"Bakura!"
His head shot around, looking desperately for the source of that cry, that plea.
It was a crowded street, and he knew he was losing her fast in the sea of people.
For a flickering moment, he thought he saw her being tugged away by a dark figure. Out of his reach.
He ran, breathless.
And suddenly, he was no longer in the city, but in an unknown forest.
He felt frantic and anxious.
Where the hell was Ryou!? Why wasn't he helping him!?
He started running again; if he didn't, he would lose. It was the only way. Spending too much time in one place was bad.
He had one job. Only one job and he lost her!
Out of the corner of his eye, a nervous rabbit always remained. So close, but completely unattainable. Any time he tried to catch it, it would hop away.
The alarm woke him with a jolt. He nearly smashed the screen for the snooze button.
Lying in his bed, Bakura was forced to remember his most prominent nightmare.
Disjointed and nonsensical in nature, it did nothing to erase her influence.
Why did they always have to feel so real?
He buried himself deeper in his blankets. He was certain he looked haggard. Fuck, this always happened!
It was easier when he was numb.
It was like he was in another world, floating, floating, floating...
Jagger?
Jagger?
Where's that report?
Jagger?
He blinked, confused, his eyes falling on the man that stood beside him.
"I...I was spaced out," was his feeble excuse.
"Luckily, it's Friday, right?" his co-worker smiled.
"Yeah," he agreed, shuffling the papers on his desk until he found the right one.
"Any plans tonight?" the man asked.
"Just dinner and drinks. You?" he replied, keeping up formalities in the workplace. He handed over a small stack of papers.
"Going out to the pub. Thanks a lot, I'll give this back to you on Monday. Alright?"
"Alright."
As soon as the man left, he sighed. How would he survive tonight with Marik?
"Yes, I'll have another," Marik answered the questioning waiter.
"Are you sure? That's your third glass." Bakura pointed at the empty dishware.
"Four won't kill me."
"That's what you said about three." The white haired man frowned.
Marik shrugged before picking at the remainder of his spinach gnocchi.
"Are you done, sir?" the waiter asked Bakura.
"I'm done. Thanks," he answered, full from eating most of his plate.
"Could I interest you in some dessert?" the waiter dutifully offered.
"Oh yeah!" Marik interjected, becoming increasingly boisterous.
"I shall return with the menu and your drink."
Marik slowly took a final bite from his plate before pushing it away in defeat. A glazed expression softened his eyes as they turned onto the paralegal.
"How does it feel...to lose?" the Egyptian smirked.
"You're drunk."
"No, I'm not." The blond's speech was light and careful, bordering on slurring.
"You will be very soon."
"I only had three drinks."
"You had three Tom Collins in a row." Irritation was beginning to seep into the older man's dry replies.
"They're pretty good."
"I know. I'm the one who recommended it to you."
"Why aren't you drinking anymore?" Marik cocked an eyebrow. Paired with his expression, he looked positively seductive. No.
"Because someone has to take care of your pissed ass," Bakura hissed.
"Don't be like that, Bakura," the blond said, putting emphasis on his name.
Marik's attention switched to the glass placed before him, the waiter handing them both a dessert menu.
"I think I'll have the tiramisu," the student mused.
Bakura made an annoyed sound in acknowledgement.
The blond hung heavy at his side, leaning into him with all his weight.
"I can...wa-walk my-self," the pissed Egyptian slurred.
Bakura rolled his eyes. "Don't be dim." He was more frustrated by having to take care of the man than the large bill he paid.
"I lov-ve when you talk to mee."
"What?" he asked indignantly, nearly dragging the man to the waiting cab.
"You use a-alllllll the Brit-ishh words," Marik replied, lazily leaning into Bakura.
He gave up on making sense of the man, and shoved him into the cab.
"Hey! No-not so rough," the student yelped.
"Was it really necessary for you to have nine cocktails?" he scolded as he sat himself in the cab.
"I told you I'm not pisssssed."
"You're completely pissed."
"Where to?" the cab driver piped in.
Bakura gave his address, attempting to ignore the incoherent slurs of the blond beside him. Marik was too drunk to go anywhere on his own; he figured he should probably bring the student home with him and make sure he doesn't die. For some reason.
As they neared the apartment building, Marik suddenly fell quiet. He appeared to be staring out the window, blankly.
