Next update is here, at a much more sensible hour haha. It is rather different to the last chapter; there is a lot more angst, and I can't help but feel it's a little dialogue heavy. Still, it was fun to write, so I hope it will be fun to read. XD

To guest reviewer Amy: Thank you so much! Next chapter is here haha. I'm so pleased you enjoyed it! ^_^

So, anyway, I hope you like this chapter! – Jem

Marik awoke slowly with the distinct thought that he really wished he was still sleeping.

He was wrapped in something warm, sheets soft under his chin as he turned reluctantly onto his back. As he rose further out of his sleep, Marik became aware of a trickling sound dribbling into his pounding head, soothing the desperate ache pressing on his temples. Marik groaned, refusing to open his eyes. His lids felt gritty.

The trickling stopped, interrupted by a rustle, before a low chord rang back through Marik's head, followed by a long rippling chain of notes. Marik knew that sound, and smiled when he realised that Bakura must be practising. He didn't realise the piano sounded this clear through the wall separating their rooms, though...

Wait...

Marik blinked his eyes open in sudden shock, dread slamming into his gut. Sure enough, he wasn't in his bedroom; the desk was on the wrong side, the floor covered with tatty clothes that Marik knew would never belong to him; the bed was covered in unfamiliar dark sheets, thankfully pulled tight around Marik's completely naked form. Casting worried violet eyes around the room and blinking away the remainder of sleep dust, Marik froze when he looked to the end of the bed and spotted the piano; sat at the stool was a tall, black-coated form, with long pale hair flowing down his back.

Marik dived back under the covers.

He was in Bakura's room. Bakura's room. Naked, in Bakura's bed, in Bakura's room. Marik let out a muffled groan, shoving the sheets up to his face to stifle the sound before it could reach Bakura's ears. The piano was still playing, so Marik guessed he had gone unnoticed so far, but Marik was not naive enough to think that he would be able to slip out of this room unnoticed. No doubt Bakura would want to gloat. Marik flipped onto his front, finding the pillow and burying his head deep in the soft feathers, pulling the covers fully over his head and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He couldn't believe what had happened. His head was throbbing painfully, sending hazes of red darting across his vision, bringing along with them flashes from the night before. The club, where Kek had abandoned him ... the idiocy of Yami and Tea ... and Bakura, coming along to rescue him...

Lips brushing...

Pale skin ripping beneath tan fingers, dark covers being tossed to the floor...

Marik shuddered and cut the memories off; the aching of his muscles and the oiliness of his skin were tribute enough to what happened next. He really wanted a shower. Getting up would mean facing Bakura, though, and Marik was absolutely loathe to deal with the inevitable bitching that came along with that. Things could not get much worse this morning, although, Marik thought with a certain grim satisfaction, at least Bakura would be the one having trouble walking today.

"So, you're finally awake then."

Marik instantly froze under the covers, his whole body stiffening. The piano was still playing, but the notes became less frequent, and then a dark chuckle sounded through the room. "Come on. I know you're awake under there."

Marik hissed, his fingers fisting in the sheets under the pillow. No way was he getting out of bed with Bakura still in the room.

The piano stopped and footsteps crossed the room. Something was flung on the bed, accompanied by another dark chuckle from Bakura. "You can get dressed under there if you're uncomfortable."

Marik growled. "Insufferable bastard."

"Oh, you do speak." There was mirth in Bakura's tone, only serving to increase the anger steadily growing in Marik's stomach. With a low hiss, Marik wriggled under the covers, grabbing the clothes Bakura had tossed him and pulling them on quickly, refusing to surface. He wouldn't give Bakura the satisfaction.

Unfortunately, Bakura had other ideas. As soon as Marik had stopped moving, the covers were tugged from the side and Marik's flushed face was revealed. With a startled squawk, Marik lunged forwards and grabbed the edge of the sheet, tugging it back towards him and trying to bury himself once more, only for Bakura to pull them fully out of his grip, sending Marik tumbling clumsily to the ground. He landed painfully on his side, wincing as the movement sent sharp stabs of pain to the front of his head; he fisted his hands in his hair, tugging the strands in an effort to distract himself. Marik released a long groan.

Laughter sounded from somewhere above him. "God, Ishtar. You're a mess when you're hungover."

