It was Friday night and he was back on.

Work went by slowly. Everyone kept their distance for the week, not questioning his healing face. He appreciated the silence. Even Nathalie didn't press despite her poorly masked concern.

Back with James, both in their work clothes – ties off and top buttons undone. At least one third of the patrons were in similar stages of undress.

Marik didn't speak to him all week and Bakura didn't try. Ryou didn't sway him of much, forever silently worried. The white haired man knew he wasn't fine, nothing about him was fine, but he wasn't going to hit rock bottom without obligatory denial. It would end in an implosion, like a dying star.

And so back with James, he had a pint in one hand, a cigarette in another, and a new round of blow. They were chatting with some women that James was interested in. Bakura would most likely end up with one of them as the story goes. Tonight was different though. He felt like he was really pushing his limit.

His usual 'fuck it' attitude any time something went wrong came back. It was the self-destruction hour. He knew he drank too fast and too much. He knew mixing everything was a bad combination, but he wanted to get obliterated. Everything was accumulating. He felt elated until the world swayed. Oh no.

His first sign was stumbling to the toilet, nearly crashing into a table. "Sorry," he said, not even looking at the people sitting there. James followed behind laughing.

In the toilet, James was preparing his lines while Bakura leaned against the mirrored wall. "Are you alright?" James asked, no concern in his voice. He wasn't like the others. He got it. Nothing was wrong.

Bakura merely nodded in response until it was his go. He finished his drink and told himself he'd quit next weekend instead. Looking into the mirror, he adjusted his hair. It was still not long enough but attractive nonetheless. Using his middle finger, he cleaned up around his nose and licked off the remaining powder.

"Bakura," a voice from behind.

Adjusting his focus, he could now see Marik standing behind him. Attractive, stupid twat, Marik. The blond looked mildly alarmed but mainly displeased.

"Could you stop stalking me?" he gruffly answered back. He was not in the mood for this shit. He was also not in the mood for another cut or bruised face.

The blond chose to ignore his rudeness and said, "You bumped into my table actually. You didn't look too well-" He stopped speaking once he noticed James placing his arm around Bakura.

James was taller than both of them with dark hair and dark eyes. Objectively speaking, James was handsome. James didn't really recognise Marik from last week.

Bakura could have sworn that Marik narrowed his eyes. Maybe jealousy? However, he had other problems to deal with. That last drink was really fucking with him now.

Bleary, the room came in and out of focus. The spinning began. Or was it more like pulsing? Either way, he had a hard time seeing straight. "James," he said, his tone conveying all. Luckily, the taller man understood. It was going to be the blind leading the blind.

"You need to go?" his mate asked. Bakura nodded. He pushed himself away and attempted to walk on his own. He was in the middle stage now, caught between floating and sinking. A few steps and he lost his footing, stumbling into Marik.

The Egyptian caught him. Bakura could smell his cologne. Was Marik tense? He didn't know.

"Hey, hey, it's fine. I got you. We're going home now." He felt James pull him off Marik and place his own arm around his shoulders.

It was becoming difficult to follow conversations. He heard them, but nothing stuck. "Okay," he mumbled. His own voice sounded faraway to him, foreign and strange.

They walked out. Well, James walked and Bakura was half dragged along. The room continued to pulse in and out of view. His head began to throb lightly. This was not fucking good. You knew this would happen.

Reaching outside, the cold fresh air hit him. James was gently placing him on the ground and leaning him against a wall. "I'm going to get our stuff. Be right back." Bakura nodded, his body threatening to slump over. He knew the drill. He'd taken care of James many times before and it certainly wasn't his first time in this horrible position. The horrible position everyone swears they will never reach again, but somehow, they all inevitably do. Fuck me.

James left him for a few minutes, but it felt like hours. All around him, he could hear people talking, walking, noises. He kept his eyes closed for the most part as looking usually made him feel worst.

The paralegal felt someone touch his shoulder. Thinking it was James, he asked, "Go?"

"It's me," that gravelly voice said. "Are you okay?" He still didn't look, but Marik certainly sounded concerned.

"Fine," he mumbled. He felt his back being stroked. Part of him resented that caring façade. "Where's James?" he asked. Marik didn't respond, or if he did, he didn't hear him.

Soon, James returned. "Oh, hey again. Um…you watch him and I'll get a cab, yeah?" Before Marik could replied, James was already walking towards the street unsteadily, as far as Bakura could observe from his position.

