A part of him knew better. A part of him really knew that Malik just wanted to help, he always wanted to help. He would never encourage anything that could potentially hurt him. There was this special, unspoken bond between them not unlike love. Malik had seen him go through hell and had seen him literally come back from the dead, and he did nothing but really support his endeavors. Of course, there was the occasional disagreement, the occasional argument and fight, but they were close enough that it never really mattered. It was just another bump in the road. So when he heard the words his dearest, closest friend had said, "It's okay to hurt and breakdown. You don't have to be strong all the time," he didn't know how to respond. Had he really been in such a palpably low place?

Even worse, his stupid pride took it as a personal attack. "I'm not strong all the time, Malik. Do you even realize how much I drop my guard with you? What the fuck makes you think I'm hurting enough to break down?" The sharp words were a testament to the truth of Malik's. Bakura had to physically bite his tongue to keep from saying anything else. With a shake of his head, he threw a hand at the wall before doing what he did best: walking out.

The night air was crisp and cool, almost chilly when the gentle breeze picked up. Despite its gentility, it still nipped at Bakura's skin, keeping him awake and alert, but also thoroughly chilled. It was good for him, he thought. He didn't stay out long, though, only taking a simple, short walk to clear his head the best he could. When he returned to Malik's place, he had expected him to be in bed, as per usual. Bakura took these walks often enough that that was anticipated. He never guessed Malik would be up waiting for him. While his walk was shorter than usual, it still took quite a bit of time.

"Look, I'm just trying to help you, Bakura." Malik said before Bakura could get a word in. "I'm just worried. You've been acting a little differently, and I just want to be sure that you're all right."

"I'm fine Malik." he muttered, feeling that horrible mood coming back. He should have stayed out.

"No, you're not. Please, just…" Malik paused a moment as he turned his head toward the nearby sofa. "…just take a seat. I'll make some tea, or maybe you'd prefer some alcohol? I'm sure there's probably still a bit of whiskey in the cabinet." Malik was rambling, and if this were anything other situation, Bakura would have found it endearing. Instead, he was so incredibly annoyed at the sound of his voice. It was something that had never happened before. Malik had never gotten this far under his skin, and he hated himself for hating him in that moment.

"Malik, I'm fine." he repeated, his voice lower and heavier than the first time. "I'm fine. Just let it go, I'm fine."

"Bakura—"

"Shut up!" Bakura had shouted the words, cutting off Malik in a way he never had before. Or maybe something like this did happen a long time ago, before they were friends and were just working together. Who knows? That it happened now, though, when he knew well that Malik had the best intentions just…

The shocked look on Malik's face was enough to tell him that he was just as surprised by the outburst, maybe even a little hurt. He fell silent and glanced away. "I'm going to bed." Bakura sighed after a long, incredibly tense moment.

"I can't give up on you, Bakura." Malik whispered, whether or not Bakura was meant to hear didn't seem to matter. "So please….please don't give up on yourself."

Without a second look back, Bakura went upstairs to his room, closing the door behind him and walking to the dresser. It was times like these he needed a little help. Opening the top drawer, he reached far into the back to uncover a few little bottles. Grabbing the one that felt the fullest, he empty a healthy—or unhealthy, rather—amount of the little pills into his hand. He looked at them, a pile of dull circles that seemed to reflect his very mood, for a long minute before tossing his head back and funneling them into his mouth through his fingers. He didn't care for the taste, but he knew that they knocked him out fast. They always did, and he would be better in the morning. That was usually the case. Argue, walk, pills, sleep, wake, apologize. Then life would go on. These outbursts were uncommon, so he had them down to a science. It would be fine.

He undressed for bed and fell wearily into the mattress, feeling the pills' effects take him sooner than usual. Without much thought, he pulled the plush comforter up to his face, rolled over, and fell into the artificial darkness that was a drug-induced slumber. There was something different about it this time. It was blacker, and it seemed far more temporary. Something deep inside of him stirred, forcing his sleep to be far from uninterrupted.