"For the last fucking time, my name is Marik!" With another loud groan, Marik rolled onto his front and pressed his face into the sheets on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut. The room was only faintly lit by the small strands of sun that fought their way through Bakura's dark curtains, but it was enough to shoot pinpricks of pain through Marik's eyes. Coupled with the ache pulsing by his temples, all Marik really wanted was to crawl back into bed and stay there, probably forever.

Another low chuckle sounded and something nudged Marik's side. "Much as I'm enjoying the hilarity of this situation, you can't sleep on my floor. Plus, you stink. Go get a shower."

"Only a sadistic bastard like you would find this funny," Marik growled.

Bakura just laughed. "On the contrary. Looking at the state of you, anyone would find this funny."

"Shut the fuck up," Marik growled. "This is all your fucking fault."

Bakura quirked an eyebrow, stepping away from Marik and resting against the wall, crossing his arms. "My fault? And how did you arrive at that conclusion, hm?"

"Of course it's your fault," Marik hissed, clambering awkwardly to his feet with one hand pressed to his throbbing forehead. "You got me drunk and dragged me back here -"

"Dragged you?" Bakura's tone turned dark, his brows furrowing. "As I recall, no dragging was required. You were just as keen as I was. Keener, in fact."

Marik growled, his violet eyes flashing as he glared angrily at Bakura. "I was drunk!"

"Well, at least you're admitting to it this time." Bakura's smirk was back on his face, his dark brown eyes dancing when he ran them over Marik's form. "You really are a mess, you know. If I'd known you'd look like this in the morning, I never would have slept with you."

Marik's back bristled. Resisting the urge to punch Bakura, Marik took a deep, calming breath, allowing his eyes to slide closed before forcing them open again. "I never asked you to. You jumped me."

"I think your memory's a little off." Bakura leant his head back against the wall, smug grin spreading across his lips. "You made the first move."

"Because you are fucking manipulative." Marik grabbed his head in his hands, trying to think through the haze of red decorating his vision. Vaguely, he registered that Bakura was right; Marik had kissed him first. But Bakura had just been there... "Fuck," Marik mumbled, dropping his hands dejectedly. "I did not want my first time to be like this."

Silence held in the room for a long, heavy moment, and Marik slid his eyes shut. Dark laughter soon cut across his thoughts, forcing his lids open again. Bakura was grinning, but it was wild and feral; Marik did not like it at all.

"Aw, poor little Egyptian." Bakura's tone was teasing, but there was an underlay of venom that Marik hadn't heard from him for a while. "Did you think sex was all about love and fulfilment? That couples are meant to kiss and cuddle and live happily ever after without any fights or hurt or anger? Life doesn't work like that, Ishtar."

Marik stared at him, his brow creasing. "I'm not a total dumbass. I know it doesn't always work like that. But I didn't want to just have random meaningless sex with the first fucking person who gets me drunk at a bar!"

"I'm sorry to be such a disappointment," Bakura spat, his jaw set and his brows heavy over his eyes. "And I didn't get you drunk – you did that all by yourself."

"You took advantage," Marik growled. His knees shook a little as he shifted his weight, brushing sticky blond bangs out of his eyes as he glared at Bakura. He hated this situation, hated the anger flashing in Bakura's eyes, hated the way his heart was racing and his head was pounding, and all he wanted was to get out of there. He took a shaky step forwards, only for Bakura to throw an arm out to stop him, his eyes boring straight through Marik's skull.

"Is that what you really think?"

Marik couldn't place Bakura's tone; it was laced with the ever-present anger, but underneath that was something else, something Marik couldn't fathom. He was too tired for Bakura's games.

"Let me go," Marik mumbled, attempting to walk forwards again, but Bakura caught his sleeve and held him firmly in place, ignoring Marik's struggles and protests.

"Do you really think," Bakura hissed, his eyes dark slits set deep in his face, "That I took advantage? You practically threw yourself at me, Marik! What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"You could have said no!" Marik flung the words out without stopping to think them through, his desperation to be out of this conversation the predominate thought in his head. There wasn't room for anything else. He just wanted out. "You could have just left me the fuck alone, and then we wouldn't be in this mess. But no, you had to fucking use me for your own fucking desires with no mind to how I might be feeling, you just carried on as if what you wanted was the only thing that mattered, like you always do. You treat me like your fucking slave as it is. You don't care what other people might want, as long as you get what you want, and I'm fucking sick of it. Now let me go."