Marik continued to crouch by him. His suffering carried on. His sense of time remained out of touch. James returned and lifted him to his feet. Even that motion was too much as Bakura nearly fell over. Marik insisted on helping. At this point, he opened his eyes to see where they were going.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," he repeated while ironically needing the assistance of two people to make it from point A to B. He was definitely not okay, but saying it made him feel better, in control. James placed him in the back of a cab and sat next to him, swearing up and down to the driver that no one would get sick. Marik slid in, too.

"I'm coming. To make sure he's alright," the blond clarified.

In the cab, Bakura continued to lean on James. He wavered in and out of consciousness.

After the longest twenty minutes of his life, they arrived at Jame's flat. James paid £1400/month to share a flat with three other people. However, it was huge, modern and near Mayfair. It looked like it was inhabited by four bachelors with sparse and soulless decor.

Marik further insisted on helping. James didn't seem to mind or care. Bakura just wanted to lie down.

This was it. He would certainly die from this round.

"Drop him on my bed," James instructed Marik.

"The sofa?" Marik protested. So he was jealous. Maybe. Don't die.

Bakura felt his back hit the mattress. The bright light of the room was stark. "Light," was all he said and James knew to turn it off. His mate turned on a small bedside table lamp instead. The paralegal draped his forearm over his eyes to block out the remaining light and placed one foot firmly on the floor. It was a trick that had a 50/50 chance of stopping the world from spinning. It didn't work this time.

Next, he felt James pulling off his shoes and unbuttoning his shirt. "What are you doing!?" Marik exclaimed.

"Making him comfortable," James replied reproachfully. "Make yourself useful and get him water. Get us both water!"

It sounded like Marik hesitated for a moment before leaving the room. "Want a shirt?" James offered. Bakura nodded and let his friend do most of the work. With help, he took off his work shirt and slipped on softer cotton. James laid down beside him after dealing with his own clothing.

Marik came back with two glasses. Bakura propped himself up and took a sip. He finally looked around and noticed that Marik appeared to be distinctly unhappy. James was oblivious. The blond was uncharacteristically quiet.

The room faded in and out. Bakura resumed his position and spoke, "You can go back if you want. We made it here."

"I'm staying," Marik cut in quickly.

Finally, James noticed. "Hey, aren't you the guy that got in a fight with Bakura last week?"

"It was a misunderstanding," Marik blankly replied.

The other snorted and said, "Yeah, he mentioned you were being a wanker? Stupid twat? Something of that kind?"

Pause. "Yeah. I suppose I was." The blond was surprisingly yielding.

"Well, you can stay on the sofa I guess."

"It's fine, I'd rather stay here on the floor." Unexpected but not unwelcomed. Why did they hate each other again?

"Suit yourself."

Bakura heard some shifting and he stole a glance. Marik was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the side of the bed. He was staring at the wall.

Bakura woke up at some point in the early morning and looked around. He still felt awful, but the worst had passed. For one, the room stopped violently spinning. Never again. He told himself that lie multiple times before.

James was loudly snoring beside him and Marik was sleeping as well. The blond positioned himself by draping his upper body over the side of the bed. His head was resting in the crook of his elbow on top of the mattress near Bakura's torso. The rest of him was still sitting on the floor, legs splayed out. That's when Bakura noticed the Egyptian's fingertips lightly entwined with his own. He hated the glimmer of hope it gave him, but he could never really resist Marik in the end anyway.

He nudged the blond until he woke up. Marik looked around groggily, confused. The older man gave him a tug and made the most room he could for Marik to climb in on his side. They didn't say anything as Bakura spooned him and buried his face in the back of Marik's hair.

His body felt exhausted, his head hurt and he was positive the nausea would only get worse. At least, Marik felt nice. He was hopeless. How the mighty have fallen.

Bakura woke up later that morning, still not quite right but warm. The day ahead was going to be long overdue penitence. He might actually refuse to go out with James tonight. In fact, he really, really should.

The paralegal attempted to turn over, but his arm was stuck. At that moment, he remembered that he had invited Marik into bed. He no longer heard James's snoring either. Turning his head, he saw that the other half of the bed was empty. Awkward.

He shook the other man with his free arm. Marik groaned and slowly sat up. When he was done rubbing his eyes, he looked down at Bakura with a melancholic expression. "We need to talk," the younger man said.

