Dead Letters

Tristan Taylor knew as soon as he heard the heavy metallic clank! of the doors behind him that he really, really didn't want to be here. He dreaded it. He'd been dreading this inevitable visit ever since Ryou was sent here a fortnight before. He didn't want to go to the mad house, didn't want to walk through these bland, soulless halls where the cries of the deranged could be heard behind every door, but he had to come. Had to. He was Ryou's friend, wasn't he? Coming here was what he should have done right after it happened, right? So why had he waited two weeks before gathering up the nerve to come? If he was truly his friend, he'd have been here much sooner. Right?
No one else had bothered to visit. Why should they? Ryou had always been the odd one out, even in their group. No matter how polite, sweet and generally nice Ryou was, one question was always in the back of everyone's minds: Is he still wearing the Ring? As long as he had the Ring, he couldn't be completely trusted. No matter how hard they tried to believe him, no matter how hard he tried to earn their faith, they never actually trusted him with anything. It always seemed that every time they did allow themselves to let their guards down, every time they did trust him as the friend they knew he was, the Ring would always have it's way, and Ryou would suddenly become a completely different person. And every time, they would be struck with fear, fear of this psychopath who wore their friends body, who turned a once familiar face into that of a stranger. No, Tristan wasn't the only one who hadn't bothered to visit. They all believed it to be the Ring's fault. They all thought that the other Bakura had aroused too much suspicion amongst his neighbours, leading them to call the hospital. They thought he would be released real soon, as soon as they figured out how significant the ancient pendant was in relation to the patient's health. How wrong they were.
It was Marik who had found Ryou, Marik who had told Tristan what the real reason for his stay was. It was Marik who visited Ryou regularly (practically every day). And if it wasn't for Marik, Ryou could be dead.
No one had noticed how much the boy had been suffering. No one noticed how he seemed even paler than usual, no one noticed how thin he was getting, no one noticed how he never went out anymore, and even if they did notice, no one had bothered to mention it to anyone. It wasn't that they didn't care about him. They did. Of course they did, he was their friend, but they had all been fooled by his supposed happiness. They fell for the façade, never realising just how disturbed he was becoming underneath the grin. Everyone fell for it…except for Marik. He had noticed, and he went to his house to check on him…to find him collapsed in the middle of the floor, the walls covered in writing. Every wall of his apartment was covered in text, a massive scrawl of prose that started with "My Dearest Amane…" just like another one of his letters. Except this letter nearly killed him. He had started off writing with a marker pen, which soon ran out. He then went on to use copic markers, felt-tip pens, fountain pens…eventually using his own blood when he had run out of everything else. Tristan shuddered as he recalled the Egyptian boy's face, full of worry and sadness as he told the story of how he opened the unlocked door to find the apartment in the state it was in. To find Ryou in the state he was in. He closed his eyes to shake the image away, but all he could see instead was a broken room covered in blood and ink. He had tried to get rid of this picture that was planted in his mind, but to no avail. Tristan sometimes wondered if madness was contagious.
He finally reached the room he had been looking for. Thanking the nurse who led him there, he reached for the handle…and hesitated. Would Ryou be awake? What would he be doing in that room? Would Ryou want to see him? Would he ask why he hadn't visited yet, why he hadn't noticed his pain, why he hadn't cared enough to notice…? Before he could lose his courage, he grabbed the handle and opened the door.
Ryou Bakura was sitting on his bed (which was less of a bed and more of a metal slab) furiously scrawling something into a nearly full notebook when Tristan entered the room. At first he didn't notice that Tristan had come in, his attention focused so whole-heartedly on the pen and paper, eyes so wide and staring and insane that Tristan could barely recognise him as being his friend. The silver-haired boy suddenly leapt up and turned to stare at his unexpected visitor, his eyes momentarily full of wariness and fear, as if he had been confronted with one of his own delusions. Looking him over, Tristan was started to see how fragile his friend looked. Ryou had always looked delicate, but if Tristan didn't know any better, he'd have thought the boy was some kind of drug addict. He was thin, painfully thin, and his skin had taken on the colour of off milk. His hair, which had once been so soft and shiny, was now tangled and matted, and so greasy he could probably fry chips on his scalp. And his eyes, such soft, gentle eyes, were now rimmed with shadows that were a shade of purple so dark it looked like he had been hit in the face. And the look in those eyes was so fearful, it made Tristan himself feel afraid. For the first time since Ryou had gotten ill, he felt genuine worry, a feeling so strong that he felt almost sick from it.  But before Tristan's eyes, recognition dawned in the pale boy's face, and as his body relaxed out of his defensive position, he smiled and sat back down. Suddenly he wasn't a stranger, but the same Ryou he knew and liked.
"Good afternoon, Tristan! I haven't seen you in so long! So long…" he said, his voice cracking as though he hadn't used it in a long time. Tristan relaxed.
Nothing to be afraid of, he thought, it's only Ryou. He hasn't changed, he's just a little ill. He's still the same polite, sweet-as-hell Ryou Bakura. Nothing to worry about. He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at his friend, hoping the smile didn't look as forced as it felt.
"Hey, Ryou. I was just coming to check up on you, see how you were doing…are you alright?" he asked, still smiling, trying not to let any of his worry show. Ryou's smile deepened.
"Oh, I'm perfectly alright here. The nurses here are so kind to me. They let me have all the paper I need, you see. I've started to write poems about my stay here, and I've started to draw again too! The other patients scare me sometimes, but one or two of them seem to be genuinely nice. I'm fine, nothing to worry about," he said, as cheerful as he always was. Ryou's smile deepened, and for a moment it was as if he had never gotten ill at all, and he hadn't changed in the slightest. Tristan laughed, relief carrying the weight of his worry off his shoulders.
"That's great! You know, we were all really worried about you, so I came to see how you…" he started, before seeing the look that was suddenly on Ryou's face. He was staring at some point on the wall, eyes wide and stricken. He was suddenly immensely hurt, and Tristan had no idea why until he spoke.
"You were "all really worried"…? Since when? Since I got sent here? Since you found out about the Ring? Since I started to shut myself up in my room writing to my sister instead of being with you, instead of being happy?!" He turned and looked Tristan in the eye, eyes full of sudden resentment, and anger that was so fierce and out of place that Tristan flinched back, away from the boy who really wasn't alright, not in the slightest.
"Since when were you worried about me, Tristan Taylor?" he almost whispered, his breath shuddering from his deeply hidden hate. Tristan shivered, hearing someone who had always been so nice, so kind and caring, be so cold and harsh for no reason.
No, he has a reason. He's telling the truth, he thought, his previous guilt gnawing at him again.
"Ryou, I'm sorry, I…" he began, wanting, more than anything, to make it all right again, to make everything the way it was before. Before he could continue, Ryou laughed, and for a moment Tristan became convinced that it really was the spirit of the ring who was in control. There was no way Ryou's voice could be that harsh, that sharp. But when he held Tristan's eyes in his own, Tristan realised that it was Ryou. Just not the Ryou he thought he knew.
"Sorry? You don't mean that. You're here to be polite, aren't you? You never truly cared. No one did," he said, his voice full of a bitterness that Tristan never would have expected from the boy. He looked up and, as he spoke again, his eyes glittering and his voice full of pride, Tristan felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water into his stomach.
"Amane cares. Amane always listens to me, no matter what it is I have to say. I can talk to her about anything in the world. All I have to do is write to her, and she listens. She's the only one who truly understands me, the only one who knows the hell that I've been through. She's always kind, always attentive…" he said, his voice defiant, as if daring Tristan to try and prove his statement wrong. Suddenly he giggled, an almost girlish gesture, and he smiled, a genuinely happy smile. He spoke again, only this time he spoke almost dreamily, as if his mind was somewhere else.
"It's strange. Amane was three years younger than me, and she was only seven when she passed on, but sometimes, when I'm talking to her, I feel like she's the older one. She's the only one who understands me, and she seems so wise, like she can see everything that's in my mind…she replies to my letters in my dreams, and she tells me she can make his voice go away…" Ryou said. His voice was so full of love, so kind and tender, that, had they been anywhere else, Tristan would have empathised with him. But at that moment, the softness with which the English boy spoke with only made Tristan afraid, for he had never before sounded as insane as he had then. Tristan opened his mouth to say something, but Bakura sharply cut him off.
"Don't run away so fast!" he hissed. Tristan froze, and it dawned on him that he had been edging away from the pale-skinned teen without knowing it. He took a deep breath before shifting back to where he had been, so close they were almost touching. Tristan swallowed, trying to get rid of the dryness in his throat before speaking.
"Ryou…I wasn't trying to run away on purpose. I'm sorry if that's what it looked like…this isn't how you normally talk, so it scared me a little, that's all. I'm not going to run away. I'm here for you, as well as everyone else. The others didn't think you were this…ill, and that you'd be released really, really soon. They thought it was just…" he said calmly, hesitating for a second before continuing, "…the spirit of the Ring. They thought it was just him being a bastard, you know? Marik never told us what it was, he only told me after I asked him. It's not that we didn't care, it's just that we didn't notice. Not until it was too late…you're too much of a good actor, Ryou. We honestly thought you were happy…"
As Tristan explained away his accusations, Ryou sat in silence, and the brunette almost smiled when he saw that he was actually taking in what he was saying, the anger gone from his eyes. The smile returned to the argent-haired boy's face, as if his bitterness was never there in the first place. His smile, however cheerful it seemed, didn't reach his eyes, and it seemed so sad, it tugged at Tristan's heartstrings. He laughed and shook his head.
"Tristan, why do I believe you? After all this time, feeling so lonely because of you, why do I believe you when you say you're always here? The reason I'm here is because I felt you weren't there. I felt that none of you were there, right when I needed you…I had always wrote to Amane, but when I heard his voice again, she was the only one I could talk to…not even Marik would have understood. But Amane does…why do I believe you…?" he said softly, sadly. Tristan jumped, catching a few words that made him incredibly worried.
"Ryou, what do you mean by "his voice"…?" he asked. Ryou's eyes suddenly became fearful again. He stared at the floor, wide eyed, and he began to shake. Just as the brunette was reaching out to hold onto his shoulders in comfort, however, he whispered words that froze Tristan's blood in place.
"He's still here, inside my head… he left behind a tiny piece of his soul in mine, in my head, I know he did! I hear him whisper to me and laugh at me and I know he's gone, I know that…but I can't escape him. Even in here, behind the barred windows, he follows me everywhere, and he'll never leave me. He waits until I'm alone…sometimes I wonder which one of us is the real me, me or him..." his head suddenly shot up and he gripped his startled and worried friend by the shoulders, looking straight into Tristan's brown eyes.
"Help me, please! As long as you stay here, he won't talk to me! Stay with me, please! Stay with me…" he asked, voice full of terror and his eyes pleading for some form of kindness. Before Tristan could answer, however, he heard the door open, and a relatively young and pretty nurse came in, a bundle of paper in her arms and a box of pens in her hand. As soon as Bakura realised she was there, he let Tristan go, turning to stare at her with expectant eyes. She smiled, overly cheerful and fake.
"Good afternoon, Ryou. Is this a friend of yours? It's great to see you have a visitor other than Marik, although, if you ask me, Marik seems like a rather nice catch," she said, attempting a conversation. Ryou nodded, a smile as equally fake as hers plastered on his face.
"Yes, he is very nice, isn't he?" he said, playing along with the pretence. Tristan stared at him. Since when had he become such a brilliant actor?
Since he realised we never noticed the difference, he thought, answering his own question. The Nurse smiled again and held out the papers.
"Visiting hours are almost up, so I thought I would give you some more paper to keep you company…" she said happily. Ryou's face lit up like a light bulb.
"Fantastic! Thank you so much! I really appreciate this. I have an idea for a poem forming as we speak…" he said, sounding genuinely happy this time. The Nurse turned to Tristan, smile still in place.
"I think it's time you both said goodbye, don't you? Visiting hours are almost done."
Tristan looked over at Bakura, who had already thrown himself into his writing. Tristan placed a hand on his shoulder, turning the pale boy so they were face to face.
"I have to go, Ryou. I want to stay for you, but I--" he started, before Ryou silenced him with a wave of his hand.
"It's alright, Tristan. You don't have to stay. I have Amane to keep me company, you know. I'm sure she'd be happy when I tell her about your visit. So happy…" he said with a dreamlike smile. And as Tristan was led out the building, he found that he had had good reason for dreading the visit. Instead of feeling better, he had walked away feeling worse, feeling more worried for his friends sanity…and his own. Tristan shivered and wondered if madness was contagious.