Bakura's face was white and drawn with fury, his grip painfully tight on Marik's arm, his dark eyes burning ferociously. Marik glared right back at him, his own violet eyes flashing, his mouth a thin line. Silence held between them for a long moment, neither backing down, until Bakura finally thrust Marik away from him with a furious snarl.

"Fine then, Ishtar," Bakura spat. "Get the hell out of here. I'm fucking sick of you."

Marik turned on him. "You're sick of me? You're the one whose fault this is! I did absolutely nothing wrong..."

"You call getting drunk and fucking me, and then hating every second of it in the morning, 'nothing'?" Bakura questioned harshly, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the tension in his shoulders betraying his true fury.

Marik glared right back. "You know full well that I had no control over myself."

"Seemed like you did to me, Ishtar," Bakura growled. "I didn't fucking force you."

"You manipulated!" Marik yelled. "You manipulated, like you always do, and I can't -"

Bakura interrupted, his jaw set. "Always? Like when?"

"Like calling me by my fucking surname although you know I hate that, and always being around when I don't want you anywhere near me, and calming me down when I'm upset and angry and playing the damn piano so well that I start to think we might actually be getting along, and then you go and do something like this and I know you were just playing me the whole time, and I have had enough." Marik fumed, drawing deep breaths into his lungs, ignoring the flash of something foreign that crossed Bakura's features. "I don't fucking care what you think, and I sure as hell know that you don't give a damn about me. So just stay the fuck away from me until I can find a flat of my own."

Bakura's expression remained stoical when Marik finished; the only part of him betraying emotion were those burning brown eyes. His tone, when he spoke, was dark and dripping with something that Marik couldn't place. "What makes you think I'm going to just let you leave?"

Marik was brought up short, his eyes momentarily widening. Bakura glared back, his features dropping into a scowl. "You don't call the shots here, Ishtar – I do. And you are going to do as I say."

"Like hell I am," Marik hissed.

Bakura snarled, his lip curling, and Marik actually took a step back. Bakura advanced, his features set in a deep frown, forcing Marik to backtrack with fast steps, cursing under his breath when his back met the wall and Bakura was still coming closer with those dangerous brown eyes. Bakura leaned over him, pale fist landing on the wall above his head and Marik's skin crawled, his expression defiant. He needed to get out, he had to get away because Bakura was leaning closer...

A fist hitting cheap wood sounded from the hallway.

A knock at the door.

Bakura growled, low in his throat, and Marik's heart stopped beating. They continued glaring, at perfect eye-level with each other, Bakura half-bent over Marik before he flung himself away and hissed, "Go answer the door."

Marik, for once, didn't argue in his rush to get out of Bakura's room. He fled through the door without a backwards glance, slamming it pointedly shut behind him, uncaring as to whether or not Bakura tried to follow him. Marik averted his eyes from Bakura's long black coat, sprawled in the corridor along with Marik's thin jacket, pushing back the memories of the previous night as he flung the door open.

Marik groaned when he saw who was leering at him.

"Marik! That isn't any way to greet your cousin, now is it?" Kek's grin stretched, splitting his face in half as he took in Marik's rather dishevelled appearance. "You look a mess. Did you actually manage to get laid last night? Because I know I promised to leave you alone about Bakura, but honestly, it's too much fun to see you getting so wound up..."

"Shut the fuck up." Marik attempted to slam the door right in his face, only for Kek to catch it with one large hand. Marik growled and stalked away from the door, heading straight for the kitchen. His throat was parched.

Kek tilted his head, confusion covering his features at Marik's strange behaviour. Entering the kitchen behind him, Kek crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching as his cousin downed a glass of water before pouring himself another one. "Alright, Marik, spill. What's got into you?"

Marik took another long draft of water, setting the glass carefully on the counter before resting his elbows beside it and burying his head in his hands. His whole body cowed in on itself, his bones folding as he shook a little. He had never felt so pathetic. Marik's head was pounding, his eyes gritty and sore, his throat aching and his hair sticky. The last thing he needed to deal with was Kek's teasing.

Footsteps crossed the kitchen and Kek laid one hand on his cousin's arm. "I'm serious, Marik. What's going on?"

"I think I could tell you that."

