I have not been able to get over how nicely Emilie Autumn's poem "Ghost" applies to Ryou and Bakura, so I wrote a fic for it. This is one of my more depressing ones... The rating is there for a reason.

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Did you know sometimes it frightens me
when you say my name and I can't see you?
Will you ever learn to materialize before you speak
impetuous boy, if that's what you really are…

"Yadonushi."

Ryou jumped, startled, twisting around in his seat at his desk to look at the empty room where he was supposedly alone. Bakura laughed softly, the sound echoing strangely in his head.

"Will you do that every time?" he questioned, amused.

Ryou's first comment that, so sorry he wasn't used to hearing voices yet, was thankfully stopped by his sense of self-preservation, but the second comment slipped out.

"I'll stop jumping when you stop talking to me," he muttered, trying to focus on his homework.

Bakura didn't answer and for a moment Ryou wondered if the spirit took his words to heart, but then Bakura whispered quietly, "But then how would you know that you're not alone?"

Ryou clenched his teeth and said nothing. Bakura didn't elaborate; he didn't have to. Ryou knew exactly what he was talking about, and Bakura knew this too.

And in time Ryou became very good at not physically reacting to Bakura's voice.

To replace it, however, he jumped when Bakura started appearing just on the edge of his vision, barely yet undeniably there.

How many centuries since you've climbed a balcony,
or do you do this every night with someone else?

Ryou was sleeping, and then he was staring blankly at a pallid reflection of himself. He blinked and realized that his body was delicately perched outside Yugi's window several feet off the ground, and that he was not in control of said body.

"Bakura," Ryou whispered in the back of his mind.

The thief ignored him, staring intently into the room. Ryou followed his gaze, watching a small boy as he slept peacefully, oblivious to the danger lurking a scant few feet away. He felt a sudden surge of fear for the boy, a touch of protectiveness for his sort of friend. Then Bakura's gaze shifted and Ryou's feelings were obliterated by a blast of all-consuming, all-desiring hate so furious and sharp that he nearly choked. He stared, wide-eyed, at the gold pendant glittering on the side table, and wondered just what had happened to arouse such fury. Ryou felt his fingers twitch, but Bakura didn't pop the window latch and make off with the trinket as Ryou half feared he would. No, that wasn't his style; when he had his revenge it would be by his own hands and the Pharaoh would know.

You tell me that you never leave
and I am almost afraid to believe it

Ryou shrieked, torn out of slumber by a nightmare in which Bakura had calmly walked out of the Shadows unharmed and whole, despite having been banished there by the Pharaoh after losing in Monster World. His heart thundered in his ears and his breath came in short shallow gasps as he tried to relax, tried to reconnect himself with the waking world.

It was only when Bakura placed a hand on Ryou's back in a mockery of comfort, a cool ghostly sensation like a light breeze passing over his skin, did Ryou realize that he hadn't been dreaming.

"I thought-" he started to whisper, but Bakura cut him off.

"That the Pharaoh could actually get rid of me; yes, yes, I'm well aware." The tone was impatient, as if he couldn't be bothered with an explanation. "But you see, yadonushi, I'll never quite leave you. Besides, I'm not finished with him."

Ryou heard the threat in his words and shivered, drawing his knees to his chest, hiding his head in his arms. Perhaps the most frightening thing about having the spirit creep about in his mind was that he found things that Ryou didn't even acknowledge: the abrupt violent thought towards the student who acted like a complete idiot, the morbid fascination with death, the distracting tendency to predict worst-case scenarios, the odd lingering obsession to write letters to the dead. And it was with this knowledge that Bakura suddenly grinned, wicked and cruel, and pronounced:

"You missed me."

At that, Ryou simply began to cry. There was nothing he could say.

Why is it me you've chosen to follow?
Did you like the way I look when I am sleeping?
Was my hair more fun to tangle?
Are my dreams more entertaining?

It was, Ryou mused early one morning, similar to being haunted by a poltergeist, albeit a rather malevolent one.

