He was hiding. Hiding in a cabinet in some building. He could hear the beast stalking outside. His work colleagues were somewhere else in the building. The atmosphere was filled with anxiety and tense with fear.
Bakura woke with a start from his annoying phone alarm. Every morning, it would rip him out of his deep sleep and roughly reinstate him into reality. He sluggishly groped for his phone, catching air the first few tries before he could finally shut the damn thing off.
His entire being felt heavy and his eyes could not be bothered to open. Every morning was a struggle to get out of bed; always under slept and unmotivated.
Even on his off days, it was difficult to feel well rested. His dreams, regardless of content, always contained a sense of dread. Too often anxiety became the dominant emotion, irrationally nervous as he tried to survive his ridiculous imagination. How pathetic was he to be affected even in his dreams?
He took a deep breath and forced himself to roll out of bed, untangling himself from his sheets in the process. He did the obligatory stretch and heard a few cracks, the usual. It felt nice though.
He put on his glasses and headed to the kitchen, ignoring the constant temptation of his bed calling to him.
Drowsily, he prepared his coffee maker and started the machine. He leaned against the counter and watched the pot, waiting for the first drips of that wonderful dark elixir.
Lazily, his eyes swept over to the clock that read 7:12 AM. His lids were barely open. He felt so groggy. The first drip splattered in the bottom of the pot. Soon it would be filled with the bitter liquid he depended on.
Something felt off to Bakura though. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.
Today was the day he would confront Marik Ishtar, but he was sure it was something else bothering him.
For the first time since yesterday's rage, he considered the possibility that maybe Marik didn't have the book. Maybe someone else had picked it up without the system registering it. Maybe the system even lent it out to multiple people before having some sort of weird malfunction that erased all transactions back to his?
That seemed unlikely though. Then again, the entire situation was unlikely and it still happened to him. He wasn't crazy for going after Marik...that was the most logical lead he had! Besides, the guy completely ruined his weekend.
His eyes widened in realisation: IT WAS FUCKING SATURDAY!
HE WOKE UP FOR ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOTHING! AND IT WAS ALL THAT WANKER MARIK ISHTAR'S FAULT!
He was so engrossed in yesterday's frustrations and planning that he forgot it was a Friday night.
There were only two precious days out of the week where he could sleep in and he missed one! He was so angry that he wanted to stab someone, preferably Marik.
Bakura cried out in frustration as he clutched his hair. WHAT A FUCKING WASTE!
With his rage revived, he jabbed the off button on his coffee maker; he would deal with that later.
He walked back to his room, trying desperately to calm his irritation. He already knew it was going to be a bittersweet sleep as he climbed into bed again.
Marik will pay.
Hours later, Bakura woke from a dissatisfying light sleep. Reluctantly, he left the pillow and sheet valley of bliss he had forged from all his tossing and turning. That was the hardest part of leaving bed. That and the chilly air outside of blanket haven.
He rubbed his eyes before once again putting on his glasses. Grabbing his phone, he checked the time: 11:02 AM. Well, he dragged on this sleep long enough...
The moment he stood up, he had to pause. The light-headed feeling and darkening vision compromised his being for a short time. Sometimes he wondered if he should see a doctor, just to confirm that it was innocent low blood pressure, but he hated going to hospitals. He always told himself if it were bad, he would know. He would know to go see a professional. Still, a small part nagged that he was being stubborn.
On his way to the kitchen, he glanced over at the long mirror hanging on his bedroom wall. Like every morning, he had ridiculous bed head. He gave up on fully taming his hair long ago, but he still tried to make it look more presentable than its current state. People had no idea how messy his hair could really look. Maybe he'd take a shower before finding that wanker.
The first thing he noticed when walking into his kitchen was the half-made coffee. He glared at it. It was mocking him with bad memories of his ruined weekend. Fuck it, I'm grabbing coffee on the way. Food could wait. He was never hungry when he woke up anyway.