Marik groaned and sank further onto the counter at the all-too-familiar dark voice that sounded from the doorway. Kek looked between Marik and Bakura, taking in their dishevelled appearances and the obvious tension in the room, and his face cracked into a wide grin. "Have you two finally fucked?"

Marik winced, his hands curling into fists, and Bakura hissed. His brown eyes were still burning. Kek missed the negative reactions, though, breaking into loud laughter. "Oh, Gods, finally. When I told you to pull, Marik, I didn't necessarily mean Bakura. I thought you were trying to prove you didn't want to get with him?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Marik wrenched away from the counter, fixing his cousin with the darkest glare he could manage. "If you hadn't fucking abandoned me, this would never have happened."

"And of course, it's everybody else's fault," Bakura spat from his corner.

Marik turned on him. "Don't you fucking start again."

"You need to accept some responsibility here, Ishtar," Bakura growled.

Marik seethed, but Kek laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "Relax. I got this." Turning to Bakura, Kek couldn't hold back another grin. "Kaiba is going to be in stitches when he sees the state of you."

Marik's head shot round to stare at his cousin. Kaiba? How the hell did Kek know that name?

Bakura snorted, the sound lacking its usual sarcasm. "Good job I'm not seeing him today then."

"You are," Kek corrected, his grin widening. "He wants to see all of us; told me to pass on the message. That's why I'm here, he wants us there as fast as we can so we should probably go..."

"Fine, I'm coming," Bakura snapped, pushing himself off the wall and crossing to the sink. "Just let me eat something. That one snores, so I hardly got a wink of sleep."

Marik looked between Kek and Bakura, too confused to even rise to Bakura's comment. Kaiba wanted to see Bakura and Kek? What was going on here? Marik's head was still throbbing as he tried to join the dots, glaring harshly at his cousin. "Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?"

Kek's grin didn't falter as he gestured to Bakura, who rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure, let's give Marik another reason to scream at me."

"I'm not screaming," Marik hissed, his voice dangerously low. "Tell me what the fuck you're talking about."

Bakura sighed loudly, finishing Marik's water and ignoring his death glare before crossing his arms and planting his feet firmly on the floor, his chin tilted at an arrogant angle. "I gave Kek a job. Well, Kaiba did, at my recommendation, and now we've got a meeting. You may as well come along, I don't want you alone in the flat."

"Like fuck." Marik growled, his hands curling into fists. This explained Kek's fancy apartment, but Marik felt inherently betrayed – how could his cousin agree to work with someone that he knew Marik hated? And behind Marik's back, no less! Marik could feel hot anger coursing through his veins, his ability to control his emotions distinctly lacking as he started to speak again. "Gods, I should have known. I can't rely on anyone in this fucking country." Marik ignored the questioning stare from his cousin and turned to exit the kitchen. More than anything now, he was tired, and he didn't want to shout anymore. He just wanted to curl up in some dark corner and never leave.

Unfortunately, Bakura had other ideas.

Just as Marik made it to the door, a pale hand wrapped around his arm and swung him firmly back around. Marik cursed, pulling away, but Bakura's grip was tight and his eyes were still burning. "I am not leaving you alone here," he growled, ignoring Marik's protests. "You'll destroy the flat, knowing you. Get some proper clothes on and come with me."

"Like hell!" Marik wrenched himself free and glared between Bakura and his cousin. "I want no part in whatever the fuck you two conniving bastards are coming up with."

Bakura hissed. "You're not staying -"

"No," Marik cut in, his tone dangerously cold. "I'm not." Without a second glance, Marik spun on his heel and exited the kitchen, heading out of the flat as fast as he could.

...

It was freezing.

Rain drove down from the overcast sky, hard pellets of water striking wherever they saw fit and instantly soaking anyone and anything caught in their path. The droplets bounced off the cement of the pavement, pooling in harsh puddles between the cracks of the tiles, running along the dark grey stone and dripping ceaselessly onto the tarmac road. Everything about this city was grey, the bright neon lights from the night before barely a memory, the electricity deadened in the soaking wet air. Marik paced the streets with his light jacket clutched tightly around him, inadequate hood pulled over most of his wild blonde hair, the rain running in two streams from the tip of his hood past his eyes. He flicked the water away with an irritated swipe of his hand, soaked to the bone and shivering, but it was better out here than in that flat.

