Right. I am starting another chaptered thiefshipping fic (although there will be deathshipping in later chapters as well.) XD This one is not as lighthearted as most of my stuff has been so far - not to say it's going to be all doom and gloom, it's just a bit more serious than any of my stories have been up to now (it's rated M for a reason, although those reasons won't happen for a few chapters yet). Of course, there will still be fluff, because this is me we're talking about :P. It's set in an English university. I have tried to keep them IC, but sorry if they stray at all - I do my best. And, because I need some structure in my life, I am going to be updating this fic once a week; so, expect a new chapter every Thursday! (If anyone is wondering about my citronshipping fic 'Thievery Amongst the Ancients', I swear I haven't forgotten about it, and I will be updating it every Tuesday from now on.) Anyway, here is the first chapter; it's more of a setting-up-the-plot chapter than anything else, so it isn't super-exciting, but this fic will get better, I promise! Enjoy - Jem

The boat edged its way into the harbour with practised ease, barely even needing the guiding beams from the lighthouse. It rose and fell with the sway of the sea, the shore inching ever closer, salty stench of the waters dwindling slightly the closer the boat travelled to civilisation. Distant smells of the city drifted through the still night air, replacing the tang of the open sea and causing Marik's nose to wrinkle as he leaned against the rail, wind ruffling his blonde tresses as he breathed in the salty stench of the harbour. He balked at the sight of such a distasteful city – it was cold and grey, drizzle filming the air and covering everything in a hazy dank mist. The last thing Marik wanted was to remain in this dirty city, but it was the only option left open to him now. Knowing he lacked any control in this situation only served to cause his features to crease up in revulsion and disgust.

Ishizu's last words rang deeply in his ears, weighing heavily on his mind. "You've got to get out, it is far too dangerous for you to remain here. Odion and I will pull some strings, but you can never return."

"But it isn't fair!" His voice had sounded so childish, even to his own ears; he couldn't help but feel scorn for his own desperate pleading. "I had to do it, the bastard deserved everything he got..."

"No one is denying that, Marik." Ishizu's voice had remained calm, even in the midst of her younger brother's seething temper tantrum. "For better or for worse, it is done now. You have to leave. I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

Those words echoed the most, and they were the most insincere of all. Marik scoffed as he rested his elbows against the rails of the boat, cold metal making him shiver as he watched the harbour sway ever closer and the blinking lights of the city draw near. I'm sorry, but Ishizu wasn't sorry at all, was she? No, she didn't care, and neither did Odion for that matter; sure, Odion always looked out for Marik, but when it came down to it he had abandoned Marik just like the rest of them did, when they should all be fucking grateful to him! Marik had got rid of the biggest problem in all of their lives, effectively setting the three of them free; only he didn't get to enjoy that freedom, did he? Instead he was shipped off to some city of sin, forsaken by all the Gods and abandoned by the ones who were supposed to care about him. Well, he would show them. Marik would show them all.

Marik was coming to this city with nothing to lose and everything to gain, and he would be damned if he was going to let his past life in Egypt stop him from moving forwards.

The boat eventually drew into the shore, and Marik was among the first to leave. He stumbled through the dark and smelly alleyways of the city, ignoring the drunken shouts of other students as he searched for the right address, cursing his decision to take the latest boat he could. Marik dragged his suitcase along behind him, looking decidedly disgruntled. The buildings were becoming more rugged and run-down the further into the district he got, although he supposed that was only to be expected from student accommodation. It still didn't strike him as quite right though – to be a student was surely the highest rank in society, and demanded respect, did it not? He found himself thinking almost longingly back to the library he had spent so much time in back home, in Egypt; the room had been filled from top to bottom with shelves and shelves of books, scrolls and ancient scriptures, all there for the taking; the room had been purpose-built for studying. Time spent in there was sacred; special – it demanded respect and admiration, purification and spirituality; so very different this mess of buildings and tower blocks that passed for a university in this sorry corner of the world. Marik was most definitely not pleased. The only good thing about this whole situation is that I at least get some independence now, he grumbled to himself. No Ishizu breathing down my neck about the 'proper' way to behave, no Odion dogging my every move to make sure I'm alright. Just me, living alone. Should be bliss, right?

Only, he knew that bliss was exactly the opposite of what he was coming to. Bliss was wandering through the open sands of Egypt, relishing in the heat of the sun and being surrounded by servants to do his every bidding. Bliss was not having to take orders from anyone, and finally being free to go his own way. Bliss was most definitely not being shipped out to dreary, rainy England, thrust among a group of other ignorant students with no real respect for the ancient ways, and being forced to study a subject that held no real interest to him. Yes, bliss was most definitely not on the cards for Marik Ishtar – at least, not for the foreseeable future.

