Bakura had been staring at his computer for the last 15 minutes, completely zoned out.
Just a little longer until he could leave...
He noticed that the tiny letters on the screen began to blur as the pixels scintillated in a pattern reminiscent to static. He was done for today. Fuck it. He turned off his computer and packed up early.
Bakura patted down his pockets and triple checked the contents of his messenger bag. Quickly, he slid his chair beneath his desk, making sure it was perfectly squared to it, and proceeded to leave the office.
In the lift, his mind mulled over his evening plans with Marik as he re-adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, trying to get the hem to rest at the exact same spot on his wrists. His search for equilibrium was rather...ridiculous at times. It was absurd most of the time if he was being honest with himself. Still, he couldn't help it, especially if he was alone in the lift. No need to hide it, just an urge to appease.
The moment he stepped outside, he looked around the small plaza. Not far from where he stood, Marik was reclined on a bench. The blond gave a small wave when he saw Bakura approach him.
The Egyptian wore black pants similar to their last meeting and a fitted dark purple long sleeved shirt. An obnoxiously bright yellow pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses hid the blond's eyes, despite the lack of sun. The same dark backpack was on the bench, next to him.
"You're looking sharp," Marik smiled from his seated position, catching the paralegal off guard. Simple fitted black suit, a white collared shirt, and a black tie was what he wore. Possibly the safest office wear combination.
"Oh, ah, thanks."
"Seriously, suits look good on you," the blond said as he stood up. "Ready?"
"In a few seconds," the white haired man replied, already fishing out his pack of fags and lighter.
Marik waited patiently as Bakura calmly lit up.
Internally, it was a different matter.
For the trillionth time, Bakura was forced to wonder just how genuine the Egyptian's mind games were. His doubts were reinforced by the blond's rather happy disposition.
Was he actually pleased with seeing me? Or is he always like this?
After taking a sharp inhale, he nodded his head in the direction of the Tube station, indicating that they should start walking.
In that moment, the stark differences appeared to Bakura.
He was a man in a suit, older only by a few years, but at a different stage in his life altogether. The person beside him was young, a fresh faced student, in some ways, a kid even. And this kid took a penchant to him, he thinks. He wasn't exactly sure what to call it, but they somehow got along with each other on basic levels, possibly beyond that. In fact, he never really noticed, until this moment, how different they actually were. Didn't that mean they weren't really different at all? At least, not where it mattered.
Despite all the obvious similarities and contrasts, there was one mysterious aspect that continued to taunt him: the book. Why did Marik have it? Why was he so reluctant to talk about his mental problems?
Embarrassingly enough, he had to admit, his main concern for Marik's so called mind games wasn't whether the blond was genuinely hitting on him. What really kept him up at night was whether the blond actually found him to be...attractive. Those moments in their conversations seemed to be truthful.
Not that it mattered, but it was always nice to have one attractive person call you the same.
He could not deny that the Egyptian was good looking. He didn't want him in that sense, and could barely stand him, but he couldn't deny the physical appeal of the person walking next to him.
Okay, maybe there was a bit more than physical appeal. Marik held another kind of appeal. He had a unique charm about him and remained a mystery. This may have been the only reason Bakura stuck around with someone he could barely stand. Marik Ishtar was interesting.
"You're quiet," the blond commented, pulling Bakura out of his thoughts.
"Sorry, I was thinking about stuff," he replied.
Marik shrugged. "How was work?" his companion asked.
The white haired man took another drag of his cigarette before answering. "Same as always, boring. Long. Drab. Et cetera. You?"
"We had a short test today."
"On?"
"The Roman Empire. It went well."
"That's good." He felt at ease navigating London with Marik. Everything about the Egyptian was casual, from his speech to his mannerism, even his style. He always seemed to be able to keep his cool unlike Bakura who was high strung to a fault.
"How old are you anyway?" the paralegal asked, unable to restrain himself. He had been wondering for a while.
"I'm 21. I'll be 22 in December," Marik replied to a surprised Bakura.
"When in December?"
"The 23rd. Why?" The student raised a questioning eyebrow, just visible above his sunglasses' rim.
"Coincidentally, my birthday is on the 21st of December," he explained.
"Weird," Marik commented, his tone noticeably brighter.
"Yeah, very weird." Bakura smiled and quickly dropped it.
"Well, this is my place. I know it's not up to your cleaning standards, but try not to have a heart attack," Marik announced as they stepped through the door.
The white haired man glanced around.
The Egyptian was right; it wasn't up to his standards. To a normal person's expectations, it was clean. A little disorganised, but clean. Cozy. It was definitely a student's abode. From what he could see in the living room, it was strewn with random posters, mismatched furniture, and a few empty liquor bottles were in the recycling bin by the door.
"Would you believe me if I told you I wasn't always this bad?" Bakura asked lightly.
Marik gave him a curious expression. "What happened?"
"I suppose you could say I sobered up."
There was a long pause before the blond spoke again. "You were an alcoholic?" Marik's surprise to the possibility was evident.
