If oblivious Marik had restraint, self-aware Marik was careful. The verbal hints had died down, but the tension between them remained. This time unspoken.
They sat in a pub, their usual venue. Barely touched pints and snacks between them. The sounds of patrons and staff were muffled. The air felt heavy. Bakura hated it. Marik was supposed to be the easier one to be around. Something he never could have entertained a mere month ago.
Bakura broke the ice. "You always say you are the same. Of course, you would actually find me charming." He tried his best to sound smug in the hope of bringing Marik back from his internal episode. Since when did he care?
"You are not charming," the blond decidedly replied.
Bakura waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever it is, it's not a side effect of your other half."
"Hmph," the blond grunted before adding, "Well, I won't have to put up with you for long. I'll eventually go back to Egypt."
The paralegal's heart sunk like lead hitting his guts, an unexpected visceral reaction. "When?" he asked all too quickly.
"In a couple years? Not sure. Depends on whether he does a master's or gets a job here for a bit."
Okay, it wasn't completely hopeless. Why was he panicking? Deny, deny, deny.
The blond caught on. "You'll miss me," he stated.
"No."
Marik leaned back in his chair and looked off to the side. "That's why, you know."
"That's why what?"
"That's why he won't take you seriously. He's afraid to make any permanent commitment."
Bakura thought back to some course mates. They'd had a similar mentality. The struggles with work visas. The convenient marriage visas. The deals that fell through. The disappointments. The broken hearts. Foolish emotions. Except they're not.
He hated the intrusive thoughts. "Makes sense."
Marik gave an emotionless laugh. "You're such an idiot." Somehow, Marik always knew.
It had finally caught up to him. Although, it took longer than expected.
A warning message let him know that he was about to run out of papers with only ten left in the pack. Delicately, automatically, he folded the cardboard filter into a zigzag pattern. Deftly, he completed a backroll and lit the excess paper, watching it burn away crisply. A calming ritual.
Bakura was staying home due to a cold. It was 10 a.m. on a Tuesday and he was smoking a spliff regardless of his irritated throat. He spent the morning on the sofa, switching between watching episodes of Peep Show and a stalker documentary every time he got bored. He was comforted to know that neither Marik or himself fell under the definition of an actual stalker. His ashtray was filled to the brim. The poster boy for unchecked depression.
He really shouldn't be smoking anything or drinking for that matter. Instead of focusing on curbing his illness, he sought out micro-dissociations. He loved it. He loved the feeling. That's what it meant to be addicted, right? Addicted to self-medicating. Addicted to desensitising. Addicted to Marik.
Bakura blew on the ember to fix the uneven burn. It was bothering him. A sharp pang hit him. Oh no, it was coming back. He was not prepared for that. Not yet.
He shouldn't be doing any of this, but it felt lovely. It was the only way he could eat lately. Everything tasted bland without it. His appetite was non-existent. That was another sign to stop, wasn't it?
As his morning became a long haze, another burn mark appeared on the blanket he'd been using. Lately, he spent his days covered in an ashy mess, his impaired reflexes always missing the tray. For someone who'd been smoking for the better part of eight years, he was really bad at this.
He coughed, his body warning him against further poisoning. He had a can of hard seltzer in front of him. Natural lime flavour. Natural lime… as opposed to fucking what? He took a sip. The lime was so subtle that it tasted like water. Dangerous.
He was reaching the point where he needed more to feel anything, getting used to previous amounts of well…everything. When did his life become such a mess? It's not the first time.
The more he thought about his situation, the more he thought about Marik. Then he remembered that ex. Evie. The girl who sent him an essay length text detailing how he was the worst person she'd ever met after breaking up with her. Funnily enough, he felt the same way about her. They could have been great friends if it weren't for the constant arguing. It took him much longer to realise that this was her sociopathic attempt at showing her displeasure over his lack of attention. She liked him all along. Well, her vision of him.
He'd finally agreed on dating. Maybe he secretly wanted it, too? Despite thinking that she was a bitch, he felt a pull towards her. Others wanted to date her, so that must have meant something? Like he won a prize. The moment he agreed though, she became uncharacteristically doting. He hated it. He preferred their aggressive disagreements. That kept him interested. It was a very conflicting summer.
