Two

"Malik!" I yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. "You jerk! Come out!"

The door opened with a slight creak, and a very tired, annoyed-looking Malik Ishtar glared at me out of half-closed eyes. I nothiced that the khol, usually lining his eyes, hadn't been applied yet. "What, Ryou?" he snarled, storming past me and grabbing a shirt out of his half of the dresser

His back was to me, and I winced at the huge tattoo spanning from just below his shoulders to his very slender waist. Bakura had once told me that Malik's father had branded him with the emblem--I think it was called the "Pharaoh's Promise", or something like that. Shaking my head slightly, I remembered why I was so mad at the tomb keeper. "I know that you looked at my laptop last night."

Malik's violet eyes were blank when he turned back to me, shirt in hand. "Yeah--you yelled at me for it, remember?"

"No. I mean while I was asleep!"

He shook his blond head, golden earrings jingling quietly. "No, I didn't."

"Don't you play stupid with me. Stupidity doesn't flatter you, Malik Ishtar. I know you looked at my stories--especially the romance ones--my laptop was gapped when I woke up!" I was hysterical now.

One side of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smirk. "Okay, okay... yeah, I read your stories. You really don't portray me very well--I sounded too meek and modest--too much like you."

I sighed.

"You have a crush on my sister."

My eyes flew open. "No I don't," I said quickly, my voice strained and faltering.

"You have a crush on Ishizu!"

I spun on my heels. "Don't you dare tell anyone, do you hear me?"

"Now, why would I want to make the rest of your stay at the University of Tokyo miserable?" Eyes wide and faultless, staring imploringly up at me.

"Because you hate my guts, and I hate yours."

Tears sprung into the wide, chibi-like violet eyes. "You hate my guts?" He turned his head away. "I'm crushed. Really..."

I didn't buy his act. "And you hate mine."

"Well," Malik replied, smiling, "you wouldn't be my first choice--if I got to choose my brother-in-law."

Shoving books into my backpack, I sighed wearily--this was going to be a long day. I glanced at Malik. "Put your shirt on--you don't want Joey thinking you a punk... again."

Smirking, he did as I commanded, disappearing into the bathroom to put on his many golden bands and to rim his eyes with his liquid eyeliner.

After a long, rigorous first day at college, I was sitting on the green grass under a large oak tree outside, when Malik came jogging up. I stared at my book, not seeing it, determined that I wasn't going to look at him. "What, Malik?" I snapped, after a few moments of awkward silence.

He leaned casually against the tree, hands in the pockets of his favorite black cargo pants. "Well, I've been thinking--"

"Which can be a danger for you and Joey," I barked, still mad at him for looking at my stories. I could sense his grin as he continued--

"Our room looks horrible--what with the paint and carpet and all--and I know you don't like it neither--"

I cut him off again. "That's 'either.' "

Shrugging, hands still in pockets, he continued once more, "Whatever. You don't like it. I don't like it. I say we call a truce--you forget about the stories, I forget about this little business with Ishizu--and we do it over the way we want."

Finally looking up at him, I replied, "You're taste is too Egyptian for me."

"I can tone it down a bit, kid." He was wearing a black turtleneck, with the sleeves pushed up, underneath a lavender quilted vest which matched his eyes perfectly. The usual gold glittered at his neck, arms, ears, fingers and, for once, his forehead; Malik had decided to wear his ceremonial headband today.

Pushing my silvery-white bangs out of my eyes, I gazed up at him, the book laying, forgotten, in my lap. "Really? You really want to fix up our dorm?"

"Hello! I hate it! The decor so doesn't express my inner artistic strengths!" Malik slid down the trunk until he was seated on the ground beside me, arms resting on his knees. "So, let's talk decorating..."

The teenaged Egyptian and I began to discuss our dorm--Malik had some really great, non-Egyptian ideas--apparently, in history class he was thinking of this instead of the bubonic plague! We agreed on painting two of the walls lime green, and the other two ice blue, on staining the dresser and bed-frames, on buying one set of dark blue bedcovers, and one set of laverder covers, and on purchasing lavender curtains.

Following Malik to the parking lot, I said, "Where are you going?"

"I'll meet you at the home repair depot a couple of blocks over, okay?" He strapped his black helmet on, and I noticed the flames painted on the sides. When I didn't reply, he kicked his motorcycle to life and asked, "Wait. You do have a car, don't you?"

"Yes. I've got a Mustang."

"Really?" The teenager sounded shocked as he straddled his Harley Davidson motorcycle. "I'll see you there, Ryou." With that, he slammed his boot on the gas, holding his wheelie until he drove out of the parking lot.

I looked after him, stunned. "Crap! He's gotten good!" I whispered, walking to my Mustang and climbing into the driver's seat.