou too. Somebody fucked him up bad.”
Yami looked slightly startled, probably at how easy it had been to make Bakura agree to seeing a shrink. “Sure,” he said with a small nod. “Battery, I’m guessing?”
“I don’t know- fucked-uppedness!” Bakura snapped. “Battery’s got to be part of it, but he’s got some serious -I don’t know- self-esteem issues too.”
“Does gender matter?”
Bakura shrugged.
“Sherrie Holsgate works with some abuse victims,” Yami said. “I’ll find her number and send it to you tonight.”
“Okay.” Bakura looked back at the clerk, who was talking to the bean-counter on the other end of the line and scribbling down numbers on a carbon-paper form.
“I have a late lunch with Mister Wong on Monday. He wants you to be there too,” Yami said after a minute.
Bakura groaned. “... Of course he does.”
“I’m meeting him at two o-clock at the Szechuan Paradise,” Yami said. “Best behavior.”
“I know,” Bakura grumbled.
000
Ryou was so distracted, he didn’t even hear the door until it closed. He looked up and turned slightly, as the sound of the door was soon followed by an indignant yell. “Hey! Brat! What the hell?!” Bakura demanded, glaring at Rebecca accusingly.
“We’re going to start a role-playing group!” Rebecca announced cheerfully, ignoring the look.
“You’re huh?” Bakura frowned, looking baffled, as Ryou pushed himself up and walked around the couch to meet him in the living room.
“Sorry, they came over an hour or two ago and we’ve been talking about games,” Ryou said, stopping in front of him.
“Don’t apologize,” Bakura said, frowning slightly. “It’s fine. Besides, I’m betting you were ambushed.” He leaned around Ryou to cast another glare at Rebecca, who stuck her tongue out.
“We should probably be getting home though anyway, Becca. It’s getting kind of late,” Yuugi said, glancing at his phone.
“Ooor, we could all order pizza and watch a movie!” Rebecca suggested, throwing her arms in the air enthusiastically.
“No,” Bakura shot back flatly.
“But--”
“No. My house is not a daycare. Go home,” Bakura said in a firm monotone. “I just want a quiet evening without any interruptions or disasters or anybody trying to spy on me.”
Rebecca pushed out her bottom lip, her face stormy, and crossed her arms. “Fine. Are you going to at least give me a ride home?”
“No,” Bakura snapped. “You got here on your own, you can figure out how to get home on your own.”
“Fine!” Rebecca shouted, throwing her arms in the air again. She jumped to her feet and stomped around the couch.
“Rebecca...” Yuugi called after her in a pleading voice as he chased her over to the entryway.
“It’s fine! I know when I’m not wanted!” Rebecca snapped, stuffing her feet into her shoes.
“When you’re being a relentless pest? Yeah, that’s about the time!” Bakura snarled back.
“Ass-hole!” Rebecca shouted.
“Brat!”
“Shit-head!”
“Midget!”
Rebecca stepped out the door and cast Bakura one final glare. “Dumb-ass!” she shouted and then slammed the door.
There was a second of quiet, and then Yuugi broke it with an overly cheerful, strained voice. “It was nice meeting you Ryou! See you around!” He turned and hurried out the door, pulling it shut much more quietly than Rebecca had.
“W-what was that?” Ryou asked, looking from the closed door to Bakura.
“Eh, nothing. She probably won’t even remember what we were yelling about in a couple days,” Bakura said in a casual voice, giving a little shrug. “Every few months she’ll tell me that she’s never going to speak to me again. Lasts about a week. It’s just a new twist on ‘you’re not invited to my birthday party’.”
Ryou stared at him. Bakura’s countenance held no trace of anger or any other remnant of the shouting-match. “...But...” Ryou mumbled lamely.
Bakura glanced at him, a concerned expression suddenly crossing his face. “Sorry, did that bother you?”
Ryou blinked slowly, considering the question. Was he asking if Ryou was so fragile couldn’t handle raised voices? “I’m fine,” Ryou answered, shaking his head. “Do you have a preference for dinner tonight?”
