Throw It Away
written by Dekora

notes AU. Malik/Ryou. Marik/Bakura. Enjoy!

Chapter One
Don't Go Off Wandering

Glancing out the bus window, Malik's violet eyes watched the scenery as it passed him by. Where seeing a new place would normally excite him, the Egyptian was having trouble keeping his spirits up. This wasn't the first time that he'd lost all of his money gambling and even his ever-patient sister was losing her temper with him. For this reason, he'd opted to try something else before doing what he always did and running to her to bail him out. Now that he had plenty of time to give it a second thought, he was regretting his decision. It felt foolish -- this wasn't a last resort and in hindsight, confessing he'd messed up again to Isis was probably easier and smarter to do than trying to con his estranged twin brother out of money.

Marik had left their family the moment he'd been old enough to do so, abandoning the Ishtar clan to go out to Los Angeles for reasons that Malik still couldn't fathom. Malik's choice hadn't been infinitely better -- he'd wound up in Las Vegas for a while, but he had a sort of logic and reasoning behind it. He severely doubted Marik had thought things through.

The twins had never seen eye to eye on much of anything. After Marik had left, neither of them made much effort to keep in contact. It had been out-of-the-blue that Malik had called Marik, using the lie that he'd missed his brother and actually wanted to see him (he knew that Marik would without a doubt deny him if he came right out and asked for money). He'd always been a decent liar, so he assumed that if he could persuade Marik that he genuinely cared about him, maybe he'd be kind enough to throw his older twin a bone and lend him a bit of money. It was on the bus that he recalled that caring about Marik was irrelevant; he couldn't remember his younger brother ever doing anything for anyone but himself (they were at least alike in that regard).

Gauging whether or not Marik had believed him had been difficult, but after a little persuasion, he'd agreed to let Malik visit for a week. Only a week -- he had work to do, though he'd dismissed the topic when Malik had asked what he did (Malik had no problem admitting that he was a bartender in a casino, which was undoubtedly a large part of his current problem).

The bus pulled into the stop and after checking the GPS on his phone one last time (he'd gone over and over the route in his mind), Malik grabbed his back pack and headed off the bus. He hadn't brought much, odd for him, but he'd had to pawn the more expensive things off to pay for gambling debt, and beyond that -- well, he had enough clothes and his tooth brush. Did he really need more?

He'd tried to convince Marik to pick him up, solely so he didn't have to attempt and navigate the streets of an unknown city alone, but Marik had refused (and unsurprisingly offered no explanation for doing so). He had very little change, but he found a taxi nonetheless, telling the driver the directions. The driver took credit cards, at least, and Malik hadn't completely maxed-out his most recent one. He paid with that and then found himself climbing out of the car to come face to face with a rather elaborate home.

Well, that was unexpected. Home, even, seemed to weak a term to describe the place -- it looked more like a mansion than anything. How had he not noticed this driving up? He hesitated at the door, wondering if his brother had given him a false address. He wouldn't put it past Marik; it'd be just like his brother to make Malik his way out to a new place, only to direct him to complete strangers.

Pressing the doorbell, Malik silently hoped that he was just being paranoid. His brother wasn't that mean, right? He was probably making his brother out to be more of a monster than he was out of his own, deluded childhood memories. They hadn't exactly grown up under the best circumstances; they probably both exaggerated their pasts (and therefore each other) to extreme extents.

It wasn't Marik that opened the door and Malik's skepticism returned the moment he laid eyes on the silver-haired, brown-eyed man that did. The man was shorter than he was, cigarette between yellowing fingers as he glared in Malik's direction. He didn't seemed dressed for a home like this -- cheap, tattered jeans and an old t-shirt that had some awkward, red stain on the stomach -- but Malik supposed that even millionaires weren't dressed to impress all the time.

"Is Marik here?" He'd give his brother the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had a roommate? That really didn't make sense, given the house, but hey, anything was possible, right? His brother, if this was really his home, had a mansion; anything else would seem normal in comparison.

The man took a drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke up in Malik's face before shaking his head. "No, he went out."

Out? "He was expecting me," Malik explained. At least he knew that Marik lived here now. "Did he say when he'd be back?"

It wasn't hard to figure out Malik and Marik were related, and the man seemed to have put the pieces together. "Never does," he answered, smirking slightly. "He didn't say he had a brother."

That wasn't a surprise. Malik didn't exactly volunteer the information that he had a twin to the people he knew either. He was much more apt to talk about Isis or Rishid, but bringing up Marik always felt like swallowing poison. "Well, he does. I'm staying here this week." Then, Malik demanded, "Who are you anyway?"

"I don't owe you an answer."

Malik would have begged to differ, but this man wasn't his main concern. "Can you call him? I don't have his cell phone number. I just need to tell him I'm here."

"I'd rather not." Nonetheless, the man moved away from the door, making room for Malik to enter the home. Malik followed him, more than obviously annoyed at the man. He'd have to harass his brother about this later; who the hell would agree for their twin to show up at a specific time and then make sure they weren't there?

End Chapter One