A swaddle of blankets and oversized loungewear occupied the beaten-up, second hand sofa, intent on nursing off a thumping hangover and failing rather spectacularly.

Every day panned out the same for Bakura. After rolling out of bed – or off the sofa, depending on where he'd crashed the night before – somewhere near midday, he would clear his head with copious amounts of coffee, then sit down in front of his laptop to work till evening. After that, it was video games and drinking himself into a stupor in preparation for the next day.

Wake. Work. Drink. Sleep. Rinse and repeat. Day in, day out.

Sometimes his "schedule" was broken by the odd visitor, but he'd quickly learned that leaving the curtains drawn and the lights off kept most people away.

However, the exception to that rule currently hammered on his front door while yelling curses of an increasingly threatening tone. Hence, failing at giving his aforementioned hangover the boot.

Rubbing his sore head, Bakura slammed his laptop screen down and hauled himself to his feet. Throwing the door open, the frustrated noise that rumbled from Bakura's throat was reminiscent of an angry bitch defending her pups.

"Can you fucking not, Kek? Seriously?!"

"You never open the door otherwise." Kek shoved Bakura aside and strolled into the tiny apartment as if he owned the place. A bulging plastic bag swung from the crook of his arm, and he set it down on the kitchen counter, starting to pull various items out. "Has your shower even seen you in the last week? You look like hell."

Bakura didn't answer, merely folded his arms and glowered venomously at Kek, hating him.

Malik's former shadow, at a good six feet six, towered over Bakura's modest size of over a foot shorter. With his broader nose, thinner lips and darker eyes, he could have passed for a relative of Malik's, but it was clear that this body was Kek's, and Kek's alone. He had taken to the adjustment to life remarkably better than Bakura - so much so that it was hard to believe he had once literally flayed the skin off his own father.

Bakura would have been envious of the multitude of positive change within Kek, had he been able to muster up the motivation. Instead, he continued to scowl at Kek as he stocked up Bakura's fridge and cupboards.

"Are you done?" Bakura finally hissed, fed up. "You do realise I'm on the clock, don't you? I have work to do!"

Kek rolled his eyes. "I know, right? How dare Ryou be afraid you'll starve to death! Jeez, Bakura. It's not like I ever actually want to come over to your filthy hell-hole, but Ryou's too nice for his own good. For some reason, he's still maintaining that someone needs to keep an eye on you, you hopeless drunk."

"Fuck. You."

"Take a shower, clean this place up, and I swear to Anubis, run a vacuum around once in a while or I will send Ryou over in full housemaid regalia. That one doesn't tend to leave our bedroom, so you'd better be honoured." Kek flashed a wicked smirk at Bakura, enjoying how easy it was to rile him up.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment, Kek, before I find some way to send your sorry ass back to the Shadows," Bakura growled. Not that the thought of his former host in stockings and a frilly apron was at all unappealing, but Bakura was not in the mood to humour Kek.

"Yeah, yeah." Kek slipped the bag back onto his arm and breezed past Bakura. His hand rested on the front door handle when something appeared to stir in his memory. "Oh! Before I forget…got something else for you."

"What now?!" Bakura exploded.

"Bismillah! Chill out for once in your life, Bakura." Kek dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He held it out to Bakura, who eyed it warily. "It's only a fucking phone number, you dork," Kek muttered. "Just take it already."

After a moment's hesitation, Bakura took it. "I'm not in the mood for you to be setting me up on some stupid date, so it had better not be – "

"It's Malik's."

A flicker of positive emotion lit up Bakura's face, but it was fleeting, his features rapidly settling back into their comfortable scowl. "Why?" he asked, a single syllable of uncertainty.

"He's back in Domino."

"Oh? Finally out of the loony bin, is he?"

Kek's expression hardened and his hands flexed as if itching to throw a punch. After a few deep breaths, he turned back to the door. "Call him."

"I…"

"Don't screw this up, Bakura." With that final warning, Kek opened the door and walked out into the dingy hallway of the apartment building.

Bakura watched him go, the paper with Malik's number clenched tightly in his hand. He barely noticed how he trembled.

Malik…dammit, I've missed you, you stupid idiot.