Bakura had just left Tottenham Court Road station and was walking down the road. Cigarette in hand as always, the paralegal wondered what tonight would bring.
The cool autumn air continued to chill him, especially in light of the afternoon rain. He wished he would have worn a thicker jacket.
Turning onto the historic street, he saw the usual groups of tourists exploring London's finest and its residents paying no heed to their natural surroundings.
Marik had told him he'd be waiting outside the main entrance. Marik still had yet to define anything about them.
The huge building had entered his vision, columns decorating its vast exterior. As uncaring as ever, he flicked the remainder of his fag onto the concrete as he scanned the steps.
Marik sat on one of them, distracted by his phone, tapping away. He wore that black knitted hat he made Bakura wear in one of their first meetings. Dark jeans and a black wool coat enveloped his frame, giving away that he was not used to these colder temperatures. His familiar school bag lay beside him. The blond didn't even notice Bakura's approach until he heard a cough beside him, and looked up.
"You're late," Marik commented.
Bakura raised an eyebrow, his expression flickering into one of displeasure. "I'm sorry I couldn't bend the fabric of time for you," he replied calmly despite his harsh intent.
"Next time, try harder," the student shot back, unfazed.
Bakura frowned, but his eyes quickly softened when he noticed Marik was holding out a Starbucks's cup. "It's lukewarm now. I already finished mine," the blond explained.
He faltered for a moment, uncertain on how to accept these rare instances of caring. Especially when it came from Marik.
"Thanks," he quietly mumbled as he grabbed the cup and took a sip. How am I supposed to take all this? It's not supposed to be this way.
"Marik..." he began his question.
"Don't worry about it. Let's just go look at the exhibits I really want to show you before we run out of time. Alright?" the Egyptian cut him off, retaining himself from bounding up the steps in excitement.
Bakura stood in front of a particular piece of Parthenon marble, the cooled cup cradled between his fingers. Marik had been giving him a personal tour of his favourite histories, showing off his hidden passion for the subject. It was endearing.
The hall was surprisingly vacant, which probably explained why Marik was standing closer than usual.
"Did you know they're still debating whether it should be returned to Greece?" the student asked.
"I've heard about it," he replied, hesitating for a moment before revealing, "My father's an archeologist."
"Really?" the blond said, surprised.
He nodded, resisting the urge to step closer.
"So, you probably know a fair amount about this stuff?"
"Not really," he laughed. "I never listened to my father. I'm learning a lot more from you." This caused the blond's face to break into a crooked grin. Adorable wanker... shit.
"Some people argue they saved the marbles by bringing them to the museum," Marik returned to their previous subject.
"Maybe they did."
"What do you think, Bakura? Should the marbles remain or be restored to its country?" the Egyptian inquired.
"I don't really have an opinion on it. Not my discussion topic of choice, unfortunately." He gave the student an apologetic look.
Marik appeared to be satisfied with his response regardless. "What kind of opinions do you have then?"
"Bad ones."
Before he could fully realise what was happening, hands wrapped around his free one, and Marik was leaning his head against his shoulder.
"What's so important that you couldn't be with me tomorrow?" Marik asked softly.
"Well, I was going to do laundry."
"I'm serious, Bakura," the younger man snorted.
"I'm more or less cockblocking for a girl, actually." He smirked at how ridiculous it sounded.
Marik stiffened at those words. "What the hell do you mean? What girl?" Oh…jealous?
"Just a friend. I'm doing her a favour."
The student regained his composure quickly, lightly asking, "That's all?"
"Yes, why?" He raised an eyebrow, a little curious to the question. Definitely jealous. It's what he was hoping to hear from Marik.
"No reason." Marik shrugged before continuing more haughtily, "I'm going on a date tomorrow night." Did I hear that right?
"Why?" he found himself mirroring the blond from moments ago. No. This was all wrong.
"Because you weren't available. I had to fill up my time somehow," the Egyptian answered, masking his vengeful tone almost too well for Bakura to be sure.
After a few moments of contemplation, he finally ventured into the touchy territory with his uncertain assumption. "Are you trying to make me jealous?" he questioned carefully. This is not how it usually goes.
"How could I when we're not together," Marik answered blankly, forever keeping Bakura in the dark about certain parts of himself.
The white haired man frowned at the response, stepping away from the blond currently clinging to him. To his own credit, the student gave no indication of being affected by the sudden detachment, keeping his expression steady.
Bakura's pride would not let him speak further words, but he still made it his personal goal to lay claim to Marik. He had to win.
He could have sworn Marik was trying to hurt him, to get to him. A part of him couldn't determine whether the blond was even telling the truth about his date. He would prove himself otherwise. He would keep up with Marik's little game.
The Egyptian was right. There was nothing going on. He shouldn't be concerned. He shouldn't care.
They could still fuck.
That's all that mattered.
He could play this game. He was good at this game. Usually.
