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by Black-Neko-Chan

Sing me a song lover. Sing to me of a close we almost had. Bakura x Marik

Woot, so this is my newest uber long oneshot! And I heart it a lot. Yeah, that's about all I have to say actually, eheheh. So anyways...

Disclaimer!: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! I really wish I did though.... It would be a nice Chirstmas present, no? XD

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Sing me a song lover.

00000

"Hey! Someone catch that kid! He stole my wallet!"

Bakura tore through the streets, clutching a worn leather wallet in a tightly clenched hand, ducking now to avoid a man's swinging briefcase, swerving between the legs of passerbys on the street. He chanced a look behind him and saw two men chasing after him with identical looks of stern determination in their beady eyes. Damn! He'd seen that look before. Those two had to be cops. Plain clothes, so he hadn't noticed them when he'd searched around before snatching the wallet.

Too many people were clogging the sidewalks, so Bakura darted into the street. He kept running, breath coming out in foggy puffs in front of his nose. He could still hear the cops behind him but the sound of their footsteps were half-obscured by the shrieks of people as they were pushed out of the way. Bakura turned his head, white hair temporarily blinding him before the wind moved it out of his eyes, to see just how far the two cops were behind him. The moment he located them he heard the honk of a car horn and barely swerved away from the incoming car in time.

Heart pounding but with no time to stop, Bakura kept running. He had to push people out of the way and dodge between their legs again now that he was back on the sidewalk, but he had no time to stop. The cops were gaining on him. He was just a kid, so of course he couldn't outrun them. He could only hope that maybe they would give up soon or lose him in the crowds.

A hand grabbed the sleeve of his thin blue coat and had dragged him into an alleyway before he was even quite sure of what happened, much less was able to break away. He was pushed roughly onto the ground against an old cardboard box and a smelly black sheet was thrown over him. He crinkled his nose and tried to get back up but again he was pushed to the ground. Growling to himself, Bakura tried to get up again and take off the smelly rag of a sheet, but someone quickly shushed him.

He heard footsteps run past and someone yell that "The white haired kid took a left on Center!" Then all was quiet for a few seconds, long enough for him to wonder what was going on, before the black sheet was taken off.

Bakura scrambled to his feet. "Look, if you're some kind of pedophile then I-" He started, then stopped when he saw who'd helped him.

A boy his age, surely no older than eight, was looking at him with the creepiest eyes Bakura had ever seen. They were some weird kind of purple, and they sort of glowed in the dark like a cat's. Sometimes, when he was looking in a dumpster for old clothes to wear or food to eat, there would be a cat in there too and he'd never know it until he saw its eyes. It was creepy. The kid also had dirty blond hair and tan skin. How that happened when it was the middle of winter Bakura didn't know.

"What do you want?" Bakura snarled, staring the kid down.

"They're gone now, but if you go back out there you should be careful," He said, voice a little nasally, like he had a cold. Well it was no wonder if he did. This kid was wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt with no coat, like he thought it was summer or something.

"Well duh. I already know that," Bakura said, making a face. He walked away from the boy with the creepy purple eyes and peeked out of the alleyway. Everything looked like it had settled down now. He looked at the alleyway again and saw the kid right there, standing beside him, looking at him.

"What do you want?! You want me to give you a reward or somethin'? Well I'm not gonna so get lost!" Bakura yelled harshly. The kid shrunk back and took a few steps away, then retreated back into the depths of the alley. Now that he was gone and those creepy eyes were no longer on him, Bakura could concentrate on getting away. The wallet was still tightly clenched in his hands and he shoved it into the pocket of his jeans before casually stepping out onto the street and calmly walking down the sidewalk like it hadn't been him who'd just been running away from two cops.

Now that all the ruckus had died down no one seemed to care that just a few moments earlier a man's wallet had been pickpocketed. No one noticed him, or if they did they said nothing. Bakura smiled.

00000

About a week later Bakura was walking down the same street again. His hands were on his belly, which was rounded and so full it almost hurt. In a good way of course. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten so much. He'd sure gotten lucky when he'd pickpocketed that guy's wallet. Most of the time when he did it he only got some yen and credit cards. He didn't know how to use those, so he threw them away and kept the yen. This guy actually didn't have a wallet full of plastic. His had been full of yen, and Bakura was just now getting to the end of it.

He felt good today. His tummy was full and he might even have enough money left to buy a new shirt. Life was good. At least, right up until he walked past a certain alley and heard noises coming from it. Curiosity piqued, Bakura scuttled down into the alleyway and quickly hid behind a large, rusted green dumpster that smelled funny when he was a group of boys.