Marik had lost track of how long he'd been walking, the sun too deeply hidden for him to have any true sense of time. His feet were aching, his hands two frozen appendages on the ends of his arms, his body wracked with shivers and covered in goosebumps. Marik paid no attention, though. His mind was too firmly fixed on anger, hurt, and shame.

He couldn't stay in that flat. Marik knew for sure now that any further contact with Bakura would end in disaster and the sooner he was away from that arrogant bastard, the better. Frustration rose in his gut at the thought, but Marik knew he had to be sensible; with Bakura's mind games and masterful manipulation, Marik knew that he would go crazy if he had to stay there for any longer. He would talk to the Accommodation Officer again and demand that list of free flats – it was well into November, after all, there had to be somewhere he could move. Two months living with Bakura was enough for anyone.

Marik kicked angrily at the stone as his thoughts returned to his pale flatmate. He had actually started to believe that living with Bakura was a possibility – that some aspects of it could even be nice. Falling asleep to the sounds of the piano every night was something exceedingly pleasant, and Marik had to admit that as much as Bakura's sarcastic comments wound him up, he enjoyed needling Bakura in return, their arguments more often than not making him laugh. Not like this morning's.

Marik winced when he remembered the harsh words flung between them both. That look Bakura had given him, his dark eyes burning, his face whiter than Marik had ever seen it before, the tendons in his hands standing out as his fingers clenched into fists ... Marik shuddered just at the memory. No one had ever looked at him with such hatred before. Marik felt sick to his stomach, remembering how different Bakura had looked the previous night, writhing beneath him with such a look of ecstasy...

Marik wrenched his mind out of the gutter, seething. Bakura was a manipulative ass.

The rain forced Marik's clothes to stick to his body, freezing his already cold form right down to the bones. Marik shivered, teeth chattering; his fingers were numb. He had never been this cold. Drawing in a shaky breath, Marik decided it would probably be sensible to start getting back to the flat – he must have been out for hours, and it was really unpleasant out here. Marik's head was a little clearer, the throbbing behind his temples lessened with the freezing air. He walked with hurried steps back through the city, entering the warmth of his block and shaking his head, the saturated hood falling back from his golden locks. Marik waited for the lift this time, his frozen limbs complaining, his arms wrapped tightly around his dripping torso. The journey up to the sixth floor seemed to take much longer than Marik remembered, serving only to increase the trepidation Marik could feel pooling in his gut. He really didn't want to have to deal with Bakura again.

The lift doors opened and Marik stepped out, nibbling his lower lip nervously. The flat door looked innocently up at him, his keys a familiar weight in his hand. Marik just stopped and stared at the wood for a while.

Perhaps Bakura is out, Marik tried to reassure himself. Whatever business he and Kek had with Kaiba sounded fairly urgent. They might not be back yet. Still, it was several more minutes before Marik finally worked up the courage to turn the key in the lock and push the door open.

He knew Bakura was in from the moment he entered. The long black coat was gone from the hall and trickles of piano music drifted through the air, the notes agitated and angry, crashing chords and dissonant harmonies weaving a complex web in Marik's head. He closed his eyes, sighing, but at least if Bakura was practising then he shouldn't want to start another argument.

Marik took a step down the hallway and the music faltered slightly. Marik froze, his heart in his mouth, as silence rang through the air; the moment could have lasted an age. Marik swallowed, a little ashamed of the relief that washed through his veins when the piano sounded once again. He continued on down the hallway, entering his own room, his hair still dripping.

Marik spent the afternoon quietly, keeping to himself. He jumped into the shower as fast as he could, washing the last evidence of the previous night from his skin and feeling much better afterwards. Whilst he waited for his hair to dry, Marik sat at his desk and drew mindlessly, not really paying attention to the doodles he scratched into the paper with harsh, dark strokes of his pencil. The piano was an ever-present companion, the soft trickles through his ears reminder enough that all was not well in this flat. Marik knew he would have to run into Bakura again at some point, but for just then, he was content enough to lock himself away in his room and draw.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts momentarily and Marik froze, his pencil coming to a halt on the fresh page he was marking. He didn't really want to have to answer with the state he was in, and it was probably nothing important – Bakura could get it for once. Sure enough, after a few minutes and another soft knock, the piano stopped playing and footsteps echoed through the flat. Marik went back to scratching at his page, cocking one ear more out of habit than any interest.