Bakura shrugged. “Anything is fine. I like all the stuff we bought,” he answered easily and then glanced down at the bag he was carrying. “I, um, hang on,” he muttered and reached into his coat-pocket. “I got a key made for you,” he said, holding out a door key on a generic plastic keychain.
“Thank you,” Ryou said quietly, accepting it. He glanced at the side of the bag Bakura was holding. It was white paper with a name and logo printed across the front in cobalt blue, Perfect Palette Art Supplies.
“And a phone, because, y’know, you need...” Bakura muttered awkwardly and handing Ryou a black and white plastic bag with a small-electronics sized box inside. “And you said, uh-” he faltered slightly and then held out the large bag to Ryou. “The woman at the store recommended a couple kinds of paper and some pens and pencils and stuff, so, pick out what you like and then we can exchange the rest if it’s crap.”
“Th-thank you,” Ryou whispered, staring down at the bag, heavy with art supplies. Should he start getting dinner ready or did Bakura want him to inspect the new art supplies right now? Like a gift? That’s what it was, Ryou supposed, there was no excusing sketchpads and pens as necessities.
Ryou walked slowly over to the dining table and set the bag down, before reaching inside and pulling out the thickest object, which rattled slightly as he lifted it. He stared at the box in his hands, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Copics,” Ryou breathed.
“Are they not good? I didn’t know, it’s just what the girl at the store recommended. We can bring them back if you want something else,” Bakura said with a little shrug.
“They’re the best,” Ryou mumbled, opening the folding package and looking at all 72 colors lined up in beautiful rows. “What the professionals use.” And worth over three hundred dollars, he didn’t add.
“Okay, good,” Bakura said with a little grin. “I didn’t know what kind of drawing you were into. The girl gave me stuff for a couple different kinds...” He gave another slightly awkward shrug.
Ryou reluctantly set the markers aside to unload the rest of the bag. The sketch pads and bristol-board and various weights of papers were all standard Strathmore and Canson products. There was also a large set of Rembrandt soft pastels and the big box of Prismacolor pencils, as well as a standard eight-set of graphite pencils and a five-pack of black Micron pens.
“These... are all really good...” Ryou mumbled, staring down at the collection now spread over the dining table, a voice in the back of his head informing him over and over that he was looking at about seven-hundred dollars worth of art supplies. It was a far cry from the 50-pack of Crayola pencils he’d had last week. “This- this is too much,” he whispered as the voice in the back of his head wailed at him to shut up.
“It’s no big deal.” Bakura looked away, drumming his fingers on the back of a chair.
“It’s- it’s creepy,” Ryou blurted.
Bakura gave him a startled look. “Creepy?”
“All this stuff! It’s like- it makes me feel like I’m getting deeper and deeper into debt to you!” Ryou exclaimed, gesturing uselessly at the items on the table. “I- I keep worrying that the other shoe’s going to drop or something and you’re going to turn out to be some kind of psycho and I’m going to want to leave but I won’t to be able to because I’m going to owe you too much!”
Bakura’s brows pinched together and he opened his mouth to protest but Ryou couldn’t seem to stop the tumult of traitorous words falling from his lips. “I mean- Yuugi said you’re not with the mob, but it feels like the same kind of principle as you don’t ever let the Mafia do you a favor because the minute you do, they’re into you for life! It’s- it’s creepy! How much do I owe you now? What am I committing myself to by accepting all these gifts?!” Ryou knew he sounded hysterical, but he couldn’t seem to calm himself down or stop talking now that he’d started down this path.
“You’re not committing to anything! There’s no obligation, no commitment, I’m not the Mafia or some phone company!” Bakura exclaimed, his voice elevated, not angry, just frustrated, confused. “I’m not trying to buy you! I just want you to have some basic stuff!”
“Seven-hundred dollars worth of art supplies?!” Ryou’s voice came out loud and shrill.
“It’s not a big deal!”
“It’s a big deal!” Ryou screamed and then hooked his hands in his hair and started pacing as he moved from a-little-freaked-out into a full fledged melt-down. “I can’t do this! I don’t know what you want from me!”