Two boys were holding another back by his arms and a fourth punched him. The boy getting beat up was quiet and his blond head limply flopped down onto his chest with every punch. The two holding him back were laughing. The punches stopped suddenly and the fourth boy yanked the other's limp head roughly by his hair and forced him to meet his hard gaze. The boy's eyes fluttered open to reveal orbs of purple, and Bakura instantly recognized those eyes as belonging to the kid who had helped him before. Bakura's own eyes narrowed, but he stayed firmly put.

"Had enough yet you punk? You gonna tell us where you put our food yet freak?!" The leader of the group of boys sneered. The boy with the purple eyes said nothing, only lowered his head slowly in resignation and was punched again.

Another boy emerged from a cardboard box off to the side holding a brown package in both hands. He grinned and gave the leader a thumbs-up.

"I found it! Little freak had it hidden over there!" He yelled. The rest of the group cheered loudly and the leader boy punched the other again before the four of them ran away saying "The next time you steal from us we'll kill you!"

Bakura watched them leave and then turned to the creepy-eyed boy. He was standing with his head bowed, wavering slightly on his feet. Bakura sighed angrily, then stomped out of his hiding place and stormed over to the kid. He grabbed him by the shoulders and then those eyes were on him, locked with his own, and he shivered.

"Hey! Hey, are you okay kid?" He demanded, shaking the kid. The boy blinked, and then suddenly his eyes fluttered close and he passed out in Bakura's arms. Bakura took a step back and the kid almost fell to the floor. He strengthened his grip on the boy's shoulders and shook him again.

"Hey! Hey! Don't fall asleep on me!" Bakura growled. The boy didn't respond and, growling and grumbling to himself about his rotten luck, he laid the other boy on the ground. He touched his neck and felt a pulse under his fingertips, then got up and prepared to leave. The last thing he needed was for someone to decide to give a crap about the poor little orphan boys and mistake him for the one who'd beaten this kid up. He walked inconspicuously away, but before he reached the sidewalk he looked back at the kid he'd left. You could barely see him from this far away, but Bakura knew he was still just lying there in that dank, smelly alley. Growling again to himself, he turned and marched back to the unconscious boy.

He looked around the alley for something to lay the other on, but there wasn't much of anything available. He briefly considered trying to find something decent in the dumpster but no, it smelled too bad. Like something was rotten. Or dead. The only place left for consideration was the cardboard box. If that was where the creepy-eyed kid kept his stuff then maybe there would be something halfway decent in there.

All that was in the box was a thin, threadbare purple blanket. Finding nothing else that would suffice, Bakura took the old blanket and opened it up for the boy to lie on. As he spread it open he caught sight of something white fly out of the blanket and flutter down to the ground. Putting the blanket aside for the moment, he bent down and picked it up. It was a picture. The unconscious boy was in it but he was smiling and his purple eyes were wide and bright. There were two people with him, both tan and smiling like he was. The picture looked like it had been taken a while ago. It was crinkled and creased, like someone took it out to look at often.

Bakura put it back inside the box and concentrated on getting the boy atop the blanket instead of poking his nose into other people's business. The boy was lighter than he'd thought, and it was much easier to move him than he'd thought it would be. It felt like he was holding a bag of skin and bones rather than an actual person.

Once he settled the boy on the blanket he sat across from him against the wall of a building and watched him. He watched the rise and fall of his thin chest as the boy breathed, and he wondered why he was still here. Okay, so what if this kid had helped him out? It wasn't like Bakura owed him now or anything. He got the kid comfortable; that should be enough. There was no reason for him to stick around any longer. Either he would be okay or he wouldn't. That was how things went out here.

While Bakura pondered the reason as to why he hadn't yet left, the boy with the purple eyes slowly came to. His eyes fluttered open and then he sat up, looked around, and found Bakura.

"Finally woke up huh?" Bakura asked. The boy said nothing, only looked.

"So what, you can't talk now? Well whatever. Look, you helped me, I helped you, okay? So we're even now. You see me again, don't expect me to come running up to help you, got it?" Bakura asked, frowning. The boy just remained silent and so Bakura stood up, ready to leave. He took a few steps and the boy followed him. Bakura stopped.

"I did my job, okay?! So stop following me!" He yelled. The boy cringed slightly, but stayed put.

"Look, where do you live? Why don't you go home, huh?" He suggested impatiently. What was the deal with this kid?! The aforementioned kid shrugged and pointed to the alleyway. More specifically, the cardboard box.

"You live in a box?" Bakura asked, shocked. The kid nodded and Bakura just stared at him. Were it any other kid, he might have laughed. He wasn't a very nice person after all, and it was pretty funny. But somehow, laughing at this boy right after he'd been beaten up just didn't seem like the right thing to do.