He went straight to his bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face and put in his contact lenses. The latter was always uncomfortable in the mornings. Very rarely did his eyes not feel dry after waking up. Luckily for him, the discomfort didn't last long.
Staring into the bathroom mirror, he realised today would be a messy hair day, haphazardly tied up. From experience, he knew combing it would only make it worst and accentuate his bedhead. Plus, he would look like a complete prat if he tied it up neatly.
Before leaving his bathroom, his eyes swept over his sink to make sure everything was in place. He even turned the already shut off tap just in case and scolded himself for falling for his stupid habits yet again.
A short walk brought him back to his bedroom where he immediately headed for his wardrobe. He quickly stripped and discarded his clothes in a hamper before pulling on clean boxers, and dark grey skinny jeans. He searched for a belt and settled on an old worn brown leather one before turning his attention to picking a shirt to wear. Tops were always the hardest part of his outfit to pick; it set the mood in his odd reasoning.
Taking the September weather into account, Bakura decided on a navy long sleeved shirt made out of light cotton with a few buttons on the front but no collar. He left those open and adjusted his belt so that the buckle aligned with his middle. He went over to his mirror to quickly tie up his strikingly white hair into a messy ponytail. It worked well with his naturally voluminous hair and the short front pieces framed his face appealingly. Lastly, he threw on an old knotted leather bracelet he had gotten used to wearing over the years.
After a final look over of his casual appearance, he felt decent enough to leave, but first he had to double check the map.
Grabbing his phone before leaving his bedroom, he gave that one final look over, too. Everything seemed in place. His bed was left unmade, one of his few exceptions. Everything needed order, but he saw no point in that one. Why fix up something he would ruin within 24 hours? Especially considering he preferred it messy to begin with.
Once in his living room, he turned on his phone and checked the map. His cigarettes and lighter were also always left on his coffee table next to the ashtray. He didn't smoke in the morning though, or more specifically when he just woke up seeing as it was almost noon. He really only needed his cigarettes midday after having to deal with people. It was a nice method for calming his nerves.
He stuffed his mobile and wallet into his pockets before putting on some black canvas trainers and a black jacket suitable for the mild weather which he left unbuttoned. His cigarettes and lighter went into his jacket pockets.
After locking his flat, he checked the doorknob once and resisted the urge to check it a second time, forcing himself to get on the lift. His habits still got the better of him and he found himself feeling his pockets for his key items all over again, cursing his need to check. That stupid fucking book didn't even help with his anxieties!
Stepping off the Tube, Bakura made his way through the weekend crowd, desperate to reach above ground.
He took the last sips from his cooling coffee before tossing his empty cup in a bin.
Upon entering the above world, he shielded his eyes from the uncharacteristically blaring afternoon sun. If there was one thing worse than forgetting your lighter, it was forgetting your sunglasses on a bright day. With his head low and hands stuffed into his pockets, Bakura followed his designated path, after double checking his phone of course.
Marik was supposed to live only a few blocks from this stop.
Luckily for him, the internet did not lie in this case. It gave him time for a well needed smoke.
He found himself in a neighbourhood filled with old unkempt homes that seemed to be converted into flats based on the amount of bins on the curb per house. It looked like a hipster haven. It reminded Bakura of his student days. He was more sociable back then. He also drank more back then, as was expected. It wasn't even that long ago...three years since he'd graduated? Yes, three.
He will be 25 in December and already he felt more like he was nearing 30 instead. Those three short years really made a difference...
Based on the area, he was starting to suspect that Marik was young, potentially a student.
Then he spotted the number he was searching for on one of the seemingly identical houses. He slowed down his pace to match his slow burning fag as he mentally prepared himself for his confrontation.
Taking his last soothing inhale, Bakura held the smoke in his lungs as he flicked the remainder of his fag to the ground and snuffed it out with his shoe.
Slowly, he let the smoke blow out of his nose, feeling at ease.
It was time.
Heavy steps brought him to the front door, Flat A. He knocked and waited for someone to answer.