He had awoken that morning, sleep deprived and in a foul mood from the nightmares Bakura kept spinning through his mind, sick and twisted tales whose innocent beginnings only served to make the end all the more horrifying, and had glanced at a mirror. He found his silky white hair all bound up in snarls and knots, which forced him to waste a half an hour carefully teasing out the tangles while Bakura smugly watched, evidently pleased with his handiwork. This lasted until Ryou had one of those rare lapses of control that he never wanted people to see, including Bakura, who saw everything; he savagely ripped the brush through his hair, ignoring the prickling sensation in his eyes. When he finished he grabbed two fist-fulls of his hair and stood there, head bowed as frustration forced out a few tears.

"Why do you do this to me?" he muttered a full five minutes later, still frozen in that position.

Bakura was silent, evidentially enjoying the scene.

"No; why me at all?" Ryou wondered aloud, turning to face the thief, who was casually leaning against a wall he wasn't actually physically touching. "Why did you choose me to bother?" Ryou knew he was being too bold and dangerously risking some form of backlash, but he was almost past caring, fed up with the entire situation.

"Do you flatter yourself, yadonushi, to think that I specifically choose you?" Bakura asked, frowning. "That I had a choice in which body I would soon be possessing?"

"You didn't?" He was surprised, although he supposed it made sense. How could a spirit, who apparently slumbered between hosts, affect the destination of a material item he was trapped in? "Then why?"

Bakura's grin returned with a vengeance. "Because you were born to be mine, yadonushi. Only a vessel to be filled. Only a possession to be used."

"That's not true," Ryou stated firmly.

"No? Then I can do this-" Bakura lifted his left hand—Ryou could see through it to the wall tiles—to eye level and Ryou's body mirrored him. "-because you let me?"

"No," Ryou said through gritted his teeth, fighting to regain control with all his might.

"Then, perhaps because you secretly want me to?" Bakura stepped forward and Ryou did as well; they were less than an arm's length apart.

"No!" Ryou shouted, straining against the controlling force invading his body.

"Then I can only conclude…" Bakura murmured quietly, cupping Ryou's cheek in his ghostly hand; Ryou reached out against his will and did the same. "That I own you…" the thief finished, eyes gleaming with triumph.

A tear rolled down Ryou's cheek and passed right through Bakura's palm.

Do you laugh when I'm complaining that I'm all alone?

"See you later, Bakura!" Yugi-tachi called as they parted ways at the school gate.

Ryou smiled and waved, turning to walk home. By himself.

Bakura snickered. "You're a fool, yadonushi. You push them away, fearful for their safety, and then you lament that you have no friends."

Ryou didn't answer.

The spirit studied the boy's face for a minute, Ryou resolutely looking through him at the sidewalk ahead; Bakura smirked. "Oh, I see. I don't count, so you're still alone. Very well, then; I'll leave you to your self-imposed solitude."

Ryou still didn't answer and Bakura vanished into his Soul Room, content to allow his hikari the freedom to wallow in his personally created misery.

Where were you when I searched the sea
for a friend to talk to me?
In a year where will you be?

Ryou had been walking to the beach lately, ever since he had returned from Duelist Kingdom. It took him nearly two hours to walk there and he never bothered to check the time so he was often walking back after sunset. When he was there, he would stare blankly at the grey sea, the sound of the crashing waves rolling over him as if trying to fill up the hollow emptiness in his chest that just sat there like a dead weight, consuming him.

Bakura was gone, had been gone since he lost to mou hitori no Yugi again. Ryou should have been happy, hell, ecstatic, but instead he was just empty, as if all his emotions had fled along with the spirit.

He didn't know what drew him to the sea. Maybe it looked as empty as he felt. A few times, he absently wondered how far out he'd have to swim before there would be no coming back, because the hollowness ached and he wasn't sure he could live the rest of his life like this. The very thought was too horrible for words.

A click. He blinked, pulling his eyes away from the cloudy horizon. A girl stood a few yards down the beach, clutching a camera to her chest as if it would fly away otherwise; she stared at him, wide-eyed, a deer caught in headlights, before turning and running away down the sea strand.