'Karma Police' played in the background. Huh. Fitting. He found a blond hair on his sofa.
Before new thoughts could take over, Bakura's door opened and Ryou let himself in. His brother took in the scene. A half drunk lemsip mug, a fully drunk hard seltzer can, half a joint, some chocolate biscuits, window opened, and one miserable paralegal greeted emerald eyes.
"You look rough,' was all his dear brother said, concern emanating from his entire being. Bakura watched as Ryou started tidying his flat. The younger man cleared away the small messes quickly before sitting next to Bakura who begrudgingly made room for him.
"Bakura, you have to stop," the younger man's tone was controlled, but he knew it was a façade.
Instead of snapping back like usual, he merely talked. "Ryou, it's the only way I can eat."
"That's not good." Well, obviously.
The older man shrugged. "My life is in shambles, but that's what the drugs are for."
Ryou was clearly not impressed with his response. Emerald eyes landed on the blond hair between his fingers. The paralegal hadn't realised he was still holding it. "Is this still about that bloke? You really need to get a grip-"
His anger always got the best of him. "Don't look so smug, Mr first class degree. You think you're better than me? Wasn't it Adderall that got you through those dissertations?"
Ryou hardened his gaze and rolled his eyes, not addressing the accusation. "Getting angry at me won't help your situation."
"It might," the paralegal stubbornly replied.
Ryou sighed and placed a pillow on his lap. The young man pulled down Bakura's head atop of it and began stroking his hair softly. It was nothing like when Marik did it.
Bakura vaguely remembered their mother doing this to him when he was sick. Now, it was Ryou who needed to fulfill that role. Ryou had to be everything for him, and he had to be everything for Ryou. Always. Their fucked up family dynamics. He found himself missing his mum a lot more lately. Mum.
"Bakura, you are a fucking idiot," Ryou spoke fondly. It felt comforting. "You know that, right?" All too well.
Bakura was in James's flat after work one day, a tame hang out for them. He wasn't fully cured, but he felt immensely better. He had just finished telling his mate about…his encounter with Marik, omitting most details.
"How was it?" James suddenly asked. He wasn't too surprised by the curiosity.
"Oddly recommend," he answered after a moment.
James raised an eyebrow before bursting out laughing.
"That being said, I should probably get tested," Bakura admitted resignedly. It was something he'd been meaning to do for a while now, just to be safe.
"You did have a few busy months." James agreed before taking on a serious tone. "Don't disappear again. I know you went through these phases, even in uni, but I'd rather you not."
"…yeah." Bakura wasn't sure how to respond to that, but he knew it was all true.
"You know I care, right?" James added.
He nodded. He did know, but sometimes he was so stuck in his own head that he forgot. He felt a hand pat his back.
Bakura placed the extra coffee on Natalie's desk. She looked up at him and pulled out a paper bag which held an extra croissant. They exchanged peace offerings as Bakura asked her to have dinner.
Their relationship hadn't greatly suffered, but James reminded him of how easily he could unintentionally neglect others.
They had kept up communications through daily meme exchanges about hating work and emotional instability, but he hadn't had a proper chat with her in a while.
"I'm sorry for being distant lately," he told her.
She gave an understanding smile and told him it was fine. That's when he told her everything about the last five or so months with Marik. She wasn't as surprised as he imagined she would be.
Why was no one that surprised when he told them? What the fuck. At least, she didn't call him an idiot.
Bakura was smoking and listening to music while doomscrolling. Fucking love songs were starting to remind him of Marik, unwanted flashes in his mind when he paid attention to the lyrics a little too much. He ignored the image. He was probably going insane.
Speak of the devil, Marik let himself in. Bakura stopped wondering how he broke in and why he chose to do it at random intervals. Nothing about Marik shocked him anymore.
Which one was it though? The glare told him it was Marik.
"How was your date with him?" the Egyptian pointedly asked. The student still didn't wear makeup, but he looked more put together than Bakura who'd been living in the chaviest grey tracksuit his closet had been hiding.
"You mean my date with you? It's still you." One day, Marik would get the point.
"No, it's not." But that day was not today.
Marik sat beside him, a small distance between them. "You've got competition, Ishtar," he teased.
