Bakura skimmed over text with his highlighter.
Article A. Section 3.
Herein, third party is authorised…
Will thus forth be referred to as "The Company."
Article C. Section 5 b.
Sign here.
Witness here.
He corrected a few words in the legal agreement and wondered if people in HR were required to demonstrate any spelling ability upon hire.
He picked up the next contract he was meant to verify, foregoing his usual triple check. The nagging feeling that he might miss something was mostly smothered. What were the odds of him actually making a mistake? Many. Too many. He better re-examine the last five contracts just to make sure.
Despite feeling silly, he carefully read in detail every single word. It was almost embarrassing how slow he could make himself while working. If he didn't feel completely satisfied, he would have to look over the sentence again, his brain forever filled with the doubt that his eyes were deceiving him into believing there were no errors. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to fix this.
It was going on ten years though; he knew this habit could not easily disappear. For some strange reason, he still had people convinced he was fast paced. He wondered how much he could actually get done if he did utilise his full potential.
It was around noon that Bakura received the email intended for his brother. He was merely CC'd as an afterthought. Like always.
A lovely reminder that their father was selling their childhood home and they were requested to take care of everything as always. Clear out your stuff or lose it. Ryou had already taken it upon himself to book the train tickets. Paignton in chilly October. Fun.
He thought of how Gemma knew so much and Marik knew so little. Not that Marik shared that much with him either. It was probably all forcefully revealed information…due to his stalking. It wasn't stalking!
He decided to ignore the email. No use in replying, he'll just show up at the train station whenever Ryou tells him to.
Although, it did make sense that Marik was being a histrionic whore. I shouldn't be cursing the mentally ill. Why the fuck aren't you working?
He stood up and gathered his completed papers, intending to drop them off on his way to lunch.
He was going to eat something disgusting, something that would make him feel alive, albeit for five minutes tops. Then he'd wallow in a sodium coma of despair.
That's how he found himself at McDonald's.
When the paralegal left the building, he was met with an unexpected sight. Marik lounged across the bench. Hair unkempt. Clothing muted, very…drab. Their eyes met, but Marik made no move to join him.
Bakura felt compelled and walked towards him anyway. He loosened his tie and forgot about his fags for a moment.
The blond stood and merely said, "Walk." Everything seemed so different, but he followed.
"I haven't seen you in a while," the Egyptian began, voice low.
"It's only been a few days," he replied cautiously. He found himself avoiding eye contact, observing the cracks in the pavement as he walked. He began to take notice of the distance between each fissure. They weren't equal.
"I'm only in the background those times."
"What?" That strange comment made him look up. The student was watching him with hooded, distant eyes.
"Just because he doesn't know about me, it doesn't mean I don't know about him," the blond replied cryptically.
"Excuse me?" Maybe the atmosphere of the conversation drew him in, but the streets appeared to be unnaturally empty on this dreary day. It made him uneasy.
"I think he's been trained very well to ignore me though." Marik looked forward, hands in his pockets, unperturbed by the one-sided conversation. It clicked.
"Oh…you're…" the words died on the tip of his tongue. What does one call this?
"We're one and the same," Marik answered for him.
"I know." Theoretically, he knew. Keep calm. "So…why did you want to talk to me?" Was there really no one around London on a weekday right after work hours?
"He's really pissed, you know. I'm really pissed," Marik informed him. He didn't seem to care that much though, despite his words.
"I gathered." Bakura figured it was a good time to actually light a cigarette. The Tube station wasn't that far.
"You're bursting his…our little bubble." Uttering these thoughts appeared to be painful for the student.
He snorted. "I should care because?" He lit his cigarette and took a drag, noting that this Marik had no comments on it. Then again, this Marik didn't care about much either.
"I don't like to be put in my place," the blond ironically admitted.
"You have a problem with being made aware that you are irrevocably wrong?" For the first time during this odd encounter, the paralegal could feel a smirk pulling at his mouth. He was back in his element. The nicotine probably helped.
"I have a problem with not getting my way." He almost expected a small tantrum to follow those childish words, but other Marik never failed to be completely emotionless when he wasn't angered.
"Shame for you." This was weird. This was so weird.
"I liked the movie you chose by the way."
"What?" he found himself asking again.
"The movie we watched. Other me was scared like a little bitch, but I quite enjoyed it." Marik shot him the most insincere smile imaginable. It might've been real to him, the closest he could muster to feign genuine joy.
