A/N: The last of the old chapters. Bakura's life will take a nosedive and Yami Marik will become a more active character in the future chapters.
Marik left that morning and Bakura hadn't heard from him since. He broke up with Gemma through text messaging. She wasn't entirely surprised.
That weekend in October could not come any sooner. He sat bundled on the train, his scarf wrapped around his face, staring out the window. He was three kilograms lighter and about ten percent more nicotine.
Ryou sat beside him and watched Tarot in her carrier. She had gotten a little bigger and was sleeping soundly. "Are you okay?" Ryou nearly whispered.
"This time I really was dumped, er…I mean, I did the dumping. It doesn't make me feel any better though," he honestly answered for once. He had nothing to lose.
"You don't look well."
"I'm not."
"You've never been…" his brother trailed off.
"I know." He turned his head now. "Do you think they'd lock me up and drug me if I ever talked to anyone about it?"
Ryou had a pained expression on his face. "Of course not. You're not crazy, Bakura."
"But I'm not normal either." He returned his gaze to the dreary country view: endless fields, sheep and grey skies. He felt so hollow. Luckily, the train was rather empty. There were maybe two other souls in their general area.
"I still love you," Ryou offered. It was quite possibly the most meaningful thing anyone has ever said to him. He needed it so much.
"Thanks."
The house was suffocating him. He felt like a zombie walking through the hallways. How could you kill something that already felt dead though?
Tarot was given free reign and decided to fixate on him today. She followed his wallowing, but only offered distant comfort. She didn't want to be pet today. Ryou was busily boxing things away in the living room. He was leaving Bakura alone for now.
On the second story, Ryou's room still resembled a nerd's paradise. It was no different from his brother's current décor. Amane's room still seemed unchanged, frozen in time. No one could ever bring themselves to touch it until now.
He looked at every trinket and toy left behind. Unmarked by the ravages of time, save for the layer of dust. Her pink plush rabbit lay on her pillow. It was so small in his hands. Why did they all have to leave him?
"Bakura?" Ryou spoke softly from the doorway.
"Hmm?"
"You don't… What do you want for dinner?"
"I'm not hungry."
"I'll get pizza, then." Ryou left him.
His brother wasn't prepared to deal with any of his mess. That mess of his. The one that he managed to create over and over again. No wonder he was desperately trying to gain control over his life. Scrutinizing every facet to the point of crippling obsession.
He spent two fucking years trying to forget that mum was gone! He held it together for two fucking years until his only purpose was lost. He could successfully distract a toddler from her mother dying, but he couldn't even support himself. Fuck.
He eventually moved from his spot and found Ryou downstairs having a slice of pizza. Functioning, albeit nerdy, Ryou.
"Has father ever told you that he loved you?" he asked.
The other stopped eating. "That's kind of a heavy and sudden question."
"Well, has he? I need to know. I need to know that it wasn't just all in my head." Bakura didn't particularly feel angry, but he was slowly raising his voice.
His brother threaded carefully, but bluntly. "Are you having a breakdown, right now?"
"Just tell me, Ryou. I need you to confirm that I'm truly the fuck up I am. I need you to assure me that I deserved all of this." All those years of his miserable life, they had to be?
"No one deserves this. You're behaving a little erratically though," Ryou nearly whispered.
He ignored that. "Was I not a good person?"
"You were fine," the younger man hurriedly replied.
"Then I need to know why you're so okay and I'm not," he countered. He felt rushed like he had to say everything before it was too late.
"Bakura, I'm not as great as you think I am."
"Well, you're doing a hell of a lot better than me!"
Ryou finally took on a serious tone. "I think you need help and a lot of it. I've been watching you suffer for years. It hurts me you know. It really does. Do you think I'm happy to know that the only surviving family member that actually talks to me is miserable like this? Sure, dad might treat me better, but he doesn't know anything about me!" Tears were breaking the pristine emeralds that were Ryou's eyes. So full of life in comparison.
"I want you to get better. I really do, but you need fucking help! This is mental shit I can't deal with and that doesn't mean I don't care. I'm not qualified for what you need, but I'll always be there for you. You know that!" The younger man snapped. Ugly tears were running down that porcelain face. Why didn't it make him stir?
"You know, I was even in denial for a while. I thought you had a job and you looked content. At least as content as a depressive prick can be, but you weren't." A sniffle broke Ryou's speech before he could continue. "Do you think you're the only one who was changed that day? I know you did your best for us to replace mum, but then I had to replace her when Amane died! For the longest time, it was just me! I was so angry at you, yet worried sick. My little seven-year-old-brain couldn't comprehend that!"
He still wasn't crying. Why couldn't he cry? Why couldn't he just feel anymore?
Ryou, on the other hand, needed a handful of tissues. "You always make fun of my hobbies, but that's how I learned to deal. I was feeling alone, so I got a dog. You…you don't help yourself though."
