Marik woke up to a clanging sound. At first, he almost panicked, wondering why someone would be in his house. Then he remembered. Bakura was here. He'd spent the night. He shuddered a little at the thought. Bakura had spent the night.The whole situation still seemed unbelievable.
Moments later, Marik stumbled into the kitchen and looked blearily at Bakura, who was standing in front of the stove.
"What are you doing?" asked Marik groggily.
"What the hell does it look like? I'm making myself breakfast."
"What's that smell? It smells like..."
"Steak," Bakura finished for him.
Marik rubbed his eyes as he slowly came fully awake. "Wait a minute...where did you get steak?"
"Went out and stole it," Bakura said casually. "You don't have anything decent to eat in this place."
"Bakura!"
"What?" Bakura asked innocently.
"You sneaked out and stole something? What if you'd been caught? What if you'd been seen?"
"I was careful," Bakura said as he took the frying pan off the stove and dumped its contents onto a plate. "I'll be doing plenty of sneaking around and stealing things when I go out to get those Tokens for you, so I don't know what you're complaining about."
Marik supposed that Bakura was right. Not that he wanted to admit it. So he changed the subject instead.
"Who eats steak for breakfast, anyway?"
"I do." Bakura turned around and set the plate on the kitchen table. Then he started searching through the kitchen drawers. For a knife and fork, Marik assumed.
Marik eyed Bakura's meal. The meat was swimming in its own blood. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I don't know why you even bothered to fry that at all. It's barely seared."
Bakura had to laugh at how totally revolted Marik sounded. Having found himself some silverware, Bakura sat down at the table.
"I bet you've never even tried meat, have you?"
"Well, no," Marik admitted.
"Then how do you know you don't like it?"
"My clan doesn't eat meat," Marik said. "It's just not done. We're all vegetarians."
Bakura raised his eyebrows and gave Marik a significant look. "The clan doesn't own you anymore. They don't even want you. Don't you think it's time you stopped following their arbitrary rules and traditions?"
Marik rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh, please tell me we're not going to start this argument again!" He plopped theatrically down into the chair across from Bakura, looking entirely put out.
"We don't have to argue," Bakura smiled. "Just try it. One bite. It won't kill you."
"And if I do, will it get you to shut up?"
Bakura's smile widened. "For now."
"Alright, fine, one bite, if it will end this stupid conversation. But I'm not eating it like that.That thing's practically still alive."
Bakura sighed with irritation, as if Marik was being totally ridiculous.
"Alright, I'll cut off a piece for you and cook it well done. Happy?"
"No," said Marik sulkily, crossing his arms.
Bakura ignored him and cut a chunk of meat off of his steak. He dropped it into the frying pan and put it back on the stove. The burner was still hot. They were both silent as the small piece of steak sizzled on the pan. When Bakura judged that it was done, he slid the meat onto a second plate and handed it to Marik.
Marik looked at it dubiously. Finally, he cut off a tiny piece and took a cautious bite. His eyes widened. It actually wasn't that bad...
Bakura saw the look on his face. "See? I knew you'd like it."
"Well, it's not terrible."
"How big of you to admit that," said Bakura sarcastically.
Marik took another bite, and then another.
"Maybe you should do more things that your clan never let you do," Bakura suggested with a sly smile.
Marik looked at him warningly. "Bakura, you promised-"
Bakura held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Not another word. For now."
Bakura then tore into his own steak, and neither of them said anything else for the rest of the meal. Marik didn't even bother saying anything when Bakura got up and walked out of the room, leaving him to deal with the dishes. He could talk to him about housework later.
Their days settled into a pattern after that.
Marik laid down a few "house rules" before Bakura could get too comfortable, though. Bakura was to sleep on the couch in the living room. He was to fend for himself while Marik was out working. He was to clean up after himself and keep the apartment tidy. He was to stay quiet and out of the way when Marik studied for his online classes.
More or less, Bakura followed these rules, but there was one exception- it seemed he couldn't be bothered to keep the place clean. Marik often came home to a mess in the kitchen and an even bigger mess in the living room. As an employee who dusted display cases and carried cardboard boxes up and down shelves all day, the last thing Marik wanted to do was clean some more when he got home. He'd told Bakura again and again that the least he could do was refrain from creating extra work for him, but it never seemed to sink in.
Increasing the tension was the fact that Bakura was often deathly bored. Sometimes, he left the apartment and strolled through Luxor, stealing things here and there. But he knew that Marik didn't really want him wandering around needlessly, and Bakura had to concede that Marik's concerns were legitimate. It could be trouble for both of them if he were to be spotted by anyone from the city- especially someone who might recognize him. And so, even though it did nothing to relieve his boredom, he often stayed in the house all day while Marik was at work.
The one thing that kept Bakura sane was their practice duels. After Marik came home, snapped at Bakura about the perpetual mess, vented about his coworkers, and had dinner, they took out two decks of cards and dueled at the kitchen table. It became a habitual thing. It became a way to relax, to stay entertained, and to just hold a decent conversation with his new roommate.
