A/N These chapters sure look a lot longer in Word than on this website.
"Bakura, for the love of Ra, wake the fuck up! It's nearly noon and if you want to come to the store with me to get something you'll eat, you'd best hurry up or I'm leaving you," Marik banged on the door of the guest room for the second time that morning. Bakura turned over on the bed and pulled the blanket over his head to shield himself from the idea of getting up. It had been three days since he'd arrived at Marik's apartment and they'd spent little time together. Marik, oh, sorry, Namu had been spending long hours at work, something about a big project he needed to get done on time. Bakura assumed he finished yesterday as Marik slept in today. Bakura had been up to his old tricks, taking late night strolls through the nearby neighborhoods, though he wasn't looking for anything in particular and rarely stole anything off passersby. The thief had been out until three that particular morning and would appreciate less obnoxious banging on his door when he was trying to sleep.
He heard Marik's overdramatized sounds of getting ready to leave, sounding as if he purposely slammed his hand on every surface he touched, "Alright, I'm leaving, enjoy starving to death, Fluffy." The last word was laced with smugness and amusement Bakura did not care for. He threw the covers off his body and stormed out the door into the living room. Marik's feigned surprise pissed him off even more; he grabbed the boy by his collar and held his face close threateningly. "What. Did. You. Call. Me?" he paused after each word to emphasize his irritation. He saw red when Marik burst out laughing and he roughly pushed the giggling bastard away.
"You can't threaten me with bedhead like that, Bakura," the slightly taller boy coughed out between laughs as he regained his footing, "You look absolutely ridiculous."
"I'm going to fucking kill you, Ishtar."
"Yeah, yeah, you can kill me after you brush your hair," Marik chuckled. Insulted and irritated, the wild-haired albino turned and headed towards their shared bathroom. "Oh, and Bakura," Marik called after him with an unusually sweet voice, causing him to turn around with a raised eyebrow, irritation almost forgotten for a brief second. He saw a small object fly at him and caught it easily. …A breath mint? "Do me a favor, your breath fucking stinks."
"Fuck off." The bathroom door slammed shut.
Marik sighed and leaned on the handle of the shopping cart, looking particularly irritated. Bakura kept making him backtrack, looking for food items they'd already passed once before and he claimed he didn't want. Said backtracker smirked to himself, proud to have properly annoyed his rude roommate enough out of revenge for this morning. Wandering back down the snack aisle for the 3rd time, Bakura grabbed a bag of chips, "Bakura, you already got a bag of those, do you eat anything other than junk food?"
Shooting Marik an irritated glance, he put the second bag back and continued down the aisle. He was about done with this little shopping adventure and was ready for lunch. When Marik caught back up to him, he grabbed the side of the cart with one hand and guided it towards the checkout lines in a silent order, his partner cooperated and was clearly relieved to be leaving. Setting the items on the conveyor belt, Bakura noticed there was a second bag of chips and raised an eyebrow at Marik, "I thought we were restricted to one bag, Namu," he drew out the alias with amusement.
"Hm. Don't worry about it," Marik shrugged off the statement. Interesting, Marik wasn't typically so dismissive. They finished checking out, the thief refraining from commenting even once on how tedious the process of paying was, and both worked to safely secure the haul to Marik's motorcycle.
"Still want to stop for lunch on the way home?" Marik asked, tossing the second helmet to his friend.
"I want a kebab." Bakura waited for Marik to get on the bike first then climbed on behind him. After the ignition started and the bike was rocked off its kickstand, Marik looked over his shoulder and jerked his head forward slightly, giving a silent order for Bakura to hold on.
There was no room for conversation over the roar of the engine and the whipping wind. Marik drove much too aggressively for Bakura's taste and the thief found himself clinging tighter to him as they made a sharp turn. When they pulled into a parking spot, Bakura jumped off before the bike even propped up on the kickstand, earning a chuckle from its operator, "I'm not a bad driver, don't be such a wimp."
The pale boy crossed his arms indignantly, deeming the statement unworthy of a response. He started towards the small shop, not bothering to wait for Marik to finish brushing out his hair with his fingers in his side mirror. He picked out two drinks from the refrigerator while he waited in line, Marik finally deciding to appear as he was next to order, they quickly ordered and were handed their food after Marik paid. The two found a seat in the corner near an open window and ate in comfortable silence.
"I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning so I won't be around to wake you up early," Marik announced, taking a sip of soda.
"What's wrong with you?" the response was mumbled around a bite of lamb, earning a slight glare of irritation.
"Nothing's wrong, it's just monitoring, I try to go once a week."
"Monitoring?" A silver eyebrow was raised.
