Ryou returned as promised. False pleasantries. Something about the house being sold. He didn't know or care. Most days were a long blur. He knew things happened. He did stuff, but it never quite felt like enough.
He hadn't spoken to either Marik in a while, but he knew it was inevitable. He'd accepted his fate at this point: to chase after the boy. The closest he'd get to worshipping someone. Someones.
He was sitting in the kebab shop with James. Bakura managed to stay away from the coke tonight, no matter how much it called to him. Everything else was still on the table though. He wasn't that drunk this time. Little wins.
"I need your advice," he suddenly told James.
The taller man was taken aback for a moment before asking, "Is it about the blond guy you were holding? Because that was unexpected."
"Yeah."
"Are you bi then?"
"I guess. I dunno. Anyway, the guy is like…mentally ill."
"Aren't we all?" Usually, Bakura would ardently agree. Everyone and everything was fucked nowadays.
"No, I mean proper mentally ill. He's got two personalities and has to take pills."
James's surprised expression overpowered his usual nonchalance. "Oh, shit! How does that work?"
"Well, it's doesn't. That's the problem," Bakura admitted.
"That doesn't sound like it's worth the hassle." The taller man returned to eating his food, a drunken haze would soon be erasing his memory.
"I know, but obviously it hasn't deterred me."
"Hmm. I still wouldn't pursue it if you can help it."
He slumped over the dirty table. "I can't."
"Then I don't know, mate." James continued to eat his kebab. Bakura pushed aside his plate. He suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.
He managed to find his flat again at 2am.
Marik opened the door. A look of surprise passed over his face for a second. "You need to stop doing this," the blond said.
Bakura had sobered up by then, but he wasn't completely sure which Marik it was. He didn't care. He just wanted something. Anything was better than nothing, right? Wrong. Regardless, he smashed their mouths together as his hands gripped blond hair. It was full of longing. A muffled moan of shock died as Marik reciprocated, arms pulling him by the waist – thank god – before quickly shoving him away. "It's me, you moron." Oh fuck.
The blond was looking down at him, arms crossed. He wore a dark oversized hoodie and joggers. He looked drowsy. He always looked drowsy.
"Great," he replied emotionlessly.
"Hmm." Marik continued to stare him down, unmoving.
The paralegal shoved his hands in his pockets, avoiding eye contact. "I should go."
"Yeah, maybe you should."
He looked up with a grimace. "Sorry."
"You should be," Marik stated.
Well, it couldn't get any worse. "Why are you up so late?"
"I like to do my own thing during this time."
"I see."
"That doesn't include doing you." Of course, Marik couldn't resist such a jab.
"Of course."
The blond rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him in. Bakura wasn't completely shocked, but it was still an interesting turn of events.
"Jenna is gone for the weekend," Marik explained. Bakura didn't bother correcting her name this time.
The TV was on and a game was on pause. Bakura vaguely recognised it as some horror game. He took off his coat and sat on the sofa. Marik sat on the floor and continued playing as if Bakura wasn't even there. The Egyptian was engrossed by the game, not even flinching at the obvious jump scares. After a while, Marik spoke. "So, what was your plan? Have shameful sex and go back to ignoring each other for the week? Try to tell him you love him again?"
"I never tri-" he was cut off.
"You nearly did before. Don't bother lying."
"It's not love," he replied quietly.
"Fine, obsession. Not that much better." It deeply bothered him how certain the man sounded. It disturbed him. "You better appreciate that I'm even talking to you right now. You're infringing on my alone time. I'm still recovering from that week of pretending to be him."
He found it amusing that Marik's greatest hardship in life was being decent for a week. "I must be really special then." The sarcasm was returning to his voice.
The other gave a laugh bordering on having some emotion. "Don't say that. Now, shut the fuck up. I'm concentrating."
Bakura watched him shoot some monstrous thing more times than necessary. It was boring. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to see the other one, but this would do. It technically was still seeing him… It even felt like him. The way the Egyptian automatically pulled him in was not lost on him, but it was a thought he wasn't ready to confront.
