He slowly opened his eyes. To his relief, he couldn't remember any dreams.
Looking down, he saw a tan arm slung across his chest. What?
To his right, blond hair obscured most of his vision. Marik was sleeping far too close, the pillow barrier gone.
Delicately, he lifted the arm off his chest and pushed Marik away from him. The student barely stirred, not even noticing his change in position.
Bakura inhaled a steady breath, trying to make sense of his situation. He was in bed. With Marik, who was piss drunk last night. And then Marik stroked his hair...and got...clingy. Evidently. He was no longer certain whether he should feel uncomfortable or not. His current predicament was definitely a strange one.
Even after pushing Marik, he couldn't see his face in the pillow. Could he even breathe like that?
For a brief second, the paralegal wondered if he was dead. His fingers gently enclosed around the Egyptian's warm wrist, feeling that life-confirming pulse.
"What are you doing?" Marik mumbled from the pillow, startling the older man.
"Just making sure you're not dead," he replied. His hand instantly released Marik's wrist.
"Do you always bring drunk men home and secretly feel them up in the morning?" the blond feebly teased, trying to get a rise out of him with cheap jabs.
"No, just you," Bakura admitted calmly, no longer wanting to argue. Marik remained silent after that answer Bakura continued to stare at his ceiling.
"You were worse than usual last night," he finally said.
Marik finally moved, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at Bakura. "You like me enough to deal with it."
Bakura neither confirmed nor denied. Instead, he stared at the mussed blond hair framing piercing lavender eyes. His face remained expressionless.
Not seeming bothered by it, Marik reached over him, and took his glasses. Like a child, he tried them on for a moment, failing to see anything, and removed them. "You're blind," he declared.
"I'm not that blind. I'm only nearsighted."
"Am I too far to see then?"
"No, I can see everything fine. It only means the details are blurred from afar."
The blond smirked. "So am I still blurry?"
"Somewhat," Bakura answered.
Marik leaned forward by a few inches. "Still blurry?"
He was a foot away now, but Marik was a little too far for him to see properly. "Closer."
The gap shrunk by a few more inches. The dark grey limbal ring of Marik's iris becoming visible, contrasting with lavender. Individual strands of hair were falling over those eyes. "Now?"
"Almost."
The blond gave him a curious look before approaching him further, quite close to his face. "Still?"
Closer.
Lips were pressing and eyes were closing. For a short moment suspended in time, it was soft and sweet. An almost dreamlike experience. His mind was blank until the weight of reality set in. What had he done.
He broke away, mumbling a quick apology and averting his eyes.
Despite his flirtatious nature, Marik appeared to be a little surprised by the action. "Don't be sorry," the blond finally spoke.
Before he could even think any further, Marik was on top of him, tongue gliding along his bottom lip. His reaction was automatic: a hand burying itself in blond hair, the other wrapping around his waist.
Hurried and hungry, it was a sharp contrast to the kiss moments ago.
And then, they woke from the dream. Eyes opening, slightly alarmed, they stopped.
"This is a bad idea," the Egyptian spoke.
"Yeah."
"We shouldn't be doing this."
"Yeah."
They believed it.
Awkwardly, Marik slipped off Bakura, lying down beside him in silence.
"I thought you weren't gay," the paralegal finally said blankly.
"I thought you weren't either," the blond retorted, less aggressive than his previous denials.
"I never...we never discussed it. I mean, not that I was. I didn't think I was. The point is, I never lead you to believe anything in relation to that and you never asked," Bakura rambled.
"Just to set the record straight, you kissed me, alright? We're both aware that you are the one to blame for this...incident."
"So flinging yourself across me when I was asleep was my doing, too?" Bakura abruptly lifted himself to glare at Marik.
"We...we won't talk about it anymore. Deal?" The Egyptian sighed.
"I don't know. Our last deal ended like this."
"Just fucking do it."
"Fine."
"Pass me your phone, please? I think mine is in the living room, and I need to call in sick for work."
"You mean hungover because you're a dumb cunt," Bakura replied handing over his mobile.
"Oh, fuck off. What's your password?" Marik spat back.
"You're going to have to ask nicely."
"I'm not sucking your dick."
"Wow, Marik. Where did that come from? I only meant a 'please' would suffice." He snatched the phone and typed it in himself before passing it back to Marik.
He could hear Marik tapping away on the screen.
"OH MY GOD YOU NAMED ME WANKER IN YOUR PHONE!" the student yelled, clearly not amused.
"Yeah, because you are one."
"You're such an ass."
He rubbed his hands over his face, mumbling between his fingers, "Call your work."
He listened to Marik fake a cough as he spoke to his manager before getting his mobile back.
"I should get back to my place to shower...and die a little inside," the blond said.
