Here is the next chapter, updated later than I wanted but, well, it's still Thursday so it's fine, right? ^_^ Thanks to all who have read/favourited/followed/reviewed, I am really grateful! I should also say a massive thanks to Miss Macabre Grey for helping me with the first part of the last chapter. I forgot to mention before. I love you, Grey!

To Sam: Thank you so much for reviewing all my works! I am so pleased you are still around ^_^ And I'm flattered you're spamming my fics! Thanks so much for your support. It means a lot. XD

I shall shut up now. XD Enjoy! - Jem

From the moment Marik opened his eyes, he could tell that he wasn't where he wanted to be. His alarm was ringing incessantly in his ears, piercing his sleep-addled brain until he drew enough of his senses together to smash his fist on the button at the top, rolling and burying his head under his pillow to catch a few more minutes of sleep. His head was pounding and his body aching from a night of broken sleep on a lumpy mattress. He had already had enough of this; his home in Egypt had been far from luxurious, but he had been hoping for a change when he finally left, not more of the same!

His alarm buzzed once more and Marik groaned, smacking it clear off the bedside table with one swipe of his arm; it landed with enough force to knock the batteries out. Well, at least that shut it up for good! Marik lay still for a moment longer, head pressed beneath his pillow, before he remembered that his course was starting today and he would need to be presentable. With a frustrated growl he clambered out of bed, throwing one disgruntled glare to the dull grey sky out of his window before exiting his room and heading straight for the bathroom. His thoughts trailed to his unwanted pale roommate as he turned the shower on, and a scowl quickly decorated his features. That guy had been such a bastard! Marik had been promised a flat on his own; he was going to have to go and have words with the accommodation officer today. He resolved to talk to the receptionist on his way out of the building, because he sure as hell wasn't going to live with that disagreeable fool for long.

The shower ran cold far sooner than Marik wanted it too, and he growled as he stepped out and back into his clothes. Making his way to the kitchen and avoiding the soup that was still lying congealed on the floor, Marik settled on just grabbing an apple from Bakura's selection before heading back to his room. His closed suitcase still lay haphazardly on the floor where he had kicked it yesterday, but he wasn't going to bother with unpacking it now – instead, he just dug around until he found what he would need for his lectures that day. His notepad, of course, was coming with him, as he would most likely be required to show some of his artistic skills in his first class, but other than that he really wasn't sure what to expect. They hadn't even been given a timetable or anything yet! Chewing on his apple, Marik sat cross-legged next to his suitcase and flicked through some of his earlier work. The first picture he turned to made his nose wrinkle; he had been such a sap when he was younger. He remembered this picture, as well, because it had been the first time he had drawn on actual paper instead of just tracing patterns in the dirt – he had been so proud, running to show his siblings the way he had drawn the three of them entering the desert with the sun at their backs. Odion had patted him on the back, but now that Marik thought back, Ishizu had mostly just looked sad. Well, he hadn't drawn many pictures after that; it hadn't taken his father long to discover his newest distraction.

Marik growled at that thought, pushing all memories to the back of his mind as he turned the pages, flicking through his earliest efforts. All those stupid coloured drawings from when he was younger, the ones that still lay innocently in the first few pages of the pad, were just a source of shame to him now. With a growl he ripped them out, shoving them under his bed and far out of sight before standing and rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms high into the air. He dug out his pencils and colours before shoving them in a bag and swiping up his keys; no harm in being early, especially as he wanted to speak to the receptionist before he left.

Unfortunately, his flatmate had other ideas.

Marik had barely made it out of his room before a pale hand shot out and knocked him sideways. Marik's quick instincts had him sending a punch of his own, but his wrist was caught in a grip hard enough to mark his tanned skin as his back was pushed up against the wall, and a sharp bony elbow was pressed into the hollow beneath his shoulder, keeping him firmly in place. Furious, Marik raised livid violet eyes to meet a cool, brown gaze that bored straight through his skull.

Bakura spoke first. "I told you to clean up your mess."

"What?" Marik barely even registered the words through the haze of red that was swimming around in his skull, but it seemed that Bakura didn't like his answer because the pressure on his wrist and shoulder increased.

"I said," Growled that low, rasping voice, "That I told you to clean up your fucking mess. Why the fuck is there still soup on my kitchen floor?"