Besides, Marik had already agreed to come home with him, and was currently sitting on the sofa in his flat. Half-drunk bottles of beer lay on the dark brown coffee table near a recently filled ashtray.
Luckily for him it was Friday, meaning that he could get away with wearing black jeans instead of his usual dress pants. A simple white and blue stripped jumper covered his top half.
Something in the purple family was hidden beneath Marik's coat, naturally. The blond wore a lilac shirt under a charcoal hoodie zipped at the front. His arms rested on a burgundy pillow in his lap, a habit the paralegal had been noticing.
"Seeing as you'll be busy with another person tomorrow, you should stay here tonight," he suggested. Absentmindedly, he turned his own bottle so that the label faced him, simultaneously aligning it with the edge of the table. Sometimes, he could barely tell the difference between when he was being anal or when he was simply fidgeting.
Marik cocked an eyebrow. "You'll miss me that much?" Fuck you.
"Au contraire, I'll be the one missed," he replied from the opposite end of the sofa. Such a short distance between them.
"Oh? You seem very confident about that." Marik took a sip from his bottle, calmly contemplating their situation.
"I know my worth," Bakura stated.
"What makes you worthy?" the blond asked. The words sounded so petty on his tongue.
"Ugh, never mind," the paralegal sighed, put off by the younger man's tone.
"What?"
"You shouldn't even question it, you wanker." He leaned forward and took a swig of his bottle.
In the greatest irony of all, Marik moved closer to him, beckoned by his disappointment.
"Seeking approval?" Bakura questioned, eyebrow raised and smirk reappearing. There was no use in hiding it.
"Don't be an ass."
"I know about you," he retorted, trying to get his point across. Why was he being so aggressive tonight?
"Tch, that's what you think," Marik huffed. Despite his dismissal, he stayed close to Bakura, clearly intrigued.
"Tell me, what did that godforsaken book even teach you?" he asked offhandedly. So much denial with this boy.
"The one I never read? Nothing. Instead, I continue to dull out my anxieties stupidly, and after a night of drinking, I wake up in bed with you." The Egyptian maintained his perfectly cool front, calculated to make you feel wanted just enough to stay around. That was Bakura's usual move. This is bullshit.
"Is that really how you feel?" He pressed his back further into his own sofa corner, ideas of seducing Marik slowly dying. Yet, it was as if rejection was an attraction to the student.
"Hmm?" the blond hummed, paying little attention to their conversation. A hidden frown observed the space between them.
"Like I'm such a burden to you, Marik," he spoke louder, wanting to bring the blond's focus back to their exchange.
"Of course not. Why would you think that?" Marik tilted his head, perplexed. Lavender eyes finally met dark brown.
"You certainly act like it sometimes. You can speak so venomously of me." A shrug accompanied his casual claim, appearing nonchalant was key.
"I don't," the words sounded genuine and confident when the student said them.
It had to make Bakura wonder how well-adjusted, or maladjusted, Marik was when it came to his personal relationships. There were so many coincidental alarms relating to the passages the student had read to him barely a week ago. I'm fucked.
"Are you really that oblivious?"
"Oblivious to what?" Marik replied, frown returning to his face.
"Oblivious to the way you behave," he clarified.
The Egyptian's gaze fell to the carpeted floor, pensive. "No... believe me, I know. I just think wondering about the moments where you're not in control are probably worse..." Marik trailed off. Fuck.
"Hey," he spoke lowly, trying to divert the student's thoughts. His arm slipped around the blond's waist and pulled him closer. He found himself pressing his forehead against the younger man's temple.
Marik sighed and brought up his hand to stroke white hair once. "You know, you can be surprisingly cuddly for someone so crass," the student spoke lightly, laughter seeping into his voice; his mood was already improving.
"Shut up." Retreating back into his corner, he pulled Marik with him, forcing the blond to lean against his side. "So, are you staying tonight?" his question was laced with hope. He was going to win.
"Asking twice? You must really want me around," the student mused.
"Isn't that what you want?" he attempted to sound more assured when he spoke.
"To be wanted?" the blond asked hesitantly, avoiding commitment to such a notion.
"And to be here," he added carefully, wanting to remain neutral yet confident in his pursuit to convince Marik of the former.
"I suppose," the Egyptian replied ambiguously.
"I'll never get you to admit anything, will I?" He gave up and contented himself with simply holding the blond, without protest.
"Hmm...maybe you should tell me some of your more embarrassing stories?"
He could almost hear the teasing glee in Marik's voice; he definitely saw the mischief in his growing smirk. This boy is truly evil.
"Where did that come from?"
"Maybe I'll admit things if you do as well. Besides, you saw me pissed. I should get to hear about you," the blond reasoned.
"You also gave me a hand job. I think we're even on seeing sides of the other person," he countered.
"That's not relatable at all! Oh please, Bakura!" Marik suddenly twisted to face Bakura, half in his lap now, hands on his shoulders, his usual exuberant self returning.
"Fine."
"Tell me the worst one," the student insisted.
"...fine," he relented.
