Please read the Author's Note at the bottom of this story. Thank you!

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Back When I Was A Child

The room was dark, as it were every other night. The faint droning of the soft raindrops drummed against the foggy window and flecked their shadows across the blue-painted walls. Lying on his bed, Ryou stared up blankly at them, his mind far away as he listened faintly to the familiar tranquility of an English storm.

Lightning flashed, but there was no thunder to be heard. The room blinked in a momentarily brightness, but the white-haired boy did not even flinch. He was too busy staring up at the ceiling of his once lost, truly missed, and now empty…English bedroom.

The dead tress of the moor swayed their shadowed branches, waving slowly at him through the window. Ryou smiled, ever so faintly, the wilted lilies in his hands drifting slowly to the floor. His eyes glazed over distantly.

Hello, he whispered in his mind. I remember you.

Slowly, he brought the delicate flowers to his chest, stroking them idly between his equally pale fingers. Each satin petal bent and caressed his hand in return, as the raindrops pelted themselves against his window and their shadows against his walls.

He closed his eyes, and sniffed softly in the silence of the dark room.

Just like one other familiar night, ten, maybe nine years ago…

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He had been playing in the lounge just downstairs. The golden Ring with the pointy pendants dangling off was pointing to each railway station he had made. A tower of building blocks created a castle; and a stack of books made the mountains.

He heard a faint, twinkling giggle, and looked up to be swooped up high. He squealed.

"Ryou, what are you doing?" the pretty voice laughed.

His little five-year-old hands groped for his mommy, to touch her pretty silver and ivory curls that dangled from her temples. He managed to catch a curl and held it in his small hand, a wide smile beaming over his cute little face.

Another laughter came by; this time, it was a lower, definitely male. A handsome man wearing thick black-rimmed glasses came into view, his long blue hair pulled back into a ponytail and over his shoulder. Coming about, he wrapped an arm around his wife, and gently tickled Ryou under the chin.

"How's my little boy, huh?"

Smiling, the radiant woman with the dark, mysterious brown eyes, lined with dark eyelashes, turned to face her husband. She cuddled into him, her veiled arms gently cradling her baby son. Ryou had just been interested in the lacing of his mother's nightgown when she suddenly swirled him away, and began to twirl around the room, father in tow.

Ryou squealed, waving his legs randomly and waving his arms. The beautiful lace of his mother's nightgown swirled below him, as her ivory curls whirled along with them, so pretty, so bouncy.

"I want to dance with this special little guy," she cooed at him, her voice so crisp and so sweet with honeydew, like a fresh spring morning after a nightly shower. "Who's my special little guy?"

Ryou giggled and crinkled his nose ever so cutely, and poked himself on the nose. "Ryou!" he squealed proudly.

"And will Ryou do the honor of dancing with me?" his mother laughed. Ryou nodded and jumped in his mother's arms.

"Me me me!"

The night continued its soft storm, unheard by the peaceful occupants in the London manor. Slowly, the mother slid her swirls from twirly fun to soft, slow lulls…In her arms rested little Ryou, smiling in his sleep and his head resting against her shoulder.

The father came up to them, smiling fondly at his wife and smiling distantly at his son. Slowly, he wrapped an arm around his wife, and kissed her on the cheek.

"Love you, darling."

Her face softened and her smile grew bashfully. "And what about him, James?" she whispered, rocking the little child in her arms. James took a look at his son, smiled faintly, and sighed.

"I love him too, darling."

"Say it to him, not to me," the darling whispered, gently stroking back the little one's hair. James sighed again, and bent down to peck the child on the cheek briefly.

"Love you too…Ryou."

The wife smiled softly. "Thank you James." She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. "Go get some sleep," she hinted softly, pushing him gently so not to awaken the precious child in her arms. "Your trip…"

James nodded, and gently twirled a finger around a lock of her hair. "I'll be back before you know it."