"Hello, Bakura."

Marik's eyebrows shot up in shock. That sounded like ... but why would he be coming here? Moving with a fluid grace, Marik slipped to his door and pressed his ear to the wood, peering through the peephole with narrowed eyes. Bakura was clearly visible, long white hair falling in a tangled mess down his back, and Marik had to suppress a shudder as he remembered what those strands had felt like under his tan fingers. Bakura's shoulders were tensed, his hands curled into fists by his sides, his tone dark when he spoke. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I need to talk to you."

Marik definitely recognised that voice. Before he could think better of it, Marik pulled his door open and stepped out into the hallway, ignoring Bakura's dark glare as he looked past the pale student's thin, angry form. "Yami? What are you doing here?"

The spiky-haired student met Marik's eyes with a small smile, his brow creased slightly. "I need to discuss something with Bakura."

"Do I finally get to find out why he hates you so much?" Marik took a step closer, ignoring Bakura's snarl despite the goosebumps it raised on his bare arms.

Yami's expression closed. He swallowed once. "I think that's up to Bakura," he responded stiffly, keeping his back straight as he turned back to the music student. "Look, I need to talk to you about Ryou. Yugi tells me that my grandfather's getting ill, he's going to need full-time care soon and he won't be able to keep caring for them. Ryou said he would ring you about this – has he got in touch? What are you going to do?"

Marik's eyes widened in surprise, his jaw dropping as he stared at Yami. Bakura growled before he could say anything, muttering, "It isn't any of your business, Yami, as you know better than anyone."

"Look," Yami continued patiently. "I know you don't like me, and you have every reason not to, but you need to start taking responsibility for your brother."

"Don't you dare tell me what I need to do," Bakura hissed, advancing one threatening step.

Yami held his ground, his eyes clear. "Call Ryou. You need to talk to him."

Bakura stayed silent, his eyes burning as they fixed on Yami. Marik frowned, edging closer still and catching Yami's arm. "I presume Ryou is Bakura's brother? Because I've walked in on Bakura yelling down the phone at someone plenty of times this week, so I guess -"

"Shut it, Ishtar."

Marik jumped at the venom-laced words, ripped as they were through Bakura's gritted teeth and thin lips. That dark brown glare was turned on Marik now, searing straight through his head with a hatred Marik had never felt before. The sheer force of it drove him back a step.

Yami looked between them, frown deepening. "Bakura, if Ryou's already tried calling you then you have got to get back to him. He needs you."

"I don't fucking care," Bakura growled. He wrenched his gaze away from Marik, advancing instead on Yami with hatred marring his features. "Get out of my flat."

Yami shook his head, his eyes almost disappointed as he watched Bakura's approach. "I feel sorry for Ryou. He needs you, but you aren't man enough to step up and help him."

"I am giving you fair warning." Bakura's tone was flat and expressionless, frighteningly cold. "If you aren't out of here in three seconds, I won't be responsible for my actions."

Yami sighed, backing up with raised hands, his features still pitying. "Alright. I'm going home over Christmas with Tea, we're going to try and take care of grandpa, but if he keeps getting worse then you're going to have to find somewhere else for Ryou to stay. I'm just passing on the message." With a last nod in Marik's direction, Yami turned and exited the flat, the door closing behind him with a sense of finality.

Tense silence held through the hall once he had left. Marik watched Bakura warily, noting the way the pale student's features fell back into a stoical expression, the only sign of his emotions the deep burning of his brown eyes. Marik swallowed, licking his dry lips. "...Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

A snarl was all the response Marik got, but he pushed on regardless; he was fed up of just being treated like nothing by Bakura. "Sounds like you need to give your brother a call."

"Oh, really?" Bakura sneered, turning his dark frown on Marik. "Well, guess I'll just fucking call him then. Let's see how well that goes, shall we?" With an almost sadistic smirk, far removed from the smug look Marik had woken up to that morning, Bakura whipped his phone out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons, flinging it almost violently to his ear. Marik felt trepidation pool in his gut, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Tension built in the air between them as they waited for the person on the other end of the line to pick up. Marik could hear faint noises, but no distinct words, not that it really mattered; the sneer twisting Bakura's lips told him all he needed to know.

"Why, hello there, dearest brother. I've just had a delightful visit from my good friend Yami. Care to tell me what your problem is?"