Marik eventually collected enough of his senses to snap back a sharp retort, shifting against the wall to ease the pressure in his chest. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? Get your filthy hands off me."

Bakura snarled. "Don't you talk to me like that, you insolent brat. Get in the kitchen and clean up your mess, and if I find even the tiniest morsel of my food missing there will be hell to pay."

"Shut up." Marik stared defiantly into his eyes, feeling his control on his temper slip with each word that escaped Bakura's mouth. "You've got no fucking right to order me about like this, so get the hell off me and I'll be on my way."

"I have every right to order you about, Ishtar," Bakura snapped, voice sharp. "I let you stay in that room last night, but you had better get the hell out by this evening."

Marik lowered his brows. "About that, I couldn't agree more; I'm not staying in this rat-hole any longer than I absolutely have too. I was on my way to talk to the accommodation officer, but you felt the need to accost me." Marik looked pointedly at Bakura's elbow, but Bakura merely leaned closer.

"I'd better not see you tonight," Bakura hissed, wild white hair falling in torrents around his face. "And this rat-hole had better be in the exact state it was before you decided to show up and ruin everything. Otherwise, I will find you, and you will be sorry. Got it?"

Marik snorted. "You don't scare me, asshole. Now get the fuck off me."

Bakura released him slowly, staring him down a moment longer before turning and striding back to his own room. Marik breathed out, rubbing his shoulder. What a bastard. The sooner I'm out of here, the better. He retrieved his bag and keys, locking the door to his room securely before heading out of the flat, although once he reached the corridor he took a moment to lean against the wall, dropping his head in his hands. He had had enough of aggression in Egypt to last him a lifetime, and the last thing he needed now was an antagonistic bastard for a living companion. That receptionist better be fucking able to sort this out.

Too wound up to wait for the lift, Marik pelted his way down six flights of stairs instead, relishing in the release of energy and tension the activity gave him. He left his block and made straight for reception, leaning forwards on the desk and glaring at the receptionist. "I need to talk to the accommodation officer."

The lady blinked up at him from behind her laptop screen. "What is it about?"

"There's been a mix up with my room booking."

She nodded once, tapping away at the laptop for a moment. "Your name, please?"

"Marik Ishtar." Marik would be lying if he said that he didn't feel a small flutter of flattery at the way the lady's face blanched at the mention of his name. He thought he had recognised her voice from the phone yesterday.

She swallowed, determinedly not meeting his eyes as she continued typing. "R-right, well, I have informed him that you would like an appointment..."

"I wouldn't like an appointment," Marik sneered. "I need to see him. Now."

"Um, well, he isn't in the office until the afternoon..."

"Then make sure I fucking see him then," Marik hissed before turning away.

The lady was quaking; he could tell from her voice. "Y-you will receive a letter, sir..."

Getting a sudden idea, Marik turned back to her with a wide, insincere smile plastered across his face. "Well, good. I'll make sure my flatmate Bakura picks it up, then."

Predictably, the woman squeaked as her face paled even more. "Oh, please tell him that the appointment will be ASAP. We know not to keep Mr. Touzoku waiting long..."

Marik merely scoffed before turning and exiting the building, relishing being back out in the open air again.

Marik found his way to his university building by the simple expedient of following everyone else. The streets were teeming with students of all shapes and sizes, colours and accents, but Marik felt a twinge of pride when he realised he was probably one of the most exotic people there. He turned a corner and finally saw the main university building, entering along with everyone else to find a large atrium lined with desks and stalls. People were lining up according to their subject, and so Marik reluctantly traipsed his way across the squeaky-clean floors to join the area marked 'Art History'. The queue was small, thankfully, and so Marik only had to wait for one person before making his way to the front. A friendly looking woman greeted him with a smile. "Hello there! And you are?"

"Marik Ishtar." Marik drew a breath, allowing his impatience to show a little in his tone.

The woman merely smiled, handing him his timetable and pointing him up a flight of stairs. "Your lecture room is the third door on the left," She explained, waving him away and turning to the next person. Marik climbed the stairs with heavy feet and a small coil of something very close to nerves in his gut; he was certainly feeling jumpier than he had expected. Being in a room full of strangers was less comfortable then he thought it would be. Rejecting his rather foolish thoughts, Marik reached the top of the stairs and turned to the third door, pulling it open without bothering to knock.

