New chapter, and not on a Thursday! I have decided to update this story twice a week, every Tuesday and Thursday, now that my other story 'Thievery Amongst the Ancients' is over. Also, just in case anyone was wondering, all the music stuff in this story comes from my own experiences as a music college student (which I was, up until I got ill earlier this year). So, that's why Bakura is a musician; it's one of the few things I actually know enough about to write. Hope it doesn't irritate anyone too much! ^_^ Anyway, enjoy this chapter! - Jem

Predictably, Marik was far from happy the next morning. He had tossed and turned all night, unable to truly settle after Bakura had seen fit to drag him out in the middle of the night and then yell at him for it, and so it was with barely three hours sleep that Marik finally dragged himself into his lecture room at the university.

Yami met him with a raised brow, taking in his rather dishevelled appearance. "What happened to you?"

"You really don't want to know," Marik ground out as he collapsed into the seat beside the spiky-haired student.

Yami tilted his head, eyes narrowing quizzically. "Somehow, I get the feeling Bakura will have a lot to do with this."

"Too fucking right." Marik dropped his head in his hands and sagged against the desk, his eyes sliding closed just as the lecturer walked in. They sat through two and a half hours of slideshows and presentations, various artwork flashing across the screen, but Marik just laid his head on his arms and dozed through the whole thing. It wasn't until Yami shook his shoulder violently that Marik grumpily lifted his head, swatting Yami away. "What?"

"We're done." Yami tried to keep his expression serious as he took in the Egyptian's dishevelled state, although he couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at the corners of his lips. "I think you need to go back to the bed."

Marik groaned. His sheets were beckoning him, and they sounded really inviting in that moment. With a sigh, Marik dragged his head from the desk to see that they were the only two people left in the hall, and he grumbled as he clumsily got to his feet. "Gods, I am going to kill that pale fucking freak. I am going back to bed, and I am not leaving for the rest of the day."

"Oh, no," Yami cut in, his eyes suddenly flaring wide. "You're still coming to the concert at lunchtime, aren't you?"

Marik whirled back around to Yami with a mostly tired, huffy stare. "What concert? And I'm not going anywhere other than my bed."

"You promised me!" Yami drew in a breath. "Tea wants to go, and I could really use the support. It's only forty-five minutes long – just come to the foyer at 1, please?"

Marik hissed through his teeth. "Fine. If I'm not sleeping, I'll go. But I make no promises."

"Thank you." Yami's eyes still looked a little wild, but he calmed as they exited the lecture hall. Marik ignored him the rest of the way back to his halls, heading straight up to his flat without a second glance. Bakura was waiting for him. The pale student leaned against the wall, his arms folded in front of him and his chin tilted arrogantly up to the ceiling as he calmly surveyed the huffy Egyptian before him. "You took your time."

Marik strode straight up to him, furiously gripping his shoulders and giving him a shake. "You fucking asshole. I hope you know that I slept through all my lectures this morning because of you."

"Really?" Bakura quirked an eyebrow. "That's strange. I seem to recall sleeping in my bed all morning, and you were most certainly not with me there. I don't see how my actions this morning could have affected you in any way whatsoever."

Marik growled, shoving him further against the wall. "Shut it, smart-ass. You know what I mean. You fucked up really badly last night."

"I fucked up?" Bakura's tone dropped, his eyes hardening. He caught hold of Marik's wrists, pushing him back and forcing him against the opposite wall. "You were the one who woke everyone up! We were doing fine right up until you decided that tripping over in the hallway was a good idea."

Marik seethed, wrenching himself free of Bakura's grip and glaring daggers at him. "You could have at least told me where we were going..."

"If you had just done as I said," Bakura hissed through gritted teeth, "Then we wouldn't have had a problem."

Marik scoffed. "Like I'd ever do what you tell me."

"And that," Bakura griped, "Is exactly our problem."

Marik saw red. He flung himself forwards, fists flying into Bakura's chest, catching him off guard and causing him to fall backwards. Bakura recovered far faster than Marik had anticipated though, and his long pale fingers snaked tightly around Marik's wrists, forcing him backwards. Marik hissed when his back hit the wall, his eyes smarting. Bakura leaned right up to him, pinning his wrists. "Don't," he growled, "Try to fight me. You know you will never win."