She nodded and kissed him lightly on the lips, and James quickly departed from the living room. Smiling, almost sadly, she looked down at the sleeping bundle in her arms, so completely naïve to the already fading neglect of his father.

Softly, she brushed her thumb against his cheek. The little boy Ryou crinkled his nose in his sleep, and giggled tiredly.

"My little Ryou…"

And slowly, lovingly, she began to walk up the mahogany stairs, her beautiful train of her white nightgown trailing behind her, like some angelic spirit.

She sang him lullabies, even long after she had tucked him in. She rocked him lightly, even though he had long graduated from a cradle. She loved him dearly, and that was enough to make up for even James' neglect.

Sometime when the storm had calmed, Yale Bakura slowly bent down and kissed her son on the forehead. With that tender touch, she whispered goodnight, I love you, and slowly extinguished the candlelight next to his bed.

She slowly left, never wishing to leave her son. But with a sense of peaceful completion, she slowly shut the door to Ryou's bedroom, a small smile on her face.

But even long after she left, Ryou remained partially awake; he smiled happily to himself and snuggled into his sheets, his heart very much warm and his soul very much content.

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Presently, Ryou lay on that same bed, the very same one his mother used to tuck him in with so many times. The same one his mother sang and rocked and whispered little stories. He was no longer five; his long, eighteen-year-old legs stretched over and hung off the other side of the bed.

Ryou closed his eyes, and dreamed of his mother's fingers in his hair. If he tried hard enough, he could hear her laughing about how much he had grown.

Ryou sniffed again, even though his eyes were not wet. He just needed to smell the air again; maybe smell that sweet scent that belonged to his mother, and had clung onto the fabric of his bed.

His eyes opened again, and the identical, twin mysterious brown eyes faintly gazed towards the light of his candle. A brass umbrella stood next to it, waiting to be used to extinguish said little flame.

Ryou imagined pale fingers lifting that umbrella up, and gently placing it over the light. "Goodnight," he'd hear the whisper, before falling asleep in peace.

His nose sniffed again, and this time, his heart weighed down in longing.

It longed for pretty lacy gowns, swirling in the carpet of the lounge below him. It longed for lively, bouncy ivory curls and delicate laugher and hugs and cuddles.

It longed for that soft voice to ask, "Who will dance, my special little guy?"

---

"Ryou, go to your room."

"NO!"

"Ryou!" The voice was stern, it was harsh. "Don't raise your voice to me, young man."

"You're always going! You never stay!" The seven-year-old boy sank to his knees. "Stay with me for my birthday, please!"

The silent figure of the peacekeeper stood in the corner. She said nothing…yet.

The six-year-old crawled from his place on the floor, where he had been crying, and pouting, and whining, to his father's desk. "Please stay," the little one begged softly. "Pretty please?"

"I can't."

Ryou bit his lip as his lower lip trembled, his eyes welling with tears. He slowly sank to the floor, sniffing sadly and glaring at the floor.

Face set in a newfound hope, Ryou jumped to his feet and glared at his father childishly. "I'm going to Mum!" And with that, Ryou ran from the desk, and into the silent figure in the corner, clutching at her skirt and burying his face into her lap.

The soft hands gently began to stroke Ryou's hair, and slowly, Ryou looked up, his glare fading away to a confused, hopelessly sad look.

"Ryou baby," the mother sighed softly. "Come dance with Mummy?"

At first, Ryou seemed confused, put out, if you will. Dance with Mum? Again? But regardless, Ryou held his hands up, and smiled when his mother brought him into her arms and lifted him up.

"Here comes the tickle train," she sang, and ran her fingers up his side. Squealing uncontrollably, he squirmed in her grasp and hid in her shoulder. A small smile grew on her face at his laughter, and she began to tickle him on both sides of his ribs.

"You like that? You like that?" she laughed, bouncing Ryou up and down like as if he was only three years old. The seven-year-old danced in her arms and bounced from side to side, still giggling over the sensitive aftershock of his tickle-attack.

