Welcome, one and all, to Chapter 8!

I hope you all enjoy it, and it wasn't too long a wait - I haven't had much time for writing recently.

"Malik Ishtar!"

There was a prolonged silence. Someone coughed.

Miss Valentine's pale blue eyes surveyed the room, passing over her barely interested students, and eventually settling on the empty chair where her AWOL pupil usually sat. Doodling.

The teacher sniffed haughtily and dropped the register on her desk. "Where is Malik Ishtar?" she asked the class.

No one answered. At the back of the room, Ryou glanced guiltily out of the window, where a brown bird was pecking frantically at some frozen mud. He knew exactly where Malik was.

In Akefia's bed.

Malik's attendance -or lack of- was starting to annoy Ryou. He hated being stuck by himself in school all day, while Malik bunked and, presumably, got laid by a man with the body of a god.

"Just my luck." Ryou muttered, as he wrote perfect notes about the roles of different people within government. His aptitude for academia was evidently the result of a lucky gene, rather than dedication to study. Ryou chewed the end of his already-mangled pen, frowning half heartedly. He just couldn't be bothered with this.

It had been three weeks since he'd been able to study with any real enthusiasm. Coincidentally, that was the exact time that had passed since he'd gone to Marik's. He now spent his afternoons daydreaming wistfully about what could have happened had he done this...said that...not done this...

"Mr Bakura?" Miss Valentine snapped. The white-haired boy had been staring into space for at least half an hour, and while the woman didn't particularly enjoy teaching, she wasn't about to waste her time with people who weren't even listening.

"My lesson is NOT an excuse to have a nap! Unless you want a detention, you'll read me all your notes. NOW!"

Ryou stood and, true to form, delivered a perfectly acceptable set of notes. The class scowled in unison, having been hoping for a page full of crap, resulting in an angry lecture that they could gossip about later.

Miss Valentine blinked, and then sat down, her tight pinstriped skirt riding up dangerously high. The boy reminded her of a particularly unpleasant student that had been in her class a few years back. She could still remember the looks he would give her; like she was an amoeba to his god.

"You can all go." She said wearily. She was dying for a coffee.

The class erupted from their seats like a gang of birds scared by a furious cat.

"Nice one, man." Joey guffawed, elbowing Ryou in the ribs. He half smiled, unsure as to whether the elbow had been a friendly gesture or an accident due to the tidal wave of students they were crushed inside, and then escaped into the corridor.

As soon as the majority of the class had gone, Ryou took out his phone.

To: Malik Ishtar

Where are you? You know, you can get into real trouble for skipping school.

From: Malik Ishtar

You know exactly where I am. Get over it.

Ryou scowled. That was a totally unfair reaction to some friendly advice.

To: Malik Ishtar

Akefia isn't the only thing that matters in the world.

From: Malik Ishtar

Yes, he is. Well, bar you.

Ryou had to re-read that message a few times. What he got from it was faintly concerning.

Is he obsessive, or something?

After that, Ryou resolved to be nicer to him, and to stop being so possessive.

Fighting wouldn't do anyone any good - Malik was his only real friend, after all.

The whole day passed, and Malik didn't show. Ryou left school alone, a greyish sleet dribbling down from the leaden sky and settling on him.

"Ew." He muttered, dragging his feet through puddles which reflected his disgruntled expression perfectly. He arrived home soaked through, and entered the kitchen to find it in a state of chaos. Random cans and boxes of food were piled precariously on every possible surface, wobbling and teetering dangerously.

"What's happened?" He asked, shutting the door. The sleet on his clothes melted instantaneously.

Gail, their usually calm maid, was kneeling on a kitchen counter, searching frantically through a cupboard of tins. Ryou dashed over just in time to catch a collapsing pile of cannellini beans, wasabi and chicken soup.

"Your mother happened." Gail said wretchedly, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Ryou sighed, placing the rescued items down on the countertop. "What did she do?" He was well aware that his mother treated the young woman less than pleasantly at best.