"Like hell," Marik hissed. He kicked away from the wall, slamming into Bakura and knocking them both backwards. Bakura overbalanced, his flailing hands fastening onto Marik's shoulders as they both tumbled onto the threadbare carpet, landing heavily against each other. The breath whooshed out of Marik's chest as he landed on top of Bakura, but the pale one rolled immediately, forcing Marik into the floor and leaning over him. Marik hissed when the scars on his back seared against the carpet, wincing in pain. Bakura placed one elbow on his chest, pushing down until Marik growled. Bakura smirked. "Give up yet?"

"Get the hell off me," Marik ordered, trying to force himself upright only for Bakura to slam him back into the ground. Marik hissed in pain when his scarred back made contact with the carpet.

Bakura's deep brown gaze shifted, distancing for a moment, and then he was gone from on top of Marik, a pale hand appearing in his vision instead. Marik quirked an eyebrow, accepting the hand and wincing as his back twinged. Bakura met his gaze with an impassive stare. "I forgot about your back."

Marik ignored him, tanned fingers rubbing the scars through his jacket before his hands dropped back down to his sides. "Yeah, well," Marik muttered, "I could still take you in a fight."

Bakura snorted. "As if."

"I could!" Marik sniffed, his fingers curling into fists. "Just you wait..."

Bakura was saved from replying by a knock at the door. He quirked one white eyebrow. "Expecting anyone?"

Marik shook his head, turning with a sigh into the kitchen and tossing over his shoulder, "You can get it this time."

There was a muffled growl from the hallway but Marik ignored it, sliding with a dark chuckle onto a seat at the table and slowly fingering the scars on his back. They were still aching from Bakura's rough treatment, but Marik could have sworn that he had seen something akin to concern in the pale student's harsh brown gaze. That was an absurd thought, though, and so Marik pushed it away with a quick shake of his head, scratching his nails into the plastic of the table. The door opened suddenly behind him, and a familiar cold voice spoke. "Oh, great. It's the idiot from yesterday. What are you still doing with him, Bakura?"

Marik flew off his seat and turned with a glare to face the tall, brown-haired, business-like man from the previous night. The man barely shot him a glance before turning back to Bakura, who entered behind him wearing his familiar smirk. Bakura shrugged. "I don't want him here. He refuses to move out."

"Because I have nowhere else to go," Marik hissed venomously. "Not my fault the Accommodation Office fucked up."

"Not mine, either," Bakura responded mildly, turning back to their visitor. "Kaiba, what did you want? I have a feeling you didn't come here just to enquire after Marik's stupidity."

Marik hissed but Kaiba merely rolled his eyes, taking a seat at the table where the other two joined him. "I wanted to check what happened last night. Did you get the jewel?"

Bakura kept his expression carefully neutral. "What jewel?"

"Please," Kaiba scoffed. "Don't take me for a fool. I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't have gone to that house unless you were certain that there was something there worth stealing. That jewel was moved to the house last month, which is when you started staking it out. I'm not stupid, Bakura."

Bakura made a pretence of innocence. "I would never suggest such a thing."

"Spare me the crap." Kaiba leaned forwards, his elbows placed confidently on their table, "And tell me what happened."

Bakura shrugged. "I got the jewel, that Egyptian idiot over there tripped and woke up half the house, so we ran. You?"

"Basically the same," Kaiba shrugged. "I got the papers I need to bring down that company. All in all it was a successful mission, no thanks to the idiot."

Marik growled softly, his hands curling into fists. "I have had enough of you guys calling me that. It isn't my fault I didn't have a clue what was going on."

"You don't need to know what you're doing to know not to trip over," Bakura pointed out, stretching languidly.

Marik glared across the table at him, doing his best to calm the anger that was slowly growing in his gut – punching Bakura was really not a good idea, and he figured that it wouldn't end well for either of them with Kaiba sat right there. So, instead, Marik turned his attention to the new arrival, running his eyes over his hunched form. Kaiba certainly looked as if he would be better suited behind a desk in an office, not sneaking into mansions in the dead of night or visiting crappy student apartments during the day. Even the fact that he knew Bakura was surprising; as far as Marik could tell, Bakura had little to nothing in common with the tall brown-haired young man before him, and to see the two of them together was almost comical. Kaiba caught Marik's questioning look and quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "What are you staring at?"