The spell was broken and Bakura finally felt like he was able to move again. He approached his brother carefully. "I'm sorry, Ryou." The younger one hesitated before letting himself be embraced. The last of his tears dried on Bakura's shoulder.
Ryou felt immensely better since his outburst. Bakura hadn't progressed. He slept in his old bed that night. His room felt like it was decaying. His past selves only brought on shame and disappointment. Apathy at best.
He texted him.
[I'm sorry]
[SEND]
A short while later he received a reply.
[7700-900391:
I don't understand]
[REPLY:
I got you involved in this. I made things worse for the both of us. I'm sorry.]
[SEND]
This reply came more quickly.
[7700-900391:
Don't do anything stupid!]
He paused before answering.
[REPLY:
As grateful as I am for your concern, you don't need to worry about that.]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
That's not the most reassuring, coming from you.]
[REPLY:
At least I don't lie or cheat.]
[SEND]
He hadn't realised the implications when he typed it, only that it had to be said.
[7700-900391:
Is that what you think I did to you?]
He hesitated.
[REPLY:
Yes]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
Then why are you the one apologizing?]
[REPLY:
I should have known better. You have enough problems. I didn't need to add to them.]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
Ouch]
[REPLY:
Do you miss me?]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
You go from insulting me to these heartfelt messages.]
[REPLY:
I just need to know]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
I really don't understand]
[REPLY:
I want to know if it meant anything.]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
Don't worry your pretty little head over any of that]
[REPLY:
You still haven't answered my question.]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
I don't think my poor heart can take any more rejection.]
The fact that he could tell Marik was being his smug, annoying self made him feel better. At least, he knew this and that made everything okay. More familiar.
[REPLY:
Please humour me]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
I have far too many suitors. I can't humour them all.]
He sighed and rolled to his side.
[REPLY:
You're so insecure you can't even answer a damn question.]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
Now that one really did hurt]
[REPLY:
Sorry]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
It's nearly 2 a.m. and I'm still responding to your texts. There's your answer.]
He could have answered with a simple "I miss you, too."
[REPLY:
I don't hate you]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
You've said this before]
[REPLY:
I don't think you're a fuck up]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
You're so good with words]
[REPLY:
I'm the fuck up]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
You can't go soft on me now Bakura. You're giving up too easily]
[REPLY:
I'm not playing]
[SEND]
[7700-900391:
You know I can't give you what you want]
[REPLY:
I felt that. Experiment over.]
[SEND]
He buried his face in a pillow, ignoring the onslaught of messages that lit up his mobile. Then the ringing began. He didn't want to wake Ryou. "Yes?"
"It's not a game," Marik said.
"What?" He sounded so tired and confused.
"It's not a game to me either. I missed your voice." Marik was speaking in a low voice as well.
"You're still with her," he stated.
"Do you want me to lie?"
"No."
"Yes."
"I'm not with you," he said emotionlessly.
"I know that."
"I meant it. The last message I sent you. It does hurt me. I admit it. I admit defeat." His whispers were harsh as he tried to not raise his voice.
Marik gave the worst excuse possible. "It surprised me."
"So your reaction was to desperately call me in the middle of the night?"
"I never wanted to hurt you."
Bakura never understood how someone could make their lies sound so sincere. It was a special talent for Marik. "Funny how things work out."
"No, I'm trying to open up right now. Let me be honest," the Egyptian spoke softly.
"...Okay." He was suspicious.
"I'd be holding you right now and telling you everything will be better. I'd want to comfort you and make you feel better. That's what I want. I can never convey it properly though. It's so unnatural to me. I'd fuck it all up, but at least I'm thinking it."
"I think you've done it once before."
"I thought you were sleeping."
"I never sleep."
The silence was held between them as reality sunk in.
"Thinking it doesn't erase what happened. Please leave that poor girl as well." Bakura hung up.
The following morning, Bakura helped Ryou pack without complaint. Nearly everything was thrown away or put into storage. Their father left little instruction.
His anger was ebbed and his depression had stilled. He ate, he pet Tarot, and he slept. He talked to Ryou. He returned home. His life had returned to the robotic state it was once before.
He promised to seek out a therapist.
He fell back into his work. He endured the idle chat. He convinced himself he really liked his friends, his acquaintances.
He ignored the sense of boredom that was invading him. He ignored the damaged pull he felt towards others, anyone that wasn't himself or a functioning member of society.
He liked being a paralegal. He liked hearing Natalie complain about her mundane relationship. He enjoyed the dumb jokes his mates told after a few pints. He belonged here. This was all okay.
Drowning in coffee and cigarettes, it was okay. Adulthood, it was okay. This was all there was to it. All there ever could be.
His pressed shirt and dark slacks brought him satisfaction. His salary was an accomplishment. His routine was envied.
The only path left to follow was a wife and kids. He would have a suburban house, 2.4 kids, two cars, a dog and a cat. Summer holidays in Spain and Christmases by the fireplace. It was his peers' life goal, greatest desire.
There was absolutely nothing wrong.