Allowing a huff of air to whizz past his teeth, Marik eventually found the right street. He was met with a soaring block of flats that shot up as far as he could see in the dull, fading air; there was just enough light remaining for him to discern a distinctly run-down looking building, surrounded by other flats and stuck right in the middle of the busiest part of the city. Heaving a sigh and thinking longingly of the sunny desert he had left mere hours ago, Marik forced himself up the stairs and into the reception. The assistant took his name and passed him his keys with a cheery smile, which he didn't return, before waving him on his way. Heaving his suitcase after him, Marik made it into the lift and hit the button for the sixth floor – just his luck to get shafted at the top of the building – and waited impatiently to get to his flat. A headache was forming just behind his temples, and Marik closed his eyes with a sigh; now, he was just looking forwards to getting into bed.

The lift doors edged open again and he was met with a blue corridor. With another deep sigh Marik forced his legs to move, lugging his heavy suitcase and finding the right door: Flat 6B, room 1. The only upside to this was that he wouldn't have a roommate; Marik had insisted to the accommodation company when he applied for a room that he would be left on his own. Usually that wouldn't be allowed, but they had let it slide this time because he was an international student travelling on his own. Of course, the fact that Marik had threatened to send Odion around with a knife had had no bearing on the matter whatsoever.

Marik slipped the key into the lock and turned it, the wooden door creaking open reluctantly. He was met with a simple four-bedroomed flat (strange, he thought, considering only one person would be living here) with an adjoining kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen had a living area complete with TV and computer, although Marik had of course brought his own laptop. As if he was going to use their run-down technology! After giving his new living surroundings a quick once-over Marik turned back to the hall and unlocked his room, dragging his suitcase behind him. It was a simple room, containing only a bed and a desk alongside a small wardrobe. He grimaced a little – even his bedroom in Egypt had been bigger than this. Ah well. Beggars can't be choosers. Not that he would ever sink low enough to consider himself a beggar.

Marik flung his suitcase onto his bed, collapsing beside it and breathing a little heavily from exertion. It really had been a long day. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to drift closed, settling further into the bed and releasing a tired sigh. He would sort himself out tomorrow; for now, it was late, and sleep was feeling really attractive just now...

Crash.

Marik's body shot upright without his full knowledge, his instincts honed from his life in Egypt as he surveyed his room carefully. It was empty save for himself and his suitcase. Marik breathed out, settling back down and rolling onto his side, giving his suitcase a kick; it fell with a dull thud onto the floor. There was another rustle but Marik ignored it, thinking it was probably just a mouse or something; it wouldn't surprise him at all to find that this decrepit block of flats had some kind of infestation. When the rustle turned into a clang, followed by a loud curse, however, Marik decided to take it a bit more seriously.

Hauling himself upright, Marik stepped hesitantly towards his door, feet as light as he could make them. With a swallow he pressed his ear to the hard wood – it was rough beneath his soft, sensitive skin, making him suppress a shudder as he listened carefully. There was definitely someone out there – he could hear movement, and a hiss that might have been a tap. The kitchen?

Yes. There was someone in his kitchen.

Marik sucked in a breath, quickly scouring his room; why was there never anything sharp close to hand?! He whirled to his suitcase, tugging on the zip and forcing his hand in, searching until his hand came into contact with a familiar blade. He stood up again quickly, knife balanced in his hand as he edged back towards the door, pressing his ear to the wood once again. There were still muffled sounds of movement coming from the kitchen. Marik drew in a breath, holding the air in his lungs before twisting the handle and throwing himself across the hallway, pushing straight into the kitchen with the knife brandished in front of him.

There was another crash, a hiss and a surprised shout of, "What the hell?!" Before Marik straightened up and took stock of his surroundings. There was a saucepan on the floor, leaking some runny liquid that looked suspiciously like an attempt at soup all over the stiff lino floor, wooden spoon lying abandoned next to it. There were also two bare, pale feet sticking out of the bottom of a pair of loose back trousers, leading up a thin, pale body and ending in a white head of hair and a very pissed-off brown glare. A white eyebrow was raised. "Who the hell are you?"

Marik's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, who the hell am I? More importantly, who the hell are you?!"

"I," The low, disgruntled voice continued, "Happen to live here. Get out of my flat."