The paralegal thought nothing of it, finding peace in the first silent moment of their night.
Marik finally turned his attention towards him when the cab stopped.
Bakura felt a bit unnerved by the dead eyes scowling at him, arms crossed tightly to the blond's chest, as he paid the fare.
Upon exiting the cab, Bakura realised Marik continued to give him the same glare.
"Why do you keep staring at me like that?" he finally ventured.
"Who the fuck are you?" was the surprisingly blunt and coherent reply from Marik.
Had he lost his mind?
"Don't be an idiot, Marik. I'm tired and you're pissed. You can sleep on the sofa," he replied.
The Egyptian tensed, taking a few dangerous steps and trying hard not to sway, before stumbling into the older man's arms.
"Stop being a wanker and just cooperate with me, okay?"
The blond groaned and fumbled in his attempt to push him away.
Bakura rolled his eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
"I'll get you...for this...later," the Egyptian managed to get out.
Bakura chose to ignore the mumbling of his strangely inebriated companion, who currently depended on him for support. He more or less dragged the student into the building, until they reached his sofa where he unceremoniously let the dead weight crumple.
"My head," Marik moaned, making no effort to move into a more comfortable position. His voice retained that rather unfriendly edge, but it no longer seemed to hold any violent intent towards the white haired man.
"It's your own fault for drinking too much. I warned you," Bakura spoke unsympathetically.
"I wasn't drinking with you!" the blond replied disdainfully, sounding a little vicious when he referred to the older man.
"You know, you behave really oddly when you're pissed. Well, more than usual," he smirked, crossing his arms.
"Go fuck yourself!" Marik shot back.
"I was going to be nice and get you water and some paracetamol, but you can suffer instead. Goodnight, Marik, and don't chunder on my sofa."
Bakura left the Egyptian in the living room, fed up with the malicious attitude. He was too tired to deal with the angry drunk.
"Bakuraaa," a voice whined.
Something gently shook him. He woke up dazed, his vision blurred.
Turning over, he saw the faint outline of Marik against the darkness. It was hard to tell what kind of expression he held. Friend or foe?
"Did you throw up?" was the first logical question that came to mind.
"What? No. I just woke up. I don't remember anything."
The paralegal sighed and turned on the small table light.
Marik looked sickly, pale for a person with a darker complexion, but mostly he looked confused.
"I'll get you water," Bakura gave in.
Marik followed him to the kitchen, questions in queue: "What happened? When did I pass out?"
"You didn't pass out."
Silence.
"Wha...what did I do?" the blond asked carefully.
Bakura filled a glass with water before handing it over.
"You became silent in the cab, then malevolent."
"Malevolent how?" Those lavender eyes already looked guarded and apologetic, glass tensely clenched in his hand.
"You told me to go fuck myself and tried to push me. Oh, and you also didn't know who I was apparently," Bakura listed off, no longer caring enough to hold it against a kid who can't hold his liquor.
Marik drank some water, an unreadable expression on his face. "I'm sorry, I...I don't know what got into me. I don't remember any of it," he said, trying to assuage his past actions.
"Whatever, I don't really care," Bakura shrugged, "Just don't get that pissed around me anymore."
"Agreed," Marik exhaled, closing his eyes. He seemed to deflate.
"How's your head, wanker?" Bakura smiled.
Marik gave him a brief sour look, "Awful."
"I'll get you something for it."
He walked to the bathroom, aware that Marik was following behind him.
His medicine cabinet was underwhelming at best, filled with the essentials and a small collection of pills for headaches, something he was prone to. Opting for the extra strength paracetamol, he turned around to find Marik gone. Where is that wanker...
Purple caught his eye when he walked by his bedroom. The student was sitting on his bed.
"What are you doing?" Bakura asked a tad defensive, clutching the packet in his hand.
"I'm not sleeping on the sofa. My head hurts too much." The blond's eyes were closed as he pressed his fingers against his temples.
"Do you really think you're in a position to make that kind of demand?" He cocked an eyebrow, anger boiling within.
"I'm sleeping here. Your bed is big enough, and if you have a problem, move me yourself." With those words, the Egyptian ungracefully flopped onto his side.
Bakura swore he felt his eye twitch. He threw the pill pack, hitting the student's arm. "For you," he spoke, ignoring Marik's annoyed protests.
