baby, did you forget to take your meds?
With an ego like his, it was rare that Bakura actually got angry with himself. Now, however, was one time he made the exception -- he'd made a mistake. He knew it. Hell, he'd known just visiting Anzu was enough of a mistake on its own, especially given how Malik had reacted at the sheer mention of her.
He hadn't planned for things to go the way they had, though he'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been happy with the turn of events. Temporarily happy, at least, since he was now left with the self-loathing that came after any simple thought about the woman. The idea of love was such a disgusting one, and now, almost a year after the whole thing had ended, he was still finding himself on edge about the entire thing. Did he still love her? No, probably not, but the fact that the probably was there at all was enough to agitate him.
Fuck this. He wanted to go back to hating her. That had been the easiest thing, the best way of dealing with it. Fighting with the idea of wanting to be around her was not something he was enjoying; he knew exactly where he belonged and with her was certainly not it.
He belonged to Darkness. He'd grown up with Darkness as the only guiding force in his life. So why had he gone against that in the first place? There had been something warm there, originally, when he'd been involved with her, but that had faded over time and he'd realized quite abruptly that warm just wasn't for him. He wasn't meant to have good.
He was evil. He wanted to be evil. That statement was probably considerably more accurate, given that he had more of a heart than he'd like to admit.
Slamming the door to his apartment, he didn't bother to hunt around to make sure he was the only one home and instead went straight for the kitchen. He needed to get drunk.
Malik was sitting on the couch, drinking something from a bottle--he wasn't sure what kind of drink it was, but it tasted like metal and it felt like it was stripping his throat with every swallow. It was also making him feel quite relaxed, which was rare. (He hadn't initially wanted to get drunk; he'd wanted beer as usual, but the fridge was empty, so he'd grabbed a bottle of clear liquid thinking foolishly that it was water. And then when he'd found out it wasn't, he'd discovered he didn't mind the thought of being buzzed.)
He looked over as the door slammed and one of the paintings on the walls rattled. It had been a long time since he'd seen Bakura in such a black mood, and it immediately grabbed his attention. He watched Bakura silently, taking two swallows from his own bottle in the time it took Bakura to enter the kitchen.
"Oi, I feel I should welcome it home~" he taunted. "You seem more like yourself. Did it have a good outing?" Not that he really cared. He was pretty sure Bakura would just yell at him and start a fight, and he didn't mind that. (He didn't mind it because he didn't really realize how drunk he was; had he bothered to stand up he'd have found that he was a little bit more than buzzed, and then he would have rethought getting into a fight at all.)
Disappointed that Malik had managed to snag the exact bottle he'd wanted, Bakura settled for something slightly less potent and stepped back into the living room. He took a long swallow before he bothered to respond to the other at all. "Wonderful," he spat, clearly displeased that he had company. It was still strange, having a roommate after all the time he'd had the place to himself.
He didn't automatically start a fight, weird in its own right, and instead plopped down on the couch beside Malik, blue eyes turning the television. The show didn't catch his interest at the moment, though he doubt much would have succeeded at that to begin with. He eyed the drink in Malik's hand, then, deciding that since it'd been what he originally wanted and he was just going to fucking take it.
So, he did just that, snatching the bottle away from the other with his free hand and downing the rest of its contents quickly. Better to finish it off before Malik could get it back, after all. "You smell like vodka," he commented then, tossing the empty bottle aside.
Malik was grinning slightly, head tilted as he watched Bakura. It had been a long, long time since he'd seen him that angry; it was almost familiar in its way and he tried to place where he'd seen it before.
He was so curious that he didn't even retaliate when his drink was stolen. That, for Malik, was practically unheard of. It helped that he hadn't been enjoying the drink, sure.
"You reek," Malik replied, lip twitching into a small, disgusted sneer as he sat back away from Bakura. "Mnnn, and you aren't even bleeding. Pity. Didn't it find anything interesting to do?" He leaned against the arm of the couch and sighed happily, liking the warm, drifting feeling that had somehow taken over his entire body. "That wasn't enough," he groused, giving the discarded vodka bottle an annoyed, disappointed frown.
It was probably a miracle that Malik hadn't recognized the emotion (or more accurately, what caused it). If anything, the other Egyptian seemed to know Bakura better than most, as disconcerting as that fact was.