Marik just stared. "You live here? You can't! You get out of my flat!"

The brown eyes watched him impassively, utterly devoid of emotion. "This isn't your flat. I've lived here for over a year. Shut the door on your way out." He looked back at the mess of soup at his feet, lips twisting into a sneer. "Actually, you can clear this mess up first. You've ruined my dinner, idiot."

Marik hissed through his teeth, fury marring his usually smooth features. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The other man didn't even bother looking at him, instead turning towards the hob and switching off the flame. "Oh, incidentally, don't try anything with that knife; I've got three down my back."

Marik spluttered, striving to form a coherent sentence. "Listen you, I don't care who you think you are, or what sort of a fuck-up this is, but I am going to sort this out. Clearly, they've put you in the wrong flat."

A snort was all that came from the pale one, his back still firmly turned to Marik. "Didn't you hear me before? I've lived here over a year. If anyone's in the wrong flat, it's you; you're a new student, yes? They must have just given you the wrong keys, or something."

Marik hissed. "They'd better have, because I ordered them to let me live alone."

The other shot him a mildly amused look over one pale shoulder. "Good luck with that one. These flats are full to bursting."

"They'll let me," Marik responded confidently, folding his arms with the knife still tightly gripped in one hand. "And you seem to live alone just fine."

The other just smirked. "That's because all my old flatmates moved out. Couldn't cope with living with me, or something. I imagine you will be much the same."

Marik bristled at that. "I'm not sticking around, genius. You'd better not be lying to me."

"As if. And good luck finding a new flat now; all the courses start tomorrow."

Marik growled. "They had better fucking sort this out. I'm calling the accommodation company."

"You do that," The pale man responded coolly, "And leave me in peace to sort out my dinner. Clean up that mess on the floor first, though."

Marik simply turned his back and stalked out of the kitchen, one hand dipping into his pocket to find his phone.

...

"What do you mean, you can't find my records?" Marik hissed into the phone, free hand twisting in his hair. He paced his bedroom impatiently, glancing at his watch – half an hour! Half a fucking hour he had been dealing with this ridiculous woman's incompetence, and she still hadn't sorted this mess out! "I told you, my name is Marik Ishtar. Ishtar. I-S-H ... well if you know, why haven't you fucking sorted this yet?" He drew in a tight breath as she started babbling again, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a finger to his temple. This was not how he wanted to spend his evening. "Yes," he said with deceptive calm, "I was told to move into this room. But there is someone else in this flat, and I was promised a flat on my own. No flatmates. Got that?"

There was more babbling before the woman finally said, "I see. And wh-what is your flatmate's name?"

"He isn't my flatmate," Marik spat, "And how the fuck should I know?"

"Sir, please do not swear, I am trying to deal with this – "

"Just fucking sort it out then!" Marik roared, throwing his hand in the air.

"If you tell me his name..."

"Oh Gods, fine!" Marik threw his door open, striding quickly into the kitchen and glaring at the pale man, who was now sat at the table with a bowl of soup in front of him; the first attempt was still lying on the floor. "What the fuck is your name?"

The pale one merely lifted a brow, taking his time to swallow before answering, "And why, pray tell, is that any business of yours?"

"They fucking need it to sort this mess out!" Marik gestured wildly to his phone, face contorting with his rage.

"Well, that's a shame," The other smiled widely. "Because I don't plan on telling you."

Marik swore loudly, ignoring the protestations sounding loudly from his phone. "Just fucking tell me, alright? Then I'll be out of your way."

"I look forward to it." The other took another mouthful, pointedly ignoring Marik.

The Egyptian had soon had enough.

Marik stormed across the kitchen, bending down enough to thrust his face directly into the other's, close enough to see the whites of his eyes. "Just. Tell. Me. Your. Name."

"No." His voice was cold now, slipping like ice through the frozen air. "I don't respond to intimidation, particularly by the likes of you."

Marik hissed vehemently before trying another tack. "Well, I didn't realise you wanted me to stick around so much. Are you really that desperate for company?"

The other growled, deep in his throat, before standing up and finding himself exactly at Marik's eye level. "Don't you presume to know me, idiot."

"Then tell me your name, and I'll be out of your hair!"

"Bakura," Spat the pale one. "Now get out of my face."

Marik backed off gladly, pressing the phone to his ear as he turned away from the other's hard stare. "He says his name is Bakura ... I don't know what the fuck his surname is – "

"Touzoku," Hissed the cool voice, "And don't spread that name around, got it?"