"Well...," Bakura started getting an idea. He walked back to the box and took out the picture he'd been looking at earlier. "Who are they? Can't you go live with them?" The boy's eyes widened, then his head lowered and his dirty bangs covered up his eyes.

"That's my sister and brother. But I can't live with them anymore," The boy said sadly. His voice was still nasally, and he sniffled.

"Oh." Bakura didn't know what else to say. "I don't know who my parents are. I'm an orphan," He finally remarked. It was the only thing he could think of.

"I'm sorry."

Silence. Uncomfortable silence. Bakura shifted from one foot to the other, and the boy just stood there, still looking at him with his large, glow-in-the-dark cat eyes. He really wished the kid hadn't said that.

Bakura hated it when people apologized to him. None of them ever meant it. He could see it in their eyes. The words sounded nice, but they never reached the person's eyes. But they did reach this boy's eyes, Bakura saw with some surprise. He could see it there, illuminated in his creepy purple orbs. Genuine sorry. And suddenly, he had a crazy idea, something he normally wouldn't think of in a million years.

He grabbed the boy by a skinny wrist and ran out of the alleyway and into the street. He heard the kid gasp in surprise but he made no attempt to stop Bakura from leading him forward. They pushed their way past the legs and suitcases of the adults and then darted into the street and quickly dodged an incoming car. Bakura led them past the restaurant he had just bought food at and past the street where cops hung out the least. They climbed over the fence that separated the abandoned building from the rest of the streets and then climbed up a couple of boxes and slid in through a seemingly closed window.

And so Bakura showed the boy the place he called home.

00000

Bakura stormed away, furious. Marik was behind him, following him at a great distance but still following him. Ever since the day Bakura had met him in the alleyway three and a half years ago the kid had followed him around everywhere he went. Sometimes that could be a good thing (power in numbers you know, even if Marik was just a big sniveling pushover) but in most cases it was just downright annoying. Most days Bakura wished he had never met this purple-eyed kid and never told him that he could live in the abandoned building too, if he'd like. For most of his life Bakura had been by himself and he liked it that way. He didn't generally like people, especially not when they were constantly getting in his way and messing up his plans.

"Bakura...! Please wait!" Marik called from behind him. He didn't stop but Marik caught up to him anyways. The boy was fast when he wanted to be. Marik ran in front of him and stopped, forcing Bakura to stop as well, who crossed him arms and glared at the panting boy.

"I'm sorry Bakura. I didn't mean to-"

"Didn't mean to what? Mess everything up? Again?!" Bakura shouted. Marik flinched and his started gaze trailed down to the ground.

"I-I'm sorry.... You know I didn't.... I'm sorry...," He trailed off quietly.

"Stop apologizing! You know I hate that. And I don't care if you mean to or not, you always mess up! Always! Do you want to eat Marik? Do you want food? You need food to live, right? And how do we get our food?" Bakura asked, sneering. Marik shuffled slowly, still looking at the ground. He had begun to talk a lot more now than he had when they first met, but he was still very timid and introverted. He didn't like to be scolded and Bakura knew this, but he really didn't care. If yelling was needed to make him finally stop screwing up then so be it.

"We need money...," Marik said slowly.

"Correct! And how do we get our money Marik?" Bakura questioned.

"We... steal it," Marik answered.

"Right! So why then, if you need food to eat and money to get food, would you constantly mess up my plans to steal money?! Do you want starve Marik?!" Marik didn't answer and Bakura scoffed, disgusted. The problem with Marik was that he had no spine. He was a baby and a coward and worst yet, a goody-two shoe. He didn't like stealing or fighting and would rather allow someone to beat him or to starve until someone felt enough pity for him to give him food. He was the complete opposite of how Bakura himself was, and he honestly didn't know how he had put up with the purple-eyed kid for this long already.

"You know what Marik, why don't you just leave? All you ever do is mess me up. I'm hungry and I need to eat. So why don't you just leave me alone and go dance for food or something?" Bakura spat. Marik looked up at him quickly with a shine to his eyes that appeared suspiciously as if he were about to cry. Bakura turned away, disgusted with the other's weakness, and started down the street for a new place to rob. After Marik's mess up here people would be more careful with their things, and that meant it would be harder for him to pick-pocket someone without being noticed.

"And don't you dare follow me!" He shouted out as an afterthought. To his surprise he didn't hear the familiar muffled noise of Marik's feet following after him. He chanced a look behind him and saw Marik standing there alone and forlorn, like a puppy dog that had been abandoned by its master. Bakura smirked to himself, thinking that maybe now he could steal something without having to worry about the other kid.

