Bakura sat at his desk. Friday night was approaching. Another declined invite from James. He promised he'd go tomorrow. He was in too low of a mood he had to admit. Ever since giving up on Marik, well, he didn't have much to look forward to or avoid doing.
It had been three weeks since he got laid. He'd probably run at Marik, or even Marik, if he saw him in the streets. Fluctuating between dead inside and lust, he wished he hadn't agreed with Marik when his hormones were at an all-time low.
Maybe they could be friends with benefits. That wasn't such a bad deal-
"Bakura, are you done File 2343?" a voice asked.
He nearly jumped from his chair, feeling very exposed by his previous thoughts. Why was he even that attracted to him? He had the shittiest styl-
"Bakura?" his colleague looked at him perplexed.
Shit. He forgot to answer. "Uh…not yet. I'll finish it now," he replied and turned to his computer. The man left. His tie felt uncomfortable and he loosened it.
Okay, section A. Subheading III. He looked amazing without the makeup though. Fuck.
Oh my non-existent-metaphorical-deity, focus. Can my emotions match my logic? Please. He is a mistake. I needed humbling.
A. IIV. c. something something legalese. He groaned and broke his fucking promise. He thought of a few openings, erasing every attempt. Finally, he settled on:
[Miss me?]
[7700-900391:
Hi]
He frowned. Not the response he was expecting. Another message appeared on his screen.
[7700-900391:
You gave in first. You failed. You're just as bad as him]
Bollocks.
[REPLY:
Never mind]
He hoped that Marik would leave him alone.
[7700-900391:
You never want to talk to me]
Hoped too soon.
[REPLY:
We don't like each other]
[7700-900391:
I'm bored]
He was beginning to see some of the links between Marik and his other half, both petulant children at heart.
Out of nowhere, he felt something wet drop from his nose. Looking down, he saw a droplet of blood on his desk. His nose was bleeding. Fuck. He needed to lay off. Bakura stood up and hastily made his way to the toilet to deal with the problem.
This was it. The first sign he'd been overdoing it. Well, the first undeniable sign. His nose was to remain clear for another year or so until the next crash.
For the first time in a while, he really looked at himself in the mirror. He'd lost a small amount of weight and it did not suit him. His dark circles looked permanent. His hair was starting to grow out, reaching his chin again. He looked paler than usual. His white shirt was wrinkled, not even tucked into his trousers. His colleagues definitely knew he was on a downward spiral. He was getting tired of brushing off the 'are you okays'with fake answers. He used to be a lot better at hiding it. I really need to do something about this.
His options were 'normal life with impulsive thoughts' or 'normal mind with impulsive actions'. Why couldn't he just be normal? His nose was still bleeding.
A colleague found him in the bathroom. Someone a bit older than himself who tended to mind his own business. "Alright?"
Bakura nodded. What was his name again? Hassan? He ignored the man and left the toilet. Bloody tissue wad in hand. He'd sort himself out at his desk. His mobile had more messages.
[7700-900391:
You can't ignore me. I'll meet you outside. You know where.]
The bench. His pulse quickened. He simultaneously felt sick and excited. Was this payback? Was this karma? For every person he'd fucked over, he was getting his comeuppance? Is this how they felt when he left? Lovesick over a fucking wanker? Lovesi-whoa. That was not the word he wanted to use.
He'd created his own personal hell.
As always, the blond lounged on that bench. Same sleepy expression, messy hair and dark clothing. He wore a thick black puffer jacket. Surprisingly, faded kohl rimmed the lower half of his lids.
Bakura sat down beside him. It was certainly frigid. His hands struggled do get his cigarette started with the icy wind.
Marik looked at him but continued to say nothing, expression unreadable. Bakura stared back. His previous claim about running straight to him proved false. He wasn't sure how to feel anymore.
"I've been in charge for about a week now," the other finally said.
"Oh?" That was definitely surprising to hear.
"I'm sick of it. It's fucking boring. I prefer to come out during the exciting parts. Do you know how dull making food, eating the food and washing the dishes three times a day is?"
"Marik, everyone knows that."
"It's pretty fucking boring. I have to pretend to be nice to Jenna-"
"Gemma."
"Whatever. I need to answer all these texts. There's an annoying cat around. I hate it," the blond continued to complain. For some reason, Bakura found this extremely amusing…and endearing? No, don't you dare start again.
"I even have to work and be nice to customers! That was never my job," the student continued to moan. He tilted his head to face Bakura again. "You'll be happy to know I ended things with Eva."
This definitely got his attention. "What do you mean? I thought you preferred women."
"She wouldn't stop calling. 'Marik this' and 'Marik that'. I didn't want to keep up with it anymore. She's gone." Well that answered multiple questions.
"He won't like that."
"Yeah, well, it's for him to come back again. The coward," Marik spat out this last bit.
"Have you taken your meds?" the older man hesitantly asked.
"I'm waiting for a refill." That explains a bit.
"So…what do you want with me then?"
"I'm bored. Only you know I exist. Let's drink. Maybe even fight later. Anything is better than this."
"You caved, too." Bakura pointed out.
"Don't look so smug. You are literally my only option."
He didn't expect to hang out in a pub with a violent alter, but here he was. Playing darts. Hoping the madman wouldn't lob one at his face. Marik was losing and cursing profusely. Bakura was frankly happy to have an excuse to avoid joining James and whatever substance he got his hands on that week. He kept going on about a rave in Bristol soon. He could not handle the MD. Was his answer to sobriety really spending time with a dangerous dick?
"You buy next round if I win," the blond said determinedly. This version could certainly drink better than Marik. It wasn't quite the same though.
Bakura was up. Pint in one hand and dart in the other, he took aim and threw it towards the middle. Not a bullseye, but at least a triple. The blond continued to curse behind him.