"She's asking for some peach gateau for dinner tonight. Some oil baron is coming to eat and she wants four courses and champagne with 6 hours notice... but I can't find the god-damned peaches!"

Ryou suddenly had a thought. A particularly nice sandwich he had eaten a few weeks back. Bananas, crème fraiche, raspberry jam and...tinned peaches.

Oops...

"Don't worry, Gail. I'll go buy you some more." Ryou offered, thinking that having to face the disgusting weather again was a fair enough price to pay for his greed.

"Really? Oh, Ryou, you're the best." Gail said, relief flooding her face.

"I'm not, but thanks."

Ryou turned to leave again, thankful that he hadn't bothered to take his coat off yet.

"Thanks, Ryou!" Gail called again, as he disappeared into the grey outside.

Luckily for Ryou, by the time he'd located the tinned peaches and other essential items in the Domino Store the sleet had stopped falling, leaving the streets damp and shiny. He swung his shopping bags as he walked, in time to the music of cars rushing past and birds squawking in the ashen sky. Every other shop window twinkled with Christmas lights and gaudy tinsel. As he crossed the busy high street, he saw Marik sitting on the wall overlooking the river. He stopped walking.

Is that Marik?

He looked again, squinting. Halo of blonde spikes, dark skinned, tall. All alone.

Yep. That's definitely him.

Should I say hello?

Yes, obviously!

...

Just do it, you idiot.

The waiting cars starting beeping furiously, their owners no doubt spitting obscenities behind their windscreens. Ryou apologised fervently and scampered across to the safety of the pavement, limping slightly on his just-about-intact ankle. Narrowly avoiding stepping right into a deep puddle, Ryou approached Marik. He apparently hadn't noticed the road rage going on next to him.

"Erm...hi?" Ryou said, still a few metres away from Marik. He was wearing greenish hospital scrubs, and Ryou privately decided that he was the only person in the universe capable of making them look good. Still, he was a million miles away, staring out across the river.

"Marik?"

The man jumped at the sound of his own name and turned. His eyes flashed with recognition.

"Hey." Marik said, smiling slightly. Ryou noted with some concern that Marik didn't look particularly well; his eyes were bloodshot with dark shadows, and he definitely looked pale beneath his tan. Ryou decided it would probably be best not to mention it. He'd probably just had a rough shift at the hospital.

"How are you?" Ryou asked. There. I said it.

"Alright, I guess." Marik said. This barely passed for a white lie, but Marik wasn't particularly fussed about that. "Where've you been all this time?"

"Oh. Um... school?" Ryou smiled weakly.

Was that a reference to the fact that I didn't even attempted to initiate any kind of meeting?

"I won't kiss you next time, if that's what's the problem is." Marik said, deadly serious.

"No!" Ryou yelped, then flushed. "I mean...that wasn't what I... that was fine. I mean, that was nice, if that's what you..." He trailed off at Marik's expression.

"Would you care to explain what the hell you just said?" Marik said, blatantly suppressing laughter. His eyes had warmed considerably.

"Can I have your number this time?" Ryou blurted, his face glowing. Marik burst out laughing. It was a manically, frighteningly, deliriously happy sound, and it made Ryou's heart bounce.

"If you want," Marik said when he'd recovered. "It's 09257 36452710."

"Wait, say that again. And slower this time. Please." Ryou had found a pen in the pocket of his coat and was struggling to remove it. Marik reached over and took it for him.

"Thanks." Ryou said, readjusting his bags. Marik took Ryou's hand and wrote the numbers in a big, wobbly script on the inside of his wrist.

"Can you read that? Writing was never my forte."

"Yes. It's fine." Ryou smiled, looking down at it. Marik dropped the pen into one of the shopping bags. Again, Ryou noticed the ring, the L, but held his tongue.