The blond nearly choked at that revelation. Bakura laughed loudly.
"He doesn't like anything," Marik hastily clarified, turning his body indignantly so that their knees brushed.
"That's where you're wrong. He likes video games, rugby and pizza." Bakura was no longer sure if he was doing it to annoy Marik or defend Marik.
The younger man looked at him oddly. "How do you know that?"
"It might surprise you to know that we don't spend hours on end glaring daggers at each other. Words are exchanged. He mentioned you were…hesitant because of a time limit," Bakura ventured carefully. He was bound to lose everything one way or another.
Lavender eyes widened, his favourite fucking colour. A shade of life and death. Bakura was certain his absent father had once mentioned something about Ancient Egypt using lavender for embalmment. Appropriate. The white haired man rarely listening to him though.
Marik's shoulders slumped. "Well…I thought about staying, but I'll have to go back to Egypt eventually-"
"Do you?" he quickly shot in.
"What?"
"Do you have to?" He was barely able to hide the embarrassing desperation in his voice. Marik didn't answer, avoiding his gaze. It gave him the faintest bit of hope. He didn't push it.
Bakura changed topics. "The date was fine. He had a little break down but got over it fairly quick."
Marik was taken aback by this new piece of information, previous internal conflicts stilled. "What happened?"
"He likes me… independently."
The blond's eyes widened, but he made no move, remaining statuesque for nearly a minute. "That's… something."
Bakura let out a snort, irritating Marik in the process. It was nice when they bickered. Comfortable.
"I'd like to see you handle this sort of thing. It's a nightmare," Marik scolded him reproachfully.
"Relax. You're still my favourite boy." Bakura smirked.
The blond visibly squirmed, trying to supress any reaction to that comment. Maybe, he struggled with his feelings just as much as Bakura did? No, not maybe. He definitely did.
New tactic. "Let's go see a film."
"Huh?" The student wasn't following the sudden change. Their knees were still touching but nothing else.
"At the cinema," he added dumbly.
"Why?" The blond wasn't being very cooperative; he was really going to make him say it?
"I just want to have a nice time with you. Is that a crime?"
"Like with him?"
Bakura exhaled in exasperation. "No. Why are you always so fucking suspicious?"
The blond bypassed that question, too. "I like it better when you act affronted all the time. It's easier and funnier to deal with."
Bakura crossed his arms. "As opposed to being nice?"
"After being called wanker for months, it's a bit weird for me to witness." Touché.
"Alright then wanker, let's go to the fucking cinema."
Marik observed him before deciding, perfect skin and neutral expression. "Okay, yeah."
Bakura finally changed into something more suitable. His hair was luckily an acceptable level of messy which complemented his dark attire. His contact lense order had finally arrived, feeling a tad less dry than the previous weeks. He held a bag of popcorn and a cider can while Marik took a thousand years to select a drink at the self-service dispenser. "Marik, it's all the same syrupy shit."
"There are too many options." It always managed to amuse him how innocent the Egyptian could appear.
"Pick one in the next ten seconds or I'm randomly pressing a button."
"Fine." Marik chose something with cherry flavouring and instantly regretted it, blaming Bakura for rushing him.
Bakura sidled up to him, entering the blond's personal space. Marik backed away before asking, "Why are you acting like this? In public?"
The older man frowned. "Why not? Don't tell me you're hung up on this, too?"
"Remember where I come from. Most things between us happened behind closed doors," Marik explained. It was obvious that the student wanted nothing more than to disappear from public scrutiny in that moment.
"You were pretty comfortable making me squirm before, public or not."
"It was just for fun then."
"And now?"
"You know this is more real." He should have been relieved that the other man finally admitted to something, but Bakura continued to stare. "And I have a lot of reservations."
"Why with me? What about the others?" He never understood why Marik treated him so differently. It was maddening.
"They don't know me like you do." Despite the confessions, Marik had a way of looking composed. Bakura wished he had that ability.
"Don't expect any more romantic gestures in that case," he declared, no longer caring if he sounded clever or funny.
Marik smirked. "Won't be long until you can't help yourself."
"Fuck off, Marik." The blond was right.
Satisfied with the reaction he garnered; Marik made his way to the correct cinema. Bakura followed five feet behind him, determined to achieve something.