Marik shrugged, unfazed. "You. You really don't look like the type of person who would be caught associating with someone as stupid as Bakura."

Bakura merely released a dark chuckle. "Appearances can be deceiving, Ishtar. Kaiba and I have known each other for a long time."

"I wasn't talking to you," Marik sniffed, turning back to Kaiba. "How do you know Bakura?"

Kaiba smirked. "We grew up in the same care home until I had enough sense to get out of there. And how do you know him? You don't strike me as the sort of person he would usually waste his time on."

"I don't see why not." Marik's eyes flashed at the almost-insult, his mouth drawing into a thin line. This man hardly knew him; Marik would not stand being talked down to for long.

Bakura chuckled again, folding his arms on the tabletop. "Now, now. Remember what we said about staying civil, Marik? You want to watch yourself around this one, Kaiba – he flips over everything."

"Shut it," Marik demanded automatically, although his violet eyes turned on Bakura with a new interest. He grew up in a care home? Marik shouldn't have found that too surprising – after all, Bakura had already told him that his parents were dead – but for some reason, the idea of Bakura and Kaiba in the same place as children was almost unbelievable. They were so different now, after all; just one glance at their disparate appearances could tell him that much. Marik's gaze flicked between them, trying to draw any connections. He drew a blank.

Bakura smirked when he realised Marik's occupation. "We were in the same place for a while, Marik, that's all. Don't bother trying to work out any more past that."

A small frown creased Marik's forehead. "But why? What happened?"

"I got myself moved out," Kaiba crossed his arms, his head lifting arrogantly. "Which is more than I can say for that idiot."

"At least I'm not reliant on anyone else," Bakura responded coolly.

Kaiba grinned. "Nor am I, any more."

Marik cut in again, thinking back over what little else he knew about Bakura's past. "Wait a minute – so, Kaiba, does that mean you know Yami, too?"

At the mention of that name Bakura's pale face turned even whiter, his hands clenching into fists on the table, nails digging in to the cracked plastic. Kaiba's face hardened also, turning with a frown to Bakura. "You mean he doesn't know?"

"Of course he fucking doesn't," Bakura ground out, his tone dangerously dark.

Kaiba lifted a brow. "I'm surprised. I thought you took every opportunity to badmouth that spiky-haired freak."

"Hey!" Marik spoke up at that, his lips twisting angrily. Sure, Yami wasn't really someone he considered himself close to, but he was a damn sight better than Bakura. "Don't call him that. Yami is the only person who has actually been nice to me so far..."

"Shut. Up."

The two syllables dropped from Bakura's lips, heavily laced with venom. He shot Marik a glare, and Marik actually shrank back a little; his brown eyes were turned almost black, glowing with an inner rage the likes of which Marik had never seen before. Bakura's mouth was a thin, dangerous line, his jaw jutting and his brow heavy as he held Marik's gaze for a moment longer before shooting steadily out of the seat and striding out of the kitchen, anger in his every step.

Kaiba released a low chuckle at Marik's nonplussed expression. "He does that a lot. Don't worry about it."

"I swear, that guy has the temperament of a lion on heat," Marik muttered, dropping his head into his hands.

Kaiba laughed again, pushing himself up from the table and heading for the door. "I'm going now. Have fun living with Bakura."

Marik merely groaned, collapsing fully onto the table as Kaiba exited the flat.

...

One o'clock found Marik stalking reluctantly back to the university foyer. He hadn't seen Bakura at all since the pale student stomped into his room earlier; the flat door had slammed about half an hour before Marik left, but Marik had been drawing in his room and so didn't bother checking where Bakura had gone. It wasn't like he cared, anyway – Bakura could do whatever the hell he liked. Marik wasn't fussed in the slightest.