The white haired man took the last unhappy steps to his side of the bed.
"That was unnecessary!" the student whined.
Bakura paid no mind to him, instead forming a makeshift wall of pillows between himself and Marik. When the blond noticed, he rolled his eyes at him. Actually rolled his eyes at him!
"I liked you better when you were passed out," the paralegal muttered, pulling the sheets over himself and turning off the light.
He heard the Egyptian settling beside him, a little too close to the pillow border.
An unfamiliar and unpleasant sense of dread filled Bakura's insides; Marik was way too close to him. Sleeping beside him. Breathing beside him. Moving beside him. Waking up to him. In the same room. It was something he was never supposed to experience. He wasn't prepared for this.
"You don't like sharing a bed do you?" the voice spoke beside him, cutting through darkness in all its rasp.
"I don't like sleeping in the same room as other people," he replied, truthfully.
"Why not?"
"I just don't like it."
"You don't trust people much."
"I know."
Silence filled the air for a very long minute. Maybe Marik was done. Of course, that would be too easy.
"How does that work in relationships?"
He felt the blond move, he could have sworn he was shifting closer, but peering into the darkness didn't prove much. He couldn't distinguish Marik's form from the pillows.
"It doesn't."
"So?"
"So, I would stay awake until they fell asleep. Then it would take another hour or two until I fell asleep."
"Is that what you're going to do tonight?"
"Yes," he continued to reply honestly. He felt too drained to bother keeping up his front.
"You have a sleeping disorder."
"I know."
"For how long?" Genuine concern washed away the curious apathy in the student's voice.
"For as long as I could remember."
"And you've just lived your whole life like this?"
"I've lived with a lot of things my whole life."
"You're a sad person, Bakura."
"Go the fuck to sleep, Marik."
"I mean it," the Egyptian replied, propping himself up on his elbow to look down on Bakura, a looming shadow. Fuck.
"You act as if I have some traumatic backstory," he tried to brush off Marik's concern, maybe to show how ridiculous he was being.
"You might."
"Go to sleep, Marik, for fuck's sake!" he snapped, annoyed with the blond's imposed psychoanalysis.
"I was joking, Bakura. Joking. I know you're just a dick."
"People like you give me reason to be."
The shadow lowered itself, hair splaying on the pillow, crossing the boundary. Fingertips momentarily brushed against the material covering his shoulder. Get the fuck away.
Bakura shifted towards the edge, in his own bed.
"What else did you live with your whole life?" The Egyptian was asking too many questions. Why is he so interested in me?
"If you tell me something about your life, then I will too."
"My mother died giving birth to me," Marik replied, too casual for comfort. Factually.
The paralegal tensed at the blunt information. He was not expecting something so heavy, yet the blond remained unaffected. Maybe he still had some alcohol in him?
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's okay. It's hard to miss something you never knew, but it would have been nice anyway." He felt the blond shrug, the shadows blending too much for him to see the action.
"My mother died, too, when I was seven. An accident. My brother, Ryou, had just turned six." Amane was four. "Father was away a lot, and that didn't change after the...accident. I had to step up and be the adult." The parent. "Ryou was better at that though. As the years went on, he sort of took on the mature, responsible role. I was just trying to keep it together, especially in the first few years of being shuffled amongst live-in sitters. I never adjusted."
Once he had finished, he realised just how much he divulged. Just like the last time when Marik had asked him questions about his compulsive tendencies. He would just space out and talk. It scared him, the complete lack of control.
Still, his brain filled with more dangerous thoughts: Amane. All he could think about was Amane. He wanted to talk about Amane. He could never allow himself to talk about Amane. It was forbidden. So much was forbidden.
"Bakura?" Marik gently shook him.
He, none too gently, pushed him away, annoyed mostly at himself and his stupid reactions.
"I'm sorry. I won't ask any more questions tonight," the blond sounded genuinely concerned.
"I'm not your personal case study, you know!" Bakura spat back accusingly. He felt extremely uncomfortable with where this situation had taken them. His own bed wasn't even safe. Fucking wanker.
"I know. You're not," Marik reassured. He held sadness in his voice that made no sense to Bakura for him to have.
Suddenly, a hand soothingly stroked his hair. He kept his mouth shut.