“I’m sick of being alone!” Bakura shouted, his hands fisted at his sides. “I’m sick of going to bed alone- I’m sick of waking up alone- I’m sick of driving alone- I’m sick of eating alone- I’m sick of BEING alone!” He shook for a minute, squeezing his eyes shut; he didn’t look like he was holding back tears, he looked more like he was trying not to strangle Ryou. “I’m so fucking lonely I got infatuated with a fantasy loosely based around some kid I saw at a bus-stop! When I saw you going into Bridget’s, it ruined the fantasy and I’m so pathetic I couldn’t handle that!”
“So tell me what to do! Use me! Slap me! Just stop treating me like some kind of guest or pet poodle! I’m a WHORE!” Ryou screamed.
When Ryou ventured to look up through his disarrayed hair, Bakura was pacing a tight circle and viciously biting his own knuckle. He looked like a caged animal about to snap and throw itself into the bars. He stopped when his eyes happened to catch on Ryou’s. They stared silently at each other for a few seconds and the Bakura dropped his hand. “Let’s go for a drive,” he said suddenly, holding out his hand. It sounded more like a command than a suggestion.
Ryou took his hand automatically, not even realizing he’d done it until Bakura’s fingers closed around his. “W-what?” he stammered as Bakura started dragging him towards the front door. “Where?”
“Don’t know,” Bakura said, shrugging brusquely. “We’ll find out when we get there.”
000
The sun had set almost an hour ago, but rush-hour was still on. Bakura blew through winding back-roads, going well above the posted speed-limit, until he hit the edge of the city and merged onto a sparsely populated freeway. He had the base on his sound system cranked up so that he could feel the music shaking through his body even as he heard it, like a heavy-metal massage.
Ryou sat quiet and still in the passenger’s seat, staring blankly through the windshield, the whole time. He was probably still freaking out -he looked freaked out- but Bakura hadn’t managed to get to his happy-place yet and didn’t trust himself to speak civilly. When they got past the suburbs, traffic dissolved into a fast-moving trickle of semis, and as he held down the accelerator and let the engine unwind at 80 and 90, he felt his knotted nerves starting to unwind too.
He began to mentally pick apart the fit Ryou had thrown over the art supplies into its component pieces. Ryou didn’t like having money spent on him; yes, Bakura had picked up on that at the mall yesterday. Buying the most expensive pens and crap the art store had to offer had been a stupid idea. If he had a problem with people buying him basic necessities for survival, of course he’d get edgy about receiving expensive luxury items. Bakura should have seen that one coming and kept it simple, but noooo.
It wasn’t just about the art supplies either, Ryou had made that pretty clear. He was scared. And what the hell was this about Yuugi? Yuugi had told Ryou about Bakura’s work? What the hell was he thinking? Bakura’s fist would definitely be having a word with Yami’s face about this one.
Ryou was concerned about some kind debt, but that was probably a combination of factors one and two. Factor one was something Bakura had no idea how to address other than the way he had. A few hundred dollars here and there wasn’t a big deal. But that was a difference of opinion and not likely to be solved any time soon.
The second factor though, that was definitely something that needed correcting.
Bakura leaned forward, without taking his eyes off the road, and turned the volume down on the radio. He leaned back and took a breath, trying to compose the most straight-forward, non-threatening means of approaching the subject and figuring out what the micro-Mutou had blabbed. “What did Yuugi tell you?” he asked in an even voice. Simple, straight forward.
Ryou looked down at his knees and was quiet for a few seconds, then he mumbled, “Nothing.”
“Ryou, I know he told you something. You were talking about the Mafia earlier,” Bakura said, trying to keep his voice calm, even though frustration was starting to itch at him again.
“...He just asked me if I knew what you did,” Ryou said softly, still staring at his knees.
“And?” Bakura snapped before he managed to rein it back in. “What did you tell him? What did he tell you?”
“I- I- The only thing I asked him about you was if you were Mafia, and he said there was no connection!” Ryou said, his voice suddenly louder and once again panicky.
“Why did you think I was?” Bakura asked, glancing at Ryou for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road.
“I don’t know,” Ryou said, hugging his arms against his stomach and leaning forward in his seat a bit.
“There’s got to be a reason,” Bakura insisted, trying hard to keep his voice level. “You’ve known me less than a week.”
