A storm had been charging in the air all night, creating tension in the atmosphere and between the two residents of the house. The sky had been progressively growing black all evening, and the branches screamed as they were torn this way and that in the trees, the leaves desperately holding onto their host. As Bakura was heading to bed, lightning tore open the sky, blinding the world for a second or two before thunder cracked and the clouds split, pouring down a deafening, murderous rain. The spirit turned to face his window and watched the light show until he fell asleep.
His dreams were ones of frequency, of blood and euphoria, his final revenge coursing through his veins. Sadly, it was what his entire life had led up to. To kill someone who had ruined his life. Or he thought ruined his life. Sometimes, Bakura felt it would never come, and that he couldn't take it anymore, focusing on nothing but killing. It left him bitter and empty, but it seemed there was nothing else in this world for him. The one person who had loved him, he had abandoned, afraid. Though in the house there was another wandering around in the dead of night who shared the same feelings the same initial past, he had never felt so alone. Often Bakura contemplated if even killing the Pharaoh would make his lifelong feelings of emptiness go away. He doubted it.Â
The man slept with troubles, his eyebrows knitting- even in the most peaceful of hours of sleep, he always appeared angered. As thunder rolled through the night, he tossed and turned, until the rain lightened to a drizzle and the sun rose behind a line of grey clouds that stretched off into the horizon. Bakura rose around the same time each morning, often unrested and agitated from tendrils of disturbing dreams taunting him with their remnants.
This morning however, something was different.Â
As he awoke with fluttering, hazy eyes, immedietly he felt something was off. The bed was inexplicably warm beside him for a change, instead of the usual freezing sheets. Still foggy from sleep, Bakura gravitated towards the warmth until he took in a familiar, almost comforting scent that took him a moment to register. Opening his eyes, he saw his Egyptian guest curled up atop the sheets facing him. The spirit promptly sat up- How long had Akefia been here!? For once in his life, Bakura didn't know what to do. If this had been anyone else, he would've murdered them on sight- but this was him- though still screwed up and tainted, intact in a less deranged state than Bakura was now. His heart lurched in an odd, unexpected twist of self-pity. How he used to be...
For a long minute, Bakura only stared, taking in the sight before him. He missed the way he used to be, but this was no longer him, for Akefia and Bakura had been one person who branched out and took different paths in life, growing differently into different people over time. Bakura admired the man, he had developed beautifully since when the spirit harbored that body long over a decade ago. And while Bakura slept with a scowl painted on his face, Akefia looked less unpleasant. Still dreaming of possibly the same thing, but less bitter about it. Bakura had 3,000 years to steep in his own bitterness, and in a way, Akefia was more pure. Not pure in a sense like his Hikari, Ryou, but pure like more realistic and accepting of his past.
Snapping back from his own train of thought, Bakura wondered what in Ra's Hell Akefia was doing in his bed. He almost didn't want to know, but curiosity tugged at him. He nudged the Egyptian, who- a light sleeper, stirred almost immediately. Bakura chuckled. "Any particular reason you've taken to sleeping with me?"