He walked casually away from the spot he'd been looking at before and headed down another street. This was where the slightly dubious stored rested. The older, creepy looking ones that sold storage items and barely ever had customers. There was a trick store and a fortune-teller who also read palms, an old game store, a small little convenient store, and a couple of places that sold other weird stuff like voodoo dolls and crystal balls. None of the stores would be loaded with money of course, but there were never any policemen here so it was the ideal spot for a robbery.

Bakura looked around for a little while before walking into one of the stores that sold mumbo-jumbo kind of magic stuff. A bell tinkled over his head as he stepped inside but no one came out to greet him. He looked around and it didn't appear as if anyone was in here at all. He shrugged to himself and wandered around. After all, if no one was here it would only be easier for him to rob the place.

He passed a stand with three shrunken heads on it that interested him greatly. He eyed them carefully and even touched one of them. The skin felt leathery and the hair was coarse and dry, like straw. He shivered and moved on. Next up was a bin of hands, and he briefly wondered who in their right mind would buy one of those before going to the next stand. There were a ton of crystal balls on this one. Dust coated then and Bakura wondered if the store was perhaps abandoned. That thought made his belly rumble. If it was abandoned and he would steal all this stuff and sell it...

Next he went up to the front desk. There was a bell on it but he stayed away from that and instead snuck behind the desk to where the cash register was. He looked at it doubtfully. If this place was abandoned then there was no way there would be any money in it, so it was probably stupid to look anyways. But still.... Bakura poised a hesitant finger over the key pad of the cash register and pressed the button he assumed would open it.

It opened with a ching! sound and Bakura stared in amazement at the money inside. For a moment he couldn't move, and then the blood reached his brain again and he grabbed the money and stuffed it into the pockets of his old pants. Then he bolted, knocking over a stand as he left and sending whatever had been on it dashing to the ground with a horrible crash!

His heartbeat pounded in his ears and adrenaline pushed him forward. He had just grabbed onto the handle of the door when a strong hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked him. He fell on his butt to the floor and then was suddenly up in the air and being carried into a room in the back of the store and pushed into a chair.

"Hello, little thief."

Bakura bolted from the chair and headed for the door. A hand grabbed for him and he dodged it but the second one snatched him and tossed him back into the chair as if he were nothing more than a weightless rag. He struggled to get away but the hand came at him again and suddenly there was a flash of white light and then pain. As blood slowly trickled down his forehead Bakura belatedly realized that he'd been hit by whoever this person was and began to feel afraid.

"Let go of me!" He yelled, no longer struggling now for fear that he might be hit again. He looked up at the person who was keeping him here and saw it was a big, beefy, greasy-looking man. His thick bushy eyebrows made him beady eyes look menacing, and an unbidden shiver ran down his spine.

"Let you go?! That's a funny request!" The man laughed loudly, but that sounded scary too, and Bakura wondered if maybe this was the way Marik felt when other kids laughed at him, maybe this was why he never did anything back to them, maybe he was afraid. Bakura usually laughed at how much of a wimp he was, but right now Bakura couldn't laugh because right now he felt like the wimp.

"Now why would I let you go when you have something of mine?" The big man boomed so loudly that Bakura actually flinched.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about! I don't have anything!" Bakura yelled, voice trembling.

"No?"

"No!"

"Then tell me little thief, what's this?" One of those big hands shot down at him and Bakura clamped his eyes shut. He felt the hand brush against his leg and he knew that if this man really wanted to he could probably snap his leg in two. The hand reached into one pocket after another and took out the money he had put there. When the hands went away Bakura opened his eyes again and saw the man smiling a terrifying smile at him. "Thought you didn't steal anything?"

"I didn't! That's mine!" Bakura protested. Quick as a flash the man punched him again. A whimper escaped his lips and now blood was getting in his eyes and his hair and was dripping from it onto his clothes and his skin. He had to keep wiping his eyes, and his forehead hurt now and the pain was distracting. Every time he moved the man glared at him like he thought he would try to escape again.

"You're as bad of a liar as you are a thief. And you know what? You need to be punished," The man said lowly, eyes narrowing. He turned around and walked to the other side of the room to a desk and opened a drawer. Bakura's eyes strayed to the door that would lead him away from this man but he didn't budge. He wanted to run away but if he did he would be caught and hit again. He was too small and too slow to get away. The man would catch him and hurt him again, he knew it.

