(A/N: Applies to theme #13 'Hanged Man'. Here we witness the beginning of a new 'mini-series'. This one isn't mutually exclusive of any of the other pieces or the other triad, but between each of them something shifts just a little. I believe, at this point, that it's all been forward/progressive movement. There's quite a bit of language in this one.)

“It’s not healthy and you know it, Seto.” Bakura stated gravely, fixing the taller boy with a firm glare. The door closed firmly to discourage interruption, they stood across from one another in Seto’s home office. The room was dark; the curtains were drawn and, outside, the sun was already more than halfway set. Most of their conversations seemed to take place at this time of day.

Seto was unmoved. “He’s old enough to be responsible for his own well-being. He certainly insists on pressing how he’s older than I am often enough.”

“You know he’s just uncomfortable with the situation.”

“No, I don’t.” Seto bristled, snappishly specific, “I could assume that much but it certainly doesn’t excuse his attitude.”

Bakura sighed; this was ridiculous. It seemed that any time Noa came up in conversation between the two of them (and granted it was usually his fault, but that was hardly important), there was a fight about something. “You’re being unreasonable.” He accused, trying to keep his tone level.

“So?”

… Right. Scrap the idea of trying to keep this polite. “For fuck’s sake Seto, he’s been dead for half his life! For all he says, he’s nothing but a mature eight-year-old. Cut him some god-damn slack.” He didn’t know where the angry curse words were coming from, nor where the stalwart defense of the teal-haired Kaiba originated. He just knew it was there and refused to be kept silent.

Seto, still cool as frost, returned that with, “He doesn’t seem to want any.”

“To hell with what he’s letting you see!” Bakura snapped, clenching his fists, “He’s trying to impress you!”

Now some of that familiar annoyance crept back into Seto’s tone, colouring it with dark fire, “And when did you get such insight into his mind, hm?”

“Since always.” Bakura couldn’t keep his next words from being mocking, “It’s obvious, Seto, when one doesn’t keep their head shoved firmly up their ass.”

Seto’s reply could’ve sliced diamonds. “… Bakura.”

Bakura sighed again, tired of this fight even though it had hardly been going on for a long time. “Just shut up.”

Seto ignored that, going on as if Bakura hadn’t spoken, “Why do you always get so riled up about him?” Implied was the fact that Noa didn’t really matter and he wasn’t Bakura’s concern and that he should just leave it alone.

“I said shut up, Seto.”

“No.” As stubborn as ever, of course.

“Fine.” Bakura turned to leave; leave Seto for an hour, maybe two, and he’d settle. Bakura wasn’t sure if he would, but taking the time was better than staying here and possibly getting himself literally thrown out. Seto had threatened – and nearly done so – enough times that he could believe it.

“Fine.” Seto paused, and in that split-second moment Bakura knew without looking that he’d see a smirk on his face, “Then he can just starve.”

Even the knowledge that he was being purposely goaded couldn’t restrain Bakura’s reaction. He whipped around and seized Seto’s shoulders, half-throwing him backwards onto the wall next to the window. He couldn’t help the snarl that broke out low from his throat. “You’re an idiot!”

Seto was undisturbed, demanding in a deceptively calm tone (the smirk on his face, still there, just quiet, that meant he was up to something), “Why is that?”

“He forgets Seto, he forgets to eat! The dead require and thus take no sustenance. Six years… it’s not a long time, but goddamn it’s long enough to forget that!”

Cruelty etched into every small portion of the expression on his face, Seto answered with, “And you know that so well because you were dead, is that right?”

Bakura blinked once before dropping his arms limply to his sides, looking downcast. His next words, hollow but with a sharp wedge of strength to them, were bitter, “If I hadn’t waited three thousand fucking years for you, I’d wonder a lot more seriously why the hell I put up with you.”

Seto was blunter with his thoughts. “You’re bloody fucking insane.”

“You’re an idiot!” Bakura repeated harshly, snapping like a vulture at a dead body, “You brought him back to life, so why is it that it’s so impossible to believe that I did the same?!”

“Because you insist on claiming to have taken residence in a ‘host’s’ body and simply use that like it’s your own!”

The laugh that filled the room was terrifyingly cold. Bakura’s eyes were nearly slits as he glared at Seto, testing, “You mean to say that you honestly think I’m Bakura Ryou?”

At that intensity, Seto balked for a moment, but apparently steeled himself. “I believe that you’re some kind of sick, twisted fuck with MPD or something similar.”

“Then we’ll see how you deal with my oh-so-lovely host right now. He’s bound to love this.”

Seto seized his arm, gripped with a sudden panic, “Bakura, you wouldn’t –”

A new and drastically different pair of brown eyes blinked at him, utterly confused, “Kaiba?”

“Shit.” Seto swore, and then shook Ryou by the arm, snarling, “Stop playing games like this Bakura!”

The white-haired teenager winced, shying away from Seto as much as he could within that rough grip. His words were too honest to be ignored. “Kaiba, stop it please! I don’t know what you mean!”

Seto released Ryou’s arm now, almost flinging it away as he turned to glare at the curtains on the window. This… didn’t make sense. It didn’t. There was something wrong. He knew Bakura could be an actor, but how… ? He couldn’t change his mannerisms, the impression he gave off when he walked into a room. This was the Bakura Ryou he’d known when he still attended school frequently, the one who kept to himself and made others uncomfortable with the secret way he smiled. Bakura… the Bakura he knew now came to him in the night and demanded his company, smiling in a way that promised only his moods would decide how things went.

Impossible. Just… bloody impossible. He turned to look at Ryou now, who stood in the same spot he’d been seconds before, rubbing the bruises appearing on his arm. Seto knew it was his fingers that’d caused that, but he would not apologise. He refused. Bakura didn’t deserve it – and it was Bakura, it had to be, no matter what the apparent differences. He refused to accept that. Angrily, he put his hands on Ryou’s shoulders and pulled him close, hissing, “Don’t try to deceive me.” And then he kissed Ryou, hard and half- biting down on his lips.

Ryou squirmed, twisting in an attempt to get back or away or something. And when Seto finally did let him back for a chance to breathe, the taller teenager drew a fist and punched him in the side of the face. Ryou staggered from the hit, not falling but putting his hands against the wall to keep some balance. When he could right himself, he put two fingers to his cheek, gently touching where he could feel a bruise forming. The fingers then travelled slowly down his face, tracing the line of blood dripping off his chin. He said nothing, standing quite still.

Seto also said nothing, standing upright and quivering slightly with fury. All lies, damn, it had to be. This falsity was impermissible.

It was Ryou’s calm voice that made him change his mind. “Is there anything else you’d like to try, to see if I’m him?”

His insides froze with those words, but he replied evenly enough, “Get out.”