"This needs to stop."

"So stop."

"It’s not that easy."

"Whatever you say."

Otogi Ryuuji turns around in his large, comfortable bed and stares out the window. He lives on the first floor, above the Black Crown game store; his own store. He’s a businessman at a very young age, the same generation as Kaiba Seto, and he’s got it made: his plans to expand nationally are close to fruition, he has made some exclusive deals the last few months and his looks and style have turned him into the living fantasy of many girls, day and night. The future’s going to hold more and even better things for him: the sky is the limit.

So why does he feel like he’s destroying himself?

Why does his life feel empty and on the road of total oblivion?

"You stole it," he says.

"I steal many things," is the simple answer and he knows it.

Bakura of Darkness is half-asleep, his pale slender body wrapped in a sheet. It’s only mid-afternoon, a lazy Sunday and there aren’t any pressing matters at hand, still Otogi feels like his time is running out. It needs to stop, indeed. Yuugi and his friends would kill him if they knew. Well, Honda and Jounouchi would. Yuugi would look at him with those big, wide eyes of his and smile, perhaps a little disappointed, but always forgiving. And Otogi knows that he prefers a beating over that kind forgiveness.

"If he’s so important to you, then why not stop?"

Otogi shivers. "I can’t."

"Why not?"

"I don’t love you, if that’s what you think."

"I think nothing."

"Cut it out, Bakura. I’m not in the mood for your mind games." Otogi gets out of bed brusquely, taking a large part of the sheet with him, revealing Bakura’s naked body. He forces himself not to look and stalks right into the bathroom, the shower cabin, and mercilessly turns on the faucet: cold water only. He wants to yell, to scream as the icy cold water beats his body, unpleasant and harsh, and he turns the water off after two minutes. Quickly, he grabs a towel and wraps it around himself, traipsing out of the bathroom.

"I want you out."

"Yes."

Of course he accepts it. Bakura never complains or objects. He just disappears, only to pop up later, somewhere, in Otogi’s life. He doesn’t want him out. He needs him to be out of his life, but he simply can’t. When has it started? When will it stop?

"I mean it this time."

"All right."

"Please, stop." Otogi picks up his clothes and starts to dress himself. He has barely dried himself off and the garments stick to his body. "I really mean it. I don’t want to lose my friends."

The mention of ‘friends’ always gets some kind of response from Bakura, and he doesn’t disappoint this time. He raises his head, eyes weary, and the trademark snarl on his face. Otogi can’t remember if he’d ever seen Bakura with a soft, loosened expression; it’s a part of who he is. This time, the thief chooses to not comment, but the disdain and the anger are obvious. Otogi continues with the buttons of his shirt, but notices his fingers trembling.

He knows he’s lying. Not Bakura. Strangely enough, the thief has never told him a lie. He accepts, deals with it, and moves on. It’s simple like that. How he deals with his emotions… when Otogi asked about it, a long long time ago, Bakura answered that he didn’t have much emotion left to deal with. After so many millennia of waiting, of being barely existent, everything he ever feels is worn down to a numb emotion, that he registers and recognizes, but there’s almost nothing left to do with it. Otogi knows Bakura doesn’t love him. He doesn’t love him either. It had started out all so wrong, but it had continued - and it still continues.

Bakura will never put any pressure on him, or force him to choose between him and Otogi’s friends. The guilt is strong, yet he can’t stop just like that. Otogi wonders, is he addicted? But addicted to what? He’s had better sex. He’s had better partners. Still… he finally manages to get the top button closed, and when he looks up, Bakura’s still in bed. He follows his own rhythm, his own pattern, whatever that might be. And Otogi has always said yes to whatever Bakura wanted. He has wondered why Bakura had picked him, he has wondered why he was the one to be approached.

"You’re using me."

No answer. Otogi closes the distance between them and grabs Bakura at the shoulder, shaking him roughly. "You’re using me, and I want to know why."

Those dark brown, dark reddish eyes, they stare at him, with a haughtiness that matches the Pharaoh’s. Bakura is silent, he doesn’t talk much in general, but his lips curl up in a grin.

"What’s taking you so long to figure it out?"

Otogi shakes him some more. Frustration washes over him. He wants to drag Bakura out of bed and kick him out on the street. He knows he won’t do it. Bakura knows it too.

"Don’t worry about it." Bakura hugs the pillow close for comfort, uncaring that the rest of his body is uncovered. His own rhythm, his own pattern. Otogi can’t figure it out for the life of him. "Would you at least make me something to eat before I leave?"

"Yes." It’s out of Otogi’s mouth before he can catch himself. He feels disappointed with himself. One day, Bakura had showed up at the Black Crown, not even pretending to be his Host. He bought materials as if it was the most common thing in the world, to visit the friend of the man he hated most, and purchasing all the necessities to create his own tabletop RPG. Otogi hadn’t refused him the sale. He has returned many times, and as Otogi leaves the bedroom, he knows that Bakura will return once more. Worse, he’s already looking forward to it. It’s a feeling he can’t deny, and he wonders if he’ll be able to continue to deny it to himself for much longer. For whatever else Bakura has stolen from him, the first thing he took was his heart.