Title: Falling Through Sand
Summary: Life is complicated when destiny runs out. Love is difficult when your soulmate isn't real. And sometimes Ryou's only wish is that everything could be a little...easier. Post-canon Tender & Puffshipping. For contest.
Rating: T

It used to be easier, going to his soul-room.

Once upon a time, back when Ryou was the Destined Ring-Bearer for the Fated Battle, back when the Spirit was alive, it was merely a matter of closing his eyes and wishing, of just lying back on his bed and dreaming; he was always mere moments from this world of half-light and blue mist, only a thought away.

It had been easy. The power of his will had been magic in itself.

Later, once the Spirit was dead and gone and buried in a ruined temple under a mountain of sand, when Ryou was merely Ryou, in that odd space between fulfilling his destiny and whatever came after...later, he realized it had been the Spirit's magic all along. Perhaps it was some kind of cruel joke, or perhaps poetic justice, but the Spirit had, however briefly, granted Ryou control over one thing and one only: the ability to seal himself away.

But it used to be easy, like falling through water, and now it's like falling through sand.

Today, he falls with purpose, and it comforts him as the sugar-white grains rush against his skin, as he pours through space and time like it's an hourglass, as he drifts with the grit to the inner recesses of his soul. His purpose here is simple, almost laughably ordinary: he merely needs to tell the Spirit that he's with Jounouchi now. He needs to tell the ex there's someone new. He's only unique in that he needs to have this oh-so ordinary conversation on an astral plane of unreality.

And of course, in that the Spirit's dead. The Pharaoh defeated him, mission-accomplished, apocalypse-averted; he, Jounouchi and the rest of the gang are now living in a solidly Post-Fated-Battle world. Still, nonexistence notwithstanding, the Spirit likes Ryou to come down now and then. Come back to the soul room where he's been all along.

The fact that this makes no sense doesn't really faze either of them.

At last, Ryou emerges from the grit of his descent, the burning in his tear-ducts and his throat reminding him of when he used to clap erasers to see the white clouds billow, and breathed chalk into his lungs. White sand pools on the ground behind him.

His soul room has changed since the spirit died.

Where once there was mist and shadow, dim light that made the fog glow from hidden magic beyond his comprehension...now it's bright. Worse than bright. The mist has dissipated, revealing white marble beneath, impossibly pure. The corners are too hard here, the edges too sharp, and it's almost too in-focus to be reality. Because it's more than that. It's the city beyond the mist; it's the ghost in the machine; it's not the real world because it's the way things really are.

And the Spirit sits there, cross-legged, in the center of the white marble room. A god in his temple.

Ryou walks toward the Spirit, and the white sand from his descent rolls off him in piles to the marble floor. He need only walk past it, and it's gone. This world is very clean.

"We need to talk," he says to the Spirit.

"We need to talk," the Spirit echoes.

Ryou reaches down, extends a hand, and pulls the Spirit up to stand beside him. Their eyes meet, reflecting back into each other, identical and endless. Mirror against mirror.

Reflection triggers memory.

"Do you remember," says Bakura, "when you used to fight me?"

Ryou does. When the Spirit was alive, Ryou had fought him from the start, had battled for his freedom with a strength that had surprised him. He'd protected his friends. He'd died.

"No," says Ryou. "I don't remember any of it."

Bakura smiles cruelly. Because between the struggles, there was the rest. Between the battles, there was just...this. More mist and magic, but always the two of them, his chest against his chest, his lips against his lips, his skin on his skin on his skin ad infinitum...and in those instants, he wanted nothing more than for it to stay like this.

Because the battle was tiring. And the rest was easy.

"I made it easy," says Bakura. "For you."

"To get me on your side, you mean," Ryou says with a smile. "So I wouldn't interfere. To make things easier for you."

Bakura just laughs at that, and his laugh is always different in here than it was outside. Not as cruel. Warmer.

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you. Things would be so much simpler if I never cared about you."

Ryou smiles and takes a step closer, rests his head on Bakura's shoulder, always exactly the right height.

"I guess I'll never know now."

"No."

He shouldn't let himself do this. He's not stupid; he knows that visitation isn't far from possession, that possession isn't far from surrender. But still, even when falling is difficult, staying down is just so easy, and being strong means being strong every moment, and it's all just so...exhausting.

They stay like that for what would be a long time, if time meant anything in here, twin heads of white hair fading out against the marble walls as they embrace. Bakura's arms are warm around him, in a way they never were in life. At length, Bakura speaks.

"The outside world doesn't always have a place for Former-Respected-Landlords, does it."

Ryou shakes his head against the Spirit's shoulder, and bites his lip.

"Destiny has not been kind to us."

Ryou just shakes his head again. Because the Spirit is right. Because now that the Spirit is dead, he's always right, and that's what makes what he's about to say so...difficult.