"I smell like sex," Bakura offered plainly, knowing that the scent wasn't a stranger to either of them, taking a drink of the bottle he'd gotten for himself then. It wasn't as powerful as the drink that Malik had selected, which sadly meant Bakura would have to drink far more of it to get the feeling he was looking for. "And that depends on your definition of interesting," he smirked, knowing full well what Malik classified as things worth spending time on.
It was hard not to feel like he owed Malik, or the Darkness, some sort of apology. The feeling was overwhelming that he needed to repent, in some form or another, though he wasn't entirely sure what Darkness would call for. Probably nothing that he was interested in giving, though the idea of the yakuza and how they used to chop off fingers did enter his head for a moment (and amused him in turn -- hell, if he could get away with just losing a finger, he'd probably be all for it).
Had Malik been sober, he probably would have been suspicious right away. As it was, he was only aware of how pleasant it was to see Bakura so livid, and how disgusting this particular smell on him was. To say that Bakura smelled of sex was to say that Bakura's heart was still beating. He always smelled like sex, either fresh or a hours old; but there was something...off about it.
("Off" was not the right description. "Familiar" was. But Malik was distracted, and even had he not been, it had been almost a year since he'd slept with Anzu; and it wasn't as if he'd paid that much attention to her at the time anyway.)
So he just made a soft, disgusted sound and brought a stockinged foot up to push Bakura further away from himself. "Nn, did you fuck a sheep? Go shower."
Even being pushed away, Bakura didn't make an effort to get up from the couch. He was almost comfortable, damnit, and he was going to stay there until he'd finished his drink.
"It's no different from usual, is it?" he inquired, taking another sip of his drink. He half-wondered if it was in fact something different from normal. Could Malik smell things like -love- (that wasn't actually love)? It would explain why he seemed so appalled; Malik had never been a fan (putting it lightly) of those things.
Malik tried to just sit and watch the television, pretend Bakura wasn't even there. It didn't work. Underneath his drunken fascination with watching actors utter fake screams, he was all too aware of Bakura's presence. He didn't always like having Bakura around, but usually he didn't mind it.
But there was something sickly-sweet, perfumey and clean and cloying on his roommate and finally he couldn't take it anymore. If Bakura wasn't going to get up and wash it off, Malik wasn't going to stick around and complain. (Which, again, wasn't like Malik.)
He growled under his breath and stumbled against the wall, then carefully made his way to the Spirit's room. When he banged his shoulder against a doorway he cursed Bakura loudly enough that it could be heard.
By the time that Malik got up and walked off, Bakura had almost finished his drink. A short gulp finished it off and he set it haphazardly on the side table before climbing to his feet as well, though he had considerably less difficulty than Malik.
Taking the other Egyptian's advice, he headed to the bathroom and took a long shower. Once out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom, pausing in front of the Spirit's room. Leaning in the doorway, he commented, "Funny how you've chosen his room as your own, mm?" That was only partially true, as Malik tended to sleep wherever Bakura fell asleep himself, all a part of their oh-so-trusting relationship.
Malik hadn't sobered up in the least. But being alone with nothing to do but listen to the white noise of the shower in the next room, and counting the colorful pills on the Spirit's bedside table, Malik had started to think about what was so suddenly off-putting about the man he was usually quick to strip.
He hadn't put it together yet, not enough to be angry...he wouldn't be able to do that just off of a distant memory. He was just suspicious, which wasn't really anything unusual.
So he just eyed Bakura silently, glowering at the Thief King's face for a long minute before his gaze softened slightly and slid lower, to where the wet towel was hanging off of his hips.
Finally, Malik asked, "Ne, where did it go today~?"
Bakura followed the other's gaze, raising an eyebrow when he realized where it landed. Well, it was quite possible that Malik's disgust had faded ever so slightly. That, or was incredibly drunk, which had been made an obvious truth when Bakura had watched the man stumble through the hallway. Perhaps now was a better time than any to tell Malik the truth -- he'd at least be able to handle him in a fight, and wasn't it better he found out through Bakura and not some other means?
"Nn, I went to see Anzu," he answered, slipping into Ancient Egyptian without really realizing it. It was a habit, more than anything, and Malik was one of the few who knew what he was saying when he used it. "To talk about seeing my daughter~"
Malik had closed his eyes (the lights seemed bright, had ever since he'd slipped one of those pills thinking it was a mint; they looked the same), and was lulled at first by the familiar purring intonations of his native tongue.