Continuing down the street, Marik kicked at a stone in the pavement with unexpected fury coiling in his stomach. Bakura had no right to flip at him the way he had, when all Marik had done was ask a civil question. Bakura knew all of Marik's past, after all, and after last night Marik had actually been foolish enough to think that they might actually be making progress in learning how to get along. Sure, they still fought, but there hadn't been any malice in it – at least, none that Marik could feel. But the glare Bakura had given him just before he stormed out clearly showed Marik where he stood. Bakura still hated the sight of him, and Marik was beginning to highly doubt if that would ever change.

"Fine," Marik hissed to himself, ignoring the questioning looks from the people he passed on the street. "If he wants to be an asshole, he can just go ahead and be an asshole. He can stop expecting me to run around after him, though. I'm not his damn slave."

So it was that Marik wasn't in the best of moods when he finally met up with Yami in the foyer. There were three other people with him – Tea Marik recognised, but the other two were new faces to him. Tea beamed when she saw him approach. "Marik! I'm so glad you could make it. This is Joey and Mai, they're my flatmates. Guys, this is Marik – he's from Egypt, isn't that exotic?"

Marik rolled his eyes, glancing disinterestedly at the two new faces. They were both blonde with vacuous expressions, so Marik decided quickly to pay them no mind. The woman - Mai - strode up to him with one hand outstretched, her blonde hair shining. "Hey, Marik. Good to meet ya."

Marik shook her hand half-heartedly, holding back a sigh when the guy moved to stand beside her. Joey tilted his head. "So, Egypt, huh? That's pretty far away. Why'd you come here?"

"...Change of scenery." Marik almost laughed at Joey's slightly surprised expression. "I just wanted to get away, that's all."

Joey shrugged, saying, "Fair enough," as they began to walk out of the foyer. Marik fell tiredly into the back of the group as they all started across the city, nearing the music hall that Marik had previously only passed by.

The concert hall was large but filling up quickly, so the five of them hurried to nab seats near the stage, in the second row from the front. Marik grimaced when he somehow found himself wedged between Yami and Tea, although he forced a smile onto his face when Yami shot him a slightly grateful look.

"So, Marik," he started with a small cough. "What have you been doing today?"

Marik rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. "Fighting with Bakura, mostly."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" Yami smiled slightly. "What were you fighting over this time?"

Marik held back a snort at the idea of telling Yami the truth – for some reason, Marik couldn't imagine him being exactly pleased at the prospect of Marik robbing a mansion with two people he hardly knew. However, Marik brightened a little when he realised that Yami might be able to tell him more about why Bakura flipped so much. "Well, actually, it was sort of indirectly about you."

Yami lifted a brow, his expression closing a little. "Me? Why?"

Marik shrugged. "Some guy called Kaiba came over – he said he knew Bakura when they were in a care home together. I mentioned your name and Bakura totally flipped, do you have any idea why he would do that?"

Yami swallowed, his features tumbling downwards as his muscles went stiff. Marik watched with interest as his gaze turned inwards, his expression darkening as he looked down at the seat. Shifting as he grew impatient, Marik nudged Yami with his toe. "So? Any ideas?"

Yami jumped, his eyes flying back up to meet Marik's curious violets. "Oh, nothing. No, I'm sorry, I can't help you with that."

"Hm." Marik tilted his head; Yami was quite obviously hiding something. "Whatever you're not telling me, I'm sure I can get one or the other of you to explain eventually. Why would Bakura hate you so much?"

"No reason," Yami retaliated quickly, crossing his arms. "After all, he hates you for no reason, doesn't he?"

Marik laughed a little at that, realising that Yami was probably right. Still, Bakura's expression when Marik mentioned Yami's name earlier had been something new; his rage seemed to flow much deeper than anything Marik had seen before. Marik shook his head, turning back to Yami with narrowed eyes. "I'm sorry, but he was completely different with you. He seemed to really hate your guts – no offence, or anything."

"None taken," Yami commented stiffly, but he didn't volunteer anything more.

Marik frowned, opening his mouth to question him further only to feel an elbow dig straight into one of the scars on his back. Marik winced.

"What are you guys talking about?" Tea butted in, her tone far too happy for Marik's liking.

Yami flicked her a look, his expression softening almost instantly as he spoke. "Marik's got a difficult flatmate. He's been having trouble with him, that's all."

