AN: Hey friends! This is my first tendershipping fic, and for that matter my first Yu-Gi-Oh fic. I'm doing a trade with my good friend and roommate lauradisenchanted. So this is the result.

"Ryou, what homework did we get in algebra?"

"Oh, er, I believe it was pages 34 through 37-"

"Ha ha, as if Joey's actually going to do his homework! He'll probably call me Sunday night asking for help!"

"Ah, shaddap Tristan. Ryou's got my back. Right, Ryou?"

"Ah, right!"

"Hey, if you guys want, we could work on it together this weekend. That way we can all keep each other from procrastinating and we'll still get to hang out."

"Great idea, Yug! When are ya free?"

"Tonight works for me."

"I have to work right after school and all weekend. Sorry, guys!"

"Tea, didja sell your soul to that restaurant or are they actually paying you? Ditch 'em and hang out with your friends!"

"Joey Wheeler when I save up enough money to study dance in New York and become a world-class performer I will send all of my friends free tickets to come see me and you'll have to ask them how amazing I was because you won't be invited!"

"Sheesh. Calm down, I was only teasin' ya."

"So, um, where do you guys want to meet? My grandpa's trying to coordinate a bunch of new shipments, so he probably won't want us getting in the way . . ."

Tension coiled inside of Ryou. Situations like this were difficult for him. Ryou, who liked to play it on the safe side. Ryou, who always looked before he leapt. He tried giving himself a pep talk.

Do it. Just do it. Just say the words. Oh, hey, how about my flat? My dad's out of town. They're not going to laugh at you. They won't give you weird looks like you're speaking out of turn, like you're that one person in the group they don't actually like having around. They're nice. They're your friends. Friends . . .

Something in the back of his mind shifted very subtly, almost beyond his perception.

The inner monologue he was maintaining to build himself up changed track.

Friends shouldn't be this difficult to ask over. They're supposed to make everything come naturally. Maybe they're not really friends. Maybe they're just nice people taking pity on the sad little foreign kid. Good for them, making a little charity case out of poor Ryou. Getting their service hours. Their good deed for the week. Well, they've done enough. They pretended to include you. That's enough of that; more of their pity isn't needed here.

Ryou suddenly made up his mind, and spoke up. "Right, well, I think my dad's planning on being home this weekend, so we'll probably be spending time together." Yugi looked away from Tristan and Joey, who were squabbling again, and smiled. "That sounds nice! You don't see your dad very much do you, Ryou?"

Are you genuinely interested, or just relieved I've taken the trouble to bow out?

"No, I don't. He travels quite a bit for his work, of course."

The bell rang, and the volume of the chatter took a sharp upswing and was joined by the clamor of possessions being grabbed and desks being re-arranged.

"Okay then! I hope you have a good weekend with your dad!"

Right. With my dad.

Ryou walked back to the apartment he mostly lived in by himself. There was a furnished spare bedroom and the study filled with carefully labeled and sorted archives of his father's work, but his father rarely spent nights and he used the study for homework. He knew fully well that the most contact he could expect would be a postcard. He knew fully well he would be spending the weekend alone.

Somehow, though, Ryou felt triumphant and a little defiant. He didn't need them. He didn't need to feel included because he was so used to solitude. Of course he believed in being a good person, in giving help where it was needed, but sometimes he worried about trying too hard. He worried about going out of his way and being a nuisance just for some recognition, even though he never hesitated when actually called upon. It was always small things: hold the door for me? Help me with this problem? Can I borrow some change? Even father- go to bed now, there's a good boy. Hush now. Play with your toys. Play outside. Busy . . . Papa's busy right now. Make yourself useful, Ryou. Sort these photos for me. See the numbers on the back? Good lad. You're helpful, Ryou. Thanks for helping me with that essay. You've been a great help. No one ever trusted him with their secrets, with their worries. He was simply useful; simply used.

It was cool outside, with a light breeze stirring his hair. Book bag slung over his shoulder, Ryou tilted his head back and watched the ragged clouds, tossed and pulled apart like loose cotton by some higher altitude wind.

You don't need them just like they don't need you. You don't need anyone and no one needs you. Right?

But something about that didn't quite sit right. There was a little nagging, like he'd half-forgotten some close childhood friend that had once made him feel important. Maybe it was just a human tendency to exaggerate self-importance, that instinctive need to find a deeper meaning and an ultimate place and purpose in the universe. But still it nagged at him, like a homework assignment he couldn't quite recall. He sighed loudly through his nose, and decided to push the issue out of his mind. A detour to the post office seemed like a good idea, and he could pick up something to invent dinner with at the nearby convenience store. Shifting his bag to a more comfortable position (the algebra textbook wasn't too heavy), he ambled on.