The room was surprisingly chilly as it appeared that the radiators were off. "Do you have a blanket?"
"Yes," the blond quickly answered without looking back.
"Can I have it?"
"No."
Bakura gave a sound of annoyance and decided to get it from Marik's room anyway. The other didn't stop him, fully immersed in his virtual nightmare. He immediately saw the blanket on the bed but he decided to look around instead. Papers and books spread across his desk. Clothes that hadn't been put away yet. Empty fizzy drink cans. Eyeliner – he fucking knew it.
"Don't touch my stuff. Just take the fucking blanket," he heard from the other room.
My stuff. It was becoming harder to reconcile, difficult to ignore. Marik was indeed a package deal and neither of them were willing to fully accept it, especially not the main Marik. He could barely accept it. Did he just want confirmation from a difficult challenge, that he could somehow convince two opposites to like him at the same time? Why was he so entranced by them? Him.
He returned to his spot on the sofa and continued to silently watch. He should have stayed with James. "You grew up here. You shouldn't be this cold. I'm from fucking Egypt; I have an excuse for freezing my ass off," the blond began to speak again, eyes glued to the screen as he smashed multiple buttons.
Bakura decided to take his chances at a decent conversation. It was an unpredictable fifty percent success rate with the madman. "Does he like gaming?" he asked.
"Well, yeah," he could hear the confusion in the other's voice, as if the question itself were ridiculous. "I keep telling you, we like a lot of the same things." Even me? He mentally slapped himself at that thought.
It was easy and difficult to separate them. They were separate entities to an extent. He couldn't figure out why he felt this strange attraction at times. The thoughts would slip into his head, but every time he was confronted by the reality of Marik, it just felt dangerous. Mutual tolerance with a twist. Marik made it perfectly clear that he wasn't a fan of this strange temptation they felt. Some things were just carnal.
"So, you're also a vegetarian?" He actually hadn't seen Marik eat any meat.
"Unfortunately, I am used to it."
"For someone… split off from anger, you have a lot more going on than I'd assume."
The blond put his controller down and turned his head. His lavender eyes held a glare as he stood and approached the sofa. He was looming over him for a moment before speaking. "You're really fucking disrespectful for a guy I could have left out on the streets." Although calm, the irritation was evident in his voice. It was deeper than Marik's, Bakura realised.
"You know what I meant." He brushed him off, but the blond didn't back down.
"You're pissing me off." This at least felt normal, familiar, easy. The staring didn't stop though. It was as if whoever looked away first would lose. Somehow, the consequences were more dire than with the usual Marik. A flicker of emotion passed over the blond's face. Lavender eyes narrowed with subdued hatred. For some reason, Marik gave up. "Stop looking at me like that," the madman said.
"Like what?"
"Like you're…" he paused choosing his words carefully, "daring me."
Bakura wasn't aware of it, but he accepted it. "Sometimes, we see what we want." He never made it easy for them, either.
The other barely reacted. He sat down on the sofa next to him and returned to the game. Bakura wished he had that much self-discipline. How was he better at this than him? He wished he wasn't sitting so close to him. Return to the floor.
Marik was preoccupied in his own little world of bloodshed. It bordered on endearing in some twisted way. I am royally screwed.
He closed his eyes for a moment, the sound of muttered swearing and button mashing enveloped him. The atmosphere was disconcerting. Could he do this? When he opened his eyes, the screen displayed You Died.
Marik was staring at him again, the same impassive stare from before. His chest felt heavy. His gaze flickered between Marik and the screen, silently imploring him to return to the game. They should not cross this line. It was common knowledge that he wouldn't say no in the end. Things were so much simpler when the madman just hated him.
Marik sighed and turned his head. He placed his face in his hands and remained silent. He was also struggling and this brought little comfort to Bakura. He wasn't sure how much longer they could realistically keep this up. The tension would eventually become unbearable.
"You should go," the blond finally spoke. Bakura agreed deep down, but he didn't move from his place. Of course, he didn't. You always do this. Trying to be the bigger person was never his forte. Or maybe it was just recently that he became such a failure at maintaining even a semblance of discipline. Just do it.