"You see, you aren't the first person who's tried to steal from me. They see my store and they think that it'll be an easy target. So they touch my things with their dirty, grimy paws and put my things into their pockets or shirts. And you know what I do?" The man asked, pausing his search to look Bakura straight in the eye. And Bakura thought to himself that no, he did not want to know what this man did. "I yell at them, maybe rough them up a bit if I'm in a rotten mood, and then I let them go. But that doesn't work. They wait until the bruises are gone and then they're back at it again. Little cretins."

The man stopped talking for a moment and concentrated solely on searching through the drawer. Blood dripped into his eye again and it stung and made his vision go red. Bakura wiped at his eye, but now the world as seen from his right eye was swimming beneath a film of red. He looked at the door and again thought of running while his captor was distracted but never did.

"Here we are," The man muttered, drawing Bakura's attention back to him. He walked back to the child in the chair, holding something behind his back. "Do you know what the punishment for thievery used to be? Before all of these child protection laws were created? And eye for an eye. And a hand for a hand. You steal from a man, you also steal from his livelihood, his money, his ability to feed his wife and children. You steal his dignity and pride as a man. So when thieves like yourself were caught, that thief lost the hand he tried to steal with." The man lifted what was behind his back. Bakura's eyes widened as he saw the huge, gleaming butcher's knife, and his heart skipped a beat before pounding away like crazy. Now he knew that he should have tried to run away before, even if it had been unlikely that he'd make it, because he wouldn't get another chance like that again. Fear had clamped down all around him and paralyzed him. Only his eyes could move, and one was still seeing through the red of his own blood.

"You-you can't! You can't do that!" Bakura shrieked, hyperventilating. His small body shook and his breath came out in sort, ragged gasps. The man laughed at him

"And why not? You're just some kid off the streets, some orphan no one's looking for. No one is going to care about what happens to you because you have no one. So I can do whatever I'd like!" He laughed. He brought the huge blade down slowly, and rested it on the wrist of his left hand. Bakura looked from him to the knife, then back at him. There was an odd gleam in his black, constricted eyes, and somewhere in the back on his mind Bakura's brain registered that it was madness. He didn't know how he knew, just that he was seeing madness for the first time.

"You can't! You can't!" Bakura protested fervently. And then he screamed as the man began to push down on the knife and its sharp blade instantly sliced through his flesh. Hot blood quickly coated his hand and the arm on the chair and he screamed as the man pushed down harder and harder, ever so slowly.

And suddenly the pain stopped and the man was looking confused and the knife was lying on the floor, bloody now. Bakura was pulled from the chair and he cried out as the pain assaulted him. The man was furious and yelling, his angry voice louder than anything Bakura had ever heard before. Then he was out of the store and back on the street and soon in an alleyway at the man ran past, still yelling.

"Here." A shirt was offered to him and Bakura looked up at the person who had saved him

"Ma-Marik?" He questioned feebly. Marik nodded and offered the shirt again. It was Marik's shirt, Bakura saw, and he stared at it blankly.

"The bleeding needs t o be stopped. It needs to be bandaged too, but this is all we've got right now," Marik said with a frown, nose crinkling. Bakura continued to look at him blankly, and Marik gently took his injured hand. He hissed in pain and Marik offered him an apologetic look, then wrapped the hand in his shirt. The blood soaked through it and stained Marik's tanned hands, turning them red.

"You came back," Bakura said, voice raspy. His throat ached from the screaming he'd done. Marik looked up at him with his deep purple eyes, then dropped them quickly and continued to wrap up his hand.

"Of course I did. I figured you'd get into trouble by yourself," He said solemnly.

"I... I was scared," Bakura whispered. Even now his body was still shaking and his breathing irregular. He was still sweating, and he kept a look on the entrance to the alleyway with his good eye, expecting any moment to see the man with the butcher's knife come back to finish what he started. Marik looked him over again, then stood up. Bakura followed his lead.

"Come on," Marik said, and he gestured to the street.

"Where are we going?" Bakura questioned.

"We have to get that properly bandaged. Or it'll get an infection" He answered. Bakura stopped.

"How, huh? How are we supposed to do that? We don't have any money! We can't go to a hospital! No one will take care of us because no one cares about us!" He yelled abruptly. Then he broke down completely and began to cry. The man's words echoed in his head and he was right. No one would have cared if his hand had been chopped off and no one cared now either. If anyone cared in the first place he wouldn't have even needed to go to that store.

"Bakura..." He heard his name and then felt skinny arms hesitantly wrap themselves around his own thin shoulders. He felt Marik's hair brush against his neck and felt Marik's hot breath tickle his ear. He could feel the rise and fall of his chest against his arm and could feel the beating of his heart. Marik held him and he cried because he'd been afraid and because he'd been hurt and because he had no one other than Marik to comfort him. Marik stayed silent and still the whole time, allowing Bakura to cry until he could do so no more.