A sick churning inside of him kept his body awake, even if his eyes stayed closed and his brain stopped existing. He was dancing on the line between rest and reality. That was when he felt the lurching. He didn't know what it was until he could taste the bile in the back of his throat. He had no idea how long he had been out before those wretched sounds emerged from him sleeping form followed by the acidic contents of his stomach. Because of the paralysis of his weird sleeping state, he couldn't move and just continued to vomit where he lay. There came a moment when he could no longer breathe properly.

The sounds of sickness were enough to make Malik worry more than he already was. Making his way to Bakura's room was an easy feat. He could have done it as a walking corpse, he knew the path so well. He gently tapped on the door. "Bakura?" he called, but received no answer. "Bakura, are you okay?" Opening the door, he poked his pretty blonde head in, peering into the dark room with lavender eyes laced with concern.

He couldn't see what was happening, but he could hear the retching and heaving coming from the bed. He knew the sounds well and made his way over in time to push Bakura to the side, letting gravity clear his mouth and throat just enough so that he could breathe, the gasping was painful. "Bakura! Bakura, wake up!" he cried almost desperately, shaking him. What was happening? Malik was confused and looked up to see the bottle that Bakura hadn't put back in the drawer, the laminated label shining dully in the dark, barely lit by the light from the hall.

Oh, god. Oh god oh god oh god. Was Bakura trying to…there was no was he would just kill himself like that, right? Surely he wouldn't. Surely he wasn't that bad? "Bakura!" Malik was shouting, he didn't know when his voice had raised to such a level, but he was pleading loudly at his best friend, shaking him roughly as his body still tried to rid itself of the object that was making it react in such a way.

Malik reached over to turn on the lamp so that he could see Bakura's face. It was contorted in such a sick, twisted way that it nearly made him sick to see. How could he be hurting so much and not tell him? This couldn't just be it, right? Malik frowned and continued to shake him, yell and shout at him, touch his face and lightly slap at his cheek. Anything to rouse him.

When, finally, Bakura's eyes began to peel open, when his vomiting had slowed and his gasps deepened as he had more ad more access to the oxygen in the room, he saw Malik with a face that was wetter than even Malik probably imagined. Bakura felt so incredibly tired. There was a numbness beginning to spread throughout his body, and he wanted to welcome it so badly. But he also didn't want to look away from Malik and his beautiful, although weepy, face.

"Bakura!" Malik said with a cry. "Bakura, you're awake! Oh, god, are you okay? I'll get you some water, please, I'll…I can call an ambulance. How many did you take?" Again, he was rambling. There was a lot to say, and he was scared, Bakura could tell. When Malik moved to stand, likely to fetch a quick glass of water, Bakura used what strength he could muster to just take his beautifully tan hand. He didn't say anything, he just stared. He liked to stare at Malik. He liked to study his face, no matter what emotions were flashing across it. He stared often, and Malik knew. He often took advantage of Bakura's fascination. Not this time, though. "Bakura, please…"

It was as if Bakura couldn't hear him. He just stared with lazy eyes, looking at his face as if he might never see it again. Behind that weary haze in his expression, there lay a kind of fear that worried Malik to no end. A fear that Bakura really might never stare that way again, that he might have fucked up this time. He really did, didn't he? "Bakura…" he said his name, a horrified breath of a word. "Let me help you." But Bakura didn't let go of his hand. He held him in place, despite the vomit ruining the bed, despite the numbness crawling throughout his body, despite the fear in his eyes and lack of life in his face, he just held him. He held him and stared. Before he knew it, his weary eyes were beginning to fall.

"No. No no no! Bakura! Bakura, don't close your eyes! Please don't close your eyes!" Malik felt panic begin to rise within him again as he reached with his free hand to tap at Bakura's face, doing anything to keep his eyes open and on him. "Bakura, please. You can't close your eyes. You can't do this, Bakura!" There was a new pitch to his voice as he began to lose his words with desperate sob. "Bakura, please.."

It was when Bakura's grip on his hand faded and fell loose and limp that Malik really did fall into hysteria's clutches. He cried out for Bakura again and again to no avail, there was no response, and that was when he hurriedly ran for the telephone, calling an ambulance and begging for immediate help. The feeling of Bakura's hand remained like a ghost clutching his fingers, and even as the flashing lights appeared outside of his home, he knew.