His instincts told him to reach over and light up another cigarette, but Marik's weight was keeping him in place. He settled on resting a hand on the student's thigh and keeping his other arm wrapped around him. He searched his brain for a semi-embarrassing story. There was no way he was telling Marik his worst moment. Moments.
"Okay, years ago a uni friend of mine made pot brownies. He wasn't great at cooking or baking. I don't know why I trusted him."
He felt Marik shift, nestling against him comfortably, head on his shoulder.
"It started off fine, but I had to head home," he continued, "so I left his house and everything went wrong."
"This is going to be good," Marik interjected, amused.
Ignoring the student's comment, he went on, "By some miracle, I made it home. It was difficult to walk. I must have looked drunk. I shouldn't have been that affected. When I opened the front door, I actually fell in. It was early Friday evening and my housemates were having dinner. We had plans to head out, but I didn't make it. I brushed off their concerns. About ten minutes later, I was sick. I begged one of them to take me to a hospital. I thought I was dying."
"Did they?" The blond was grinning at him as he looked up from his spot on Bakura's shoulder, slipping his arm loosely around the paralegal's waist.
"No." He grimaced in response. "I had to wait it out. We all do stupid things, and you're no exception to that," he added, jabbing Marik in the side.
The grin disappeared beneath a glare as the Egyptian momentarily squirmed in discomfort. Somehow, the urge to kiss the blond had returned, the ever-changing emotion of the day. He needed to finish his story first though.
"Anyway, I suffered most of that night. My friends went out and came back in the early hours. I was still on the floor. The only thing that made me feel better was knowing that my dumb mates were also fucked that night, but I didn't find out about that until the next day," he admitted, reaching the end of his undignified tale.
"Alright, you officially beat me. That's way worse than my...momentary lapse of self."
He couldn't admit it to Marik, but that wasn't even his worst story. Some incidents were best left forgotten.
"Overall, it was a very classy affair," he declared with a grimace.
"Is it safe to assume that your junkie days are just as bad?"
"I don't know, Marik. As I keep telling you, I've never shot up before," he replied sarcastically.
"But, you've done other things," the blond insisted, still managing to sound obnoxious, somehow.
"I have, and in terms of bad incidents, they're only a little worse..."
"How?"
He sighed, hope of Marik letting it go diminishing.
Marik took this as his cue to change his position completely, shuffling to allow himself to lie down, resting his head in Bakura's lap. Lavender eyes stared up at him expectantly, piercing through him judgementally like they always seemed to do. Still, they remained the most attractive part of this rare-featured Egyptian.
"Well, my less fond memories involve me lying on the bathroom floor. Again," he spoke calmly, trying to draw the least attention possible to his words, despite how futile that was. His fingers began to gently comb through the blond's hair, a distraction for both of them.
Marik seemed pleased with his response. "You've laid on bathroom floors a lot." Dick.
He made a disgruntled sound, unable to come up with an annoyed reply.
"Were you sick again?" the student smugly asked, never losing his mischievousness.
"A handful of times. Sometimes, it feels like you're having a heart attack and it's kind of painful. It really drains you in comparison to drinking," he confessed. He continued to methodically play with his undefined companion's hair as his eyes unfocused off to the side, away from that captivating stare. He felt the blond shift against him, making the final adjustments to his new position. It was hard to contemplate while having to remember mundane events of the past. Although, mundane probably wasn't the most common word for getting sick off of one too many tablets. Or mixing the wrong things. That was my reality, I guess.
"That doesn't sound like something I'd want to try... Especially with my problems, it's not worth the risk of triggering something." Those words caught his attention, his gaze returning to Marik's softened eyes.
"Well, the getting sick part doesn't happen often, otherwise it's pretty great. Drinking isn't that much better anyway." His mind continued his internal debate: Do I want to kiss this wanker?
The fact that he was petting the younger man lying in his lap was a strong indication of yes, an idea that continued to clash with Marik's own verbal reservations. He sighed at his own thoughts. "I don't think I'll ever understand you," he audibly conceded.
Marik cocked a confused eyebrow; it always had a way of making him look endearing. Fuck.
"You never fucking answered me. Are you staying?" To avoid further aversion tactics, he added, "Before you turn this around on me, yes, I do want you to stay." This confession felt more like an admission of guilt.
His hand stilled as he waited for his answer. He could tell the blond was struggling with giving away his pure honesty.
Finally, Marik lifted himself into a sitting position, still in his lap, and circled his arms around the paralegal's neck. A lazy smile accompanied his melancholic face. "You're usually so rude. Why do you have to turn around and say things like that?" You're such a fool.
Bakura tightened the hold he had subconsciously placed on Marik's torso and leaned in, capturing the blond's lips.
He had been patiently trying to figure out the student's stance, proving to be a huge waste of time. If Marik had a problem, he'd stop him. If Marik had a problem, he wouldn't be flinging himself on him anyway.
He would just have to trust that there was a silver-lining to their complex emotions.