When the tears had stopped he broke away from Marik's embrace, embarrassed by the fact that he'd actually cried. The tears had helped to clear away some of the blood in his eye though. He looked at Marik as if daring him to say anything about what had just past.

"Come on. We still need to get your hand looked at and I know someone who can help," Marik said, fortunately not saying anything awkward. Bakura nodded and wiped his eyes and cheeks to make sure that there was no more evidence of what he'd done before he left the safety of the alley. You never knew who could be out there, and if any of the kids who lived around here saw him crying his reputation would be in ruins.

"What are you going to do about your shirt?" Bakura asked suddenly, blinking as he fully realized that the shirt Marik had so thoughtfully wrapped around his injured hand and was doing a good job of soaking up the sticky blood was also the same shirt he'd been wearing. Marik shrugged and smiled, purple eyes lighting up brightly.

"I'll have to find another one I guess. It's summer so I don't think it'll really matter," He answered. Bakura didn't say anything else. He would rather not run around without a shirt but if Marik wanted to then that was his choice. The two of them stepped out of the alley and Marik took lead, silently maneuvering them through the street as he took them both to wherever it was they were headed.

Bakura kept his injured hand close to his body so no one would bump it. It was still hurting, worse now than before, and he bit his lip to keep himself quiet. His forehead had stopped bleeding and the blood in his white hair and on his clothes had dried. He had forgotten to try and wipe it all off before going out into the street but no one really seemed to care. A few people looked at him but no one tried to stop him or to offer him their help. It was true. No one cared, did they? No one cared about a couple of orphan boys.

"That's not true. I care Bakura. I care about you..."

When he'd still been crying Marik had whispered that softly into his ear, almost hesitantly. Bakura thought about that as he gazed at the bare, bronzed back of Marik. No, that wasn't true. Marik cared. He must have. For all the things that about Marik that bugged him, the kid did have his good points. He was loyal obviously. He had come back. And he had given Bakura his shirt. It was hard to find clothes that were still usable in the trash, but despite that Marik had given it to him anyways. Not only that, but Marik had actually challenged the man and helped him get away. Cowardly, babyish Marik who would rather run then get into a fight. It was like he had gone through a full transformation.

"Is it still bleeding?" Marik asked suddenly.

"Yeah," Bakura nodded.

"Just hold on. We're almost there now," Marik said. He nodded again and kept moving. The houses and stores they were walking in front of had slowly begun to look new and no longer run down and messy. The houses were bigger and nice looking with trimmed lawns and manicured landscapes. There were no more trash-littered streets and dark alleyways and the people walking around look nicer, appearance-wise anyways. They still looked at Bakura's bloody hair and Marik's shirtlessness with disgust, but none of them made any attempt to find out if anything was wrong or to inquire about what had happened.

Marik came to a stop in front of a big, impressive house, and Bakura wondered if he knew the people inside. Instead of heading to the front door Marik snuck around the back, motioning for Bakura to be quiet and to follow him. There was a smaller, shed-like house around the back, and it was the door of this house that Marik went to and knocked on. The door opened soon enough and a bald, tan man that Bakura recognized as being in Marik's photo emerged from inside. He took one good look at Marik and then immediately collapsed to his knees and threw his arms around the young boy.

"Marik-sama!" He cried out, overjoyed.

"Hello Rishid," Marik greeted softly, smiling. Bakura watched the two of them interest, now very curious as to what was going on and how Marik knew this person. They were close, that much was obvious. He'd never seen Marik smile in such a genuine way before. His eyes were sparkling warmly and he didn't seem to have a care in the world. That happiness annoyed him and he coughed loudly to break the two of them up. He was the one who needed attention here.

"Come in quickly. You father is out with Isis, but he could come back at any time and see you," The bald tan man said, ushering them into the small shack-house.

"This is my friend Bakura, Rishid. He's hurt and needs help," Marik said. The man, Rishid, looked at Bakura and did a double take, like he was seeing him for the first time. And probably was too. Up until this moment his eyes hadn't left the form of Marik once.

"I'll go get a first aid kit. Wait here and don't leave," Rishid instructed.

"Who's that?" Bakura asked the very moment after Rishid left the house.

"My brother Rishid. I used to live here with him and my sister and father. But then I had to leave, and now I'm not supposed to go here anymore," Marik said shortly, frowning.

"Why not?"