Bakura frowned. "What? No-"
"A drug addict?" the blond cut in, concern lacing his voice.
"I wasn't a junkie!" he nearly yelled.
"You made it sound like it was...oh come on, you look like one."
"Like what?" he narrowed his eyes.
"A heroin addict," the student bluntly answered.
"Excuse me?"
"Pale, thin, dark circles under your eyes," Marik explained.
"It's because I don't get much sleep! And, I believe it's called heroin chic," he grumbled.
"Heroin what?" the Egyptian tilted his head in confusion.
"You know, Kate Moss? That look models had where they...never mind it's a thing from the 90s," Bakura waved a dismissive hand.
"So please explain to me what this sobering up entails?"
"Well, when I was younger, I was more carefree. I mean, it was a lot easier to suppress when you came home drunk from a party. The messy bedroom didn't matter as much then."
"I don't really follow," the blond gave him a sceptical look.
He sighed, readying himself to attempt a proper explanation. "I wasn't always this bad, and it didn't focus on cleanliness originally. It started off as a few minor things, like..." he thought of examples for a few moments. "Making sure the marmalade lid was screwed on tightly or checking the locks. Very small instances," he continued. "But as I got older, I began to notice my behaviour, and I realised something was off. In some cruel twist of fate, by recognizing it, I actually became worse. I found myself thinking about it at awkward times. Like when I was hanging out with my mates. I was too mentally preoccupied with lining up the bloody books in a shelf instead of enjoying myself. It became a hindrance."
Marik nodded in acknowledgement before bending down to pick up the cat that had presented itself in that moment.
"Your cat?" he asked.
"No, my roommate's. Go on," Marik replied while petting the animal.
"So when I was a teenager, I did the typical young and stupid bullshit. You know? Drank, went out, sometimes experimented. When you're intoxicated, you don't think about any of that stuff; you're too lazy, pissed or fucked up to care. It was an escape I guess." He shrugged. "I didn't do it for that purpose though. I was doing it for fun. It just so happened to work out in my favour. Basically, it didn't really have an opportunity to develop. Eventually I finished school and got a career. Partying was cut down by a lot." The paralegal ran a hand through his hair before carrying on. "I didn't have as much time or the tolerance for it anymore. I naturally sobered up with age."
"It worsened after that?" Marik remained expressionless.
For a brief second Bakura wondered if he was being analyzed. I wouldn't put it past a psychology student.
"Yeah, it sort of blew up with nothing to distract me. I didn't have anything numbing my urges. I couldn't stop myself anymore. When you live on your own, you have no reason to keep up social pretenses. You only need to appear normal outside your flat. That's how I got to this point."
"Does it only manifest in cleaning?" the blond questioned. The cat shifted and Marik put it down on the floor.
"No, it comes down to feeling...at ease? Feeling like everything is in its proper place in the universe," he clarified. "A lot of repetition to reassure myself in random things. My mind can turn any minute detail into hyperboles. It trumps rationality." He laughed nervously in a vain attempt to comfort himself. I'm not insane.
Bakura felt something rub against his ankle. He cast his eyes downwards, greeted by the cat's black and white face looking up at him. I'm not going to pet you.
"I see," Marik replied with what could have been sympathy in his features.
"Yeah," Bakura shrugged, feeling a little vulnerable for candidly revealing his internal struggles to him. Something is wrong with me.
"So, this experimenting...what are we talking about here? Heroin?" Marik smirked, instantly shifting the mood.
Bakura wanted to punch him.
"No. I'm not a self-destructive moron, Marik." He glared at the smiling bastard, suppressing any thoughts related to his statement.
"You were a lot more social back then, too, I gathered?"
"Well, it is easier to be around wankers when you're not all there. Maybe I should drink when I'm with you," he shot back, smirking.
"You being less obsessive-compulsive in the past, believable, but I would have never guessed that you would be some sort of...deviant party animal," Marik spoke, ignoring the jab.
"I wasn't some party animal," he spat.
"So you were the calm, cool, collected guy smoking in the corner?" Marik tried.
Is he trying to figure me out?
"Yes, actually. Except, the calmness was only external," he confirmed, cautious.
"I see. You were that guy," the Egyptian declared.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he retorted, suspicious of Marik's intent.
"You tricked everyone into thinking you were an enigma. People gravitated towards you, desperate to get inside your brain, but too afraid to actually touch. You were kind of a cool kid, except without having to undergo the typical behaviour that you happened to hate. The title was thrust upon you," the blond stated.
"I never saw it that way," he quietly replied, slightly dismayed.
"Of course, you didn't. Otherwise, your laissez-faire attitude would be inauthentic. Plus, you were too busy dealing with your own issues to really notice," Marik inferred.
Bakura crossed his arms, not confirming or denying Marik's keen observational skills.
"I'm good in psychology, huh?" The student grinned smugly.
"I wouldn't consider it psychology," he muttered, not amused.