At the post office, his P.O. box proved to indeed have a postcard for him.

Greetings from sunny wherever, eh?

Ryou rubbed the glossy picture with his thumb, contemplating the architecture picturesquely lit in rose hues by some foreign setting sun. Recalling something his father had taught him, those multi-lobed arches and windows and the domed roof put him in mind of the Middle East. The groves around the walls looked suspiciously like orange trees.

They must smell lovely when they flower and bear fruit . . .

He carefully stashed the postcard in a pocket of his book bag.

At the store, he smiled at a display of oranges and put three of the fragrant fruits into a plastic bag. Browsing the aisles, he chewed his lip while wondering what to buy for dinner. He briefly considered buying enough gummy bears and chocolate candies to fill a large cereal bowl, and then discarded the idea in favor of trying to behave like a responsible adult. Ryou eventually settled on a single-serving packet of minestrone soup flavoring. There should be enough pasta left and some frozen vegetables to flesh it out at home.

He checked out and made his way across the street to the apartment complex, absently clutching the paper bag. The apartment was large and clean and empty. He put his things down on the island in the kitchen and looked through the cabinets for a fruit bowl. He found a hand-carved dish, made of olive wood from Israel or Jordan or somewhere like that. Something his father had brought back once. Oranges in the bowl, bowl on the counter. They brightened the cool tones of the kitchen, making it look more lived in, albeit in a catalogue living sort of way. Ryou liked keeping everything clean and orderly. It gave him something to do, at the very least. He also believed that living alone required quite a lot of discipline. It would be all too easy to leave the dishes unwashed, to not make his bed, to leave his clothes on the floor. But there had to be standards. Spending all day in his pajamas wasn't healthy, and just encouraged the antisocial behavior he already had a predisposition to indulge in. He knew the difference between being alone and being lonely.

Eating dinner while poring over his algebra homework, he casually punched some numbers into his calculator and half-listened to the news on the television. Juggling three mundane tasks made him feel better about the fact that he was doing absolutely nothing interesting.

Does doing all the boring rubbish at once make it better or worse? I guess you could say both. It's pretty terrible but you get it over with faster.

Later, he washed the dishes, and leaned back against the counter with a sigh. Looking at the light fixture on the ceiling without really seeing it, he mused.

Are you really content with this, Ryou? You had a fascinating Friday night doing homework and checking up on current events and the weather. Other blokes are out getting smashed, or at least hanging with their mates. It could be nice, to go out just for laughs. Go to a club or something. Dress up like a bondage slave. Dance to music that will make you go deaf prematurely. Get your arse grabbed by total strangers and come home at three in the bloody morning smelling like an ashtray and fall asleep with your head in the loo. Yeah, thanks but no.

Laughing to himself, he decided to call it an early night. Setting his alarm, he resolved to get up early and go the park when it was still quiet and empty and a little cool.

He woke up with a start, and could immediately tell by the light shining in his large bedroom window that something was off. "Bloody hell!" he cried, looking at his alarm clock. Somehow, he must have turned it off and gone back to sleep, because it was now 12:47 p.m. He stared at his clock in disbelief, almost expecting it to do something impish to further annoy him. He stood and stretched, feeling unusually stiff and cramped and hungry. There was a spot on his neck that ached. Splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom to try and wake up more, he noted he looked a bit more haggard than expected. His head also ached. Probably a result of oversleeping. Yes, sleeping more than usual would definitely make you look more tired. Or something like that. He pulled a brush through his long white hair, taking no further notice of his appearance. He threw on a pair of jeans and a striped shirt and headed out to the convenience store for lunch.

Ryou grabbed a clear plastic container of sushi rolls, and turned and bumped into Tea Gardener.

"Ryou! Hey there! What are you up to?"

"Hello, Tea. I'm just here to grab some lunch."

He rubbed the sore spot on his neck.

"Oh, me too! I'm on break from work. They have pretty good sushi here, even if it is ready-made. But burgers get old pretty fast, you know?"

"I can imagine," he said with a smile, and headed towards the front of the store with Tea to check out.

"I notice you're getting just the one serving. Does your dad not like sushi?"

"He's not home this weekend," Ryou answered honestly before remembering that Tea had been there when he made his excuse.

"I mean, he couldn't make it."