The room was smaller than he expected, with rows of seats leading down to a small stage at the bottom; that, presumably, was where the lecturer would speak from. The room was maybe half-full, with plenty of rows left unoccupied; Marik quickly sidled into one in the middle of the room, slipping along the row until he was seated as far away from the centre aisle as he could be. There were small desks attached to each seat, and he rested his elbows on his one and allowed his head to drop into his hands, steadfastly ignoring all the sidelong looks he was receiving from the other occupants of the room.

The room slowly filled up and Marik eventually raised his head, looking around and releasing a heavy sigh. There were hardly any seats left, and more people were still streaming through the door, so most likely he would end up with other people on his row. Sure enough, no sooner had he thought that than another student made his slow way over, wending his way through the desks and edging up Marik's row. Instead of stopping a respectable distance away, as Marik wished he would, the guy didn't stop until he was sat in the seat directly next to Marik.

Marik rolled his eyes and allowed his head to drop into his hands again.

Surprisingly, the person beside him let out a low chuckle. "You not much into company either, hm?"

"You can say that again." Marik cracked open one eye to peer at his new companion, taking in pale skin, spiky hair and a deep gaze that seemed to read far more than he wanted it to.

A hand was extended. "My name is Yami."

Marik lowered his hands, but made no move to take his.

The other merely smiled. "At least tell me your name."

"Marik." Marik turned to face the front, crossing his arms on his desk.

"Well, Marik, I promise not to talk to you much. I'm not really one for company either."

Marik shot Yami a sideways glance, eyebrows raised high. "In that case, why are you still talking?"

"I'm not, anymore," Yami's smile grew. "You are, though."

Marik stopped for a moment before feeling his lips tug upwards a little. "Huh. Guess so. Don't expect much conversation, though."

"I won't." Yami lifted his bag and rummaged for a moment, pulling out a sketchpad much the same as Marik's. "Why art history?"

Marik merely sent him a glare.

Yami raised his hands. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just curious."

"Well, go be curious about someone else," Marik muttered, turning away. "I've had enough of people trying to fucking talk to me."

"Well, sorry." Yami raised a brow. "It's a little early to already be irritated with people though, isn't it?"

"You haven't met my flatmate."

"...Ah." Yami suddenly looked a lot more understanding. "Who is it? I'm local, so I may well know them."

Marik allowed a huff of air to escape his closed lips. "Trust me, you would know if you knew him. His name is apparently infamous. He's an arrogant bastard with real people issues."

"What's his name?" Yami seemed genuinely curious now. "It wouldn't be Bakura Touzoku, would it?"

Marik's jaw dropped. He turned to face Yami with a quick shake of his head. "You have got to be kidding me. Is this guy, like, famous in England, or something?"

Yami chuckled, although the sound was dark and a little strained. "Not famous, exactly, but his name is certainly known. Technically, he shouldn't even be here; he was kicked out at the end of last year."

"Seriously?" Marik looked over, surprised. "What did he do?"

Yami shook his head. "I don't know the details, but he's rather notorious. I'd stay away from him if I were you."

"Believe me, I'm trying to," Marik growled. "What the hell is his problem?"

"Why? What has he done?" Yami met Marik's gaze with worry deep in his eyes. "Has he hurt you?"

Marik scoffed. "He wishes. No, but he seems to have a fetish for threatening me. It's fucking irritating."

Yami nodded slowly. "He has a lot of problems. Just steer clear of him."

"You know him then?" Despite himself, Marik felt a flicker of interest burning deep in his gut; he assumed because any information he had about that arrogant jerk would be useful ammo if ever he needed it.

Yami looked away from him a little, eyes turning a little sad. "He ... has had a difficult life."

Marik stayed quiet for a moment before snorting, loudly. "I don't care if he's been drowned every day since birth, he still shouldn't be such a bastard."

"Well, yes," Yami admitted quietly, "I know he can be difficult."

"You can say that again!" Marik shook his head, feeling the beginnings of rage stir in his stomach once again. "You should have seen him this morning. Had me pinned against a wall just because he dropped some soup in the kitchen!"

Yami shook his head, a smile playing about his lips although there were still little worried creases around his eyes. "Just, steer clear from him."

"Too damn right," Marik muttered, resolving to go back to the receptionist later to make sure he had that appointment. No way was he staying in that flat for long.