"You should probably go. You've got a deadline, right?"

Ryou glanced up. "How do you know?"

Marik smiled. "The way you speed-walked down the high street. It was impressive."

"Yes. Well, um, bye." Ryou shifted from one foot to the other, not keen to leave.

"See you." Marik glanced around. "Want a kiss?"

"Erm... I..."

"Okay then. Maybe next time." He got up from the wall and started to leave.

"I do!" Ryou said finally. Marik turned, amused.

"We're not getting married yet. Like I said, maybe next time."

Frowning, Ryou looked away. He began walking slowly in the direction of home, half wishing that Marik would grab him from behind in a Malik-type embrace.

Did I just reject him?

"Stay happy, Ryou!" he heard Marik call.

I guess not.

Ryou glanced down at his wrist, saw the numbers, and felt happy. He just about managed to restrain himself from skipping down the street, and settled with humming.

Marik kicked at a discarded can and laughed to himself.

How marvellous, how happy it must be, to be Ryou. To look at me and not see the mad. To look at Akefia and not see the sad. To look at Malik and not see the bitch.

Marik had seen all these things the first time he'd met them.

In just one conversation he'd read Malik. His entirely insincere apology. His defensiveness, only to start an argument. 'I'm not a hooker', he'd said. He didn't care what reply Marik gave. He just wanted someone to fight with.

Marik wandered through the park, following the familiar wail of ambulances towards the hospital. He preferred the park in winter; there were less little kids to trip over, less people to stare at him and try to work out what was going on behind his eyes.

Akefia's eyes had told him everything. He'd seen it in the way he moved, in his arrogance, his vanity. The way he did his hair, all over one side. The way he lived, all by himself, to wallow in his own regret and his mask of promiscuity. He was miserable. Lonely. No one else seemed to notice, and it was hard to convince them of it.

"Marik. What a nice surprise."

Speak of the devil. The man himself.

Akefia smiled in the way he always did when he was about to say something cruel.

"So, you and him, hmm?"

"Who?"

"Ryou Bakura."

"Yes. And what?" Marik smiled dangerously, catching Akefia's eye.

"He's weak. He told me he didn't know you and you weren't a couple."

Akefia, you silver tongued bastard.

"Quit stirring, Touzouko." He growled, dropping his smile instantly.

"Touchy-touchy. I'm not stirring. That's what bitchy schoolgirls do. I'm trying to help you."

"I don't need your help." Marik raised his chin defiantly. He held a deep loathing for this particular part of Akefia; the manipulator, the mind-fuck.

"Of course you don't. That's why you came crying to me when..."

"You dare." Marik's voice was so dark, so cutting, that Akefia knew he'd overstepped.

Perfect.

"I remember that night." Akefia said, smiling wickedly.

"I don't. I don't remember a lot from then. Everything was so...boring."

"Wasn't boring for me. It was fucking terrifying."

"Not my fault. Not my problem. Why are you bringing this up anyway?" Marik narrowed his eyes. Akefia's face was flawlessly innocent.

"I get bored too." He said, shrugging. "Shop's closed. No one to have sex with. Nothing to do."

"Here's something to do: Go to hell!"

"Bit hot for me, personally. Remember when you puked on my floor?"

"No. Presumably, that wasn't one of my greatest moments."

"Oh, it was. Way to make an impression." Akefia laughed. "I only knew you from the photo."

Marik frowned. He had a feeling he was being made fun of. "What photo?"

"The photo you posted through my door with that note."

"Oh. That." Marik felt slightly nauseated at the memory. "Let's not go there."

"What was going through your head, man?"

"As far as I can remember, not much."

Akefia touched one of Marik's earrings fondly. "It was like you were trying to wake yourself up, when you got these done."

The blonde gave a strange smile; Akefia could be sweet when he felt like it.

"You know it." He said, pushing Akefia's hand away. "Time for work. Don't get bored, now."