But then he registered what Bakura had said, and it all made sense: the paranoia, the anger. The disgust. She had him again. In his drunken state, he didn't quite connect the dots between Bakura having come back angry, and therefore having left Anzu again. Malik was just sitting up, wishing Bakura's skin to melt off or something equally as slow and painful to befall the thief.
"And," he spat--in Ancient Egyptian, which made it seem even more guttural-- "what of your daughter?"
Bakura had expected Malik to react poorly, though the fact that he hadn't been attacked outright said something. He kept his position in the doorway though, not wanting to yet move closer to the other. "I'll get to see her," he replied with a shrug. "That's really all. She said I'd be allowed to bring her here." Though she had protested when she'd learned that Malik was back in the apartment.
He wanted Malik's forgiveness in some sense, but he wasn't about to outright ask for it. He needed to know that the Darkness knew of his mistake and that it was fine. It wasn't like he had any intention to get involved with Anzu again. It'd been casual sex. The same kind of casual sex he had with everyone.
If he kept repeating that to himself, did that make it true?
Malik was still--too still, for too long--and then he abruptly leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in an angry, but very clearly dominant gesture. "Yes," he agreed, and laughed. "Bring the child here~ Let me toy with it. Nn, what a nice gift it will be."
It was a test, to see how far Bakura had been dragged away from his goal. But it wasn't the only one. Miyoko was something the Darkness could possibly take someday, so if she continued to live, it wasn't a hindrance. Anzu, however, had damn near ruined the Darkness' involvement with Bakura. She was unacceptable.
Malik's smile was foreign, cruel, calculated. "What else does it have to tell Me, hmm?"
Given that Miyoko was his blood, Bakura had wondered himself how she would turn out. Would she be corrupted, too? He almost wanted her to be, wanted to make sure she didn't end up just another fan of the Pharaoh's. "Toy with it?" he snickered. "Fine, fine." He didn't want to show that he was actually emotionally attached to her. If anything, that was yet another weakness that the thief didn't want to have.
"Not really," he replied, a cold smirk on his lips. If Malik didn't put two and two together, Bakura certainly wasn't going to tell him. Not now, even if this was possibly the safest time to do so. "Well, maybe that you look pretty good plastered."
"Soon," Malik said. It had been a while since he'd seen the child; it was probably time he began assessing her worth.
That Bakura had come home smelling of sex was answer enough. The fact that he wasn't open about any of the facts, wasn't flippant about them but rather refused to admit it, only confirmed the paranoia. He wanted more than anything to get up and gut the man, but he couldn't, and he knew it. Not yet. All he could do until the 'water' wore off was wait. So he sneered at the compliment Bakura offered and, with all the confidence the Darkness gave him (which overrode the fear and anger he was feeling), he just dismissed the thief.
"Get out."
The best bet would be not to push Malik, though Bakura wasn't entirely sure he was safe sleeping in the same house with him. If Malik woke up and remembered everything, he'd probably at least attempt to murder Bakura in his sleep. Bakura was, thankfully, a light sleeper, so he'd more likely than not hear Malik if he tried, but he still had to worry about it.
"Nn, I'm going to bed," he informed the other then, partially a test to see if Malik would follow. He usually did, but angry as he was now, Bakura couldn't be sure.
Malik grunted faintly, but only slowly laid down against the mound of pillows the Spirit had collected.
He wasn't willing to turn his back on Bakura even though that would have given him a more comfortable position to lie in, so he just watched him to be sure he left. He would have told him to shut the door on his way out, but he doubted Bakura would, and he wasn't in the mood to fight over that. He just wanted Bakura out of the way while he sobered up. Once his head was clear, he'd figure out what to do.
Bakura did leave, though he made a pit stop by the kitchen before actually heading to his room. He wanted the opposite of what Malik was after -- to get too drunk to remember what he had done. Such a state was likely unachievable, but he was more than willing to try. Selecting a liquor from the cabinet, he took that with him back to his room.
Once there, he shut the door behind him and shed his towel, crawling into bed and turning on the television, putting on some mindless action show that would hopefully serve to distract him from everything. He really did feel like an idiot, and he wasn't sure how to remedy himself of the situation, save for what he was already doing and relying completely on alcohol to clear things up.
Opening his drink and swallowing a good portion of it, he leaned back against the headboard and kicked up the covers, pulling them up over his waist. Time to get enthralled with this awful show~
Malik eventually stumbled up and shut the door, when he found he couldn't sleep without Bakura in his line of sight but didn't want that security badly enough to ask the Thief King to come in.