"Why was I the one who lost 600 points? I just added Reinforcements to my Gravekeeper's Assailant, giving it 2500 attack points, so you should be losing 100 points since your Darkfire Soldier #1 is only at 2400 after being powered up by Malevolent Nuzzler," Marik said in one breath.
Bakura momentarily ignored Marik while he inked in their scores. Marik was winning, and had been since the start of the duel, yet he never failed to complain when he lost points.
"I used Rush Recklessly, which added another 700 attack points to my Darkfire Soldier," Bakura explained. "So you lose 600. But you're still winning, and I've already used some of my best cards, so shut up and make your move."
Marik muttered under his breath and played Queen's Bodyguard as well as a facedown card in defense mode.
It had been some time since they'd first dueled, and although Marik was getting better at it, he still wasn't terribly good at strategy. Up until tonight, Bakura had never been this close to losing before, and he chalked it all up to luck on Marik's part.
"The tournament's actually starting tonight, did you know?" Marik asked, eyeing Bakura's new monster.
Bakura glanced at his hand irritably, trying to find a decent card to play.
"How would I know? I'm practically always in your apartment all day," he grumbled.
"I'm planning to sign up for it tomorrow," Marik continued, ignoring Bakura's moodiness. "They give each participant an Isfet Token to start out with, and I'll have to get another seven to get into the finals."
A few moves later, Marik had destroyed the only monster on Bakura's side of the field, summoned Dark Zebra, and attacked him for 2800 life points with both Dark Zebra and Queen's Bodyguard. Bakura morosely glanced at the magic and trap card area of his field and realized that he had nothing with which to counter the attack. Marik had been getting lucky the whole game with cards like Malevolent Catastrophe, Hayabusa Knight, and numerous power-ups, while Bakura had been drawing very unhelpful cards.
"So I guess this means that starting tonight you can go out and start stealing Isfet Tokens," Marik finished, snapping Bakura out of his dueling reverie.
"I guess so," Bakura replied.
A few turns later, Marik brought out Legendary Fiend, which only had 1500 attack points, but also possessed the special ability to gain 700 attack points after each of Marik's standby phases. Since Bakura had no good cards to take the monster out when it was still at 1500 attack points, he watched as its power grew, and after just two turns, left Bakura with a giant zero on his score sheet.
It was the first time he had lost to Marik. And it felt very wrong. Sickening, almost, because he still considered himself a much better duelist than Marik.
Marik smiled widely as he gathered up their cards. "So, Bakura. Still think you can teach me any more dueling tricks?"
Bakura glared at him. "Quit regarding yourself so highly. You won on a fluke. Do you want to see my hand? It sucked from the moment you said, 'Let's duel.'"
"You're just being a sore loser."
"No, I'm being logical," Bakura said. "You got three more power-ups than I did and amazing monsters like Legendary Fiend and Hayabusa Knight while I kept getting Darkfire Soldiers. Just because you won once, it doesn't mean that you're suddenly great at dueling."
Marik rolled his eyes. "Excuses, excuses."
It was apparent that Marik refused to see reason, so Bakura turned away from him angrily, not wishing to discuss the subject further. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes that he'd stolen earlier. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
"Those things will kill you, you know," said Marik.
"Oh, my gods! I never knew that!" exclaimed Bakura sarcastically, whirling around to face Marik. "Thank you for informing me, kind sir! Because of this new knowledge, I shall throw this death stick out immediately!"
Bakura made a show of tossing the cigarette onto the floor, where it immediately began to singe a hole in the carpet.
"Ack!" yelled Marik.
Looking almost panicked, Marik quickly ran to pick up the cigarette before it could do further damage to the carpet. After stomping on the floor to extinguish the glowing embers, he took the cigarette over to the trash can and threw it away.
"Great, now there's a big black hole in the carpet," Marik said with disdain. "There's no way to fix that."
"And let it forever stand as a monument to your complete stupidity for saying something so dumb and useless to me," said Bakura.
Bakura was about to reach for a new cigarette- he'd barely gotten a start on the first one before he'd tossed it away- but then he saw the look on Marik's face. Marik was glaring at him murderously.
"Oh, come on, this is an apartment- it's not like you even own the carpet," Bakura pointed out.
"That's not the point," said Marik. "Do you even realize that you're a guest here? You need to have some respect for my home! All you ever do is lay around uselessly, making messes and-"
"Screw this," Bakura said venomously, as he finally took another cigarette from the pack and lit it. "I don't have to deal with this. I'm going out."
"Where are you going?"
"To steal one of your precious Tokens. I think it's time I got started."
With that, Bakura turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Bakura was still seething as he walked down the streets of Luxor, hidden by the city's shadows. On most days, he would have enjoyed the scenery- it wasn't often that he had a good reason to step foot outside of Marik's tiny apartment- but right now he didn't give a fuck for the panoramic buildings and the beautiful river view. The remnant of smoke in his lungs reminded him that Marik was still a nagging brat even though three years had passed, and the night breeze blowing past his exposed neck reminded him that the twine of the Millennium Ring was still missing against his skin.
How he despised not having the Ring.