The paralegal flicked his half-finished fag as he approached the Tube station. "I see."
He began to wonder exactly how separate or present this Marik was. Relief washed over him slightly when he noticed signs of life. Others were trickling into the station; he wasn't caught in the twilight zone.
"You're surprisingly okay with this." Marik sounded relaxed as he spoke. A tenseness he didn't notice before began to dissipate.
"Do I have a choice?" It's not like he could control what made up Marik's psyche, even with his best efforts.
"I guess not," the blond agreed as they began to descend the stairs.
The closer they got to the actual Tube, the more suffocating the people became, occasionally pushing against them.
"So how does it work?" Bakura couldn't help but ask. He was more or less stuck with the blond now, nearly touching as other bodies threatened to press too close to them.
"Me? I deal with all the stress." Marik looked at the advertisements distractedly. An announcement overhead warned of an unexpected delay.
"Why?" It sounded like an unfair deal.
"I handled all the past incidents. I've been more or less placated since then. I dealt with what I was supposed to. I'm calm when I'm me." The blond shrugged, his eyes continued to scan the crowd.
Bakura nodded as he observed Marik. The differences were minor, almost indistinguishable in appearance. This Marik looked like he rolled out of bed and quite possibly had a wake and bake, too. Then again, Bakura was well acquainted with being perpetually tired. Wait, is that what I look like?
Marik finally faced him, hands in his pockets still. "Sometimes, I even write the exams."
"You tried to punch me once," he countered.
"Anyone would do that, regardless." Marik flashed him a mischievous smile. This one actually looked genuine.
"Debatable," he muttered. The blond snorted.
The paralegal saw his tube approaching; he began to shuffle amongst the other waiting passengers, Marik close behind. They stood in silence for a stop until two empty seats were offered. The majority of the passengers in their car were fiddling with their phones or engaged in hushed conversations.
"So, you exist to endure stress," he summarised.
"I've always existed. My mind is just more defined." The blond paused in thought for a moment. "One box is…social and happy. That's me. Another box is sad and alone. That's me, too. Another is angry and resilient. The boxes can grow and develop. I'm here because I'm Marik. I'm better with fulfilling some parts of life…when I'm me. I didn't come from nowhere. I've always been there. There is only one Marik, me," the student explained with surprising eloquence. Compartmentalisation.
"I understand. What happened to make you more…apt with certain emotions?" He had been dying to know for a while now, but it never felt appropriate to broach the subject with the usual Marik.
"You'll know when you deserve to know," Marik spoke with smugness in his tone. The blond clearly enjoyed retaining important information from him. Bakura was no longer sure which Marik was more annoying.
"Does Gemma know?" he tried asking. She would surely tell him.
"Who?" The Egyptian tilted his head in confusion, arms crossed against his chest.
The paralegal raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "The person you live with," he replied condescendingly.
"Oh right, your new girlfriend." Marik smirked maliciously. "I don't think she's noticed all my sides. That part was left out in her debriefing."
"And how is your new girlfriend?" he retaliated, holding back an immature eye roll in the process. He was better than that.
"I like it better than being with you," the student answered nonchalantly.
The paralegal blanched. Shit, he was there for all of that, too.
Marik began to laugh, it sounded so low compared to his usual gravelly voice. The speakers announced the upcoming station.
"This is my stop," the older man replied, avoiding further interaction with his not quite there companion. Not that Marik cared for his departure.
"Why do you insist on visiting me lately?"
Ryou stood in his doorway, hair sheared to a more acceptable chin length and face smug. Completely ignoring the question, he announced, "I was tired of looking like a wanker, so I got a haircut."
"Ryou, you make that terrible joke every few years when you decide you're sick of looking like me," he replied dryly.
"You're incapable of change."
"Shut up." It wasn't entirely true.
Ryou barged passed him with little resistance, looking around the flat as if he were actually welcomed there. "It did give me a strange encounter though."
"Oh? How so?" he asked in mildly peaked interest as he returned to his thousand piece puzzle, the only use his small dining table has ever gotten.
"Is this really what you do with your free time?" Ryou asked upon noticing the scene.
Bakura had the odd urge to immerse himself in the most tedious solo activity. He was almost happy to own such an archaic 'toy' in his forgotten storage closet. "Not all the time. I like the focus, okay?" Talking to his brother could be exasperating.