"Oh, no, that's awful!" Tea's eyes widened as she turned to Marik. "Who is he? Do you want any help with him?"

Marik drew in a deep, calming breath, forcing his fisted hands to relax in his lap. The last thing he needed was Tea sticking her nose in, but Yami was sending him a pleading look, so Marik settled on being as polite as he could. "His name is Bakura, and he's a pain in the ass."

Tea giggled a little at his coarse language, but her eyes narrowed a moment later. "Bakura? Isn't that the name of one of the musicians in this concert?"

"What?" Marik's jaw dropped as he stared at Tea, who had gone diving down into her bag.

She returned a moment later with a programme in her hand, flicking through it quickly before passing it to Marik. "Yes, look, there – he's playing three pieces in this concert. I knew that name was familiar!"

Marik took the programme with surprise widening his eyes. There it was, plain to see in black and white – Bakura Touzoku, second year pianist, performing three solo works. Marik swallowed.

Yami caught his expression and leaned forwards with a frown. "Marik, are you ok? You've gone really pale..."

"I'm fine," Marik snapped hurriedly, the programme sliding out of his hands as he jumped to his feet. "I've got to leave."

"You can't!" Tea hissed. "It's about to start!"

Marik started to move but Yami gripped his wrist, turning him back just as the lights dimmed. Marik glanced forwards with panic growing in his gut, but every muscle in his body locked when he caught sight of the shadow stepping on to the stage. Applause slowly swelled through the audience as the pale, slim student with flowing white hair, dressed in a smart black suit with long tails, strode confidently to the middle of the stage and bowed with a flourish, a slightly sardonic smirk decorating his lips. As he rose again, his eyes met Marik's, and the Egyptian stopped breathing. Bakura gazed at him with utmost confidence, his lips stretching further in that familiar smirk as his skin gleamed in the bright stage lighting. Marik shook slightly when Bakura tossed him a sly wink before turning away from the audience, taking a seat at the piano in the centre of the stage.

Marik slid back into his seat slowly, his heart pounding in his ribcage and his breaths coming fast and shallow. Bakura didn't seem mad anymore, but Marik wasn't even sure if he was pleased about that – the way the pale student had looked at him had almost been hungry. Marik didn't like that expression, he didn't like it one bit, but even worse was the way his own body was reacting. He felt hot, too hot in the stuffy interior of the concert hall, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead as he attempted to gather himself.

Then Bakura's hands fell onto the keys, the first notes bursting through the expectant silence, and Marik relaxed. The instant the familiar music hit his ears Marik was comfortable again; he had heard Bakura practising this piece many times in the flat, and he closed his eyes dreamily as the notes washed over him. So it was that he didn't notice when deep brown eyes looked up from the music to fix on his tanned face, their expression impassive as they took in his closed lids and soft smile. Then the brown eyes shifted to Yami, and they instantly hardened. Yami gulped, instantly dropping his gaze, and he was relieved when Bakura turned back to the piano, his hands flying over the keys. Bakura kept focused on the music after that, his features relaxing slightly as the piece went on, but his eyes never lost their hard edge.

Marik's eyes drifted back open as the music finished and he watched, a little awed, as Bakura started his second piece whilst barely leaving any time for applause. Marik watched his fingers fly across the keyboard with narrowed eyes, trying to keep track of which hand was where, but Bakura moved far too quickly for him to follow. In the end, Marik settled for just sitting back in his seat and watching, captivated in the sounds that dripped into his ears.

The recital was over far too quickly for Marik's liking and Bakura stood, tossing him another wink as he bowed before leaving the stage. A string quartet was the next to come on, the four members bustling busily around the stage, but whilst Marik was interested in the instruments – he had never seen them before, either – he wasn't as enamoured by them as he was when Bakura played. Something about the pale teen just captured him. The concert was over after the quartet had played a few more pieces, and Tea turned to Marik with shining eyes. "You live with that white-haired pianist? Gosh, you're so lucky! He's amazing!"

"'Lucky' is one word for it," Yami muttered, but Marik ignored him, unable to hold back a smile.

"I am lucky," Marik mumbled, his gaze distant. "...When he isn't being an asshole, anyway."

Tea looked between him and Yami, a small frown creasing her brow. "Is he really bad, then? What's he like?"