When he'd secured the door, he finally fell into a restless sleep.
He hadn't planned for things to go the way they had, though he'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been happy with the turn of events. Temporarily happy, at least, since he was now left with the self-loathing that came after any simple thought about the woman. The idea of love was such a disgusting one, and now, almost a year after the whole thing had ended, he was still finding himself on edge about the entire thing. Did he still love her? No, probably not, but the fact that the probably was there at all was enough to agitate him.
Fuck this. He wanted to go back to hating her. That had been the easiest thing, the best way of dealing with it. Fighting with the idea of wanting to be around her was not something he was enjoying; he knew exactly where he belonged and with her was certainly not it.
He belonged to Darkness. He'd grown up with Darkness as the only guiding force in his life. So why had he gone against that in the first place? There had been something warm there, originally, when he'd been involved with her, but that had faded over time and he'd realized quite abruptly that warm just wasn't for him. He wasn't meant to have good.
He was evil. He wanted to be evil. That statement was probably considerably more accurate, given that he had more of a heart than he'd like to admit.
Slamming the door to his apartment, he didn't bother to hunt around to make sure he was the only one home and instead went straight for the kitchen. He needed to get drunk.
Malik was sitting on the couch, drinking something from a bottle--he wasn't sure what kind of drink it was, but it tasted like metal and it felt like it was stripping his throat with every swallow. It was also making him feel quite relaxed, which was rare. (He hadn't initially wanted to get drunk; he'd wanted beer as usual, but the fridge was empty, so he'd grabbed a bottle of clear liquid thinking foolishly that it was water. And then when he'd found out it wasn't, he'd discovered he didn't mind the thought of being buzzed.)
He looked over as the door slammed and one of the paintings on the walls rattled. It had been a long time since he'd seen Bakura in such a black mood, and it immediately grabbed his attention. He watched Bakura silently, taking two swallows from his own bottle in the time it took Bakura to enter the kitchen.
"Oi, I feel I should welcome it home~" he taunted. "You seem more like yourself. Did it have a good outing?" Not that he really cared. He was pretty sure Bakura would just yell at him and start a fight, and he didn't mind that. (He didn't mind it because he didn't really realize how drunk he was; had he bothered to stand up he'd have found that he was a little bit more than buzzed, and then he would have rethought getting into a fight at all.)
Disappointed that Malik had managed to snag the exact bottle he'd wanted, Bakura settled for something slightly less potent and stepped back into the living room. He took a long swallow before he bothered to respond to the other at all. "Wonderful," he spat, clearly displeased that he had company. It was still strange, having a roommate after all the time he'd had the place to himself.
He didn't automatically start a fight, weird in its own right, and instead plopped down on the couch beside Malik, blue eyes turning the television. The show didn't catch his interest at the moment, though he doubt much would have succeeded at that to begin with. He eyed the drink in Malik's hand, then, deciding that since it'd been what he originally wanted and he was just going to fucking take it.
So, he did just that, snatching the bottle away from the other with his free hand and downing the rest of its contents quickly. Better to finish it off before Malik could get it back, after all. "You smell like vodka," he commented then, tossing the empty bottle aside.
Malik was grinning slightly, head tilted as he watched Bakura. It had been a long, long time since he'd seen him that angry; it was almost familiar in its way and he tried to place where he'd seen it before.
He was so curious that he didn't even retaliate when his drink was stolen. That, for Malik, was practically unheard of. It helped that he hadn't been enjoying the drink, sure.
"You reek," Malik replied, lip twitching into a small, disgusted sneer as he sat back away from Bakura. "Mnnn, and you aren't even bleeding. Pity. Didn't it find anything interesting to do?" He leaned against the arm of the couch and sighed happily, liking the warm, drifting feeling that had somehow taken over his entire body. "That wasn't enough," he groused, giving the discarded vodka bottle an annoyed, disappointed frown.
It was probably a miracle that Malik hadn't recognized the emotion (or more accurately, what caused it). If anything, the other Egyptian seemed to know Bakura better than most, as disconcerting as that fact was.
"I smell like sex," Bakura offered plainly, knowing that the scent wasn't a stranger to either of them, taking a drink of the bottle he'd gotten for himself then. It wasn't as powerful as the drink that Malik had selected, which sadly meant Bakura would have to drink far more of it to get the feeling he was looking for. "And that depends on your definition of interesting," he smirked, knowing full well what Malik classified as things worth spending time on.