“I don’t know!” Ryou protested, his voice getting shrill. “I just had a feeling that you were into something illegal and that you were good at it! Like a professional or something!” A little hiccupping sob followed the words and Bakura glanced sideways again to see that Ryou was curled in on himself even more and covering his face with his hands.
“Are you crying?” Bakura demanded, the weak threads holding his patience together snapping. “What? What did I do now?!”
Ryou let out a louder sob. “I’m scared!” he shouted. “We’re having some kind of fight and you think that Yuugi told me something I shouldn’t know and now you’re driving me out into the middle of nowhere and it’s like you’re looking for a place to dump my body!”
“God damn it!” Bakura shouted, slapping the edge of the steering wheel. Why had he not considered how ‘let’s go for a drive’ sounded to someone convinced he was a mobster? He’d made a bad misunderstanding ten times worse due to his glorious wealth of stupidity. Bakura shook his head violently before turning back to the road, so as to not kill them both, and watched in horror as his mouth started getting ahead of his brain yet again.
“I’m not mafia!” he barely managed to keep his tone below an exasperated shout. “I don’t dump bodies! There are no bodies! I hate bodies!” Bakura was trying really hard not to get angry at Ryou, but this whole thing was just so stupid. Ryou had his head ducked and his body curled down towards his knees and the stretched-out seatbelt wobbled around above his crouched form.
Suddenly Bakura had a desperate need to not be trapped in a confined space with Ryou. His eyes flicked to a rest-area sign and he slid across the lanes, dropping carefully around a semi, and onto the off-ramp. He rolled into the large parking lot way too fast and he could feel the breaks protesting as the car skidded to a stop right in the middle. Bakura didn’t bother to fit it into one of the spaces, it was the middle of the night and March; nobody else was going to drive in.
He set the break and turned off the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition, before fighting off his seatbelt and throwing himself out the door. The chill outside came as a sudden shock, but Bakura ignored it, slamming the car door shut and striding across the pavement to the grassy little berm that ran along one side of the parking lot. He dropped down onto the scraggly grass and hunched over for a few seconds before tipping himself back and laying on the frigid, spongey ground, staring up at the sky.
A moment’s search brought him the location Orion’s belt and sword, and then Ursa Major. A familiar sky, comforting sky, where darkness protected the stars from the sun’s fire. If only the air weren’t polluted by the orange light from a few dozen extra-tall street-lamps dotted through the parking lot, the stars wouldn’t be so dim and weak. Light made things too confusing, too overwhelming and intense; darkness was so much simpler. In the darkness all of Bakura’s senses were sharper and he knew where he was- he could feel it, the ground, the air the something-else that he couldn’t quite define. Daylight blocked all that knowledge and left him adrift.
Adrift like he was now, even in near-darkness, presented with so many intangibles that he couldn’t seem to get a grip on. He didn’t know Ryou. He didn’t know enough about him to understand his actions and reactions and it was frustrating that human beings had to be so very complicated. And for any interaction between two human beings the complications doubled as the complications of the one were added to the complications of the other. Or maybe it ought to be product rather than sum. And even if Bakura were to understand all the factors, he still couldn’t seem to speak the same language as Ryou.
The cold was starting to seep down deep into Bakura’s body. In a way it was uncomfortable. In a way it was soothing, like he’d been fevered before and the cool around him was pulling his body temperature back down to normal. Or maybe it was just numbness. No, he hadn’t been out long enough for that to start yet, had he? How long was it now since he’d abandoned the car?
There were footsteps; sneakers crunching against loose pebbles strewn over the pavement. They stopped a few feet from him. Bakura blinked slowly up at the weak stars and then his voice came out quiet and dull. “Can’t drive, huh?” he asked. He’d left the keys in the ignition; if Ryou really thought his life was in danger he could have driven away and left Bakura sprawled on the berm. Unless he didn’t know how.
“... No,” Ryou’s voice said quietly.
“Bummer,” Bakura murmured.
“I- I wouldn’t leave you out here anyway. It’s winter. You’d get hypothermia. You might die,” Ryou whispered.
“Isn’t it me or you though? You think this is a body-dumping mission, right?” Bakura closed his eyes, deepening the darkness but loosing the stars in the process.