In the fog of his thoughts, he forgot all about the incident. He returned to the sea day after day, wondering if Bakura was really gone for good this time (because he would have come back by now if he was still around, right?), wondering why he felt so terrible.

And one day the girl returned to the sea.

"Ano…"

Ryou turned his blank gaze to her. She froze, then thrust a vanilla folder at him. He took it numbly and the girl bolted again. He watched her go, fleeing for the road, then opened the envelope, pulling out a black and white picture and a newspaper clipping. The article noted the winners of a local photography contest; the title of the winning piece was 'Hollow'. Ryou looked at the photo and saw a boy with long white hair staring vacantly at the sea under a cloudy sky, breeze tugging at his hair and clothes. The boy was so detached Ryou expected him to fade away into the background and disappear entirely.

He stared at the photo for a long time, taking in every detail about the forlorn boy before tucking it away and walking home, a glimmer in his eyes.

Is it enough for you to steal into my mind
filling up my page with music written in my hand?
You know I'll take the credit for I must have made you come to me somehow

He was adapting. It still hurt, the ache, but he found ways around it. He threw himself into his school work, trying to salvage his GPA, which had slipped since Bakura's first appearance. That's what found him outside one blistering June afternoon, sitting in the shade of a tree, sketch book propped up on his knees, observing the children running around the playground. The assignment on motion was due tomorrow and he was still short ten sketches, the previous ten having been dedicated to ballet dancers, soccer players, and swimmers. The energetic kids provided a good study in movement—the still-awkward steps of toddlers, the growing confidence in an elementary student as he grew more confident in his body's capabilities.

Suddenly he broke off in mid sketch of the girl hula-hooping and flipped to a blank page, starting a new sketch as his throat seized and he couldn't breathe. He watched with growing horror as his hand sketched of its own accord, a picture of a boy sitting beneath a tree with a spiral notebook across his knees, the view and angle suggesting that the viewer was only a few steps away, standing, looking down. When his hand finally stilled Ryou shut his eyes tightly, his body trembling. No, he had thought- it had been too long; he couldn't actually-

His body tensed, ending the tremors, as Ryou felt a presence settle over him, filling his body with lead so he couldn't move of his own accord.

"Ah," Bakura sighed outloud, leaning back against the tree, closing his eyes. "It feels good to be back inside of you, yadonushi. Like donning a garment so well-known it's like a second skin."

Ryou felt his face redden (not that his body was blushing); Bakura felt this and grinned. He picked up the sketchbook and absently flipped through it as Ryou watched, tight-lipped. Then the thief packed up Ryou's things and leisurely walked back to the apartment; once he return the art supplies to their place he stood in front of the hall mirror and looked at Ryou's reflection, who blinked, surprised at the visual contact, before glancing away, sullen.

"Don't be like that, yadonushi," Bakura scolded.

"Why are you back?" Ryou asked bluntly, refusing to look at the spirit possessing his body.

"How could I not return, with my revenge yet unfulfilled and you pining away so desperately for my company?" the spirit replied.

Ryou looked disgusted with himself and Bakura both. "As if you controlled your return," he muttered.

Bakura's eyes flashed dark but he let the comment slide for now. "Would you have preferred that I crept back silently into your mind? Slowly exerting my control over you, blackouts, lost time, comatose friends, your dread slowly building so that when I finally revealed myself to you, you're grateful?"

Ryou couldn't meet Bakura's eyes, and the thief added another point to his mental tally of their skirmishes.

Will you always attend my midnight tea parties
as long as I set your place?

He couldn't sleep. He tried, lying in bed for nearly two hours before giving in and getting up again, moving through the darkened apartment with a grace he was certain he didn't have before Bakura first appeared in his life; he made a cup of chamomile tea and sat in the living room, thoughts wandering. Kaiba had announced his Battle City tournament earlier in the day, which accounted for the lack of sleep. He had hoped, had prayed, that there wouldn't be another tournament for quite a long time. He stared glumly into his mug of tea.

