It is kind of weird, isn't it, for Bakura to have his own body? But like the 839487 fics out there with Bakura running around doing whatever he pleases, I figured I like it that way better. (And Bakura trapped in Ryou's body, although humorous at times, is kind of depressing).

Suggestions, comments, thoughtful flames appreciated.

WARNING: Please don't shoot me. The idea was hysterical at one time.

DISCLAIMER: Oh no, final exams are starting!

interlude. it came like a dream


The first thing he noticed when he turned on the light were those eyes.

Chocolate, he thought, as he peered into them. Delicious.

The owner of those eyes, the boy stood opposite of him, gazed back with soft, wide innocence.

The tips of his lips arched into a smile smile, forbidden to be seen by anyone but him.

It was returned instantly with the same gentleness.

He drew closer, breath relaxed.

He examined the other boy closely, who remained motionless. He reached for him, then.

Hands touched. Palm to palm, finger to finger, skin to skin.

They had so much in common.

He leaned forward; the boy imitated the action as well.

Quietly, slowly, until finally, their lips melted into one.

Maybe unexpectedly, it felt smooth, cruel, and damn, it forced his neck into an awkward angle.

He inhaled sharply at the soreness. The smell of ammonia stung his nose.

They immediately pulled back at the same time, neither liking what they had shared.

He brushed his fingers against his lips; they were still cold.

So that was what kissing his doppelganger felt like.

It tasted like Windex.

Ryou heard that crystalline laughter from the doorway then. He didn't need to bother with a glance; he knew who it was.

Bakura smiled a little, not unlike the one given moments before, What are you doing?

Although the tone was kind, it was wrong, uncharacteristic.It did not fit him. Ryou knew he would have liked to add something insulting to the end of the question.

And so, they started again, What are you doing, idiot? Looking at yourself. In the damn mirror. Doing what, exactly? Kissing. The damn mirror. Don't you know what real kisses are?

His flesh and blood copy reached for his face, gently, arms stretching for him, pulling him closer. Those cold fingers (a different chill than before) across his own lips, before those lips replaced those fingers and, he felt it, how it seemed like he was kissing the air. There was no taste. No warmth, no bitterness, nothing.

But still, they stood there, not moving, nor flinching. Just standing without any words to explain nothing.

At first glance, they could have been brothers, but they were not.

At second glance, they could have been lovers, but it was far from it.


The first thing he noticed when he turned on the light was that somehow, he had migrated to the edge of Bakura's side of the bed.

Tangled in sheets, Bakura himself, it seemed, was mysteriously facedown on the floor.

"I'm not going to live much longer if you continue to do this to me in your sleep, Ryou."