Marik winced at the sarcasm weighing heavily on Bakura's tone, hardly surprised when the voice at the other end of the line sounded like muffled shouts. Bakura rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, cutting across the noise with a heavy sigh. "If you're just going to whine, I'm hanging up. Now, listen here – I don't give a damn what you do, but whatever situation you find yourself in, stay out of my way. I don't want to hear from you anymore, and I don't need Yami whining at me because you've been complaining at Yugi. Shut it, Ryou – I don't want to hear it. My position is perfectly clear. You are nothing to do with me. Have a nice life." The phone was disconnected and back in Bakura's pocket in no time, the pale student apparently perfectly calm except for those still burning eyes. "There. Happy now, Ishtar? Get out of my way."

Marik stared with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He had known Bakura could be rude, but to talk like that to his own brother...

The guy had serious problems.

Bakura sighed loudly, tapping his foot with impatience decorating his tone. "Ishtar. Move. I want to get into my room."

Marik blinked, shaking his head. "...I can't believe you just did that."

"You asked me to call him, so I did," Bakura struggled to keep his tone even. "Now get out of my fucking way."

"That was your brother! Your own brother, and you're just abandoning him!" Shock was apparent in Marik's voice as he turned on Bakura.

Bakura hissed. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"I know what that just sounded like," Marik disagreed, feeling anger course through his veins. "You can't just strand your brother like that – Yami said he needs you, you can't give up on him..."

"Ishtar," Bakura interrupted. His nostrils were flaring, his face absolutely white, his lips drawn into a thin line. "I suggest you stop talking right now, before I do something I will regret."

Marik scoffed. "Oh, because it's perfectly fine for you to stick your nose in my family business, but I'm not allowed to comment on yours? Yeah, that's fair."

"Shut. Up."

Marik ignored him. "Gods, and I thought I had a crappy family. At least I have siblings who actually give a damn about me. I feel very sorry for your brother if the only person he's got to rely on is you – you're quite clearly worthless."

Marik had gone too far.

Bakura moved before Marik had any chance of reacting, slamming into Marik with enough force to send him tumbling to the ground. Bakura didn't leave it there, though; he swiftly rolled Marik onto his front, gripping his arms and pulling them round behind his back, twisting them painfully. Marik grunted, his eyes watering as he shifted and kicked but Bakura was too fast, straddling Marik's backside with ease whilst keeping his arms in an iron grip. Bakura dug his elbow into the crook of Marik's neck, digging in to the pressure point and causing Marik to let out a very undignified squeal. Bakura didn't release him as he leaned closer, his lips hissing poison into Marik's ear.

"Don't push your luck, Ishtar," Bakura growled, ignoring Marik's weak struggles as he held him fast into the carpet. "I've been soft on you so far, but don't think you can threaten me."

Marik snarled, bucking underneath him only for Bakura to tighten his legs and increase the pressure on his arms. Marik bit the carpet to hold back his scream of pain.

"I mean it, Ishtar," Bakura hissed, his cool breath searing Marik's earlobe. "Don't push your luck."

Marik writhed in fury, hating the way Bakura had trapped him so effectively, hating being at the mercy of someone so vindictive. He twisted his head just enough to spit out a retort. "At least I can still walk straight today, Touzoku."

Bakura slammed his head back into the carpet, ignoring Marik's hiss of pain. He didn't say anything more, giving Marik's arms a final twist before releasing him, stamping once on his hand for good measure. Marik lay there, panting as he tried to regain feeling in his arms, forcing himself into a painful sitting position. Bakura was long gone, of course. Marik allowed his eyes to slide shut, his back falling into place against the wall, shaking his arms out by his sides to rid them of the pins and needles racing through his blood. It had been a while since he had angered Bakura enough to cause a physical attack.

Marik drew in a shaky breath. His headache was back, his muscles tired and aching, and all Marik wanted to do was crawl between his own sheets. He resolved to talk to the Accommodation Officer tomorrow, to make sure he was getting a flat of his own – there was no way he was staying with Bakura after this.

So, yeah, sorry about that angsty chapter. Tuesday's one should make everything a bit clearer, hopefully, so bear with me. ^_^ Huge thanks to everyone reading/reviewing/faving/following, I'm really grateful. XD I hope you enjoyed this update! - Jem