"It's going to start again, isn't it?" he asked, breaking the perfect silence of the room, not really expecting a response. Bakura, standing stone-still by the window, moonlight streaming through his transparent form, didn't answer.

He didn't have to.

If one day your sugar sits untouched
will you have gone forever?
Would you miss me in a thousand years
when you will dry another's tears?

"What happens if you don't succeed?" Ryou wondered, half to himself.

Bakura looked up from adjusting the Duel Disk, catching Ryou's eyes in the reflection on the window. "Excuse me?"

"In the Finals. Or ever, really," Ryou murmured. His eyes were soft and somber, considering.

"I cannot fail," Bakura replied, slipping his deck into the correct slot. What had gotten into his host that he would dare even suggest failure?

Ryou fell silent again. Bakura left the apartment and began to prowl the streets, looking for an easy win. The tournament had been underway for nearly a week now; he couldn't waste any time.

"What happens if I die before you win?" Ryou asked quietly in the back of his mind.

Really, why ask these things now? But Ryou was faint at the moment, hardly a threat at all. He could entertain his flights of fancy for the time being.

"Considering taking your own life?" Bakura asked. A few people on the street glanced at him, startled. Ryou didn't respond and Bakura continued, ignoring the looks. "I would never allow it. You are a useful host, albeit occasionally irritating. Although that will soon be remedied, won't it? But on the off chance you meet some misfortune before my plans came to fruition, then I will simply find a new host, another body to inhabit."

Ryou floated along next to Bakura in the shop windows, his pale reflection unseen by passer-bys. He wondered if Bakura was being truthful, if he would really just find another person to torment, but Ryou supposed it really didn't matter one way or another, since only dumb luck would lead to an early death.

But you say you'll never leave me
and I wonder if you'll have the decency
to pass through my wall to the next room
while I dress for dinner

He was crying again, silent tears streaming down his face. He knew better by now, he really did. Bakura was always going to come back and he should stop being so damned surprised when he reappeared. But for some reason, even though he told himself not to hope, that maybe Battle City was the last time, that maybe he really could adjust to the ache and live on his own, he had hoped anyways. So when he had pulled his shirt off, getting changed into sleepwear, and saw Bakura staring back at him from the mirror, he broke down, crumpling to the floor and burying his face in his shirt, trying to staunch the tears. Bakura stood next to him, slowly running a (vaguely solid?!) hand through his hair, as one would pet a dog resting at its master's feet, and when Ryou realized this the tears intensified.

What was worse, though, was that Ryou knew (and thus Bakura knew) why he was crying, each reason that forced out a tear. He cried for his imprisonment, he cried for his loneliness, he cried for the increasing familiarity the spirit brought, he cried because he no longer knew if he wanted the spirit there or not. And to all these Bakura said nothing, because he knew (and thus Ryou knew) that this particular battle was won, that Ryou, even if he occasionally put up a complaint or resistance, was essentially his now. That was most painful of all, Ryou thought bitterly, that his freedom has vanished with what felt like such a weak fight on his part.

When the tears were spent, Ryou stood up and finished changing for bed, heedless of Bakura's eyes on his body while he did so. Because there was little point in caring, not when Bakura could so easily invade and do whatever he pleased anyways.

It's too late not to interfere with my life-
you've already made me a most unsuitable wife
for any man who wants to be the first his bride has slept with

They fell backwards onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and lies spilling over the sheets, and Bakura pushed Ryou down when the boy tried automatically to sit up. Bakura's hands roved, rough and teasing, as he kissed along his jaw and neck, and Ryou shut his eyes and tried to ignore it, tried to think of something else besides Bakura's hands all over him and his lips against his throat and-

Bakura nipped, a small spark of pain, and Ryou whimpered, a hand flying up to cover his mouth as he blushed crimson, his body reacting in ways that made Ryou want to scream his frustration to the stars. No, don't think about Bakura, don't think about it, what he's doing, don't think, don't think, don't-

"A-ah!" and he clamped his hand down harder to stifle the sound, desperate to preserve what little dignity he had left, because if he couldn't resist then at least he could deny Bakura the pleasure of hearing him. He bit his lip, hard, tasting blood, and it temporarily distracted him, letting him hold back a moan that had threatened to escape. And he hated the spirit for what he was doing and he hated himself and his body even more, although the logical part of his mind told him that he couldn't fight, it just didn't work; he tried it once and Bakura gave him a black eye for his trouble before binding him to the bed with Shadows and- At least this way, this way-

So when Bakura pulled off the boy's pants Ryou let him, and when Bakura shifted his legs Ryou let him, and when Bakura took what he wanted Ryou let him, burying his face in the pillows to hide his tears and his shame.