"Because my father doesn't like me. When I was born my mother died, and my father loved her a lot. Whenever Father looks at me he thinks of her and then gets sad and angry and yells. Isis says it's not his fault that he loved her so much and that he can't help it when he yells. She said that he doesn't want to but he can't stop and so I can't get mad at him because he doesn't mean to. Sometimes I forget that and get angry at him and then he yells even more. He gets angry at Rishid and Isis too. So I ran away. I love Isis and Rishid and my father and I don't want anyone to be sad or angry because of me. So I left," Marik explained, slowly smiling softly. Bakura crinkled his eyebrows and frowned, staring at Marik strangely. Why was he smiling? If it were him, Bakura thought he'd be pissed, not smiling in such a weird way.

Rishid chose this moment to come back in through the door and now Marik's awkward smile was replaced with a regular one. The change between the two smiles was too quick, and Bakura eyed the other boy carefully even as Rishid led him to a chair and put on a light to better see his hand. Marik was lying. His smile was a fake one. Not the first one, the strange one, that had been real, but the one he was wearing now, it was completely fake.

It wasn't for a couple of years that Bakura truly understood just how conflicted Marik must have been here and just how much pain he had to have felt. It had been almost four years since Marik had last seen his adopted brother. When Bakura had first met him Marik had already been on the streets for a few months and up until that point his life had been horrible. Bakura became his first friend and that made things better, but his new life was still much worse than the one he'd lived in his father's house. Seeing his brother again had made Marik yearn to have that life back and be close to his loved ones again. But he decided to leave again, and that decision showed just how mature Marik was for his age, even back then. He would rather forsake his own happiness and the life he could have had for his family. Bakura wasn't able to understand all of this at his young age, but even then he had sensed it. He'd known there was something wrong with Marik's smile.

His thoughts were interrupted as he screamed from the onslaught of pain uncovering his wounded hand had dealt him. He screwed his eyes tightly shut when he felt pinpricks of tears at his eyes and clamped his lips together to keep from screaming any more while Rishid did his work. Whimpers of pain escaped him but he could not muster up enough strength to care. A small, comforting hand was placed on his shoulder, Marik's hand, but after a while he barely felt it as the only thing his brain concentrated on was the pain and his fervent wish to not feel it.

After Rishid had bandaged his hand he gave him a Tylenol to take away the pain. At some point in time he had also gotten a new shirt for Marik. Bakura sat there and rested while the other two talked, about what he did not know. He was focused solely on the slowly receding pain and not on whatever it was Marik and his brother were discussing. It didn't last for too long however and soon Marik was saying that the two of them should probably leave.

"Marik-sama, please stay. Isis would be so happy to see you again, and neither of us can bear the idea of you living by yourself out there," Rishid pleaded as they were getting ready to leave.

"I'm not alone. I've got Bakura," Marik said, smiling again in his fake way. Bakura wondered if his brother had caught that.

"Marik-sama, please..."

"I can't Rishid. It'll make Father angry again. I'm fine," He insisted, still smiling.

"But you're so skinny.... I should give you some money," Rishid muttered to himself and then began digging around, presumably looking for money. Bakura's ears picked up at that sentence, but Marik interjected.

"That's fine Rishid. You don't make much as it is, so you'll need what you have. I'm fine. We should get going now, before Father comes home. Okay Rishid?" He asked.

"If you insist, Marik-sama.... Before you go, know that no matter what, your sister and I love you, and we wish things didn't have to be like this. She'll be so happy to know that you're okay. Remember that we love you, and if you ever need anything you can come to us," Rishid said.

"I will."

00000

He had messed up. He had really messed up. Messed up big. Maybe even the worst he'd ever messed up in his short, fourteen years of life. Sure, he'd made mistakes, everyone did, but none of them had ever resulted in his being shot before.

Bakura stumbled as he ran, hand over his right shoulder, blood staining the blue shirt he wore. It should have been a simple store robbery. He needed money and food, a couple of other kids had needed money and food, so the bunch of them had banded together to rob a store. They'd taken the money and ran until they were further away and could split it up. Simple enough, but what Bakura hadn't known was that there weren't just a bunch of random kids off the street who'd decided to rob a store together. They were all friends and he was the outsider. When he'd demanded his share one of the younger ones, fourteen like him, had pulled out a handgun and shot him. Fourteen and with full knowledge of how to use a gun and being in possession of one. That's how you knew this world was fucked up.

Bakura had ran in the direction of the abandoned building he lived in. He didn't know what else to do; he'd never been shot before. The only other grave injury he could remember having was three years ago when he'd almost gotten his damn hand cut off, and even that he hadn't taken care of. Marik had, and it'd never gotten infected once. The only reminder of its existence was a faint white line of his left wrist.