"I remember those days."
"Your junkie days?" Marik grinned.
"Get out."
"I'll see you later, old man."
Marik got out of bed fully dressed, and after a brief search for his mobile in the living room, he was gone.
Bakura sighed in relief. Automatically, he went to check his phone, discovering that his password was no longer working. That fucker changed it!
Bakura sat on the sofa in Marik's flat.
Gemma, Marik's roommate, had kindly let him in to wait for the wanker to get home from his trip to...wherever he went. She didn't know herself.
The dark haired woman walked into the room holding a cup of tea for him.
"Thanks," he said as he took it.
"No problem. I'm waiting for Marik to reply. I sent him a text."
"Thanks a lot. Sorry for showing up unannounced," he politely replied, which was very difficult to maintain considering his predicament.
She shook her head. "It's alright. He shouldn't be too long. He probably went to the shop down the road."
The cat sauntered into the room, observing him for a moment. Bakura followed it with his eyes as it entered Marik's bedroom.
Noticing this, Gemma said, "You know, Marik hates it when others go into his room when he's not around. Maybe you could wait in there?"
"I like you," Bakura replied at her suggestion. He almost wished she had stolen that library book instead.
She smirked. "I'll be doing some reading in my room if you need anything. Try not to touch his stuff too much."
As she was turning to leave, Bakura stopped her with a question: "What did he do to you?" There must have been something encouraging her to exact revenge on her flatmate.
"He ate my entire jar of nutella," she answered bitterly, leaving the room.
He took a sip of tea and hesitated for a moment before entering Marik's bedroom. Should he really be doing this? Yes.
Slowly, he walked into the room. The cat was napping on Marik's desk chair. Everything else was as Bakura remembered, except for some clothes strewn on the floor. The clothes Marik had worn last night to be exact.
Like a shining beacon in the distance, that mysterious yellow prescription bottle stood out amongst everything. He placed his cup on the desk and went for it. Nothing stood in his way; he was going to get answers today.
Quickly, in fear that Marik may show up at any moment, he grabbed it and began to read.
Rx: 37259071
Ishtar, Marik.
Take 2 tablets every night by mouth.
Aripiprazole. 30 mg.
Qty: 50
Sutherland, J. M.D.
2 Refills remaining.
Keep out of reach of children.
On the side of the bottle was a bright orange warning sticker: If mixing with alcohol, discuss with your physician.
If only his mobile would unlock, then he could search exactly what this medication was. He was more intrigued by the implied side effects of alcohol. Could that be why Marik was such a huge fucking twat last night?
He heard the front door open. In a rush, he put the bottle back and sat on the edge of the blond's bed. He attempted to look calm and crossed his arms.
Obliviously, Marik entered the room with a shopping bag in hand. After a double-take, his face contorted into a glare. "Why are you in here?"
"Gemma let me in. What's my mobile's password?"
"You'll have to figure it out," the student said, smirking challengingly.
"Why did you even change it?" he ventured, his own expression turning into a scowl.
"Because you named me 'wanker' in your phone," Marik simply replied. Calmly, he emptied his shopping bag as if Bakura wasn't even there.
Bakura stood up, irritated with the entire situation. In very few steps, he had Marik backed up against the wall. Marik continued to look mildly bored.
"What's the aripiprazole for Marik?"
Suddenly, the Egyptian looked unnerved, panic in his eyes.
"Let's talk about you," Bakura prodded smugly.
Marik shoved him away roughly and walked past him. He was looking out his window, fists clenched.
"Wanker. Your password is wanker," the student spoke, surprisingly quiet.
"I want to know. I want to know about you, Marik," he admitted, his voice taking on a more soothing tone. Where did that come from?
"Trust me, you don't want to know anything about me. You'll never know," Marik warned him.
"It seems hardly fair that you get to learn all my secrets when I barely know any of yours."
"No, Bakura. I'm not telling you," the blond spoke sternly.
"Fine. Be that way."
"You don't understand-"
"How can I when-"
"Listen to me!" Marik snapped, finally facing him. "What if I did tell you? You wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. You'd spend all your time questioning me, my motives," he sighed.
"I already do."
"Sit down."
"Huh?"
"Just sit down," Marik said in a more commanding voice.
The white haired man crossed his arms in one last stand of defiance before sitting on the bed again.
"Do you promise you won't tell anyone?" The student sounded serious.
"We don't know the same people," he replied, rather disbelieving at the request.
"Just promise me."
"I promise," he relented.
"I take those pills as a mood stabilizer."
"Why do you need that?"
"You absolutely promise me you won't say a word...and this...won't change anything?" the blond anxiously asked.