“I know that it’s stupid,” Ryou mumbled. “I just got scared.”
“I’m not mafia.”
“Yeah,” Ryou acknowledged quietly.
“I’m a thief.”
Ryou was silent for a few seconds. “I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that.”
Bakura opened his eyes and looked back up at the stars again. “It’s better than letting you go on thinking I’m a murderer,” he said, trying to remember where Cassiopeia was this time of year. “Besides, without any specifics, if you just went into the police station or something and told them that you believed I might have stolen something at some point, they’re just going to be like ‘yeah, okay, we have real work to do, kid.’”
“I suppose so,” Ryou agreed and then moved, his steps getting quieter as his shoes moved from the pavement onto the grass, and sat down next to Bakura.
“...I’m not good at talking to people,” Bakura admitted softly. “I usually just let Yami deal with that.”
There was a short pause and then Ryou started speaking in a slightly muffled voice. “If you’re trying to explain yourself because you think you’ve done something wrong, you don’t need to. This thing wasn’t your fault.” Bakura could hear him swallow and shift. “You’ve been perfectly nice to me this whole time and I’m throwing it back in your face because I’m paranoid.”
Bakura turned his head slightly to look at Ryou’s shadowy profile. “I don’t know how to make you believe that I’m not trying to hurt you. All I can do is say it, but I know I tend to come off as insincere.”
Ryou shook his head slowly and then dipped it a little, resting his chin on his knees and hugging them closer to himself. “You seem sincere to me,” he whispered. “But even if you’re sincere, what does that matter? People can be completely sincere and honestly want the best, but their actions will take them in the opposite direction. Because our brains are made of pieces, and even if the cerebral cortex wants to take the higher ground, our animal-brain is still run by violent survival instincts.”
Bakura studied Ryou’s outline carefully, the soft glow around the edges as the starlight reflected against his hair, the dim suggestion of features in the muddled darkness. “He’s the kind of person who would beat you up and then get all weepy and give you presents and promise to never do it again?” Ryou remained silent, hugging his knees a little tighter. “Is that why you don’t like presents?”
Ryou moved in what might have been recognizable as a shrug, if Bakura were looking at him from a different angle. Bakura sighed and turned back toward the stars. “... I’ll tell you a secret that doesn’t have any legal repercussions attached to it,” he said quietly. “When I was about eleven, Arthur- that’s Rebecca’s grandfather- started checking me for cuts and burns and scratches every couple days because I was hurting myself when I got stressed. I still do it sometimes, but I learned how to not leave marks a long time ago.” Bakura stared blankly up, not quite seeing the stars anymore, and took a deep breath. “My point is that if I lose it and need to hurt someone, it’s not going to be you.”
There was a long silence, maybe more than two minutes, and then Ryou’s voice came out small and wavering. “You bit your hand. Back at the condo.”
“Yeah,” Bakura agreed, nodding slightly. “If I do it in the right place, the mark only lasts about an hour and then it’s gone... And it lets off a little tension. I’ve heard it’s an endorphin thing.”
“... You’re kind of old for that sort of thing,” Ryou mumbled.
“I don’t do it very often anymore.” Bakura shrugged a little. “Just when I really need to clear my head.”
They were quiet again and in the lull, Bakura noticed an odd, tiny sound; it took him a few seconds to place. Ryou’s teeth were chattering. Of course he was cold. He hadn’t been wearing a jacket when Bakura dragged him down to the garage and Bakura hadn’t even bothered to notice.
Bakura sat up and reached over, grabbing Ryou around the waist and pulling the startled boy into his lap. He did his best to wrap his own coat around both of them and hugged his arms tightly around Ryou, who was stiff for a few seconds but then relaxed and leaned into Bakura. “Sorry about this,” Bakura whispered, rubbing a hand up and down Ryou’s arm in a feeble attempt to warm him through friction. “Driving helps me relax.”
Ryou nodded and stayed silent, leaning his forehead against the side of Bakura’s neck as he trembled. “We should find a place to eat,” Bakura decided. “What mile are we at? I think we’re close to a really great Thai place. Do you like Thai?” Ryou nodded again. “Okay, good,” Bakura said, letting out a little breath. “A little pepper will get you warmed up.”