Luckily, the professor came in just then and the room quietened, meaning that Yami had to stop talking. Marik listened to the professor for a few moments before nodding off; all the woman on the stage was talking about was boring warnings about how important it was to show up for lectures and to do the work. Marik had his timetable, and he would show up to what he thought was most interesting. He would keep up with work just enough so as not to fail, so that Ishizu and Odion wouldn't panic, but other than that he simply planned to have fun. He knew how to study, having been forced to read endlessly for most of his childhood, so he didn't think he would have too many problems.

The lectures lasted hours, although nothing useful was imparted to the waiting students. They were introduced to all the various lecturers and specialists, but Marik just watched, bored, until eventually he pulled out a pencil and started doodling in his notepad. His thoughts strayed back to the most prominent problem on his mind: Bakura. He was completely insufferable, disrespectful, and your average asshole, and he certainly wasn't someone that Marik wanted to associate with. Marik had come here as a way to escape trouble, and so the last thing he needed was to be forced to mix with a troublemaker. He stabbed his pencil into the sheet angrily, relishing in the dark black mark that formed; he expanded it, working with swift, smooth strokes as he sketched out a pair of deep, staring eyes.

"That's really good." Yami's voice made Marik jump, and he looked around with a raised brow. Yami caught the look and smiled. "You are very talented."

Marik merely rolled his eyes. "Everyone here is, surely? It is an art history course."

"No," Yami shook his head. "I'm only here for the history. We don't have to actually draw for the course, you know."

That brought Marik up short. He stopped for a moment, blinking. "...Seriously? But it's an art course!"

"Art history," Yami corrected, a small crease appearing in his brow. "Did you not check the course description before you applied?"

Marik shook his head, frowning. "I just picked the first course that looked vaguely irritating. The main objective was to get out of Egypt..."

"Egypt?" Yami leaned forwards, interested. "Is that where you're from?" Marik sent him a sharp look, and Yami backed away. "Alright, I won't push you."

Marik turned back to the front, where the professors were just wrapping up. "Good." He could sense Yami's questioning stare, but he didn't turn to face him. It didn't take much longer for the lecture to be over, and Marik was up out of his seat before Yami could ask him any more questions.

Marik headed straight back to his building, stopping briefly at a shop to pick up some basic ingredients so that he could actually cook a proper meal that evening. His stomach growled lowly, reminding him that all he had eaten that day was an apple, but he ignored it as he headed down the street, shopping bag swinging from his hand. Upon entering reception, Marik went back over to the desk, clicking his fingers rudely at the receptionist. It was a man this time, who eyed him with a slightly disgruntled glare. "Can I help you?"

Marik rolled his eyes a little. "Of course; why else would I have called you? I need to know if I've had an appointment booked with the accommodation officer. My name is Marik Ishtar."

The man turned to his computer, tapping briefly before turning back to face him. "You've been sent a letter with an appointment time. It should come through in a couple of days."

"I need it sooner than that," Marik hissed. The idea of living with Bakura, even for just a few days, was entirely disagreeable.

The receptionist merely shook his head. "You've been offered the nearest possible time."

"I need it sooner..."

"I can't do anything about that," The man interrupted. "Once you get the letter you can ring the number to try and bring it forwards, but I doubt they'll be able to do anything for you. The accommodation officer is a busy man."

Marik growled, turning away from the desk and slamming his way through the doors and into his block. He paced angrily whilst waiting for the lift, bag bouncing against his thigh as his brows lowered. He could not deal with another episode like this morning. If he had to stay for a while longer, Marik would just have to show Bakura who was boss.

The lift finally arrived and Marik hurried into it, ignoring the babble of students around him as he settled into a corner. It had been raining, and his blonde hair stuck messily to his forehead; he shook it away as best as he could, ignoring the grimaces from the people around him. The lift cleared the nearer it got to the top, and Marik was the only one left by the time it reached the sixth floor. He sighed as he stepped out, edging up to his flat door and pausing with his keys in the lock, reluctant to turn it. What if Bakura was still in? Marik was tired, and hungry, and most definitely not in the mood for another shouting match. All he really wanted was to curl up in bed with a hot meal and a good book; if Bakura was in, however, the likelihood of that happening was miniscule. Better to just get this over with. With a long drawn out sigh, Marik twisted his keys and pushed the door open, stepping reluctantly into the flat and letting it swing shut behind him.