"You don't even want to know," Marik grumbled. "He's completely insufferable. He almost beat me up just for going in his room once, never mind that he comes into mine all the time, even when I tell him not to, and he laughs at me whenever he gets the chance. He drives me mad. He also hates Yami, for some reason that neither of them will tell me about."

Tea's eyes took on an interested gleam but Yami shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "It isn't important."

"Why?" Marik turned on him again, his gaze sharp. "What's your problem with him? I mean, I know he's a bastard, but I don't know why he hates you as much as he does."

Yami frowned up at him, but Tea cut in before he could speak. "If Yami doesn't want to talk about it, then that's fine."

"But -" Marik's protestations were cut off by the appearance of the other two members of their group.

Marik sighed as the male – Joey, was it? – spoke out. "Hey, guys, Mai and I were thinking of going out tonight. You wanna join?"

"Sure!" Tea grinned. "Yami, you'll come out with me, won't you?"

Yami stammered a little, tripping over his words. "Um, yes, of course I'll come. Marik will come too, right?"

"Oh, yes," Tea gushed, turning to him with a wide smile. "You could bring Bakura as well, if you like."

Marik quirked an eyebrow. "Why the hell would I want to bring him?"

"Well, it's pretty obvious you like him," she giggled.

Marik's eyes almost fell out of his head. "What?!"

She laughed. "Oh, come on. The way you pretend to hate him, and you talk about him all the time. Plus, I saw the way he winked at you when he was on stage, and your expression was positively dreamy whilst you were watching him play."

Marik could feel heat rising to his tanned cheeks, but he hid it behind anger as he responded indignantly, "I was not dreamy. I hate his guts! The sooner he's out of my life, the better."

A snort of laughter sounded from behind him, and Mai wound her arm around his shoulders, leaning close to his ear. "Oh come on, hun, we can all see the truth. It's quite obvious you go for the guys, and who wouldn't go for someone like that pianist, huh? Especially as you live with him."

Marik pulled out of her grip with a harsh glare, the heat of anger rushing through his veins. "Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about."

Mai laughed at him. "Getting all defensive only lets us know that we're right!"

"Oh, stop teasing him," Yami muttered, half-heartedly coming to Marik's defence.

Tea smiled. "Alright. Sorry, Marik. You'll come out with us tonight though, right?"

"Fine," Marik hissed, "But if you mention anything about Bakura, I swear I will murder you."

Tea laughed. "Ok, don't worry. We won't tease you anymore. But if you want to bring him along, feel free."

Marik glared after her as the group left the concert hall, seething inwardly. He didn't want to have to think about Bakura anymore than he was already forced to. The only good thing about him was that he could play piano, and Marik would gladly give that up in order to get away from him. So when he finally exited the concert hall only to meet a shadowy white figure leaning against the wall, Marik released a quiet groan. Bakura's head shot up to greet him, white teeth flashing as he grinned. "Hello, Ishtar. Fancy seeing you here."

"Bastard," Marik hissed, striding right past him.

Bakura released a low chuckle, falling into step beside Marik with his coat tails snapping in the breeze. "What, don't want to be seen with me? Worried you'll get swamped by all my adoring fans?"

"You wish," Marik snorted, unable to hold back a small laugh. Bakura chuckled along with him, footsteps confident on the soggy pavement. Rain began to spit down from the ever-cloudy sky, the occasional spat dripping on Marik, who shook his head, disgruntled. "Ugh. Why is it always so wet in this damned country?"

Bakura laughed. "You didn't have to come here, you know."

"You know full well that I did," Marik griped, pulling his fingers through his golden locks. "I hate rain."

A sudden deep voice boomed from the shadows, and a spiked head entered the street. "You should have picked a different place then, cousin."

Marik froze in shock. He span quickly on his heel, eyes widening when he caught sight of another tanned face leering at him. Marik grinned. "Hey, Kek. You're still around, then?"

"Too right I am," Kek grinned. "And I'm starving. Can I eat with you tonight?"

Marik huffed. "Sure, but we'll have to shop soon. Unless someone actually got off his lazy backside and bought us food." He turned with a pointed look at Bakura, who raised his hands in mock-innocence.