With a loud sigh, Bakura nodded. They got up in silence. Bakura changed back into his shirt and grabbed his remaining possessions. James was in the kitchen vaping, an empty takeaway container on the countertop. He bid them farewell, agreeing that Bakura should take a break tonight. They exchanged a knowing look, but James said nothing about what he saw that morning.

They returned to Bakura's flat where Marik was fussing over him. The dull headache remained, but Bakura took a shower and the painkillers the blond insisted on. It was oddly caring and concerning.

They now sat on the sofa, opposite ends to each other. He was in more comfortable clothing, finally clean.

"Marik, have you been following me? Why is it that I see you two weekends in a row?" he finally asked.

"Well…not quite." The Egyptian looked sheepish, for once. "Gemma still follows you on Instagram. Some people you go out with have been tagging you in posts. It wasn't hard to guess where you might be." Marik was avoiding eye contact. "Don't blame Gemma. I'm the one who asked her. She actually argued that I should leave you alone," he added.

"And?"

"And last weekend, you seemed really off the whole time. I don't mean the fighting."

"You couldn't just message me like a normal person?"

"After what we did? 'Oh, hey, Bakura. Let's ignore the fucking we said we wouldn't do. You okay? Oops, it happened again.'" Bakura didn't argue against him. It was likely. "Anyway, last night, I was out with some course mates. I suggested a place you frequented a lot based on my observations-"

"Stalking," he corrected. Marik ignored him.

"I honestly wasn't expecting to see you there, little less having you nearly fall onto our table. You didn't even look back. I was worried. I think I had every right to be." If the blond sounded distressed, Bakura didn't notice. Not that he paid attention to much lately.

"Marik, it's fine."

"That was fine?"

"Well, no, but it happens sometimes. I survived before. People can get carried away," he explained. Please stop.

"Bakura, you literally had to be carried away." Hasn't everyone?

"I know, Marik. It happens. It's more common than you think," Bakura was convinced. Marik was definitely not convinced.

"Who was that guy?" Ha!

"My old housemate from uni. A friend. Don't be jealous, Marik."

The student shot a momentary glare at that comment. "I'm really worried about you," Marik replied, looking down at his lap.

"Don't be. I'm alright. It's just a phase. I've been like this and stopped multiple times before. I just need to get it out of my system," he said. Excuse after excuse, even if they held some truth. Why was he trying to comfort the man?

"No offence, but that's not as reassuring as you think it sounds." The blond looked beautiful, despite his apparent unease. Bakura was taken by that exotic, distinct man. From that sandy hair to his eyes. Fuck me.

"Hmm," was the best he could respond. He really wished Marik hadn't seen him like this. He felt like a nineteen-year-old idiot again.

"I left everyone at the bar that night to make sure you were alright."

"Do you want a medal?" He sounded harsher than intended.

"Bakura, please. I'm trying here." The Egyptian was pleading, his eyes giving away his emotions. Bakura found it hard to feel pity for him.

"Trying to what? We've had this discussion before. We'll never be together, so what's the point?"

"The point is that I still care about you! It didn't suddenly go away." Lavender eyes looked at him desperately.

"Yeah? Well, I missed you, too, but I still managed to keep my distance for over a month," he huffed. He looked away, unable to meet those eyes. He hated the influence the younger man had over him, sexual attraction be damned.

"Bakura-"

The paralegal was getting angry again. He pushed back his damp hair in frustration. It still fell over his eyes. "No, Marik. You listen to me. I missed you a lot. It's all I can think about sometimes, your stupid fucking face. Lord knows why at this point. It's certainly not your voice or shining personality, but for some reason, I want you. That's not going to happen though, so I'm trying to stay away. I'm trying to forget. This isn't helping. Do you get it?" It was for the best he continued to tell himself. Even if it took a thousand years, it would still be for the best. He was resolute.

Marik was still looking at his lap and a single tear ran down his face. Marik was crying. Holy shit, Marik was crying.

Instantly, his anger washed away and Bakura was back to being concerned over the blond. He shouldn't be like this. He wanted to stop being like this. Why couldn't he just stop? It's never been this hard before.

"Hey…Marik." He reached out and hesitantly touched his hand. The Egyptian wiped away the few silent tears that managed to escape off his face. Bakura fought hard against the overwhelming urge to embrace the man. To lie even and tell him it was alright. Hopeless and powerless. Positively forlorn.