He stopped, shocked, in the middle of the tiny hallway, fingers going slack as he dropped his bags to the floor.

Music was filtering through the flat, but this wasn't anything like Marik had ever heard before; it was flowing and beautiful, rippling through the air like a droplet in still water. Marik stood, mesmerised, with his head tilted to the side. He didn't recognise the instrument – it certainly wasn't one he had come across, not that he had been exposed to much popular culture in Egypt – but it had a gorgeous, smooth tone. The piece itself was obviously very complex, with various melodies and accompaniments interweaving with each other, dynamics rising and falling with each phrase. Needless to say, it was the most astoundingly wondrous thing Marik had ever heard in his life.

All too soon, the music came to an abrupt stop. Marik remained frozen in place, eyes glazed over as he allowed the last few notes to wash over him; that was, until the door to his left flew open and a pale figure strode out, almost walking straight into him.

Bakura lifted a brow. "Having fun, Ishtar?"

Marik jumped, instantly pulled out of his daze as he found himself fixed with that piercing brown stare. Marik swallowed, turning to him with wide eyes. "Where did that music go?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "I stopped practising. Move; I want food."

"Wait ... that was you?!" Marik twisted to stand directly in front of him, snapping his jaw closed when he realised he was gaping. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm bloody serious. Shift, Ishtar." Bakura moved to step forwards but Marik was too stunned to move.

"I can't believe that was you..."

"Well, it was. What is your fucking problem?" Bakura folded his arms, glaring harshly at Marik.

Marik shook his head. "No fucking way was that you. It was beautiful! And you're so..."

Bakura snorted. "Careful, Ishtar. You don't want to offend me."

"But I don't get it!" Marik was talking without thinking, his mind trying to capture as much of the wonderful sounds as he could remember. "What even was it? It was incredible..."

"Honestly, you act as if you've never heard a piano before." Bakura lifted a brow, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. "Please, don't tell me you've never heard of a piano."

Marik's jaw fell open again as he looked at Bakura, but his gaze soon hardened. "Of course I have!"

"Oh, really?" Bakura leaned languidly against the doorframe, his smirk widening. "What does it look like, then?"

Marik snapped his jaw shut, glaring, as Bakura started to cackle. "Shut up! We aren't all posh English folk, you know."

Bakura scoffed at that. "Please. It's plainly obvious that you have no class. However, I'm almost positive that pianos are found everywhere."

"Not where I'm from," Marik muttered sullenly, turning away and scooping up his bags. He headed into the kitchen, mildly surprised when light footsteps signalled Bakura following him. Marik resolved to ignore him, setting his bags on the table and opening the one with food, taking out his ingredients.

"You can use the cupboard in the far corner," Bakura's voice rasped. "It's pretty much empty, I think. Not that you'll be staying long."

Marik shot him a glare over one shoulder. "I'll need more than one cupboard; your food is crap."

"It isn't like you'll be here for long."

"Unfortunately," Marik ground out, "I have to live here for a few days at least. They've arranged a meeting with the accommodation officer for then."

Bakura rolled his eyes, heading to fridge. "Just keep out of my way."

"You bet I will." Marik opened some cupboards, moving some items around until he had three to use for his own. He could sense Bakura's eyes on him, and so he shot him a question. "Why are you still here, anyway, if you got kicked out at the end of last year?"

Silence weighed heavily in the kitchen, but Marik didn't turn from his task. Eventually, Bakura's dark chuckle ran through the room. "I see my reputation is preceding me."

Marik shrugged. "Just answer the question."

"If you must know," Bakura sounded faintly amused, "They will let me back in, because I am too talented for them to lose."

"...Right." The disbelief was apparent in Marik's tone as he finally shot Bakura a look. "Despite the fact that you're an utter asshole with a superiority complex and a fetish for threatening people."

Bakura merely grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "You know me so well."

Marik shook his head, turning his back and storing away the rest of his food, leaving out a few ingredients for his favourite Egyptian meal. "I'm just observant. I don't know you at all."

"Oh, observant, are you?" Bakura sat at the table, watching as Marik hunted for a saucepan but making no move to help him. "You aren't nearly as clever as you think you are, Ishtar."

"Whatever." Marik continued opening cupboards until, exasperated, he turned back to the pale idiot in the corner. "Where the hell do you keep your stuff?"

Bakura's eyes were laughing at him. "You're not using anything else until you clean up the soup. The floor's getting sticky."