"So, you are with that kid?" Akefia confirmed

"I sure hope so. And you're with that other kid. Malik. Pretty name, pretty face. Pretty young, too."

Akefia snorted derisively. "I think I still have the upper hand. Ryou knows nothing about anything about you."

Marik thought for a second, and then shook his head. "No you don't."

"What?"

Marik looked away, grinning. "Have the upper hand. I know why you wear your hair like that. Malik doesn't." He flicked his tongue lewdly on the L of Malik's name.

"You wouldn't..." Akefia said lowly.

"You wanna bet?" Marik took a step closer to Akefia, daring him to flirt. "You know what I am. I can't be trusted. I just don't know when to stop."

"Watch your step, Marik."

"Aw, but Akefia, we're friends, right? And friends keep each others' secrets."

By now, the two men were standing chest to chest, Marik staring Akefia down with his dancing indigo eyes. To a bystander, they might have looked like they were going to kiss. Either that, or start punching each other. Both of those were options for the enigmatic pair, who were quite content to walk the line between friends and bitter rivals. Always on the line. Never quite sure which side the other was swaying towards.

Eventually, Akefia cracked.

"Fine. I won't tell him anything."

"I knew you wouldn't." Marik was carelessly delighted.

"I can still do it, though." Akefia said warningly, raising an eyebrow. Sometimes, Marik was too brazen for his own good.

"So can I." He grinned, all teeth.

And too fucking clever.

"You'd better keep your side of the bargain, or I swear to God, I will cut your tongue out."

"Touchy-touchy." Marik laughed as he walked away, all long, slender limbs and wild hair. "Touzie, you know you're more than just a pretty face."

"Of course."

"You're a very pretty face!"

A few paces on and their laughter drove the birds from the trees.

In the end, what could they do but agree?

By the time the stars had chosen to reveal themselves and the horizon had lost the umber sheen of evening, Ryou was allowed downstairs. The hallway reeked of his mother's guest's expensive cologne, and Ryou wished it were summer so he could throw open a window and not risk hypothermia.

"Ryou!" His mother's voice split into his thoughts like glass shards. "Come and eat!"

At the table sat his mother, disapproving, and much to Ryou's surprise, his father.

"Um...hello!" Ryou stammered, shocked. "Father." He added hastily after receiving a pointed stare from his mother.

"Where've you been then, son? Studying hard?" His father laughed, standing. "Of course you have! You've always been the studious type."

Mr Bakura was tall and broad, his face covered in the laughter lines that his wife so lacked. But behind the smiles and the charming facade was an unreliable wanderer of a man, who viewed the world with a childishly idealistic taint.

To him, Ryou was the perfect son, and his mother the perfect wife. It was lucky he was never there to see the reality.

Ryou sat down and began to eat, without really tasting anything. As much as the food was delicious, his father's surprise visit had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Drop in whenever you feel like it. I don't mind. And feel free to make assumptions about my lifestyle.

"...could be worth millions. We've got bidders from every major city after them. They were in an undiscovered temple, see, and the historical societies are desperate to get their hands on them. Think, a new era of history! Who wouldn't want to be a part of it? My colleague..."

Mealtimes had always been a special kind of torture for Ryou.

"I've got me a new apprentice. A young lad called Ray."

"What a name." Ryou's mother scoffed.

"You know, I think he might be... you know... that way." His father looked to Ryou furtively, as though this titbit of information could turn him instantly. Ryou looked away, willing the conversation to change topic.

"Good grief. It seems every other child these days is. It's disgusting, that's what it is."

"It's all a phase. We're lucky in our family not to have had to deal with it! Though who knows? If you ever take a fancy to men, Ryou, you let me know, eh?" Ryou's father guffawed at the absurdity of the idea while Ryou stared down at his now empty plate, subconsciously covering the numbers on his wrist.

This subject didn't often come up, but when it did, the awkwardness was unbearable.