"I know. I know I'm not helping. What am I supposed to do, Bakura?" Marik looked lost. Just be with me.

"I can't answer that. It's your own decision." Choose me.

Marik stayed silent. Bakura went on, "I'm really tired, Marik. Exhausted. Physically… and emotionally." He hoped he was able to convey just how drained he was. It was his own doing after all.

A long silence followed until the blond spoke, "You stressed him out too much, again."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Bakura stood up, exasperated. He was hoping this conversation would finally lead to a real conclusion, good or bad.

"I missed you, too," the younger man replied with a derisive laugh. They may have been physically identical, but that cruel laugh was a dead giveaway.

"Can you stay out of it? We're trying to do something here." Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

"He doesn't have the guts to end it," the younger man replied ruthlessly. Ouch.

"Well, he should." He couldn't appear weak, not in front of this knob.

"Neither do you." Marik grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back down onto the sofa.

"I'm not in the mood to entertain." Bakura roughly freed his wrist out of Marik's grip.

"You can at least feed me until he comes back."

"Do what you want. I'm having a nap." The younger man could be insufferable and Bakura was in no state to deal with him. He stood up again and made sure there was enough space between them.

"Don't be so boring again. Didn't you want me last time?" Marik managed to make it sound menacing.

"Only because you look like him," the older man relented.

"I am him." There was something about the way the blond looked at him, the intensity in his eyes, that made him almost believe it for a second. Almost.

He shook his head. "I know…it's simpler to think this way."

"Shame. I'm beginning to enjoy your company. I just wish you were a woman. The lack of curves bothers me, but your face is fine." He felt nothing from that comment. Maybe his brain chemistry crashed too hard. He certainly wanted a drink.

Bakura unlocked his phone and opened a delivery app. He passed it to Marik. "Here, get what you want. I don't care. Just leave me alone."

The Egyptian took the phone and began scrolling. Apparently, he wasn't done talking. "I'm here to discuss our little love problem."

"It's not love. This isn't love," Bakura stated. Whatever love was, this wasn't it.

"I wouldn't sleep on a floor all night over worrying about you. He did though," the blond shot back. Well, that stung.

"Intense infatuation maybe, but that goes away eventually." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more, himself or Marik.

"Does it?"

"It will. It always does," he sounded determined.

"Sounds like you're the problem." The Egyptian's eyes were still glued to the screen, never once looking up.

"I am." There was no use in lying, especially with that fucker.

The blond sat back against the armrest and gave a fake pout. "Where did your arrogance go?" At least, he was amused.

"I've numbed it for now." That's what it was always about. The numbing. It worked.

"Weak." The blond looked unimpressed before returning to scrolling through the multiple menu options. At least, Bakura hoped that's what he was doing.

"Sure."

"Do you want pizza?"

"I don't care." With that, Bakura headed to bed. He finally took out his contact lenses. Dry as fuck, even with the extended wear brand. Maybe he should just get lasik.

An hour later, he was woken by the madman holding a pizza box. Bakura begrudgingly sat in bed, Marik across from him, eating pizza straight from the box. He could only stomach one slice.

The blond was famished on the other hand, easily eating half. Finally, he asked, "What's your plan? What will you do about your 'infatuation'?"

"Smother it. It's clearly not doing me any good." Top five worst nights of my life. Followed by a more horrifying thought, Or was it top ten? Bloody hell…

"Harsh. I thought you enjoyed talking to me," Marik said with a wry smile.

"You wish." Except, maybe he actually did…

"I know." It unnerved him how confident the madman was.

"Why do you care anyway?"

"Every time he's upset, it's about you. I'm getting sick of it. I want to be angry at something else for once." He could understand that. Those fucking eyes continued to glower and allure him all at once.

"Okay, I get it," he finally said. Ridiculous that he could have an open conversation with this version but not the other. Even more ridiculous that he found him fucking enticing. He stared down at his faded band shirt. The hem was beginning to fray.

"It would help if you didn't have sex every time you tried to talk-"

"I said I get it!" he cut him off quickly. It was only three times for fuck's sake…depending on how you defined it.

"I'm going to head off now. I'm taking the pizza with me," the blond paused and added, "If I have to see you again, you'll regret it."

Somehow, it wasn't much of a threat.

Thanks for reading!