"Hey, hey, I don't know what you need," Bakura defended himself as they continued through the streets.

Marik sighed loudly. "You've been watching me cook for almost two weeks. You must have some idea."

"I just eat the food, Ishtar. I don't pay attention to what goes in it."

Kek snorted at that, but Marik glared at him before he could say anything.

They spent a strangely pleasant evening back in the tiny student flat. Kek kicked back at their table, gazing around with a grin as Marik set about cooking. "So, you cook every night?"

"It's better than the crap he has," Marik spat, pointing his fork in Bakura's expression.

Bakura rolled his eyes. "You keep going on about how awful my food is. It's fine; I don't see what your problem is."

Marik sighed loudly but he didn't bother to grace that with an answer, turning instead to his cooking. He would never admit this out loud, but a part of him secretly thoroughly enjoyed cooking for Bakura; he loved to see the way the pale student would grin whenever he swallowed a mouthful and thought Marik wasn't looking. Marik was proud of his cooking, and he loved to watch Bakura's reactions.

The food was ready soon enough, Marik setting the hot plates down on the table and taking a seat between his cousin and Bakura. Kek slurped at his food happily. Marik sent him a vaguely disgusted glance, shifting his weight as he asked, "Do you not feed yourself, Kek?"

The tall Egyptian shrugged, swallowing messily before he spoke up. "Course I do, but it's not as nice as yours."

"Sure," Marik scoffed. "Where are you even living?"

"Found a hotel," Kek shrugged. "Staying there for now."

Marik sent him a frown. "Have you got a job? Are you going to get a house?"

"Gods, you sound like my mother," Kek grinned, swallowing the rest of his food in one giant mouthful. "If you're that worried about me, let me move in here."

"Never going to happen," Bakura cut in calmly, his tone dark.

Kek laughed, turning his baleful star on the pale student. "Oh, sorry, Marik. I forgot. I wouldn't want to mess things up with your boyfriend."

Marik dropped his fork with a clatter. "Why the hell does everyone keep thinking that? There is nothing going on."

Bakura looked vaguely surprised, then mildly angry, then faintly amused. He smirked as he looked at Marik. "Everyone keeps thinking that, hm? Who else has said it to you?"

"Shut up!" Marik responded reflexively, furious when he felt warmth rise to his cheeks again. "It doesn't matter. Just drop it."

"Awwwww, ickle Marik's getting all embarrassed!" Kek burst out laughing, his manic peals bouncing off the walls. "Still can't stand the teasing, huh? Gods, I thought you would have grown up at least a little bit."

"Just shut the hell up!"

Bakura joined in with a dark laugh. "They're just stupid rumours, Marik. Anyone with the least bit of intelligence could tell that we hate each other's guts."

"I know!" Marik grunted, turning his flashing violet eyes on Bakura and pushing down the tiny amount of disappointment streaming through his veins. "It's just fucking irritating, alright?"

Kek grinned, his lips stretching wide across his tanned skin. "Why? Because it's true?"

"Fucking asshole," Marik hissed at him. "Just for that, the two of you can clean up tonight. I am fucking sick of always having to tidy up."

Without a second glance, Marik rose from the table and stomped out of the kitchen, collapsing back onto his bed with a tired sigh and a headache pounding in his skull. Faint sounds rang across the hall from the kitchen but Marik tuned them out, instead turning his head into the pillow and kicking off his shoes, curling up under the blankets with the thought of catching a few hours sleep before he went out that night. His thoughts were racing, his blood pounding around his body at an almost alarming rate and Marik turned onto his back with a growl, hating the restlessness that kept him awake. No matter what he tried, he could not calm himself down – his deep breathing only served to make his heart race more, and closing his eyes only made random images flit across his lids, mostly revolving around a certain white-haired student. Marik groaned.

A door slammed shut somewhere out in the hallway, and feet padded into the room next to Marik's. The Egyptian swallowed, his hands edging to his forehead when everything went silent once more.

He didn't truly settle until the soothing notes of the piano echoed once more around the flat.

That's it for now! So, next chapter should be out on Thursday, and Marik goes out for the first time. Let's see how well that goes haha. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! – Jem