A/N: So many formatting issues with this one, it almost wasn't even worth it. OTL Anyway, another short nothing-piece that was written to try and get me out of my writer's block. And... it's more domesticity. *shot* Granted, it also involves getting drunk, so maybe it gets brownie points for that? I dunno. For those of you patiently waiting for the next chapter of "In Which I Take Over the World," "Drabbles: The Life of Yami Marik," or, (god help me) "Small Comforts," I'll try to be productive sometime in the relatively near future. Kthnkxbai.

Thanks as always to HereWeGoOnceMore for the beta.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! (And neither does 4Kids anymore, apparently. Ha. Hahah. Yes.)

It's been one month, three weeks, and six days since Bakura last showed up on Malik's front porch with booze.

Not that Malik is keeping track, or anything, but is it really too much to ask for a phone-call? He doesn't think so, especially after he went through all of that trouble to get Bakura a cell phone and listened to him bitch about how he couldn't work it just so that this sort of thing wouldn't happen.

The fact that there's a smirk on Bakura's face as he stands in front of Malik's door now with a box of shitty wine in his hands adds to the insult.

"You're late," Malik says, stepping past to let him in. "I thought you'd forgotten about me, asshole."

"I had previous engagements," Bakura says smoothly, sliding past him. "You should be thankful I'm here at all. I had a very attractive date waiting for me in the form of an unguarded jewelry store, but I was kind enough to cut it short just for you. You're welcome." He dumps the box of wine on the coffee table in the living room and heads straight for the kitchen.

Malik trails behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets. "There's Chinese food in the fridge if you're hungry," he says, stopping in the doorway and leaning up against the frame. "Unless, of course, you already ate with your date."

"No, I'm afraid that the take-out Ryou left on the counter was much more appealing." Bakura's stretched up on his toes, searching through Malik's cupboards. "You know how much I hate paying at restaurants."

"You never pay at restaurants," Malik points out.

"Exactly. Because I hate it." Bakura emerges with two chipped glasses and a grin. "Now. Are we going to talk about my dating habits, or are we going to focus on getting utterly smashed?"

Malik pretends to think about it. "Oh, I don't know. I'm mad at you."

"Whatever for?"

"Well, it's been a while. You couldn't have called or something?" Actually, he's not really that annoyed, but Bakura will be expecting him to put up the act. It's part of the game by now. There are whole pages dedicated to the rules of this game by now that Malik would totally think of if he wasn't busy telling himself that he didn't have the time. (In all actuality he's just lazy, but Bakura doesn't need to know that.)

Bakura laughs. "What are you, my wife? As much as I enjoy hearing your delightfully abrasive voice, Malik, I hardly think I'm required to drop a line every time I can't make it for our exciting bi-weekly play-date with our friend wine-in-a-box."

"Touché," Malik concedes. "Speaking of the wine-in-a-box, don't you think it's getting a bit lonely out there?"

"Indeed," Bakura says, tossing him a glass. Malik catches it easily.

"Why don't we go and keep it company?"

They talk about nothing in particular. The newest card game tournament, Bakura's latest scheme, Malik's new weekend job. Boring things, but they're made more interesting by the haze of cheap wine and soft laughter.

This has become a habit, Malik has to admit, and he's missed it. Strange as it sounds, getting drunk on a Friday night with an ancient Egyptian kleptomaniac has become his social life.

Which... is admittedly a little sad. But then again, so are they; they're little more than washed-up has-beens now, Malik thinks mournfully, staring into his empty glass.

This situation can only be remedied with more wine, he decides.

Malik reaches for the tab on the box at the same time Bakura does, and there is a half-hearted struggle before Malik gives in and retreats to the cabinet over in the corner. Then he makes his return with a half-full bottle of vodka, which he holds triumphantly over his head.

He feels slightly less victorious when he trips over his own feet and face-plants into the floor.

"Ow," he says.

Bakura laughs at him. Typical bastard.

It's then that Malik realizes what this must look like. Two ex-criminal geniuses getting drunk off of bad wine on a Friday night. They should be out robbing a bank or something, not lying around here like the losers that they are.

He's a bit cynical when he's wasted.

Actually, he's always a bit cynical.

For some utterly unfathomable reason, he blames Bakura.

Meanwhile, Bakura finally gets hold of himself and stops laughing. Malik rolls over and stares up at the ceiling. "Gods. Look at us, Bakura. We're abso-fucking-lutely pathetic."

"Pathetic," Bakura says, raising his glass, "but drunk."

His logic makes sense to Malik's mind. Everything's better when you're drunk.

"Still," he muses, "don't you wish that we could go back to being badass? Like during Battle City?"

"We lost Battle City," Bakura points out.

"But we looked good doing it."

"Maybe we're just getting old," Bakura says.

"You're already old. No," Malik decides, sitting up and reaching for his glass. "We're just being human."

"Oh?" Bakura wrangles the bottle of vodka out of Malik's grip and contemplates it as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Which it probably is, if you're Bakura and you're trying to see how drunk you can get on it. "Enlighten me, Malik. What's so human about either of us?"

"Besides the tangible human bodies?"

"Yes. Besides all of that."

"Well," Malik says, playing with the rim of his glass, "we're reminiscing. That's pretty human. And we're getting drunk, which I know for a fact people do a lot. And..." He struggles to think of more reasons. "And we're not taking over the world anymore."

Bakura looks vaguely shocked. "Wow."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for a moment, contemplating the gravity of the situation.

Malik is... well, he's confused is probably the best way to put it. Because he's known Bakura for years now, he's been drinking with him for half of that time, and, as far as he can tell, neither of them have ever really given any thought to the fact that he kind of has to be considered human now. It's strange, because it's different. And Malik's not quite used to different anymore.

So, he does the only thing he can think to do. He raises his glass slightly over his head. "To being human, then," he toasts. "Welcome to the club, or something."

Bakura considers this for a moment, and then he drains half his glass in one gulp. "Sure," he says.

They finish the box of wine, and almost all the vodka; by the time they're done they're both so sloshed they can't walk straight, so Malik let's Bakura sleep on his couch.

It's become routine by now, and they'll do it again next week, too, because that's what they do.

Because they're human.

Which is unfortunate, considering they'll both probably have hangovers from hell tomorrow morning.

Oh well. It's kind of worth it.

"Fuck dammit, Malik, where do you keep your aspirin?"

Or not.

Wine-in-a-box night has to go, Malik decides.

... In another week.

Or two.