"Well, I guess it sucks to be it then," Marik snarled. "Just tell me where your fucking pans are."

Bakura leaned back, arms folded and head tilted upwards arrogantly. "Not until you clean up my kitchen."

"Like you said, it's your kitchen," Marik threw a falsely sweet smile over his shoulder as he finally located the pans. "So you get the honour of clearing it up."

Bakura merely grinned. "Oh, no, trust me, it will be cleared before you move out of here. And don't use the oven; I'm about to use it."

Marik took in his relaxed position with a raised brow. "Sure you are. I was going to use the hob, anyway."

"Good." Bakura rose fluidly, heading to the freezer and pulling out some ready meal or other. "By the way, I expect you to replace my pizza and my apple."

Marik rolled his eyes. "Somehow, I knew you'd be anal enough to categorise everything you have in your kitchen."

"Well, naturally," Bakura smirked, heading to the oven. "Move."

Marik sighed loudly, moving ever so slightly out of the way. Bakura had to stand right beside him to get to the oven; Marik grinned as he let out an irritated sound. "What? Can't deal with standing next to me?"

"I can't deal with you being in my flat, Ishtar, let alone having to share my stuff with you."

"Oh, come on," Marik scoffed. "I'm not using your stuff. Your food is all crap."

Bakura lifted a brow as he shoved his food in the oven. "We weren't all brought up in some dark cell in Egypt, you know."

Marik dropped his spoon. "The fuck did you just say?"

Bakura merely smirked, still standing far too close; Marik could feel his breath on the back of his neck. "You heard me."

Marik whirled around to glare him, ignoring the fact that they were now practically touching. He could feel a twist of fury growing in his gut as he stared Bakura down, their eyes exactly level with each other as their gazes met. When Marik spoke, his tone was low and throbbing with anger. "You know nothing about me or my past, bastard."

"Well, that's where you're wrong," Bakura responded smoothly, apparently unruffled. "You're quite obviously Egyptian, you're accent gives that away, and I could tell from a mile off that you clearly haven't seen enough of the sun in your life. Couple that with the fact that you have never heard of a piano and you quite obviously have anger issues, I predict that you grew up in some dark hole in Egypt. Then, you've never mentioned a family and you're obviously here alone, so you must have had some huge traumatic event – probably that you were involved with, which would explain the anger – that has led to you being here when you'd quite clearly rather be anywhere else. Am I close, Ishtar?"

Marik gaped. He found himself unable to do anything other than stare in shock at his pale companion, who was now smirking arrogantly with his arms folded, his feet planted firmly still far too close for Marik's comfort. Needless to say, Marik was shocked; how in the hell had Bakura worked out so much from so little time spent together?

Bakura grinned. "I think this proves I am the more observant one, hm?"

"You asshole," Marik eventually ground out, pulling his senses together. "The fuck do you know anything about me."

"Oh, but by your reaction it is quite clear that I do." Bakura shot out a hand as Marik tried to turn, gripping onto his shoulders to keep him firmly in place. Marik shuddered at the unwanted touch as Bakura leaned closer still. "So, traumatic past, hm? I suppose one that you'd rather I didn't bandy about. It would be a shame if I happened to let something slip..."

"Get the hell off me," Marik spat. "And think what you like. You have nothing to tell."

"Yet. Give me time, Ishtar." Bakura released him slowly, backing away. "I think you're burning your food."

Marik span back around, cursing loudly when he saw Bakura was right. "Damn you, you fucking idiot. I needed to eat that!"

"I'm sure you can rescue it." Bakura sat back down, stretching languidly. "Just get a move on – mine will be ready in a minute."

"Fucking asshole," Marik hissed, quickly spooning his food onto a plate. "You're lucky if I don't just turn the oven off right now."

"Oh, go on. I dare you."

Marik caught Bakura's threatening tone and turned to see him sending him a dangerous glare. Marik rolled his eyes, picking up his plate and heading for the door. "Calm down. I'm going to eat. I hope I never see you again."

"Sure, Ishtar." Bakura watched him go with an indiscernible flash to his brown gaze. "You keep thinking that if you want."

Marik ignored him, stalking back into his room. Bakura remained in his seat, staring after the blonde Egyptian for a long moment; he didn't even notice when the smell of burning food filled the air.

Finished for now! Next update out next Thursday. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem