In the latest hours of the night, the earliest hours of the morning, three aching souls revel in their pain, for they have little else. They don't know it yet, but one day, their souls will no longer ache, having found comfort in each other's embrace like the triple strands of a braid where all three parts are required for fulfillment.

Until such a time, they suffered separately in isolation. Soon, though, events would be set in motion that would inexplicably alter the course of their life for the better. Soon, the suffering would come to an end and they would know true love.

Duke Devlin took a long drag from his cigarette as he leaned against the lamppost on his street corner. It was two in the morning and the girl he'd picked up at the club was sound asleep in his bed. His game store was successful, Dungeon Dice Monsters was trending, he was completely independent. He had friends, a good income, complete freedom, and he was incredibly good looking. He should have been happy, but he wasn't.

A car with dark tinted windows driving a little too slowly turned the corner then and stopped in front of Duke. He tensed, and as a pair of well-muscled grunts stepped out of the back seat, he dropped his cig and extinguished it with the toe of his shoe.

"We've been through this before, you know the drill," said the one with the snake tattoo wrapped around his right bicep. Duke just sighed.

"Yeah, I know the drill," he answered, letting the two force him into the backseat of the limo, squashing him between them. He'd tried running before, and it had never ended well. He'd learned that it was just easier to play along with them until their demands were satisfied and he could go free again. The mafia lord sat opposite him in the limo, flanked by another pair of mobsters that were under his control.

"Hey, Vicky, how's the wife?" Duke said rather facetiously to one of the mobsters. "And Marco, my man, how's your little girl? She's fifteen now, right? They grow up so fast." His smile was as false as the artificial flavoring of cheap candy.

The mob boss narrowed his eyes at Duke. "Your old man owes us more than ever before," he informed the sassy gamer. "We've already warned him twice, and he hasn't paid a cent." He started to crack the knuckles of his thick, large hands. "You're not going to get off quite so easily this time."

Duke could feel his smile fading a little, so he made an effort to reinforce it. "Alright, but whatever you do, just try not to hit the face, okay guys?" he said, sounding way too cheerful given the circumstances. He'd learned to adapt to these situations, and it gave him a vague sense of control that made all of this so much more bearable than it otherwise would be.

Ryou Bakura sat back on his heels in front of the toilet, sighing a little now that it was over. He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled to the kitchen of his tiny apartment. He filled a glass with water and drank it slowly so that his stomach didn't get upset again. After all, there was nothing left in his stomach. He'd already completed emptying its contents that evening, now he just wanted to sleep. When he finished his water, he walked unsteadily to bed, tugging off his t-shirt and shoving off his jeans before crawling under the covers in search of something like sleep.

He knew that he needed some serious help. When his anxiety got so strong that he couldn't hold down his dinner most days, he'd begun to realize that. The problem with anxiety, though, was that he was too anxious to talk about his problems with anybody. Other obstacles also prevented him from seeking help, like the fact that he couldn't afford a professional therapist. If he talked to a professional therapist, they'd probably think that he was severely disturbed and needed some kind of long-term treatment, or medication, or both, which committed him to a long-term monetary investment as well.

He didn't even need to use the Spirit of the Millennium Ring as an excuse for not getting help; there were plenty of other things to stop him. He was well aware that if he tried to tell a therapist that he was genuinely possessed by the evil spirit of an ancient Egyptian thief, they'd lock him up in the loony bin, and that was the last thing he wanted. Ryou felt the center of his left hand start to ache at the thought of the evil spirit, and he cradled it against his chest by the five scars left behind by the Millennium Ring itself. It always did that now that he wasn't around.

"Poor Yadonushi. You feel lonely now that I'm gone. I always said you would miss me, didn't I?"

The words were only his own imagination, he knew, but they still made his eyes water with tears. Bakura had been with him for so long that he knew his speech patterns far too well. His voice—so like Ryou's, yet completely distinct—was something Ryou would never forget.

Seto Kaiba sat back against the bathroom wall, staring into space as he fought the urge to cut again. He buried his face in his hands as he struggled to maintain a degree of composure. He couldn't stand that he was on the verge of relapse yet again. He'd completely quit two years ago, cut only once last year after Battle City. He was doing well. He wasn't going to screw it up again over something so stupid.

"You quit," he whispered, disgusted with himself. "You don't need this anymore." He closed his eyes and shuddered before he put his hands on the floor and forced himself to stand. At the sink, he glared at his own reflection until all he could see was his step-father laughing at the adoptive son he'd beaten down repeatedly, with his words and his fists and his weapons.

"Gozaburo, go fuck yourself."

Kaiba raised his own fist and smashed it into the mirror, shattering the glass, which splintered into his skin, but he didn't care. He smashed his fist into the glass again and again until he heard a young voice screaming at him to stop. Mokuba pulled him away from the sink as Seto's anger began to simmer down.

"Seto…" The child was at a loss for words at the moment, struggling within himself as he tried to figure out how best to rebuke his older brother.

"I'm sorry," the brunette whispered, looking numb as blood dripped from his glittering hands.

"This needs to stop," his brother whispered, starting to cry as his anger surfaced. "I hate how you keep breaking things and hurting yourself! I know you don't like to make promises, but I need you to make a promise to me." His stormy eyes were quite serious as they fixed his brother's sapphires with a hard stare. "I need you to promise me that nothing like this will happen again."

"I promise," Seto murmured. He couldn't deny Mokuba that when he knew it was the right thing to do. Besides, he hated upsetting Mokuba as much as Mokuba hated this bad habit of his.

"Good." Mokuba carefully took hold of Seto's hand and led him out of the bathroom, out of the bedroom, and into the hallway, taking him to Seto's personal doctor downstairs. His brother followed numbly, too tired to resist.

Author Notes: I am so friggin' proud of myself for making the three sections focusing on each character the exact same word-count: 392. The number has no significance itself, but I made them all the same, which means I achieved total equality for three of my favorite Yu-Gi-Oh men! I love these boys. :-* I'd marry them all if I could. ;)

This is a prequel to my "Mumbleshipping" fic, so if you like this, go check that out too!

Please review, because more reviews = more chapters!