"Marik, whatever you're about to tell me will probably only shed light on why you're such a fucking wanker, but regardless, and for some complete lack of sanity, I have yet to abandon you and probably won't after today. Even if you did mess with my mobile."
The student hesitated, seeming unconvinced.
"Marik, I fucking kissed you," he said harshly, putting things into perspective.
"Alright. Okay. I'll tell you...just...let me..." He nudged the cat out of his chair, earning an unhappy meow. Taking a seat to face the paralegal, he rested his chin in his hands.
"So..." Marik began awkwardly, "I have this thing...well a few things. Let me restart that."
Bakura watched as he fidgeted in his seat.
"I swear it's not as bad as it sounds," the blond attempted.
"Just tell me."
"Okay," the Egyptian took a deep breath. "For reasons I absolutely refuse to get into, I developed Dissociative Identity Disorder at a young age, which eventually led to Borderline Personality Disorder. Both those things come with their own bi-products, like, depression...and anxiety. The lines are kind of blurry between the Borderline and the D.I.D., but those are the main ones."
"I see. Care to explain more?" he asked carefully.
"Not really."
"Would you rather I find out through google?"
Marik narrowed his eyes. "Are you getting some sort of sick enjoyment out of this?"
"No!" Bakura replied, actually offended.
"This is really hard to explain. I don't entirely understand it myself. I only know what other people have told me. I'm officially diagnosed with D.I.D. I have a lot of memory blanks; my life is incomplete in my mind. Apparently, there's another person...personality inside of me, and I can't control it. I also have Borderline, and that's why I need the mood stabilizers, on top of the D.I.D., to prevent anything from happening. They say I'm histrionic, too. According to my psychiatrist, my entire personality is based around these...diseases. I'm not even a real construct of myself, I go by these fucking impulses." Marik paused for a moment, clearly frustrated with his situation. "The histrionic is a subtype of this Borderline stuff, Impulsive Borderline they called it. All of this causes me to be really paranoid and anxious that shit will happen. So, that's why I need aripiprazole to answer your question."
"That was a little confusing," Bakura admitted. I'm so googling this shit later.
Marik appeared to be irritated by that response and abruptly stood up. He went over to a shelf and pulled out an anonymous binder.
After flipping through some pages, he began to read aloud. "August 4th, 2001. Patient continues to be unaware of his violent side. Must approach the subject cautiously. Memories of past events continue to be compartmentalised, common defence mechanism of dissociation. Patient continues to complain about headaches. Signs of depression evident. Will attempt cognitive behavioural therapy."
Page flip.
"March 2nd, 2005. Patient has undergone psychiatric hold after a violent outburst. Patient does not remember outburst. Patient's guardian signed release. Patient shows co-morbid signs of B.P.D. Patient is unstable with a warped self-image. Patient continues to be dissociative but is now paranoid because of it. Patient mentions hearing voices. Patient is having difficulty maintaining inter-personal relationships."
Page flip.
"July 16th, 2009. Patient's dissociation is less frequent. Patient is showing positive signs on medication. Patient's social skills have improved. Patient has fallen into a pattern, prone to attention. Patient is inappropriately flirty but remains capricious. Patient may be developing impulsive and histrionic behaviour. Patient's mood continues to be unstable. Watch carefully patient's progression of B.P.D."
Marik looked up from his past records. "Want to hear more?"
"No... it's okay. I think I'm starting to get it," he answered.
Marik closed the binder, gravely, and slid it back in between books on the shelf.
"Last night, you drank when you weren't supposed to and...you don't remember."
"Maybe. I don't know. Alcohol can inhibit the medication slightly, but it's never been a huge issue before," the Egyptian said, shrugging.
"What do your records say now?"
"I don't get to see them. Technically, I'm not even supposed to have these, but I swiped them before moving to London on my final visit. My current psychiatrist tells me I have superficial relationships and don't connect well with people. Mostly, we work on dealing with my emotions and triggers."
"I see," he replied softly.
Marik's face fell at those words, but he tried to laugh it off. "Told you, you didn't want to hear this."
"I can understand your reluctance now... By the way, your roommate is pissed that you ate all of her nutella."
The student frowned, perplexed by the sudden change of topic. "What?"
"She's upset that you finished her jar."
"I know, she bitched to me about it," Marik replied, still confused.
"That's why she let me go in your room."
"Oh."
"I don't hate you, you know. Well, not over that. There are far worse things about you than that." He smirked.
"You're such an ass." A small smile appeared on Marik's lips as he shook his head.
An overwhelming urge filled Bakura, like it had earlier. Only this time, he was fully aware. This is a bad idea. "I have to go," he muttered.
Marik cocked his head. "Really? Why?"
"I need to go...water my brother's plants. He's away. I have to do that," he came up with a semi-truthful excuse.