000
It was a modest-sized but richly-furnished restaurant with an elephant theme. A carved, wooden sculpture near the middle had four elephants facing away from each other in the four directions with their heads and trunks swung upwards; they looked like they could have supported a table. It was much nicer than Ryou had expected from a little place in a strip-mall.
His eyes skimmed back and forth over the menu a pretty hostess had given him, over vaguely familiar words and completely foreign ones. Ryou chewed on his lip and he felt his face heat up a little. “Um...” he mumbled after a few moments of surveying the unfamiliar selection. He looked up to find Bakura staring back at him in that disturbingly intense way he did. Ryou’s eyes returned to the menu and he stammered awkwardly. “Could you... recommend something? Not too spicy or weird?”
There was a brief pause and then Bakura responded in a conversational tone, without any noticeable derision for Ryou’s ignorance. “Pud thai is good and not too adventurous. It’s rice noodles with tofu and egg and meat and a sweet sauce,” he said. “The spice level in most of these is tailored to the order. You tell them the star-rating you want, between one and five, one being not spicy and five being very spicy.”
Ryou nodded. Noodles sounded safe. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
A few minutes after they’d ordered, their waitress brought cups of some sweet soup that wasn’t quite egg-flower and wasn’t quite miso, and a salad made mostly of cabbage. The menus gone, Ryou found himself looking for a new excuse to avoid Bakura’s eyes. He stared down at the soup, stirring it slowly around with his spoon.
“... Are you warm now?” Bakura asked quietly.
“Yes.” Ryou nodded.
“That’s good.” There was an awkward silence.
“... Did you do something dangerous today?” Ryou asked in a soft voice just above a whisper. “When you were out?”
“Dangerous?” Bakura sounded baffled. “I just went to meet someone.”
Ryou nodded again and felt himself flushing. “I- After you left, I realized that I didn’t know what time you were coming back... I didn’t know what time I should start being worried...” He stared down at the remainder of his soup, face burning with shame. “...So I just worried all day.”
“... You shouldn’t worry.”
Ryou nodded once more. “I know... But I do,” he mumbled. “If there’s a chance you wouldn’t come back... if you’d get shot or arrested or something... even if it’s a tiny chance...”
“If I told you which days to worry, would you be okay the rest of the time?”
Ryou blinked and looked up at Bakura, startled. “What do you mean?”
“Smash-and-grab tends to be a pretty short-lived career with a lot of jail-time. Any job I do has at least a month’s prep-time.” Bakura seemed to be studying Ryou like a complex math problem. “If I told you what days I was doing something ‘dangerous’, would you not be worried the rest of the time?”
“That...” Ryou turned the idea over in his head a little and then slowly nodded. “I think so,” he said at length.
“Okay,” Bakura said with a nod and picked up his cup of soup, drinking the remaining broth. “I’d usually be working at night for ‘events’. Outside of those, there’s a pretty low chance of me getting shot at and if I’m going to get arrested it would probably be while I’m at home. But also, not likely.”
“Okay,” Ryou said with another nod, picking up his cup and his spoon and taking a whack at his own soup.
“And...” Bakura’s brow pinched and he looked at his cup as he set it down. “You’re not expensive, Ryou. The reason I’m throwing so much stuff at you all at once is because you don’t have stuff right now and I just want you to have some basic stuff to be comfortable and not bored and all...”
“I... Yeah. I just don’t need... expensive stuff,” Ryou mumbled, tugging at a lock of his hair. “I mean, I just feel like, if you’re going to throw money at some charity case, there’s plenty more deserving than me...”
Bakura was quiet for a moment. “You mean like Amnesty International or the Red Cross? I have auto-pays set up at my bank for those. They get a check every year.”
Ryou looked up, surprised but with a pang of guilt for the feeling. “So... You’re Robin Hood then?”
“Robin Hood lived in a tree. I’m not that generous,” Bakura corrected with a little grin pulling at his lips. “I asked Arthur, a lot of years ago, how to pay him back for taking me in. He told me to give to charity. So I do.”
“...He must have been a really great guy,” Ryou said quietly, twisting the end of his hair around a finger and letting it go, then repeating the process.