Marik merely rolled his eyes in response, speaking quickly into the phone. "Yes, Bakura Touzoku, I said – well, yes, that's what I've been trying to get you to do all the ti..." Marik stopped talking, staring at his phone in surprise as the woman squeaked and cut the line off. "Well, that was strange..."

The one called Bakura scoffed. "What, she hung up on you? Can't say I'm surprised."

Marik sent him a questioning look. "Oh?"

"...Let's just say my name is rather notorious around here."

Marik scoffed. "Whatever." He was about to start redialling when the phone rang suddenly and he answered it with a disgruntled, "What?"

"Am I speaking to Bakura Touzoku?"

"No, you are not," Marik snorted. "I am Marik Ishtar. I need you to get me away from Bakura Touzoku."

There was a muffled laugh from beside him as Marik continued speaking into the phone. "Yes, I was assigned to this room ... no, I was told I would be living alone ... In that case I want to speak to the manager ... well, if that's you then you should be able to sort me out! ... I was promised a single flat ... Oh, well, fuck you then!" Marik hung up, angrily tossing the phone across the kitchen. "Asshole!"

Bakura lifted a brow as he moved his bowl and pan to the sink. "What's your problem?"

"You! You are my fucking problem!" Marik rubbed a hand across his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Apparently there are no other rooms left available. They refuse to move me!"

Bakura turned to face him completely at that, a scowl hovering over his features. "You can't stay here."

"Tell me about it!" Marik growled. "But I can't go anywhere else. So, looks like I'm stuck with you. Fucking hell." Marik massaged his forehead with a groan. "You're going to have to move out."

"Like hell I am," Bakura hissed. "You're the intruder here. Get the hell out of my flat."

"I don't have any choice!" Marik glared. "I can't live on the streets."

"Neither can I."

"Well, you're English at least! You must have some family you can stay with, or something..."

In a flash Bakura was right in Marik's face, pale hands capturing his wrists and twisting sadistically, making Marik grind his teeth together in order to remain silent. Bakura leaned closer, brown eyes dangerously cold. "You," He hissed, "Never presume to know anything about me. Stay out of my way, and don't you fucking dare touch any of my stuff. Clearly, neither of us want to be in this situation, so you will stay here until you can sort out another flat, and then you will get out. Got it?" Bakura released Marik's wrists and stepped away, not breaking eye contact as he continued: "And clear up that mess on the floor. I won't live in a shithole."

Marik found his voice again, grinding out, "It's your fucking mess, you clean it up."

"No." Bakura turned without a backwards glance, stalking out of the kitchen, door swinging shut behind him with a sense of finality.

Marik stared after him, jaw falling open. "...What a pleasant man." He turned with disgust to survey the room, wrinkling his nose at the mess of now-dried soup covering the kitchen. Like hell he was clearing that up – it wasn't his fault that idiot had dropped the pan, after all. The smell was making his stomach rumble, though, so he decided to raid the cupboards; Bakura had actually stocked the kitchen fairly well, although it was all canned or frozen food that made his lip curl in distaste. He helped himself to a frozen pizza, shoving it in the oven and exploring the rest of the cupboards whilst he waited for it to cook. The kitchen was bland and grey, equipped with only basic tools. There was nothing personal scattered anywhere, which Marik thought a little odd considering Bakura had claimed that he'd lived here for a year already. The oven beeped soon enough and Marik scarfed his pizza down, shoving his plate messily into the sink beside Bakura's before heading back to his room. He was tired, so he fell back onto the bed without bothering to change, ignoring his unpacked suitcase as his eyes slid shut. It had been a long day, that was for sure, and it had not ended in a satisfactory way. At all. Bakura had been absolutely insufferable! The idea of having to live with him, even for a short space of time, was completely impossible. No, Marik would have to get rid of him before then – there was no way they were living together; tonight had been proof enough that that would never work.

Marik rolled onto his side, letting out a small groan. He tried to forget that he was in a small, grimy room in a small, grubby flat, lying on a lumpy mattress on the sixth floor of some crummy building that was barely fit to live in, under a dull black sky in a country he really didn't want to be in. Instead, he allowed his dreams to take him back to sunny Egypt, with its endless deserts and warm, humid air, where there were no arrogant, pale young men getting in the way of his life.

Marik drifted into an uneasy sleep, trying his best not to think about what was waiting for him tomorrow.

That's a beginning, anyway. Next chapter out next week, see you then! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed - Jem