She poked him lightly in the nose. "You like that?"

Giggly, Ryou nodded, and blushed at realizing that somehow, his mother had gotten him to smile rather than his forced frown on his father. Yale smiled her gentle, soft smile, and held him close.

"Daddy will be here next time, mkay?" she comforted. "Promise promise promise. And Mummy will be here to have fun with you, just like that." She tickled his stomach this time. "Promise promise promise."

Ryou laughed again, curling over his stomach. "Promise?" he asked, his eyes wide when he slowly recovered from his tickle attack. The mother nodded and kissed her son on the forehead.

"Promise."

"Goodnight, Daddy," Ryou said, and hugged his father before going to bed. As Yale followed her son out the study, she glanced back at her workaholic husband, and with a sad sigh, she shook her head, and followed Ryou out the door.

It was another stormy night, but none of the three occupants minded.

---

"Feeling like a big boy now, huh?" she smiled, setting the candle down. Ryou smiled proudly and nodded. "And what will Ryou do with his big boy presents?"

Ryou thought about it for a moment, looking up thoughtfully. "…Play?"

Yale laughed, and hugged her son, kissing him again. "Goodnight," she whispered. "Love you."

Ryou smiled happily, as he always did when his mother bid him goodnight. He pushed away his blankets and stood up, bending over to kiss his mother on the cheek. "Goodnight, Mum."

Yale blushed good-naturedly, sensitive as she always had been, and laughingly, pushed and tucked her son back into the bed. Briefly, her hand slipped onto his and directed it over a small little hard, flat thing underneath his sheets. Ryou blinked and looked at his hand quizzically, but Yale was already starting to go out the door.

"Love you," she smiled in the doorway. She blew him a kiss. "Can you blow out the candle, baby?"

"I can do it myself!" Ryou said proudly. He blew it out in one puff. "See?" he said. "I'm a big boy now."

Yale laughed again, and nodded. "Yes, a big boy," she smiled. She blew him another kiss. "Goodnight, Ryou."

Ryou giggled and snuggled in his sheets. "Goodnight, Mum."

As soon as she had closed the door, Ryou immediately grabbed the flat little disk in his sheets. To his absolute and gleeful surprise, he found himself staring at a good five-pound coin in his hand. He turned it over to see a smaller 100 Japanese yen on the back…Ryou squealed and delicately, almost afraid they'd break, carefully set them on his bedside table.

Eighteen-year-old Ryou slowly opened his eyes again, and briefly turned his eyes towards the bedside table. The coins were long gone now, kept somewhere special that he had long lost or forgotten. He idly carved the Japanese kanji character for 'yen' in the dust though, and drew a circle around it.

The raindrops poured down again, drumming lightly in the darkness.

Again he sniffed, his heart weighing down and feeling distinctly mushy with regret.

The lilies crinkled underneath his long, delicate hands.

Somehow, this darkness was strangely comforting. Regardless, Ryou still wished that at least, he still had the Millennium Ring. It would make this memory so much easier to bear…a hope that maybe nothing had changed, that maybe his mother was still waiting outside his door.

Waiting to dance.

---

That birthday never came.

His eighth birthday was another stormy day, but it wasn't just because it was rainy and no one was around.

His mother wasn't there.

His father was in that room.

Crying.

And all Ryou could do was sit there, back against the door, a little party hat on his head, clutching the Ring in his hands, and pray.

He sank to his knees, very slowly, very defeatedly. Behind him, his father gave a wretched wail, and Ryou sniffled and whimpered in his loneliness. He wanted to hide his tears…but wanted to cry too, at the same time.

Please, Ryou whispered, holding the Ring between his praying hands. Tears coursed down his cheeks and splashed silently against the smooth surface of the golden Ring…the tips jingled, letting the salty drops drip onto the carpet floor.

Please….please give me Mummy back…

One of the tears trickled over the flat engraving of the Eye. Since his eyes were closed, Ryou never noticed the faint glow the Ring began to shimmer with.