"I'm sure Ryou isn't remotely interested in that aspect of our society, thank goodness. And that would be because I raised him properly." Ryou's mother said sternly, putting an end to her husband's raucous behaviour.

"You're quite right."He said, straightening up and opening a newspaper, on the front cover of which Maximilian Pegasus was being sued for embezzling company funds.

As soon as could be considered polite, Ryou asked to be excused.

Over in the Ishtar household, dinner was also being conducted. For Malik, this consisted of a series of carefully executed movements through the house, making sure that when you were eating, Aaron was nowhere to be seen, for fear of being bombarded with appetite destroying comments about every aspect of your personal life, physical appearance and mental capacity.

Tonight's gourmet menu consisted of a slice of bread and an apple, which Malik ate standing up against the fridge, cold linoleum chilling him from his bare feet upwards. After he'd eaten, he pushed his hands into his pockets, deeply unsatisfied. Malik Ishtar liked sweet things. He liked caramel and chocolate and cotton candy. They made him feel like a child.

He found and ate a handful of Ishizu's birthday chocolates, pretending he was somewhere else.

In his solitary flat, Akefia wasn't eating; food had never been of much interest to him. He had always preferred going hungry to feeling sleepy and leaden and sluggishly bloated, glutted like an engorged snake. Instead, he drank black coffee with as much sugar as he could stir in, and sat in his armchair like the great ruler of a long abandoned kingdom. He watched a spider spin its gossamer in a corner of the ceiling, its shadow twitching in the low light of his floor lamps.

He liked the ambience, but that didn't change the fact that it was all so fucking solitary.

He felt hunger prickle in his gut, and smiled to himself.

Nothing is a better distraction from want than want.

Marik rolled the grapefruit between his two hands; it was pleasantly yellow against the table, smooth against his palms. He took a knife and split it down the middle. Its juice swelled and ran, tear-like, from the incision. He pulled it open, saw the shock of white pith and filmy membranes and pale flesh and ugly little seeds. He removed them with surgical precision, made a pile, rearranged them into a smile, then scattered them. The pith and skin, which made satisfyingly organic noises when they were pulled away, were thrown aside like entrails.

Marik ate the grapefruit, raw and cold and sour, with his hands. He'd turned off the heating, so the flat was frigid. Marik was shirtless, but somehow immune to the cold. A merciless rain was rattling against the windows, fat drops chasing one another down the icy glass.

The wall clock said 12.23, but Marik couldn't sleep. He was doing everything to resist it. Even as he relented and retreated to his bedroom, closing the door on himself, he couldn't do it.

He turned out all the lights, but this just made him alert. A nocturnal creature by nature.

He sat, cross legged in the middle of his bed and listened to the springs bounce and creak, like he were nightmaring or having urgent sex. When he lay back the springs pressed up against his skin like small hands.

Marik twisted the ring around and around his finger like a rosary. He sang quietly to himself; songs he remembered. He thought back on his day. Akefia and Ryou and hospitals...

He didn't want to think on the hospital. Not today.

Not after how she looked at me.

He thought back to Ryou, a worthy distraction.

He traced Call Me in the air with one finger. Then Ryou. Over and over.

Marik became suddenly and irrevocably aware of a warmth building slowly behind his navel; a warmth so familiar and yet always so strange. Marik, in his world of drifting strangers, does not often feel. He likes it.

He froze, arms outstretched as if to a watching ghost or a god, half listening from above. The warmth rose up to fill his chest cavity. Played around his lungs. Pressed on his winter chilled heart.

Marik's eyes glinted in the darkness, glowing some internal silver, and he smiled.

Then he dropped his arms. Placed his hands low on his bare stomach.

The warmth became heat.

And Marik played out his own lonely lullaby.

And that's it for now...

I hope things are getting at least a little bit more interesting, but the good stuff is coming up soon, I swear!

Got a review for me?

Kal277x