“He was,” Bakura agreed softly.
“Gang gai, three-stars!”
Ryou jumped slightly at the waitress’s voice and Bakura straightened up, looking slightly embarrassed as he nodded to her. “Yeah, that’s mine.”
“Here you are, sir,” the waitress chirped cheerfully, setting down a plate with a perfectly rounded mound of rice and a boat of red curry. “And that would make you the chicken pud thai, one-star!” she noted with a grin, putting a dish of orangey noodles in front of Ryou. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, that should do it. Thanks,” Bakura said, giving her an awkward smile and picking a ladle out of his curry-boat to spoon the creamy stew over his rice.
“Thank you,” Ryou echoed in a quieter voice, poking a fork into his noodles.
“... So, anyway,” Bakura said after the waitress had left. “I’ll stop buying you frivolous stuff. Just things you need.”
“I have my own money.” Ryou spun some noodles around his fork and ate them without looking up at Bakura. “I can buy the things I need... You’re not charging me rent and that’s huge. I don’t need any more help than that.”
Bakura was quiet for a while and Ryou glanced up through his bangs to observe Bakura frustratedly stabbing at the pieces of chicken in his curry. “Shouldn’t- shouldn’t you be saving up for tuition or something?” he demanded eventually.
“Wouldn’t do me much good without a high school diploma.” Ryou shrugged, looking back down at his food and feeling hot shame in his cheeks again.
“...Why didn’t you finish?” Bakura asked more quietly.
“Needed to work so I could afford food and rent,” Ryou mumbled shrugging again. “I can’t get a full schedule at one job because I’m a minor and I can’t coordinate two jobs around classes.”
Bakura nodded and chewed some coconut-cream coated vegetable slowly as he appeared to contemplate Ryou’s statement. “You don’t, now,” he offered very softly and then continued in a stronger voice. “Since you’re a minor, you’d probably be able to go back to school pretty easily without the government making a fuss about funding or whatever.” He seemed to falter slightly on the word ‘minor’ but pressed bravely onward. “I mean, obviously it would kind of suck to go back in with kids younger than you, but the state allows you to substitute classes at the community college to fill the high school requirements for a state-issued degree.”
Ryou picked up a sauce-filled piece of scrambled-egg on the end of his fork and looked at it. “I doubt if I could save up enough for tuition and take any classes before the clock ran out on my minor status,” he said quietly.
“You don’t have to. The state pays for it out of the high school budget,” Bakura said with a quirky, maybe encouraging(?) little grin. “I have friends who did it. Earning the college credits and high school credits at the same time and all, they got their associate’s all on the state’s expense. I think the deal still holds after you turn eighteen too, so long as you don’t apply for high school graduation until you’re ready to apply for a two-year degree too.”
“That seems rather dishonest,” Ryou noted, chewing on his lip.
“Anybody can do it, most people just don’t bother to look into it or go for it,” Bakura said and ate a clump of rice. “And anyway, do you think what you’ve been through is fair? If you’re a minor, somebody should have been looking out for you. If nobody else was, the state should have been. Somebody -your guidance councilor of vice-principle or somebody- should have tried to find out why you were dropping out and gotten you put on welfare or something. The state owes you.”
“I wouldn’t get welfare.” Ryou shook his head. “I have a father, I just don’t know where he is.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re owed,” Bakura said firmly.
Ryou nodded slowly, agreeing whether it was true or not. “Maybe I’ll look into it.”
“You should,” Bakura said in a quieter voice. “You’re definitely one of the smarter people I’ve met. I don’t think there’s a lot of seventeen year olds with your vocabulary.”
“... I like to read.” Ryou shrugged.
000
000
I don’t know, I feel like the ending here was a bit weak, but I’ve been trying to put together a closing for this part for a couple weeks (I was working on chapters 4 and 5 simultaneously) and I’m sick of looking at it, so I’m going to call this good-enough and move on to Saturday. Because I know several of you have been fiending for it, I’ve reworked the twins proper introduction and moved it up to the next chapter. I’ll also attempt to stick with my goal of a sex-scene every two chapters and maybe start off chapter six with a little steam.
I love reviews/comments! They inspire me to write moar!