"Just don't think about him," Marik had said. Well that was easier said than done.

I've spent my entire day thinking about him. Remembering his soft touches, the warm look in his brown eyes, the way our legs tangled together as we kissed. It wasn't even the physical stuff I missed. It was the closeness. Being able to lie there with him millimetres away, gentle breath on my cheek, that was my heaven.

I sighed and rolled onto my back, staring at my ceiling. This was no good. I'd never be able to sleep if I kept thinking about him. My eyes flickered to my phone, which sat on my bedside table, gleaming invitingly. I considered ringing him for a minute, then scoffed and rolled back over. I didn't see why I had to always be the one to start things.

I stared at the empty patch of bed next to me, running my hands over the cold sheets. Remembering when he lay there, resting his arm on my bare chest, hair tickling my shoulder as I watched him sleep. A small smile flickered across my face, but soon faded as I remembered why I hadn't heard from him in so long.

It had been three weeks since I had seen him. Three weeks! I always knew he could hold a grudge, but usually a few sweet whispers and embraces were all he needed to forgive me. Not this time. I had really hurt him.

I remembered the tears glinting in his deep brown eyes, the pained look on his face as he took one last look at me before walking out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. I always hated it when he cried, and knowing I was the cause made me feel like scum. I'd never deserved him, his friends had made it clear, and it had taken me this long to realise they were right. Maybe I should just leave him alone? He'd be better off without me.

Then why does my heart hurt? Each day without him I lose the will to live a bit more. I stopped eating properly about three days ago, I just nibble on toast and drink copious amounts of coffee. I haven't had the energy to leave the apartment lately and none of my clothes are clean. I'd never let him teach me how to use the washing machine.

I groaned again and rolled out of bed, feel colliding with the cold floor. I held my head in my hands and allowed myself a long, shaky sigh. The closest I ever came to crying. I wasn't like him, he wore his emotions on his sleeve, he was easy to read. My feelings stayed deep inside, I barely had any. I was impossible to figure out, I remember that used to annoy him. He could never work me out, as much as he might want to.

I heaved myself off the bed, walking through the dark hallways to the bathroom. It had been nearly a week since I'd had a shower, and even I need to wash sometimes. The warm water falling over my body refreshed me more than a week in bed could, and as I stood under the steaming hot jet I began to feel slightly better. I figured I might venture out, maybe just to the shops. I needed to get a good meal and there was barely any food in the apartment, shopping had always been his job.

I sighed again. Lots of things had been his job, what had I ever really done? I'd occasionally filled the dishwasher, I'd gone shopping with him, but I just tended to follow him and scowl at children. I never actually did anything to help. That could be one reason he was angry with me. Although I knew that was easier to forgive than the real reason. The reason he hates me. The reason I hate me.

I punched the slippery tile wall of the shower, cursing myself for doing something so stupid. At first I'd blamed Marik and Melvin. They'd dragged me out, got me drunk, left me with her. I told him it was their fault. I think that annoyed him more than what I'd done. I could never take the blame for anything, it was always someone else, some external force.

Not this time, this time I knew it was my fault. But it was too late now. If only I'd told him earlier. Then maybe he could forgive me.

I chuckled quietly to myself as I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. How could he forgive me after what I did? it was unforgivable. I growled as I searched my floor for some remotely clean clothes, pulling on the t-shirt so angrily it tore. I ripped it off and threw it across the room. I quickly found another and pulled it on, more gently this time. I slammed the apartment door behind me, leaving it unlocked. Just in case he came back.

The walk to the shop was as depressing as I'd expected. Everywhere I looked there were happy couples walking in the sun, holding hands, hugging on benches. My scowl increased as I passed each group, people actively avoided me. I was used to that. The shop was the same as always, and as I walked around I realised I had no idea where anything was. I walked up and down each aisle at least five times until I found the steak, I loaded my basket and was walking to the till when something on one of the shelves caught my eye. A small reddish box. I felt my scowl falter and I picked up the box gently. Peach tea bags. His favorite. I remembered when he first moved in with me, I'd snuck up behind him as he enjoyed his morning cup of tea. Hugging him round his slender middle. Asked him what he was drinking. I told him it suited him, because peaches were small and fuzzy like him. He'd giggled at that, and blushed. God I missed his blush.

I shook my head angrily and dumped the tea bags back on the shelf, allowing my scowl to replace the almost tender expression that had been on my face. I stalked to the tills, banging the basket down, startling the young cashier who gulped and began scanning my shopping. I paid, something I wasn't used to. Nodded at her and left the shop with two heavy bags.

The walk home was looking to be as uneventful as the walk there, until I saw a familiar head of tri-coloured hair coming my way through the crowds. I sighed. Yami. Luckily for me he seemed to be in a hurry and simply gave me a cold, stiff nod before sweeping past me. Going to meet his runt Yugi by no chance. I growled at the accusatory look in his eyes, the sense of disappointment in his crimson orbs. No doubt Yugi told him everything about what had happened. No wonder he looked so disgusted.

I climbed the stairs to the apartment, pushing the door open, not expecting to see anyone. Just because I left the door unlocked didn't mean he was going to come back. Still, I checked every room before sighing and returning to the kitchen to unpack the food.

My stomach rumbled unhappily and I ripped a steak from it's packaging, throwing it into a frying pan where it sizzled. It was nearly done and I got out a plate to put it on when my phone rang. I growled again, annoyed at being interrupted. Then ran to my room to grab it, leaving the steak on the ring. Unknown number.



"Yes, who is this?"

"It's me. Listen, can we meet up? We need to talk." The voice was cold, emotionless, nothing like it's usual cheery tone.

"Of course, where, when?"

"The coffee bean, at seven tonight?"

"Yeah okay, I guess I'll see you there."

"Yeah, see you later."

The dial tone cut in and I stared at my phone in shock. He wanted to see me. Tonight. A strange smell made me snap my head towards the kitchen. The bloody steak! I ran into the kitchen where thick black smoke was coming out of the pan, the steak a blackened, burnt mess. I dumped the pan in the sink, running cold water over it.

Guess I better make another steak then.

And I need to find something to wear tonight. I sighed, nervousness bubbling in my stomach. I had to get this right. It could be my only chance to get him back.