He heard some shuffling and a young woman answered the door. His girlfriend?
She crossed her arms and gave him a once over, her small smile unwavering and lacking sincerity. A cat looked up from between her ankles, intrigued by the visitor.
"Hi, I'm looking for Marik Ishtar." He decided to speak first.
"Sorry, he's at work," she simply replied.
Of fucking course.
"Where does he work? I need to give him something. It's urgent."
"Electronics shop by the Tube station," she offered vaguely.
"Well, I need to know the actual place. I'm not a psychic," Bakura tried very hard not to sound condescending, but sarcasm seeped into his words nonetheless.
If anything, the young woman seemed more responsive to this attitude and gave him a proper answer.
Kids these days...
After wasting another half hour of his time walking around, he finally found the shop Marik was supposed to work at. Naturally, it was filled with people, so Bakura chose to peruse their merchandise as he looked out for his target amongst a sea of faces.
He noticed some dim teenagers leave a display in a mess. Well, a mess to Bakura. The latest mobiles were crooked or misplaced on their stands. Some people just want to watch the world burn.
Unable to resist, he made his way to said display and began straightening the phones.
"Need some help?" that voice spoke.
Bakura nearly jumped from shock, but instead he whipped around to face the voice with a scowl.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Marik Ishtar replied.
He was everything Bakura was not expecting. Bleached blond, what looked like a bad spray on tan, lavender eyes, and even a hint of black eyeliner greeted Bakura. Everything about him looked fake!
That's when he noticed the slight accent in Marik's voice that he didn't pick up during their phone conversation last night. It didn't quite sound British. In fact, it reminded him of Americans.
"So you're Marik Ishtar?" he asked cautiously.
"Yeah. Do I know you? Wait, did Dan tell you I could get you a deal on an iphone? Look, that was a one-time favour to a close friend. I don't even know you! That fool needs to stop telling people that," Marik began to rattle on, his voice grating on Bakura's nerves already.
"No, I'm not here for a bloody iphone, you twat! I'm here for my book."
"Your what?"
"You have that library book and they're charging me 68 quid for it," he pointed at Marik accusingly. He saw the expression on Marik's face change as it clicked to what he was referring to.
"I already told that woman I don't have it! How the hell did you find me? Who are you?" the blond shouted.
This did not surprise Bakura as he remembered him to be a rude wanker on the phone as well. "I'm the bloke you owe money to!"
"Look, if you really want, I'll give you a deal on that iphone anyway, but I'm not paying for something I don't owe. Not my fault you lost the book!" Marik shot back, smug as ever.
"I don't want your stupid fucking phone deal! I want my damn book back or you pay the fine!"
"It's not my fine," the blond crossed his arms confidently.
"Oh believe me, it is your fine, and I'm not leaving you alone until I get what I want," he lowered his own voice to a threat.
"You're going to stalk me?" Marik asked incredulously.
"With good reason!"
"How are you so sure I have this book?"
"The library suspected you to potentially have it seeing as I don't because their bloody system buggered up," Bakura partially lied.
"Well I don't have it so-"
"I'll make you a deal," Bakura cut in. His patience was running thin with this dense individual.
Marik thought it over for a moment. "What is it?"
"I'll leave you alone if you let me search your flat with you. Only then will I know for certain it is not there."
"How can I trust that you searched your place properly in that case?" Marik turned his logic on him, only irritating Bakura further.
"Because I am thorough," he replied through gritted teeth.
"I will agree to let you into my place only if I can verify myself that it is indeed not in yours. It's only fair since it's your problem. My place is the last resort, not the first," Marik offered determinedly.
Bakura hated to admit that he could not find a flaw in Marik's logic. It actually was a fair suggestion considering the circumstances... Marik was less daft than he assumed.
"Fine," Bakura relented to his immense displeasure.
"And you'll leave me alone after that?"
"Yes."
"Deal." Marik extended his hand which Bakura reluctantly shook, fearing it would stain his own hand with spray on tan.