I'd do anything…

Little Ryou held the Ring close to his heart. The older Ryou closed his eyes as he remembered, and his left, scarred hand…the scarred one from his yami…placed itself over his heart.

Little Ryou was sitting on his bed. The same bed Older Ryou was lying on now.

Little Ryou was praying, big, bulky Ring clasped in his folded hands. The points jingled strangely eerily in the stormy night, as silent lightning flashed. The dark raindrop shadows seemed to bleed against the blue of his walls.

His tears were flowing, so freely. No one was here to see them. Maybe if they were, they could only see the truth in his heart….the pain, the fear, the love, overflowing in rivulets of salt and water.

Older Ryou closed his eyes, and choked back a sob. He buried his face into his pillow. Little Ryou sat on his knees, obediently lowering his head.

Older Ryou let one tear trickle down his cheek. Just that one. At least…at least for now.

His mind wandered, wandered back to the image of his father…his father looking so much older, so much paler…the Egyptian sun had done nothing for his complexion. His eyes hung dark shadows, his blue hair much limper. The sun had sucked his skin dry of liquid, and, the overworking workaholic he was…he was now …confined…confined in a hospital bed…wasting away.

That one trickle blew down Ryou's defenses. He collapsed onto his pillow, and began to sob harshly into the scented fabric that was once the fragrance of his mum.

Little Ryou raised his head, his eyes open and wide with tears, pleading to the skies above.

Little Ryou ended his prayer, and snuggled into bed, sniffing. Older Ryou coughed back his tears and wiped them away.

The lilies had shattered underneath his weight. Their petals were now strewn all over his bed.

Slowly, Ryou reached out and gently began to caress a petal. He felt it between his fingers for a few moments, before gently blowing it away with a whisk of his hand. The petal danced slowly in the air, before sweeping back onto the bedspread.

His tears were gone, his heart was back to its original place. Behind him, the window continued to drone with raindrops beating against the glass, and lighting flashing with soundless thunder.

---

Ryou sighed, the chill numb to his senses. Three tombstones stood before him, but he didn't want to look at them anymore. He supposed he should've made another one…for him, the darkness that protected him…

He looked up at the old manor, wondering if this was truly any home to him any longer. Although it held wonderful memories, those memories would bring nothing but tears to his eyes now.

Still…as Ryou walked away from the tombstones, a lily petal following every step, he had to wonder if those tears were happy ones or sad ones.

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A/N: I was going to add some sort of pairing or another at the end, to maybe hint that Ryou wasn't entirely alone, but I couldn't decide between Malik, Marik, Bakura or Shizuka/Serenity. I wanted Malik because he'd be very comforting to Ryou, but he was so out of place with this story. If I chose Marik, then this would've been an excellent side-along story for Never Knew. If I chose Bakura, it'd be the OBVIOUS choice as to Ryou's answer to loneliness…and if I had chosen Shizuka, she could have represented his mother, or Amane (which I did not really mention cause this was more…"Ryou" related.). (Plus I wanted SOO badly to write at least ONE Ryou/Shizuka fic.)

So…I…left it on a partial note. TT You guys can interpret if Ryou will go one with his life or not. I just had one of my "Ryou-life" moments today, so I had to write this out. The lyrics of course, are not copyrighted by me, they do not belong to me. Nor does Yu-Gi-Oh.

I hope you enjoyed it…perhaps I should make a "theories of Ryou's life" saga, or something. Please read and review, and tell me how you thought of it, how it might have touched you in any way…struck you as weird, touched your heart, made you sad, etc.

Oh yeah. This is the edited version, without the lyrics. (Of course, this makes things harder to understand...so if you'd like, please go to n fiction . com (I will have the linnk posted on my profile.) Since that copy is kinda weird ( I don't know how to use nfiction, obviously, I'll upload a link soon linking to a livejournal version.)

Happy early B-day Ryou. We all love you!

-AL