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Entry tags:
[Yu-Gi-Oh!] Stockholm Syndrome
Title: Stockholm Syndrome
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 546 words
Summary: Cleaning up after the spirit of the Ring has become almost routine for Bakura.
When Bakura wakes up, he's standing in front of the sink with his hands under the near-scalding gush of water coming from the faucet. It's not a gradual awakening. Awareness hits him like a freight train, his senses exploding back to life in the familiar setting of his kitchen. For a long moment, all he can do is stare down at his hands and the pink-tinge of the water as it swirls into the drain.
Most of the blood is gone from his hands, but his fingernails are rusty with it. He can feel the solid weight of the switchblade in his pocket.
Bile rises in the back of his throat in a pale imitation of the dry-heaves he used to get when he found himself like this. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and the nausea passes. Once, he would have obsessed over what his body had been used for, worry and guilt overtaking him. These days, he's just grateful that he doesn't remember it.
As he's reaching for the soap, his cellphone rings. Bakura curses lightly and turns turns the faucet off. He lets the phone ring again while he dries his hands on a sheet of paper towel, careful not to stain anything.
"Bakura-kun?" Anzu asks when he finally picks up his phone. "Where are you? It's karaoke night, remember?"
Bakura glances up at the microwave and winces when the glowing numbers on the clock inform him that it really is that late. "Ah, I'm sorry! I haven't been feeling well today, so I took a nap and lost track of the time," he says. The lie comes smoothly.
Anzu makes a sympathetic sound. "Oh no, really? How are you feeling now?"
"I'm still a little tired, so I think I'll stay home tonight." As he talks, Bakura fishes the switchblade out of his pocket and flicks open the blade. It's already been wiped mostly clean, which he supposes is something of a blessing. Maybe he'll be able to train the spirit to clean up after himself yet.
"All right. Take care of yourself, okay?"
"I will, thanks." He can hear Jounouichi and Honda arguing good-naturedly in the background, and despite everything, he smiles.
Anzu's voice is full of exasperated affection. "Guys, would you--" She sighs. "Bakura-kun, I should go. I'll talk to you at school tomorrow."
"Assuming you don't go deaf," Bakura says, keeping his voice light.
"Right. I-- guys, put the microphone down-- bye, Bakura-kun--" The phone clicks as it's disconnected.
Bakura shakes his head in amusement and closes the phone. Better not to worry his friends with his troubles -- what could they do, anyway? Force him to give up the Ring?
And there's no way you'd do that, is there? the spirit croons. You'd be lonely without me.
The spirit's words wash over him like a poisoned caress, taunting him with their truth. "Shut up," Bakura mutters, turning the faucet back on. "It's just that you're useful sometimes, that's all."
Laughter echoes through his mind. You take such good care of me, my darling host.
As he washes the last remnants of someone's blood from the knife's blade, Bakura can't find it in himself to argue.
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 546 words
Summary: Cleaning up after the spirit of the Ring has become almost routine for Bakura.
When Bakura wakes up, he's standing in front of the sink with his hands under the near-scalding gush of water coming from the faucet. It's not a gradual awakening. Awareness hits him like a freight train, his senses exploding back to life in the familiar setting of his kitchen. For a long moment, all he can do is stare down at his hands and the pink-tinge of the water as it swirls into the drain.
Most of the blood is gone from his hands, but his fingernails are rusty with it. He can feel the solid weight of the switchblade in his pocket.
Bile rises in the back of his throat in a pale imitation of the dry-heaves he used to get when he found himself like this. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and the nausea passes. Once, he would have obsessed over what his body had been used for, worry and guilt overtaking him. These days, he's just grateful that he doesn't remember it.
As he's reaching for the soap, his cellphone rings. Bakura curses lightly and turns turns the faucet off. He lets the phone ring again while he dries his hands on a sheet of paper towel, careful not to stain anything.
"Bakura-kun?" Anzu asks when he finally picks up his phone. "Where are you? It's karaoke night, remember?"
Bakura glances up at the microwave and winces when the glowing numbers on the clock inform him that it really is that late. "Ah, I'm sorry! I haven't been feeling well today, so I took a nap and lost track of the time," he says. The lie comes smoothly.
Anzu makes a sympathetic sound. "Oh no, really? How are you feeling now?"
"I'm still a little tired, so I think I'll stay home tonight." As he talks, Bakura fishes the switchblade out of his pocket and flicks open the blade. It's already been wiped mostly clean, which he supposes is something of a blessing. Maybe he'll be able to train the spirit to clean up after himself yet.
"All right. Take care of yourself, okay?"
"I will, thanks." He can hear Jounouichi and Honda arguing good-naturedly in the background, and despite everything, he smiles.
Anzu's voice is full of exasperated affection. "Guys, would you--" She sighs. "Bakura-kun, I should go. I'll talk to you at school tomorrow."
"Assuming you don't go deaf," Bakura says, keeping his voice light.
"Right. I-- guys, put the microphone down-- bye, Bakura-kun--" The phone clicks as it's disconnected.
Bakura shakes his head in amusement and closes the phone. Better not to worry his friends with his troubles -- what could they do, anyway? Force him to give up the Ring?
And there's no way you'd do that, is there? the spirit croons. You'd be lonely without me.
The spirit's words wash over him like a poisoned caress, taunting him with their truth. "Shut up," Bakura mutters, turning the faucet back on. "It's just that you're useful sometimes, that's all."
Laughter echoes through his mind. You take such good care of me, my darling host.
As he washes the last remnants of someone's blood from the knife's blade, Bakura can't find it in himself to argue.
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Rin and I have had long discussions on how despite being the sane one, Fluffy is pretty much extremely fucked up.
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