"I don't think the plants would care if you're a few hours late," Marik commented, sceptically. He's doubting him. He's thinking it has to do with him.
"Is it okay if I smoke?" he suddenly asked.
"O-okay," Marik replied, giving him an odd look.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out the pack, and trying not to look too hurried. He just needed that soothing relief. Maybe it would erase his thoughts.
"You don't have to lie to me about leaving, you can go," Marik spoke softly, eyes averted to the window.
"No, Marik, that's not it..." The blond's gaze returned to his face, unreadable.
Marik stood from his chair before being abruptly yanked down. A rather girlish yelp escaped his mouth, muffled by a pair of lips. This is a really bad idea.
Bakura's hand released the student's wrist. His arms wrapped themselves around the waist in front of him, against him. From lack of balance and no real warning, Marik had simply fallen into his lap, straddling him awkwardly. A really, really bad idea.
He felt palms tense on his chest before relaxing against him. The initial shock seemed to be leaving the younger man. I'm lusting after a foreign student. He felt a hand grip his thick hair as Marik began to react to him, tongues meeting. When the fuck did this happen?
"You need to stop doing that," Marik whispered harshly in between kisses, making no real effort to break away.
Bakura pulled the body closer, nearly flush against his, and began trailing down the blond's neck, firmly marking his way. "Don't fucking lie to me, you're at least bisexual," he spoke lowly, his lips ghosting against the Egyptian's neck.
"You don't want to get involved with me like this," was Marik's very weak protest. Hypocritically, he tilted his face down to crush their mouths together.
Bakura laughed lightly, half muffled by the kiss, until Marik cut him off completely by catching his tongue between his teeth. He opened his eyes to see Marik staring at him darkly, challengingly. He felt the blond smirk as his tongue was released before suddenly being pushed down onto the bed.
For a brief moment, the Egyptian looked predatory, almost reminiscent of his drunken self, but he was snapped out of that daze by a cough.
Bakura dreadfully moved his eyes to the doorway where Gemma stood.
"Why are you always doing the most questionable shit when I walk into your room? Learn to close your door, Marik," she spoke, holding up a parcel. "A package just arrived for you. From your family, I'm guessing."
"You don't see anything questionable in this room," the student replied defiantly as he got off of Bakura, which was an impossibly conspicuous movement.
Ignoring his reply, Gemma commented, "I didn't know he was your..."
"There is nothing going on," Marik spat back, tone remaining even as he took the parcel. Gemma didn't look like she believed him for one second.
"I'm still waiting for my nutella."
"You'll get it tomorrow!"
"I better," she glared for a moment, getting her point across before leaving the room.
"See, this is why we shouldn't be doing anything. Things like that happen," the blond addressed the paralegal arrogantly.
"If you really think nothing should happen then nothing will," Bakura replied as he sat up.
"Good."
"What are the other questionable things she caught you doing?" The amusement in his voice was evident.
"Weren't you going to water some plants?" the blond asked, avoiding his question entirely.
Bakura was in Ryou's flat, completing his bi-weekly chore.
Perched between his lips as he flipped through the channels was the fag he'd wanted to smoke for the past two hours. What Ryou doesn't know won't hurt him.
It had been a very strange day, which had yet to sink in properly. I'm attracted to Marik. Huh.
Returning to his own flat felt too bizarre. While he stayed at Ryou's, he was in purgatory. Simple, no complications to crash down on him. A place where Marik's madness and his own did not exist.
A football game.
The Jeremy Kyle show.
BBC One.
BBC Two.
BBC Three.
BBC Four.
BBC News.
Why are there so many fucking BBCs.
Another football game.
The History Channel.
X-Factor.
Some other sad reality show.
With a sigh, he turned off the television. He'd distract himself other ways. Taking an extra deep inhale, he filled his lungs with toxic fumes and it felt wonderful. Why do I even like that wanker?
He preoccupied himself with Ryou's little figurines on a table, taking care to arrange them neatly around the lamp while trying not to drop any ash on his furniture. What the fuck does Ryou even have that's remotely interesting?
Swiftly, he got up to peruse the bookshelf. The framed childhood photo was already flipped down from his previous visits. It was filled with more figurines and some academic books, which Bakura made sure to promptly arrange accordingly.
Surprisingly, amongst all these items was a photo album filled with memorabilia. Photos of their long forgotten mother. Photos of their ever absent father. Photos of their permanently dead sister.
As he flipped through the pages, expression blank and cigarette dying between his fingers, the fallen ash unnoticed, he found one of himself and Amane on his shoulders. He fished it out of its plastic lining, almost scowling at such an innocent photo before pocketing it.
Absentmindedly, he closed the album, seeing enough for one day. He'd rather go home and think about his potentially fluid sexuality than stay here.