It was hard not to feel like he owed Malik, or the Darkness, some sort of apology. The feeling was overwhelming that he needed to repent, in some form or another, though he wasn't entirely sure what Darkness would call for. Probably nothing that he was interested in giving, though the idea of the yakuza and how they used to chop off fingers did enter his head for a moment (and amused him in turn -- hell, if he could get away with just losing a finger, he'd probably be all for it).
Had Malik been sober, he probably would have been suspicious right away. As it was, he was only aware of how pleasant it was to see Bakura so livid, and how disgusting this particular smell on him was. To say that Bakura smelled of sex was to say that Bakura's heart was still beating. He always smelled like sex, either fresh or a hours old; but there was something...off about it.
("Off" was not the right description. "Familiar" was. But Malik was distracted, and even had he not been, it had been almost a year since he'd slept with Anzu; and it wasn't as if he'd paid that much attention to her at the time anyway.)
So he just made a soft, disgusted sound and brought a stockinged foot up to push Bakura further away from himself. "Nn, did you fuck a sheep? Go shower."
Even being pushed away, Bakura didn't make an effort to get up from the couch. He was almost comfortable, damnit, and he was going to stay there until he'd finished his drink.
"It's no different from usual, is it?" he inquired, taking another sip of his drink. He half-wondered if it was in fact something different from normal. Could Malik smell things like -love- (that wasn't actually love)? It would explain why he seemed so appalled; Malik had never been a fan (putting it lightly) of those things.
Malik tried to just sit and watch the television, pretend Bakura wasn't even there. It didn't work. Underneath his drunken fascination with watching actors utter fake screams, he was all too aware of Bakura's presence. He didn't always like having Bakura around, but usually he didn't mind it.
But there was something sickly-sweet, perfumey and clean and cloying on his roommate and finally he couldn't take it anymore. If Bakura wasn't going to get up and wash it off, Malik wasn't going to stick around and complain. (Which, again, wasn't like Malik.)
He growled under his breath and stumbled against the wall, then carefully made his way to the Spirit's room. When he banged his shoulder against a doorway he cursed Bakura loudly enough that it could be heard.
By the time that Malik got up and walked off, Bakura had almost finished his drink. A short gulp finished it off and he set it haphazardly on the side table before climbing to his feet as well, though he had considerably less difficulty than Malik.
Taking the other Egyptian's advice, he headed to the bathroom and took a long shower. Once out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom, pausing in front of the Spirit's room. Leaning in the doorway, he commented, "Funny how you've chosen his room as your own, mm?" That was only partially true, as Malik tended to sleep wherever Bakura fell asleep himself, all a part of their oh-so-trusting relationship.
Malik hadn't sobered up in the least. But being alone with nothing to do but listen to the white noise of the shower in the next room, and counting the colorful pills on the Spirit's bedside table, Malik had started to think about what was so suddenly off-putting about the man he was usually quick to strip.
He hadn't put it together yet, not enough to be angry...he wouldn't be able to do that just off of a distant memory. He was just suspicious, which wasn't really anything unusual.
So he just eyed Bakura silently, glowering at the Thief King's face for a long minute before his gaze softened slightly and slid lower, to where the wet towel was hanging off of his hips.
Finally, Malik asked, "Ne, where did it go today~?"
Bakura followed the other's gaze, raising an eyebrow when he realized where it landed. Well, it was quite possible that Malik's disgust had faded ever so slightly. That, or was incredibly drunk, which had been made an obvious truth when Bakura had watched the man stumble through the hallway. Perhaps now was a better time than any to tell Malik the truth -- he'd at least be able to handle him in a fight, and wasn't it better he found out through Bakura and not some other means?
"Nn, I went to see Anzu," he answered, slipping into Ancient Egyptian without really realizing it. It was a habit, more than anything, and Malik was one of the few who knew what he was saying when he used it. "To talk about seeing my daughter~"
Malik had closed his eyes (the lights seemed bright, had ever since he'd slipped one of those pills thinking it was a mint; they looked the same), and was lulled at first by the familiar purring intonations of his native tongue.
But then he registered what Bakura had said, and it all made sense: the paranoia, the anger. The disgust. She had him again. In his drunken state, he didn't quite connect the dots between Bakura having come back angry, and therefore having left Anzu again. Malik was just sitting up, wishing Bakura's skin to melt off or something equally as slow and painful to befall the thief.