"You're so fucking boring," the younger man groaned.
"Language, Ryou," he replied patronisingly.
The puzzle was The Last Judgement by Bosch, something he was certain Ryou made their father purchase during their holiday in Bruges as children. It was a really weird souvenir to get for your kid, even if it did come from a museum.
Ryou sat down beside him and started picking at the small pieces, inserting them in random spaces between long intervals.
"So, your encounter?" the paralegal finally asked, flipping over cardboard to reveal coloured mosaics.
"Hmm? Oh yeah, on the streets. A blond guy thought I was you. He said some really questionable things, Bakura." Ryou warily observed him from his side of the table.
Oh fuck me. "Like what?"
"'What did you do to your hair?' and he proceeded to actually touch my hair." His brother accentuated the last part with a pointed look. People did not make a habit of freely touching Bakura. Ever.
"Yeah, he's a really weird guy," the paralegal mentioned as an end-all explanation. He kept his voice devoid of emotion and face blank.
"When he realised I wasn't you, he kind of freaked out and became super distant. You guys seem close." Ryou was prodding. Twat.
"I did tell you I have friends, but you never believe me," he brushed off, trying to regain focus on the puzzle and control on the situation.
Ryou was never good at taking his warning signs into account. "Is your girlfriend actually a boyfriend?"
He froze, he was certain the little colour left in his face drained. "Excuse me?"
"It's okay if he is. Although, not what I imagined your tastes would be like," the younger man commented. Ryou felt too safe, allowing himself such liberties.
The paralegal felt a lukewarm mixture of calmness and anger, mustering up whatever he could from this surprising turn of events. "Listen very carefully, Ryou. I am not going to repeat myself. One: I'm not boring. You're boring. You make figurines for god's sake. Two: You know I have friends. I had more than you in school. Three: He's not my boyfriend. Most of the time, I want to punch him in the face. Understood?"
Ryou seemed unphased by his declaration. "Yeah, yeah."
Wanting to get his point across, Bakura gave his brother a swift slap on the back of his head.
"OW! WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?" Ryou cried out, instantly clutching the spot.
The paralegal tersely pointed at him. "As a reminder. It wasn't even that hard."
"We're not kids anymore! You can't just hit me like you did back then!" his brother retorted incredulously.
"Well, I just did."
"Who are we supposed to be seeing again?" Bakura stared at the empty chairs in front of him in confusion. When Gemma reminded him of dinner plans he had no recollection of making, he did not expect it to involve others.
She turned to face him, expression reflecting his own. "You're the one who agreed to it. Ma-" Gemma was cut off by said blond, or blondes, apologizing for being late.
What the fuck. He didn't agree to this!
When he chanced a glance to what he assumed was the usual Marik, he was met with an intense gaze. It appeared that Marik was also a little thrown off by their meeting. He didn't speak a word of it though, casually sliding into his seat. The blonde woman accompanying him took the initiative to introduce herself. Oh fuck me.
"I'm Ava. It's so nice to finally meet you properly. We always seem to miss each other," Marik's date spoke to Gemma.
Gemma smiled politely. "I've been very busy." She gave Bakura an apologetic look.
"You are?" the new girl was addressing him.
This was not happening to him. "Bakura," he curtly replied.
She looked perplexed for a moment and searched Marik's face for an answer. Unfortunately for her, the Egyptian was being unresponsive since his arrival. He was playing with the cutlery in boredom instead of actually assisting his girlfriend.
This was happening to him.
Ava tried to save face anyway. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe Marik has ever mentioned you."
"Likewise." His gaze fell to the blond in question, lavender eyes were scrutinizing him.
The Egyptian did not look pleased at all. "I didn't realise dinner was going to be with you," Marik finally spoke disdainfully. Ava's eyes widened at his unkind words.
Gemma awkwardly coughed. "It was your idea. You told me to remind Bakura. I thought you were both aware..." Gemma's quasi-explanation produced more questions than clarification. Marik looked positively bewildered for a moment before returning to his blank, unforgiving eyes.
"You must be losing your mind, again," the paralegal cut in scathingly, causing the blond to frown.
"Maybe we should do this another time-" Ava began to say.
"No, of course not. Let's eat," Bakura announced. He was feeling particularly vengeful tonight.