Alone Together

5: Swiggity swooty...

The bed was cold. Melvin didn't mind being cold, but when he reached out for someone across the bed he felt absolutely nothing but sheets and a pillow.
"A fluffed pillow." Melvin muttered, pulling it close to his bare chest. "He must've learned it from Marik or something."

Bakura was kind enough to close the curtains for when Melvin woke up, which was nice—the darkness was so familiar, it felt nice to have that familiarity when the person he cared about the most had disappeared.

So...now what? Off to find a job? Pay a tax? Drive around, reacquaint himself with the city? So many things to do now that he was back, but now he was fending for himself. He didn't even have a breakfast plan—when he first moved in, it was a box of granola bars against the windowsill that kept him going. Now those were all gone, and he didn't have Bakura around to help him out again.

"Maybe I just have to skip today..." he pouted, his stomach growling at the thought. Skipping breakfast was fine, whatever. But he didn't have a lunch or dinner plan either.

Melvin slid of the bed and looked around the room for something to wear—his clothes were not very plentiful, he didn't have much besides his black shirt and cargo pants, which really sucked because this apartment didn't have a washing machine. And it wasn't like he had money to buy more clothes.

He frowned, putting his shirt and pants on—Capey was going to have to stay behind again.

*****

It was getting colder outside. Trees were practically dead and rain seemed harsher than usual. But a little rain didn't phase Melvin.

He walked through crowds of people, fighting the urge to rip the umbrellas that constantly got in his way straight from the peoples' hands and beat them with them. Melvin only huffed and trudged onward—he was a civilized member of society now, apparently.

"Excuse me, sorry..."

Melvin felt a little body squirm past him, a head of white hair weaving through the crowd of black umbrellas. "Excuse me"s and "Pardon"s and "sorry!"s all spilling out of his mouth as he scurried past.

Melvin wished he'd stopped him—he was moving too fast, and it was so sudden. What was Bakura doing all the way out here? And why was he being so quiet?

Naturally, Melvin followed, slipping through the gaps in the crowd Bakura had made.

Crossing a puddle filled street, a faded crosswalk, and more people, he watched, curiously, as the same head of white hair pulled open the door of a bookshop and hurried inside.

Now Melvin had the full body view, containing a green sweater and some jeans. Bakura wore jeans, but with really long black coats. Not sweaters.
And his hair was neater. That could've been the rain, but it was obviously brushed and fixed into place. Bakura's hair was usually a bit more disheveled.

Does Bakura even want to talk to him this morning? No. Of course not, he rarely did—but that didn't mean that Melvin wasn't going to follow him and make him help figure out the food situation.

After all, he was known for causing trouble. Even if this trouble would mean Bakura ignoring him for days, he didn't care.

Melvin finally made his way over to the bookshop, looking in the window and immediately knew that this was a place for twinks.

The inside was dim-ish in light, and there were shelves filled with nothing but books of all shapes, sizes, genres, and colors. There was a mini coffee shop inside, but it was obvious that they probably only sold the kind of food that birds eat; croissants and muffins and cookies—okay, maybe cookies were pretty good, but everything else was meatless twink-food.

But the inside of the store was warm, and maybe the aroma of old books and coffee wasn't too bad.

"Hello!" An employee greeted him, likely with fake enthusiasm. Melvin was just grateful they hadn't recognized him.

"Hello." He responded, hating himself as he said it. Wow, was the civilized world always so filled with awkward, brainless chatter?

Ignoring the stares from the workers and customers, he continued his search of Bakura.

And lo and behold, there he was, standing perched on a step ladder, books curled in his arm. Back here, Melvin assumed, no one could see that he was secretly reading one, slacking on the job.

This also must be where he hid his fine ass, which Melvin had snuck up behind him to grab, expecting Bakura's usual scolding or a nudge back. But it was a warm greeting, in his eyes.

What he didn't expect was a squeal of fright and embarrassment.