"That's too bad! Looks like we both have sucky weekends, huh? But it's worth it! Just gotta stay focused, right?" The familiar, vaguely manic gleam Tea got in her eyes whenever she imagined her future had appeared.

"Right! Focus! You'll be in New York before you know it, Tea!"

She smiled and laughed. "Aww, thanks Ryou! I almost feel better about serving those ungrateful customers. Almost. Well, back to the coal mines!"

Tea waved and jogged down the sidewalk. Ryou hoped she would be distracted enough to forget meeting him, lest the others find out about his little falsehood. Well, he had recovered smoothly enough. Hopefully it wouldn't matter.

Good riddance. Let's just hope she doesn't run her big mouth.

Ryou stopped, a little taken aback by the sudden viciousness of the thought.

You can't think like that. You can't think like that about your friends. So stop.

Rude little blighters, though, always prying like that.

Ryou didn't even notice where he was going, blindly following the path back to his dwelling out of reflexive memory.

But why can't they just leave well enough alone? Everyone could stand to mind their own business a little more carefully.

Even though it's perfectly acceptable to be interested in someone else's life.

Especially if it serves your own purposes, like finding something to hold over their heads.

But you should never do that to someone who trusts you! Personal things, secrets, are meant to be cherished.

Yes, cherished after you wrest them from their owners. You cherish them for their market value like any other commodity.

He found himself standing in the entryway, still numbly holding the box of sushi, hunger forgotten.

You know how it goes. It's just a game of taking more than you give. Of thieving.

"I'm not a thief!" Ryou shouted aloud.

Laughter.

Horrible laughter rang throughout the kitchen. Mocking, patronizing laughter that knew everything about him and found it all contemptuous. The laughter that almost couldn't believe the life he led, how tame it was and how worthy of ridicule. The laughter that woke him up some nights in a cold sweat, unsure whether he had heard it solely in his dreams. Awful laughter that was coming from his own mouth.

He stopped.

Hyperventilating, he dashed into the bathroom and started dry heaving into the sink.

Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes as his empty stomach attempted to purge itself. His mind reeled.

The laughter. The cruel thoughts. The irrational desire to be alone. You know what these are symptoms of, Ryou. Oh god, even waking up late and still feeling tired-

Frantically, still suppressing retches, his scrambling fingers pulled the long hair away from his neck. There, where he noticed his neck aching when he woke up. A mottled pattern of purples and reds fanned out from a central, darker bruise on his neck. The lacey edges on the hickey might have almost been pretty.

He met his reflection's gaze. The soft brown doe eyes, normally considered kind and thoughtful-looking by his friends (and alluring by his admirers) were wide with panic. The light, English complexion now bleached to paper white by a heart that had missed several beats.

Then suddenly, he wasn't looking at himself anymore. Another person held his gaze. Another person with wild hair and burning sepia eyes and an animalistic smile that seemed to be made entirely of pointed teeth. He grinned fiercely and tossed his head, flipping untamed bangs out of his face.

/What's wrong? Not happy to see me?/

Ryou stumbled backwards and fell. He couldn't look away from the horrible face, and it only broke eye contact with him to laugh at his fear.

/Oh, come now. Surely I'm not all that bad? We were pretty popular last night. Well, I was. You can be such a wallflower when you're unconscious./

/No! You can't be here! You can't be controlling me! I won't let you!/

The face stopped grinning and became serious.

/Look, Ryou, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Just cooperate with me! You might even learn to like it . . ./

/Leave me alone!/ Ryou all but mentally screamed. His heart was racing, his jaw clenched.

"That's enough!"

Long hair hung over him, trapping his gaze. There were hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the cold tile. Something circular and heavy weighed on his chest, sapping his energy to fight. To fight back. The face became a frosty sneer.

"That's how you want to be? Fine. I'll just take this, then."

Long, pale fingers lifted the Millennium Ring from around Ryou's neck. Bakura stood up, leaving Ryou on the floor to stare up at him in terror. An otherworldly light shone from his eyes as he held up the artifact in triumph. He glanced down at Ryou, and the mirth left his face.

"You're playing a game you can't win, hikari."

He placed the Millennium Ring around his own neck. There was a blinding light, and Ryou thought no more.

So that's it for Chapter 1! Read and review if you want Chapter 2 to go up. Also, go thank lauradisenchanted and check out her puzzleshipping fic, Tunnels to Gates of White, because I'm basically writing this so she will write me fluffy goodness. Aw yiss. Not even kidding, she's pretty freaking awesome.