It was odd. They were more similar to each other than the Marik he desired. They were actually getting along. This said plenty of terrible things about himself. Even a sociopath like Marik deserved mates. Or was it psychopath? He could never remember the distinction. A dreadful thought crossed his mind. Which one was he? No, surely not.
"Don't look so nervous, Bakura," the younger man said, clearly amused.
He threw the next dart. Another triple. Marik scowled.
"You might as well get the next round now," Bakura replied.
The Egyptian didn't respond. Instead, he got closer, unnervingly close. Bakura tried to remain focused on his last throw, ignoring the presence beside him. He felt something touched his side. He flinched. "Don't. It's cheating," he muttered.
"Would you say that to him?" Marik looked far too pleased with himself. This would not end well. Deep down, he knew.
"Just let me throw." He pushed the blond away before throwing his last dart. A miss.
"Oh no. What a shame. Maybe you'll lose after all," Marik said dryly. Tactical.
He was ready to protest, to tell him off, to say something against the blond, but he'd already given up. Was this it? Was it building up to them finally shagging? He shook his head. No. Marik enjoyed torturing him in any way possible, including sexual tension.
Said blond continued to throw darts very badly and lost. With a defeated sigh, he left for the bar in annoyance.
Bakura took a seat at a nearby table and continued to drink. He wondered when his Marik would return. Not his. This was very abnormal. The medication should fix it. At least this Marik seemed keen to return to his background life.
When the blond sat down across from him, he set down one normal pint and one disgustingly bright pink concoction.
"Your drink," the other smirked.
"No."
"You can't refuse."
"I hate sweet drinks. They're vile."
The blond pretended to pout. "Don't be a sore winner. It was like 16 quid."
"Waste of money."
"Drink it and I'll make it worth your while." Well damn, maybe they were going to…
Bakura didn't even ask how. "Deal." The other looked satisfied.
It was a genuinely nauseating drink. He sucked it up and drunk it as fast as he could, ready to down it with literally anything else, including drain cleaner.
"New game," Marik said. "You ask a question. If the person doesn't answer, they have to drink. If they do answer, you drink. Any question."
The paralegal raised an eyebrow. A thinly veiled juvenile, flirtatious game. Where was he going with this? "Okay. You go first. Clearly, you have some questions planned."
"Why do you like him?" Shit.
He paled, if that were even possible. "Um."
"Seriously, why do you like him?" the blond pressed on.
Bakura took a drink. The other shook his head and scoffed.
It was his go. "Why were you institutionalised before?"
"Huh?" Marik looked perplexed, lavender eyes squinting.
"The other day, you said you didn't want to be locked up again. What happened?"
"Oh…I attacked someone," the Egyptian nonchalantly replied.
"Care to elaborate?"
"It was my dad." The blond seemed unbothered as if he were talking about the weather.
"Right." He took another drink. He was really sucking at this game.
"Why are you attracted to him?" This again.
"Why do you want to know so badly?" Bakura hated the way the other got under his skin.
"Well, he is me, so I wanna know. Don't be boring."
"I don't know. To be honest, his fashion sense is objectively weird. He looks fine when he isn't wearing eyeliner or too many accessories." The other gave a sound of agreement to that. "It's more his attitude, I suppose?" He tried to answer without revealing too much.
" Really? His attitude? What attitude? He's fragile." Marik scrunched up his nose distastefully.
"Just drink, Marik." The blond huffed and held his part of the deal. "What's the worst thing you have ever done?"
The Egyptian actually laughed at that question and quickly took another sip, breaking eye contact. Well fucking hell, that story must have been good.
The blond went straight to his next question. "How much do you want me right now?" Oh my god, please stop.
Bakura sighed in dismay. "Not enough to…" he didn't finish. Human connection was a curse.
"Quit trying to convince me, Bakura," the younger man smirked. Overly-confident sadistic wanker.
"Where's my promise of making this worth while?" He needed to gain back the upper hand. He wouldn't lose to this version as well.
The blond disregarded his question. "You know, I don't think he'd care that much. He'd probably be relieved that someone actually liked all parts of him."
"Sounds like you're the one who's trying to convince me."
Marik further evaded his comments. "What's your friend doing? The one you go out with."
"He's at some gig up in Camden."
"Let's go."
"No. It's alright. I'm trying to avoid getting fucked."
"Well, I'm not, so we're going." The Egyptian stood up, put on his coat, and practically pulled Bakura out of his chair.
That's how he ended up on the tube, drinking from a can next to Marik doing the same. Half the occupants were either in the midst of getting drunk or already pissed. London was such a lovely city. Full of class.
The occasional shrieks of the track pierced his ears. That distinct old dusty, metallic scent of the tube overwhelmed him.
How did he let himself get into these situations? Was he really that desperate? Did he simply not care? He didn't know anymore. He still missed Marik. Nothing was fixing it. Maybe he really was…attached. He had to stop denying it.
Why else would he be spending his time with a fucking deranged alter just because it was him? Why else would he sabotage his life? Why else would he spend nearly two months trying to forget? Why else would he be this fucking sad? The worst part was Ryou had been right all along. He was way more upset over Marik than he wanted to admit. Fuck!
"Stop thinking about him," the student said. "I can tell because you have that look on your face. Like you suffered some terrible trauma." I'm so fucked.
Bakura gave a short, nervous laugh. He most certainly did not want to experience this epiphany on the fucking tube with fucking mental Marik next to him. He really needed therapy.
"I think I'm going to be sick." The other's eyes widened in actual fear. Who knew that was possible? "Metaphorically," he clarified. Marik visibly relaxed, returning to his usual self-assured pose.
"Just tell him. Get it over with." He couldn't tell if this was a sign of approval or indifference. Most likely indifference.
