Ok so. Half of this is just an experiment to see how well I can figure out Faniction's upload policies... so far, kinda confusing. But, I guess I managed it all ok. Um, for now, the title is kinda crap, I really couldn't think of anything good on the spot so I may change it later when a better idea strikes me.

This is a Yu-gi-oh yaoi fanfiction. Yes, you have all been warned. I do not OWN anything from Yu-gi-oh or it's creator, but I wish I did because then I'd make sooooo many changes. Especially with shippings. XD I do own this story though. It came from my brain. Just the characters didn't... but my representation of them is all mine! MINE! Ahaha!

The main pairing is Marik/Yami Bakura. The second prominent couple is Joey/Mai. But that comes later.

Rated M for mature. In fact, I may have to upload a later chapter to a different website because of possible X ratings...

You're welcome.

Anyway, if you find this and read it, enjoy! I apologize in advance for any drastic changes I may make on the location of the story, its title, or anything else the computer gods command of me. Remember, comments are always welcome, but flames will be returned tenfold.

- Rin Reiko

He's never been easy to love. But then again, I wouldn't expect him to be.

"Marik! Stop staring into space and get over here!" he barked, his cold gaze flashing with impatience as he carried a large brown box in through the front door. I scrambled over to help him, my bare feet navigating over the sparse clutter of the small living room we share as I took the other end of the package in hand.

It's not in his nature to make anyone's life easy, and he wouldn't be himself if he were any kinder.

With a synchronized grunt, we lifted the load and shuffled it over to the low coffee table, setting it on top with a satisfied thud. Shaking out my hands, I watched while he wordlessly dragged the rest of his items inside the apartment: a couple bags of groceries, his favorite black overcoat, and some dry cleaning he picked up, which he immediately draped over the back of an old armchair with the coat in an exhausted fashion. His lean, angular face was set in a tedious look as he hauled the groceries off to the kitchen, the naturally white shimmer of his hair whisking out of my sight as abruptly as it had appeared.

And although it hurts, and he'll never change, I simply can't live without him.

I glanced at the frayed box and sighed.

The problem is, he knows I can't either.

"Bakura!" I called, still eyeing the large brown intrusion curiously. It had no symbols, no descriptions, nothing. Not even a "Careful: Fragile" warning. "What's all this about?"

A growl answered me, strained from his bending down to put something in the fridge. "Can't you at least wait 'til I'm done here? It's not like you're helping me."

True.

So I waited, sitting on the couch in front of the box. It occurred to me recently that I was getting better at giving him space. Used to be that I'd come back at him relentlessly, with all sorts of excuses and clarifications and accusations and words, words, words, words, words. It drove him nuts.

Took me damn near forever to understand that he hates words.

And he's still with me, why?

Finally, the white head emerged from around the corner, wiping off his hands on his dark blue jeans. I always loved him in those jeans. I smiled, giving him a quick mental glance over as he approached me and the box. He didn't catch it though as he folded his arms and circled around it once.

"So?..." I ventured, after a moment of silence, taking a break from ogling his movements under the denim.

"Oh right, the box thing," he replied casually, just now remembering my earlier question. He does that a lot with me. "Well, I guess it's a present of some sorts."

I blinked. "For me?"

He flicked his finger on my head, scolding me. "No dummy, for me." He scowled, fishing out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and tossing it on my lap. "Was waiting at the landlord's with this attached."

I rubbed my head to soothe the throb and looked at the note. It had the Warden's seal on the top of the thick paper, now lined with crinkles and folds, and was typed professionally, as these sorts of things are. It read:

To: Ryou Bakura

From: Domino City Infirmary and Mental Health Division, Warden Maximillion Pegasus, Esq.

We believe in providing our patients, both past and present, with any necessary materials for the benefit of their well-being and overall health. Please accept this care package as a token of our good faith and congratulations on completing our course. There is no charge for the item(s), and we hope you will find them useful in case of an emergency.

Best wishes,

...llon… gasus and… . pany

And from there the last part was illegible, seeing as some form of liquid had smudged out the parting line. I looked at Bakura with another sigh.

"You didn't spit on it, did you?
"What, you thought I would cry instead?" he scoffed, still encircling the box. "Feh… like I would have any tears to spare on that place. The Clinic has always been a joke, and still is."

That's what he called it. The Clinic. Which is probably why they're still sending him care packages. "Is that why you dragged their present in here then?" I quipped, tossing the rejected note into a small wastebasket. "If you hate them, just dump it."

He gave me a look at that. Patting the top of the box lightly, dusting it off, he finished his circling to stand before me between the couch and coffee table. "If I left the thing in the office, the landlord would be on my ass until we took it. If I dumped it, someone else would find it, and who knows what kinds of things he sent me. But if I keep it…."

"You'll just keep complaining about how it reminds you of that place. Because we both know you're not going to use it." I added, flipping through a magazine from on the floor. Usually, I would show him I was paying attention, but it was one of those nothings that he likes to obsess over, and I think he knew that too. Even though he stole my magazine right after.

"No. If I keep it, I can keep him off my back." He replied, sitting beside me and propping his legs up on the inch of table around the box, magazine on the floor once again. I leaned back into the cushions, just waiting for him to explain. He likes to be dramatic sometimes. "Pegasus is just an attention whore with too much power. If he sees that I kept his damn present, he won't have to send me more. If I don't use it… " he smirked. "It'll be like an anonymous kick in the nuts to his bullshit."

If I didn't find his smirk so hot, I would've called him childish.

"Like he'd know if you threw it out anyway…" was all I said, giving him a sideways glance. "I doubt Pegasus cares about the package. All he wants is to remind you that even though a piece of paper says you're sane, he still thinks of you as crazy."

His smile thinned at that, bristling with cold. Mentally, I was kicking myself. I knew I shouldn't have said anything… knew I should've just let him have his moment… but once again, I couldn't help myself. He stood up and headed to the kitchen again, his voice trailing back to me over his shoulder.

"You just don't get it, Marik."

A year or two ago, I would've felt the jab in my chest. But I guess after so many years of knowing someone, their habits start to roll off your shoulder, leaving only a numbing feeling behind. I gazed at the box before me, feet resting on the edge of the table and mimicking his earlier position. I wasn't worried about his mood; he might hold a grudge, but it could be easily warmed over with his favorite dinner and some more ego-stroking. His pride was dinged, but not wounded- an easy error to correct.

At the moment, the box was a far more ominous figure on my mind.

I stood to pick up the dry cleaning and put it away in our closet. Once he'd migrated from the kitchen, I'd start on that apology dinner, maybe even give him a shoulder massage like he likes. The steps it takes to nurse his ego back to health surprise me in their simplicity, how rudimentary and routine they've become over the years of trial and error. How adept I could be at molding his mood back into whatever shape I desired. I sighed, thinking about this.

He's never been easy to love, but he sure is getting easier to imitate.