"Yes, monitoring." Marik's reply was curt, clearly not wanting to elaborate further and pointedly taking a large bite of falafel to declare the conversation finished. Bakura smirked slightly at this, taking it as a challenge. He ate the final bite of his kabab, propped both his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his knuckles in an admittedly childish manner. Marik met his eyes and sighed deeply when he realized the topic wasn't going to be dropped so easily. Bakura's grin grew when he raised a tanned finger to say 'wait' and took another sip of soda.
"It's therapy, alright?" Marik grumbled, setting the glass bottle down, "Happy?"
Bakura's smirk faltered slightly, not having expected that answer and almost felt regret for pushing the topic. Almost. "Not quite. Why do you need to talk to some doctor every week?" He wasn't an idiot, he knew Marik wasn't right in the head; however, he wanted to know what exactly ailed him to the point of getting medical help.
"Well," Marik started, clearly irritated, "since you've been gone, I was formally diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder at my siblings' request, and they threatened to move from Cairo to Domino if they caught wind of me not getting treated for it." At Bakura's blank stare, he elaborated "It's a fancy name for multiple personalities."
"Can they fix it?"
Marik scoffed and took a bite of food, "Not likely, the goal right now is just to try to prevent switching."
"You aren't taking any medication for it, though?" Marik froze, his eyes snapping up to meet Bakura's, "Why would you say that?"
"Well, for one, you reacted like that," the thief chuckled darkly, "and two, I have been here for days and not seen one pill bottle other than aspirin and vitamin gummies."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Marik declared suddenly, starting to stand up from his chair. Bakura grabbed his arm harshly and glared up at him, "Sit."
Marik pulled his arm away from his grip but begrudgingly obeyed, sitting down again and glancing around the room to avoid eye contact with the demon in front of him.
"Does your doctor know you aren't taking any medicine?" Marik shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his silence answering the question well enough. "And why not?" Bakura's tone was that of a disappointed parent and it clearly irritated the Egyptian to be talked down to.
"…It fucks with my head, I don't want to take it," Marik grumbled, cursing himself for sounding so childish, "I've been fine with just the therapy, she's keeping an eye on me. If it ever gets bad I can just start taking it again. No big deal."
Bakura leaned across the table and hissed, "No big deal? That psycho personality of yours tried to kill us and very nearly succeeded." Marik flinched and fell silent for a few moments as Bakura sat upright again. The Egyptian opened and closed his mouth several times as if debating if he wanted to say something, "Spit it out already."
"…You don't want to hear what I have to say," Marik crossed his arms and looked at nothing on the far wall. Bakura drummed his fingers against the wood of the table impatiently. "…He's been talking to me, and before you lunge over this table to strangle me," Marik held up a finger asking for patience as Bakura prepared to do just that, "he's different than he used to be. I'm kind of…okay with the way things are between us."
"Now I just want to hit you all the more, to smack some sense into that empty skull of yours," Bakura growled through clenched teeth. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?"
Marik snorted, "That's rich, coming from you."
"Point taken; regardless, you're being an absolute idiot about this," both boys crossed their arms stubbornly.
"Let's finish this conversation at home; we still have groceries that need to get put away. This was supposed to be a quick stop," Marik stood again, this time he was allowed to grab both of their trash and he went to throw it away in the provided trash cans. Bakura followed closely behind, his eyes burning holes into the back of his empty, blond head.
When the two arrived back home, Bakura closed the front door with more malice than necessary and slid the locks into place. He helped Marik put away the food in tense silence, waiting until the chore was done to pick a fight. He was a reasonable tyrant, he thought to himself. He stood in and blocked the only doorway out of the kitchen and crossed his arms. Though Marik was physically taller and stronger than he was, Bakura was much more skilled in fighting. This earned a short, sad glance from Marik; he raised his hands in mock surrender, bowed his head slightly, and cleared his face of emotion, "He wants to talk to you."
That was possibly the only sentence Marik could have said Bakura did not have a response to. Marik almost laughed at his genuinely flabbergasted expression.
Bakura opened his mouth a few times, cautious of how he wanted to respond to such an outrageous request. If Marik is telling the truth about this whole situation and about talking with his alter, the fact that his other self requested to speak to him meant he isn't alone when he's with Marik. Everything he says is being overheard and he did not like that realization one bit. He ground his teeth together and sighed deeply. "If he takes over, will you come back?"
"Yes. It's very easy to switch, now. It doesn't even hurt that much anymore." Bakura absolutely loathed that answer and Marik bit his lip nervously, realizing too late that probably wasn't a smart thing to say. Bakura balled his hands into fists and found his voice again, his next words dripping with malice.
"I'll talk to him."