Night rolled around quickly enough, but when it came down to it, Malik couldn't sleep at all. The jet lag had worn off a little now, but his mind still buzzed, alive and curious like so many droves of bees.

He found himself thinking, even in their fractured snippets, about the confusion...

It feels like forever since...no, I guess I...maybe I've just shut it out entirely. Malik rolled over and squinted at the luminescent numbers on the clock near his head. Unfortunate events follow those who danced with the Shadows...none of us are the exception to that rule.

Malik had been present, two years ago, when Ryou and Yugi accidentally pulled Bakura, Kek, and Atem from whatever otherworldly plains had claimed them. The resulting dissociative fugue left Malik remembering little of what happened during that time, but clearer than anything, he could recall the panic above him from his friends...

"He's not responding to me, Ryou!"

"Hang on, just calm down a moment..."

Dimly he was aware of Yugi crouching beside him, and Ryou pacing the room, but nothing in that moment could have made Malik capable of looking up or speaking.

That's when a deep-set scowl, framed by a white cloud of hair, floated into his vision. Bakura grabbed Malik's chin and forced his face level with his own, staring a moment with an expression that could only be described, even in his shutdown state, as pure disgust.

"The pathetic little narcissist just wants attention. Leave him be."

Bakura had said many things to Malik in their short time together, though never anything as hurtful as that. Malik knew his mental health was completely shot, and he had done all he could over the years to manage it, so for Bakura to claim that he was breaking down purely to be noticed…it stung like a slap to the face.

Bakura is the one that could be accused of wanting attention now. Malik's fingers toyed idly with a corner of the blanket. Something is wrong, and he's not letting anyone close enough to be able to help him.

I don't think I can just lie here and wait for him to come to me. It's not going to happen.

The floorboards creaked slightly under Malik's weight as he swung himself out of bed. He dressed quickly, not bothering to make himself look presentable, and went downstairs, following the faint sounds of video games and muttered swearing.

He found Kek curled up under a blanket on the sofa, balancing a can of energy drink on his knee and playing Final Fantasy IX on Ryou's old PlayStation. He looked so at ease with the world that Malik had to remind himself, for the millionth time, that this was real, that Kek was real, a human, with his own body and his own life that didn't involve slaughtering people or challenging them to Shadow Games.

"Not tired, akhun?" Kek asked, without looking at Malik. His nose scrunched up in a little frown as he tapped with rapid-fire speed on the controller, moving a moustachioed frog towards a set of weights.

Malik couldn't help but smile at the affectionate use of his native tongue. Kek rarely spoke Arabic, and he wasn't exactly his brother, but being called as such was heart-warming, a sign that Kek really was trying his best to be everything Malik had lacked from his former alter in the past.

"I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep," Malik told him. "I've decided to go and see Bakura."

Kek's frown deepened. He paused the game and put the controller aside, motioning for Malik to sit down on the sofa. "You don't think it's better to see if he gets in touch?" he asked, and Malik shook his head. "About time someone properly tries to knock some sense into the stupid bastard, I guess," Kek shrugged. "Are you driving? I can take you if you want."

Malik had to mentally slap himself again at the thought of Kek passing his driving test without murdering the examiner. "Nah, I know where I'm going. I think I'd prefer the walk, anyway."

"Text me when you arrive, okay?"

"I will. Thanks, akhun."

Kek grinned, pleased. A light blush darkened his copper cheeks. "Yeah, yeah. Get going, pipsqueak."

Malik gave Kek's shoulder a light punch in farewell, and Kek chuckled, going back to his game. A quick rummage around later for his shoes and jacket, and Malik was traipsing down the dimly lit street, occasionally glancing about warily. This area of Domino had a reputation for being a little rough, and Malik had a switchblade in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he didn't exactly fancy needing to pull it out anytime soon.

A bitter chill hung in the night air, the air too bracing and the wind too sharp. It took a good forty minutes to walk to the opposite side of the city where Bakura lived, and more than once Malik regretted not taking Kek up on his offer to drive him over. He tugged his jacket a little tighter around himself and scowled, pushing through the discomfort.

Eventually Malik stood in front of a small apartment building. Long, swaying rows of grass grew wild either side of the path to the front door, and when Malik tried the door itself, he found it swung inwards of its own accord with a teeth-clenching screech. Jeez, why would he chooseto live here? What a complete dump.

Malik stepped into the main hallway and wrinkled his nose at the smell of damp and mildew hanging thickly in the air. He double-checked his messages on his phone for the door number that Kek had sent him, and sent a quick text to let Kek know he'd arrived. Barely ten seconds later, he received a "thumbs up," and Malik tucked his phone away as he used his free hand to knock on Bakura's front door.

No response.

At two in the morning, that was to be expected for most people, but Bakura wasn't most people, and Malik knew he'd still be up. Ryou had warned him of Bakura's habit of ignoring visitors, but Malik wasn't one to take ignorance lying down. He continued to pound on the door, his scowl growing deeper with each passing second.

Malik's temper flared. "Right, you wanna play games with me?" he growled, spinning on his heel and stalking away. "It is on, fuckface."

Bakura lived on the ground floor, and it was easy enough to walk round the side of the building and know which of the windows belonged to his apartment. Malik rattled and prodded the frames of the nearest one, looking for any weak spots in the peeling wood, when the next window along caught his eye. To his amused delight, it was slightly open, and pulled out further when Malik tested it. He pulled his jacket off, tied the worn faux-leather round his waist, and hoisted himself upwards and through the tight opening the window afforded him.

It was a bit of a squeeze, despite Malik's slender build, but with some wriggling, he slid through and –

…crash-landed face-first into the kitchen sink.

Well, what a glorious start to our reunion this is going to be.