And you can't just fly into people's bedrooms
then expect them to calmly wave goodbye

Ryou was only half surprised to see Bakura sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, head bowed, face hidden by his hair.

"You're back," he said, voice devoid of emotion.

"Yes," the thief replied impassively, unmoving. "I'm back."

And Ryou noticed that the spirit was transparent once more, a pale shade of faded colors, much fainter than he ever appeared before, and something in Ryou's chest broke, shattered into a million tiny shards. The pain brought instant tears to his eyes but he didn't fall, remaining upright, crying silently.

"Yugi-tachi are going to Egypt," Ryou said blankly, the tears pouring down his cheeks. "So am I," he added as an afterthought.

Bakura nodded, and Ryou thought about how odd it was to see Bakura so calmly accept anything.

You've changed the course of history
and didn't even try

One night at the hotel, when they thought Ryou had fallen asleep, he overheard Jounouchi, Honda, and Anzu discussing everything that had happened in Memory World, about the priests, Kul Elna, mou hit- Atem, now that they knew, and of course, Thief King.

"But it's weird to think about," Anzu said. Ryou could picture her, head tilted to the side, considering. "If it weren't for the spirit of the Ring, Atem would have never remembered his true name."

"What are you saying, Anzu? That we should be thankful he tried to kill us?" Jounouchi demanded, to Honda's approval.

"No! I'm just saying, there wasn't much of a choice, was there? I mean, it kinda had to happen, what he did, if Atem was to ever find closure."

But what about everyone else? Ryou wondered as he curled up in his sleeping bag. What about everyone else?

Where are you now?
Standing behind me
Taking my hand

Ryou hoped he wasn't developing insomnia, because that was the last thing he needed. He stood on the roof of the hotel in the cool desert night, looking at the city and the desert beyond, the dark ribbon of river winding its way north. Farther north, Ryou could make out the dim outline of mountains, in which were hidden the tombs of kings.

There was the slightest movement out of the corner of his eye, and Bakura was there, staring down at the city. It must be strange, Ryou mused, to see a place you once knew only to no longer recognize it.

No one said anything for a long time, Ryou watching Bakura watch the city, until finally the spirit spoke.

"Even the gods die."

He didn't sound sad, or even angry; it was simply a statement, pronounced as if this were the only truth he knew.

Ryou felt the wind blow through his hair, shivered, and turned to walk inside.

Come and remind me
who you are
Have you traveled far?

That night Bakura stretched out on the sleep bag on top of Ryou, no weight at all, and whispered to him stories of Egypt, of bitter survival, of daring thefts, of teasing priests and taunting guards, of running along rooftops and mad chases through the alleys. He whispered in his ear stories of anger and pain and loneliness and insanity, of the agony that sweeps through you when you realize that nothing matters anymore and you wonder if it ever did, when your plans all go to hell and you have nothing to keep you going anymore, so you throw yourself into some vague idea that you only half expect to work, self destruct and take as many people down with you as you can, if only because the hand fate dealt you absolutely sucks and you tell yourself you want to break even.

Are you made of stardust too?
Are the angels after you?
Tell me what I am to do

"So pointless," Ryou whispered, choking on the words.

Bakura sat up a tad to peer into Ryou's eyes, questioning with his own.

"Why tell me these things?" the boy asked, overcome by some emotion he couldn't identify.

"Because history is written by the victors, and I want you to remember that there is never only one side to a story."

But until then I'll save your side of the bed
Just come and sing me to sleep

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Well, what do you think?