Without it, he was a little less powerful, a little less confident, and a little less...himself. It had always been his weapon, an extension of himself, transcending flesh and time. And now, he had to go it alone. He had to steal an Isfet Token without the comfort of the Ring around his neck.
The tournament had indeed started tonight. A stroll through the park revealed at least three pairs of duelists in the midst of mindless shouts of, "I place the Celtic Guardian in attack mode," and "This spell card allows me to destroy all your face-up monsters," while their friends cheered around them. Bakura's nose wrinkled as he remembered Battle City.
He had to find a dueling pair that wasn't surrounded by cheerleaders. Or a lone duelist who had just gotten a victory, which guaranteed that the duelist would have more than one Token. As Bakura walked through the park- head low, hands thrown into both coat pockets- he took note of the streetlight distribution, noise level, and population sparseness in each part of the park. Without his Ring, he would just have to be smarter, stealthier, and quieter.
The perfect opportunity appeared before his eyes as he rounded a bend in the sidewalk. Beneath a canopy of verdant trees, a young duelist sat on a cement bench, swathed by luxuriantly pruned bushes, perusing a set of cards. He must have been ten or twelve at most, given his short stature and the way he feverishly eyed the cards. The best part was the pair of headphones Bakura spotted in his ears. Since he occasionally mouthed something to himself and nodded his head to a beat, Bakura guessed that his music was on.
So, Bakura concluded, the boy was too engrossed in his cards to look up and too engrossed in his music to mind any noise. Bakura found it hard to keep the smile off his face as he approached.
He drew near the duelist from an angle where, even if the boy looked up, he wouldn't spot Bakura, and kept his footfalls light. Soon enough, he was right behind the set of bushes beside the bench and the duelist was within easy reach. Now the only concern was finding the Token.
A young duelist like him wouldn't think to be cautious. He'd probably put the Token in a pant or coat pocket. Bakura spied a jacket lying on the bench a few feet from the boy. He reached for it carefully, feeling for the pockets. He felt nothing in the first pocket, and tried the next.
He withdrew what looked like a smooth, small game piece, round and blue. The tournament was clearly imitating tokens that had been used with board games in ancient Egypt. There was a small caricature on the Token, representing the god Isfet.
Bakura retreated the moment he grabbed the Token, moving back quietly. Once he was several yards from the boy, he let out a deep breath.
Well, that had been easy. Despite missing his Ring, the lift had been flawless. Effortless, really. And the best thing was that the boy hadn't even noticed-
"Hey!"
Bakura flinched. In his surprise, he dropped the Token to the ground. He turned slowly, eyeing the boy who had now stood from the bench and was walking toward him. Bakura felt his mouth go dry as the boy approached, but he stood his ground. This was just a kid, anyway. If he wanted to pick a fight, Bakura was more than willing to give it to him.
"Mister," the boy started. His eyes were big, bright, and wide. "Looks like you have a Token there. Will you duel me for it?"
Bakura blinked. He had the thing all wrong. The boy looked ecstatic to see him, actually. He probably hadn't even played a duel in the tournament yet, and was looking for his first one. And here Bakura thought he'd actually been caught.
"No, I-" Bakura said. "I actually don't have my deck on me."
The boy looked disheartened.
"Sorry," Bakura offered awkwardly.
The kid bent down to pick up the Token that had fallen to the ground, and offered it back to Bakura. "That's alright. I'm just excited to start dueling. I've put together my cards and I have all my strategies!"
Bakura took the Token from him, shoving down the slight feeling of guilt that was starting to settle in the pit of his stomach. He turned from the boy, hoping to leave before he realized his mistake.
He hesitated before saying, "Good luck in the tournament."
And winced at his own words before he could help it. After all, he'd stolen the only Token the boy had. The boy couldn't play now even if he wanted to.
When Marik heard the front door click open, the first thing on his tongue was a reprimand and a demand to know how Bakura got into the apartment when there was a lock and chain on the door and only Marik had the key-
But then Bakura nearly shoved something in his face and said, "Here," before Marik could say a single word.
"What's this?"
"Your goddamned Token." Bakura turned from him, taking the coat off his shoulders and striding into the living room.
Marik held the little blue token in his two hands. It took a moment for him to recognize what it was, given Bakura's sudden burst into the room. Marik had been angry for the past hour about the damage to his carpet, but seeing the game piece softened his irritation.
"Bakura?" He followed into the living room.
Bakura had already thrown on his sleeping clothes and glared at Marik when he walked in.
"What?"
"I just-" Marik started, unsure of what to say. His fingers tightened around the token. "Thank you. I appreciate this."
Bakura snorted. "You look surprised. Did you not expect me to keep my word?"
"I did," Marik replied, though he couldn't deny that he'd had his doubts. "But it's good to have it confirmed."
"Don't mention it," Bakura muttered, turning away from Marik.
If there was one thing he should've learned about Bakura by now, it's that he'd always keep his word.
Marik stood staring at him for another moment before he shook his head, smiling. Maybe he shouldn't have made such a big deal about that burn on the carpet after all.
AN: Thanks for reading! Please let us know what you think! We're back from our trips, so the wait for the next chapter shouldn't be as long.