"And," he spat--in Ancient Egyptian, which made it seem even more guttural-- "what of your daughter?"
Bakura had expected Malik to react poorly, though the fact that he hadn't been attacked outright said something. He kept his position in the doorway though, not wanting to yet move closer to the other. "I'll get to see her," he replied with a shrug. "That's really all. She said I'd be allowed to bring her here." Though she had protested when she'd learned that Malik was back in the apartment.
He wanted Malik's forgiveness in some sense, but he wasn't about to outright ask for it. He needed to know that the Darkness knew of his mistake and that it was fine. It wasn't like he had any intention to get involved with Anzu again. It'd been casual sex. The same kind of casual sex he had with everyone.
If he kept repeating that to himself, did that make it true?
Malik was still--too still, for too long--and then he abruptly leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in an angry, but very clearly dominant gesture. "Yes," he agreed, and laughed. "Bring the child here~ Let me toy with it. Nn, what a nice gift it will be."
It was a test, to see how far Bakura had been dragged away from his goal. But it wasn't the only one. Miyoko was something the Darkness could possibly take someday, so if she continued to live, it wasn't a hindrance. Anzu, however, had damn near ruined the Darkness' involvement with Bakura. She was unacceptable.
Malik's smile was foreign, cruel, calculated. "What else does it have to tell Me, hmm?"
Given that Miyoko was his blood, Bakura had wondered himself how she would turn out. Would she be corrupted, too? He almost wanted her to be, wanted to make sure she didn't end up just another fan of the Pharaoh's. "Toy with it?" he snickered. "Fine, fine." He didn't want to show that he was actually emotionally attached to her. If anything, that was yet another weakness that the thief didn't want to have.
"Not really," he replied, a cold smirk on his lips. If Malik didn't put two and two together, Bakura certainly wasn't going to tell him. Not now, even if this was possibly the safest time to do so. "Well, maybe that you look pretty good plastered."
"Soon," Malik said. It had been a while since he'd seen the child; it was probably time he began assessing her worth.
That Bakura had come home smelling of sex was answer enough. The fact that he wasn't open about any of the facts, wasn't flippant about them but rather refused to admit it, only confirmed the paranoia. He wanted more than anything to get up and gut the man, but he couldn't, and he knew it. Not yet. All he could do until the 'water' wore off was wait. So he sneered at the compliment Bakura offered and, with all the confidence the Darkness gave him (which overrode the fear and anger he was feeling), he just dismissed the thief.
"Get out."
The best bet would be not to push Malik, though Bakura wasn't entirely sure he was safe sleeping in the same house with him. If Malik woke up and remembered everything, he'd probably at least attempt to murder Bakura in his sleep. Bakura was, thankfully, a light sleeper, so he'd more likely than not hear Malik if he tried, but he still had to worry about it.
"Nn, I'm going to bed," he informed the other then, partially a test to see if Malik would follow. He usually did, but angry as he was now, Bakura couldn't be sure.
Malik grunted faintly, but only slowly laid down against the mound of pillows the Spirit had collected.
He wasn't willing to turn his back on Bakura even though that would have given him a more comfortable position to lie in, so he just watched him to be sure he left. He would have told him to shut the door on his way out, but he doubted Bakura would, and he wasn't in the mood to fight over that. He just wanted Bakura out of the way while he sobered up. Once his head was clear, he'd figure out what to do.
Bakura did leave, though he made a pit stop by the kitchen before actually heading to his room. He wanted the opposite of what Malik was after -- to get too drunk to remember what he had done. Such a state was likely unachievable, but he was more than willing to try. Selecting a liquor from the cabinet, he took that with him back to his room.
Once there, he shut the door behind him and shed his towel, crawling into bed and turning on the television, putting on some mindless action show that would hopefully serve to distract him from everything. He really did feel like an idiot, and he wasn't sure how to remedy himself of the situation, save for what he was already doing and relying completely on alcohol to clear things up.
Opening his drink and swallowing a good portion of it, he leaned back against the headboard and kicked up the covers, pulling them up over his waist. Time to get enthralled with this awful show~
Malik eventually stumbled up and shut the door, when he found he couldn't sleep without Bakura in his line of sight but didn't want that security badly enough to ask the Thief King to come in.
When he'd secured the door, he finally fell into a restless sleep.