"Go on then. Make me leave." His response was effortless. Why was his taunting always effortless? He was bringing it upon himself now, whatever repercussion would follow were deserved. Was it worth the trouble?
Marik gave him an incredulous look. He could feel the judgment emanating from the man. "Why would you say that?" He sounded desperate. Was he finally cracking? No longer able to keep up the charade on his own? Despite his own contradictory thoughts on their situation, he was pleased that he affected the man. You really are horrible.
"Make me," he repeated defiantly. It was his death sentence.
With a heavy groan, Marik stood and pointed towards the door. Bakura had to give him some credit. He certainly would have given in by now. With his track record, they'd already be on the bed. It was odd though. It didn't quite feel like the same horrible rejection from Marik. In fact, he hadn't even thought of Marik…but he was Marik…
The older man got up and put on his coat. He was ready to depart, but he never fully made it to the door. A hand gripped his forearm and forcefully yanked him back. Fatality.
The blond pulled him close into a half embrace without the warmth. He felt the hand that was gripping his arm let go. Firmly, it traced up his back before settling against the nape of his neck, fingers reaching into hair. Marik's face was next to his ear, not daring to touch him. "I will destroy you," Marik hissed, his anger repressed. You already have.
Bakura was frozen in place. The screen behind Marik continued to display You Died. It was mocking him.
The other hand found his hip, thumb hooking into his waistband possessively. Their bodies were pulled closer. Instinct told him to run and to hold him back. He chose to do nothing; he'd already betrayed himself enough. Let Marik make the move.
The blond lowered his head, still avoid skin to skin contact. "Next time," he whispered.
What does he tell Marik about last night? The truth will hurt him. A lie would hurt him. They're the same fucking person. Same body; same needs.
The threat…promise of next time hung over his head. He really needed to sort himself out before then. It was inevitable.
He was having lunch with James and a few other friends. His plate of food was partially finished, uninteresting.
"Where did you head off?" one of their friends, Alex asked.
"Same as always," James replied for him. Thank you, James.
They were drinking again, hair of the dog. He was steadily getting drunk and he needed it. That tipsy feeling made everything easier to process. Especially, the fact that he was certainly attracted to Marik's darker side. He had not preferred it; they were the same person after all. But fuck, if it wasn't getting hard to pretend.
I'm young. I have time to fuck up. It's fine.
He was supposed to be past all this. It was better for him. Clearly, it wasn't. He was slowly accepting his fate for the umpteenth time. He'd probably move on from Marik and get over him. That made sense. There was nothing wrong with that. Fucking his other half was practically monogamy, right?
Why did everything still hurt?
A/N: To be completely honest, I struggle with author notes, so this is going to be a weird one. I originally posted this about 10 years ago, so I forgot a lot. Sometimes, I regret deleting the original posting. However, I do remember the general vibe and plot of this story, and I've certainly been inspired to develop in new directions.
Yami Marik x Yami Bakura was not originally planned, but it now makes sense to me. Naturally, they'd be affected and would encounter each other. All things considered, wouldn't there be some level of innate attraction between them? Yami Marik has become my favourite character.
Moreover, my life has developed over time, so experiences to draw on have multiplied from myself and others. I started off writing this as a non-Brit (English isn't even technically my first language), and now, I've been living here for a while. If the setting seemed off at times, that's why. I'd like to think the recent chapters are way more accurate. I'm describing the London I know. Make of that what you will; it's not everyone's cup of tea. Same with Marik's UK international student attitude towards dating, etc. I know too many of those. Hell, even I was one of those for a short time. James is an amalgamation of two people I know. His flat is real.
My goal was to make a somewhat realistic setting with realistic situations. Yami Bakura and Marik are not good people, end of. I just chose situations that I could see them getting into, etc. Anyway, if you have any questions, feel free to ask. I don'd mind explaining my reasoning behind some choices, even if you disagree.
Lastly, Every You and Every Me by Placebo is a good song to describe their situation.
Hope you enjoy!