Marik, on the other hand, was content with their exchange and changed subjects. "Alright, let's get started on this. My roommate's bedroom is off limits. It's the one closest to the bathroom. Understood?"
"Yes."
Bakura's eyes were currently scanning Marik's desk in his bedroom. The room was neat enough, not terribly disorganised. The furnishings and bedding were on the darker end of the colour spectrum, consisting of blacks and deep purples. Some Ancient Egyptian artifacts adorned his shelves. Most likely replicas.
A deck of cards caught his eye. They appeared to be different from normal playing cards.
"What's this?" he asked.
Marik looked up from his bed where he was reading a textbook. His eyes lazily followed the direction Bakura was indicating before settling on said object.
"Oh, that? It's some game called Duel Monsters."
"Is it any good?"
"I don't know. I could never figure out the rules. They made no sense." The blond shrugged.
"Hmm." The white haired man nodded.
He returned to browsing the desk's surface. The distinct orange colour of a prescription container caught his eye. In the corner, a pill bottle filled with white tablets enticed him. Foolishly, he reached for it. The pills shook against its plastic encasement as he attempted to read the label.
A-..ari-
A tan hand aggressively snatched the bottle from him.
"DON'T LOOK AT THAT!" Marik shouted. The Egyptian looked alarmed and murderous, like an animal in distress, the most dangerous kind.
Bakura had never seen him lose his cool until this moment.
"I-I'm sorry," he apologised, unnerved by the sudden outburst.
Ari...ari...something z...what the hell was Marik hiding?
Gradually, the blond's glare softened and he sighed. "It's alright," Marik yielded, "Just...don't look at something like that anymore!"
"I won't," Bakura agreed.
Marik nodded, a tiredness in his eyes became evident for the first time to Bakura. The blond resumed his studying position and the paralegal continued his search.
With each passing moment, Bakura began to doubt his theory; Marik didn't have the book. He would continue for the sake of thoroughness and confirmation.
There was a framed picture near the spot where he found the ill-fated pills.
A tall man, teenage girl and what appeared to be a young Marik smiled in the photograph.
"Is this your family?" Bakura asked. He heard the blond shuffle behind him.
"Yeah, that's my brother and sister."
"I guess you resemble your sister...why aren't they blond as well?" he remarked.
"Odion, my brother, is adopted. Ishizu looks like our mother. I take more from my father's side."
"I see," he replied, finding this information interesting.
"Do you have any siblings?" Marik asked with a smile.
Yes, a brother and sister just like you.
"I have a brother," his voice remained neutral.
"Younger or older?"
"Younger."
His mobile suddenly beeped. He fished it out of his pocket, eyes widening upon seeing the name. Eerie.
[RYOU:
Did you water the plants?]
[REPLY:
Of course why do you always doubt me?]
[SEND]
He wrote back despite actually having forgotten. Damn Ryou.
Marik tilted his head in curiosity.
He was about to respond when Ryou promptly replied with a second notifying beep.
[RYOU:
You're not very apt at keeping things alive.]
He frowned, the word choice bothering him.
[REPLY:
You'll never let me live down that goldfish!]
[SEND]
[RYOU:
I kept him alive for over a year until that week I left him with you!]
[REPLY:
That was nearly 10 years ago!]
[SEND]
He pressed the button with a huff.
"Everything alright?" the student asked.
"Yeah," he sighed in defeat.
Marik was grinning triumphantly, an expectant look in his eyes.
"So Bakura, what did you find? That's right, nothing!" the Egyptian gloated.
"Yeah...well...shut up," he mumbled the last part incoherently.
The blond threw an arm around his shoulders, giving him a playful squeeze. "Looks like I'm getting a dinner and drinks courtesy of yours truly," Marik continued to rub it in.
He groaned, delicately peeling the arm off of him with distaste. "When did you want to get this over with?" he asked, irritated.
"You make it sound like you don't want to have dinner with me, but I know you enjoy my company deep down," the Egyptian smirked.
"Not with that attitude," he replied dryly.
"Let's go tomorrow! I'm free after my afternoon...appointment," Marik ignored him, carefully choosing his last word.
Bakura raised an eyebrow questioningly; the hesitance never slipping passed him. "Fine, pick the place and we'll meet there at 7."
He unlocked the door to Ryou's flat and flicked on the light. A warm and cozy living area lit up, tidy, but not as extreme as himself. It was very much to his brother's taste.
He found a small watering can and instructions on the coffee table.
He was already late with two of the more complex plants. It was just like Ryou to grow some mini exotic garden.
It took him around 5 minutes to water all the plants. Luckily for him, the ones he neglected didn't seem to be in bad shape.
Before heading back to his own flat, he noticed something in Ryou's living room. On a shelf was a photograph similar to Marik's. A child version of himself, Ryou, and living Amane at the beach near their home in Paignton smiled back at him.
A dreadful feeling stirred inside of him. I can't believe Ryou kept this.
Bakura couldn't understand why his brother would want such a stinging reminder of better days.
He needed to head home and sleep.