"You know that...now that you're gone...I have to make my own way."

Ryou feels Bakura nod against his shoulder. "Yes. At last, you have the control you craved for so long. How does it feel?"

Ryou hesitates a long time before answering.

"...Difficult."

Bakura pulls his head back once more, stares into Ryou's eyes, and says, softly, "You have betrayed me."

"You aren't even real."

"I am as real as you are."

And Ryou nods, understanding.

"Jounouchi," says Bakura impassively. "Interesting choice."

Ryou hesitates. "He's...good," he says slowly. "He's steady and strong and makes me laugh, and he was never afraid of you."

"Hmm." Bakura steps away. "And does he know the things you fantasize about before you drift off to sleep at night? Does he know what you draw absentmindedly? Does he know what you think of doing to people you don't like? Does he know about the darkness in you?"

Ryou follows him with his eyes. "...You're to blame," he says in a hushed whisper. "You're to blame."

"You're to blame," the spirit replies, and Ryou knows it's true because the Spirit's always understood him better than he understood himself, always cultivated and nurtured his darkness, said he fell in love with it the way Ryou fell in love with the light in the Spirit that was perhaps never there at all. Like yin and yang, they completed each other through opposition. And when half of Ryou's soul was carved out, perhaps some traces were left behind.

"He doesn't know..." says Ryou, "about you. About...the darkness in me. About you."

"Now you're just being redundant."

"He was never afraid of you."

And Ryou can see by the way the Spirit's face shifts, just slightly, that that bothers him. He's just a figment now, not even a spirit, tied down only by memory, misplaced devotion, and pride.

And then the Spirit lunges in and kisses Ryou so hard that Ryou feels his lungs might burst, so that he might die and stay here forever, another pile of sand on the marble floor. And Ryou doesn't pull away because he wants this too, because he wants it all, and because he's a little bit of a sadist and this desperation is delicious.

"You are mine," the Spirit hisses against his lips. "Mine. No one will ever understand you the way I did. No one will ever know you the way I do. It will never, ever be this easy with anyone else."

"That goes without saying," Ryou says, and presses another quick kiss to the Spirit's lips. He smiles against the Spirit's lips, and then takes a step back.

"It's strange, that I fell in love with you," he says, still smiling. "You'd think I'd hate myself too much."

Dead silence.

The Spirit smiles.

"Maybe you're just lazy."

"I'm...tired."

"You don't love him" Bakura says slowly, cruelly. "A blind idiot could see you're still in love with me. He just makes life without me...easier."

Ryou's eyes flick down, but his voice stays strong. "He's a fighter, Bakura. As much a fighter as you are. More, even. You fought for yourself, to satisfy your anger over a cause long dead. He fights for his friends. For the people he loves."

"I fought for the people I loved, you ungrateful-oh."

Ryou doesn't respond. He can already hear the smirk in Bakura's voice.

"So he's me then," says Bakura. "He can be the brash and bold defender who'll never give up on his fight, who'll never leave you...only more convenient. Because he's alive. Because he's real. Because he's good. Because he can't see the darkness in you, can't ever really understand you, because you can't bear the thought of ever having what we had again."

Ryou looks up, silent. He closes his eyes and wills it so, and Bakura disappears. The Spirit is just intolerable when he's right.

Ryou turns to go.

As painful as getting down here is, getting out is even worse. He has to fight against every grain of sand flowing downward against him, fight even as is leads him back, fight through the pouring torrent whispering Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down...

It would be so much easier just to let go.

He opens his eyes to darkness. It's the real world, soft and plush in comparison, or perhaps that's just the pillow behind his head. He's lying in bed, next to a sleeping Jounouchi.

Jounouchi's snoring is kind of loud, so Ryou wakes him with a kiss to the forehead. A tousled blond head emerges from under the covers, and Ryou stares into his sleepy brown eyes. A different shade of brown. But close enough.

"Mmm...you okay?" Jounouchi asks, voice still scratchy from sleep.

"Yeah," Ryou whispers. "Yeah I'm fine. I just wanted..." he trails off.

"I can't hear you when you mumble," Jounouchi says with a tired laugh. Ryou smiles down at him.

"I wanted to thank you," he says softly.

"Mmm...welcome."

Jounouchi doesn't even ask what Ryou's thanking him about, and Ryou knows he never will. Jounouchi...knows he doesn't need to know, and that's why Ryou's here. Jounouchi...just knows he needs to be here, strong, for Ryou. He wraps his arms around Ryou's middle, and pulls him against his chest. Jounouchi presses a kiss to Ryou's ear, then rests back to the pillow. Within a minute, he's snoring again.

Ryou takes in the soft darkness of the real world, so different now, now that the fighting's done. The voice in his head may be quiet now, but with Jounouchi's arms around him, at least he feels less alone.

"For making it easier," Ryou says at last.