Bakura had well and truly fucked up, and he knew it. Malik only walked with him halfway before turning on his heel and walking straight back the way they had come, muttering that he'd be over later. Knowing there was little point in following him, Bakura completed the journey home alone. Ryou clearly had no desire to have him around at present, and Kek had a habit of punching things that pissed him off or annoyed his beloved. After suffering at least two broken noses in Ancient Egypt, it wasn't a position he fancied putting himself in again for the sake of a few drunken laughs.
The lock on the door to the apartment building had been fixed at some point during the day, but Bakura didn't have the key to it anymore, since it had been broken for so long. Bubbling with a seething, half-withdrawing rage, he smashed the pane in the door and hauled himself inside, paying no heed to the razor-sharp spikes of glass tearing into his skin.
Unlocking his front door, he slammed it shut once inside, stalked to the kitchen, and snatched up the vodka bottle on the counter. Kek's shot of whiskey had been just enough to ward off the shakes, but now Bakura needed numbness, the cold, dead hands of despair dragging him down into the abyss in which he belonged. Resolutely ignoring the trickles of blood making their way down his arms, knuckles and cheeks, Bakura sagged against the counter and glugged straight from the bottle, the burn of alcohol soothing the lump of unwanted emotion lodged tightly in his throat.
The detachment from reality came blissfully quicker than he had anticipated. Darkness pervaded the apartment, the light switch having not been touched upon entry, but even with the lack of light, everything seemed to dim further, plunging Bakura's senses into blackness as his world ceased to be real anymore.
So cold…
So…so cold…
And this energy…occult energy…it's everywhere...
Not so different, then, from the darkness that had imprisoned Bakura all those years. But the situation…oh, that was different, very different. Time passed sporadically in the shadows, and one moment he'd endured the prods and pokes of Ryou's godforsaken Ouija board as it extracted his thoughts and converted them into communication, and the next, dragged into Ryou's living room, bewildered and wondering why screams filled the air.
Malik?
What was Malik doing here?
Why was he screaming like that?
Bakura spotted the source of his terror. A swirl of deepest violet dashed before his eyes, followed by a sharp cry of shock and several voices raised as one.
"Take your hands off me, accursed shadow!"
Pharaoh? What was - ?
"Not likely! Now lie there like a good boy while I throttle you, okay?"
Malik's other personality…?
"Yugi! Help me!"
Ryou, throwing himself over the other Malik's shoulders and trying to drag him back…
"But Malik – "
Yugi, crouched by Malik's side, trying to calm him, but Malik continued to scream, clutching his head in his hands as if his very mind was about to shatter.
What was going on? Why were they all…why were they all here?
No…
No!
This wasn't how it was supposed to be!
"Bakura!"
No…
"Bakura, get up!"
I can't…this wasn't…let me sleep…please…
A shock of cold cascaded down Bakura's hair; he jerked upright with a shout, squinting at the sudden brightness in the room. In his dissociative haze, nothing quite pieced together as it should, but one thing was for certain; Malik stood over him, an empty glass in his hand that no doubt had been holding the freezing water now running in rivulets into Bakura's shirt. The mauve-hued storm in Malik's eyes could have destroyed whole civilisations, had it been allowed to be unleashed, and Bakura shivered before its might.
Malik didn't speak immediately. He yanked Bakura up by the arm and dragged him through the apartment to his bedroom. Shoving Bakura inside, he picked up a discarded towel from the floor and tossed it over Bakura's head. "Dry off and change your clothes. We need to talk."
No, we don't. Malik's glare burned too deeply into Bakura for him to be able to find his tongue for the argument he longed to voice. "Turn around," he said instead, and made a circling motion with his finger.
"No," Malik replied. "I want to see how much weight you've lost."
"A lot."
"Don't be a dick, Bakura."
Really, only the shirt was wet, but being a dick sounded petty and amusing, so Bakura made a show of peeling off every last bit of clothing and towelling off his hair while standing completely nude before Malik. If the Egyptian had anything on his mind, he didn't let it show, remaining with arms folded in the doorway and only the lightest of blushes darkening his perfect cheekbones.
His lack of reaction soon bored Bakura, and he dried off his torso before slipping into a dry t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. "Satisfied, Ishtar?"
Malik unfolded his arms and pointed to the bed. "Sit down."
Bakura did so, shoving an old computer mouse and a tangle of cables to the floor with as much force as he could muster in his uncoordinated, vodka-heavy limbs. He crossed his legs, rested his chin in his hands, and turned his head away from Malik's dark stare. He'd seen some horrors in his life, but he'd always been able to face those head-on; Malik's eyes, however, bore something so deep, so emotive, that he couldn't bear to look into them, afraid of what he might see in their stunning depths.
Malik squatted down in front of him, much the same as he had done earlier in the evening, and Bakura found himself glancing back at him, the pull of those eyes too strong to fight. Reality began to return for him as he realised they were in a similar situation once more - were the events of today about to repeat themselves?
"I went back to see how Ryou was doing." Malik's voice was soft, no hint of his earlier frustration evident in his tone. "They were arguing pretty heatedly. I've never seen Ryou get that worked up before…he's usually so calm and level-headed, but I guess when it's you involved, all restraint goes out of the window."
Bakura frowned. They had been arguing…about him?
"Kek was saying he couldn't understand why Ryou cares so much about you, and Ryou was going ballistic that Kek keeps enabling you all the damn time. Yugi was right about him after all."
Well, all that was true, at least - hang on, where the fuck did the pipsqueak come into this?
"Ryou doesn't want to see you, not after you insulted him the way you did. He's had enough, Bakura. Do you have any idea how much you've hurt him these last few years? Bakura! Are you even listening to me?"
He was, just about, but there wasn't much to add, so he just nodded.
"Look, habibi…I get that these last few years have been hard on you. But you're not the only one who's struggled, and it might be time to accept that you need to talk to someone about this."
Bakura turned his head away again, lips pursed. "Don't presume to understand what I've been through."
"Maybe not, but I'd appreciate it if you at least let me try." Malik reached out and took Bakura's hands, squeezing them gently.
Bakura said nothing, but the warmth of Malik's hands held a sweet comfort against the chill that still wracked his body. The urge to stroke the smooth, dark skin with his thumbs ebbed and flowed; Bakura resisted as long as he could, but as with anything involving Malik, he became consumed by his loving, infectious aura, and allowed himself a few indulgent sweeps, feeling the knot in his chest loosen a little as if in silent thanks.
Minutes passed between them, neither speaking. Any desire to spill forth never came. How could he, when it was more than he deserved? Why should he burden anyone else with all the pathetic worries of his mind? Malik was right; others had gone through some difficult times, too, but they weren't the ones bringing it on themselves. Oh, yes, Bakura was more than aware that he was solely responsible for all the self-loathing he felt.
Projecting, he surmised, was just a lot easier than admitting he desperately needed help.