Climbing in through the window was agony. The older he got the smaller the window seemed to get, and each time he went in or out of it, it was more of a struggle. Trying to get in hurt his shoulder like hell, and he let out a strangled cry of pain. Marik must have been home and heard it, for when he finally got in he was there, hair still flowing as he came to a stop, lilac eyes wide and instantly alert. He was out of breath, like he'd been running, and Bakura didn't doubt that he had been.

"Bakura! You're bleeding! Where are you hurt?" Marik rapid-fired. He approached quickly and before Bakura was sure he had even processed all of that, much less came up with an answer, Marik had moved his bloodied hand, gentle even in his distress.

"You were shot?" He asked weakly, eyes reconnecting with Bakura's. His face had gone ashy and for a terrible second Bakura thought he was going to faint.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks," Bakura responded, trying somehow to make light out of the situation.

"You need to go to the hospital," Marik said slowly, then he broke away and began rapidly pacing the room. "You need to go to the hospital and that needs to be looked at and taken care of because if it's not-"

"Marik!" Bakura called, interrupting the boy's rambling. Marik was distressed and upset and when he was like this both his mind and his mouth worked overtime. "Marik, did you forget that we have no way to get to a hospital? And even if we did, how are we supposed to pay the bill? We don't have any money."

"I'll think of something. But you have to go. This isn't just something that will go away if we leave it alone!" Marik insisted, voice rising an octave higher. His eyes were wide and his voice nervous and Bakura saw with some surprise that this wasn't just a normal one of Marik's fits but that the other boy was genuinely freaked out right now.

Marik left the room, mumbling something to himself, and came back with the very same old purple threadbare blanket he'd had back when they first met. That blanket was Marik's favorite one. He'd had it since he was a baby. Apparently his mother had bought it for him before he was born. He bunched the blanket up and prepared to put it on Bakura's wounded shoulder, but Bakura pulled away viciously before he could.

"What are you doing? You'll ruin it," Bakura said, surprised. Marik gazed at the blanket and then looked back at him, eyes conflicted.

"It's the only thing we have. The bleeding needs to be stopped and I don't think a shirt will cover it this time. Just take it," Marik said thickly and shoved the blanket at him. Bakura took it gratefully and without saying another word pressed it to his shoulder. He hissed in pain and blood immediately began to stain the soft fabric.

"Come on, we've got to go now. Keep that pressed tightly against the wound. Hopefully it will stop the bleeding," Marik said, eyes unfocused and voice certainly not portraying the hopeful optimism he was going for. Marik slid through the window, going fairly easily through it because of his lithe and slender body, and with a grimace Bakura slid through it too, with some help from Marik. Even so, his shoulder still banged against the side of the window and he uttered a yelp of pain. Marik was instantly at his side, more concerned then Bakura could ever recall him being before.

"Are you okay?" He asked, voice positively overflowing with his worry.

"Well aside from the pain and the bleeding I'm fine!" Bakura snapped. Marik appeared hurt for a moment. It passed quickly enough, and his expression reverted back to a semi-normal, albeit frantic, state of being. He half ran to the street, motioning for Bakura to follow him. He did so, unsure of how exactly Marik was planning on getting him to the hospital but willing to follow him anyways.

"Hey!" Marik it seemed had managed to gain the attention of a cab driver, and now the tell-tale yellow car was idling there as Bakura came closer. "We need a ride to the nearest hospital. My friend here has been shot and he needs a doctor to take a look at it quickly. We don't have any money but could you please... -Hey!" The cab had driven off, and now Marik was yelling at its retreating form furiously.

"What the fuck?! He needs help you god-damned asshole!" Marik screamed. He tried again to nab another cab but that ended in the same result. He screamed some more, and Bakura watched him with acute interest. Maybe it was because he was still losing blood rather quickly, but Marik suddenly seemed like the most engaging person he'd ever met. In just a few minutes Marik's mood had gone from distressed to pleading, then to angry and furious, back to pleading and then angry again, and now he was downright depressed. The seamless changes were amazing.

Now Marik was becoming hopefully optimistic as an older woman approached the two of them.

"Excuse me, but did the two of you need a ride somewhere?" She questioned nicely. Marik all but jumped on her.

"Yes! My friend here was shot and he's losing blood rather quickly. We need to get to a hospital and have a doctor look at him and we desperately need a ride there. Is there any way that you can please help us?" Marik questioned hopefully.

"Oh my! How horrible! Of course I'll take you there. Hurry, hurry, get in the car and I'll take you there as fast as I can," She said, quickly ushering them toward her car. Marik thanked her and then jumped behind Bakura and helped him into the car. It was stuffy and smelled like flowers. Bakura crinkled his nose and opened his mouth to remark about this to the other boy, but the look on Marik's face prevented him from doing such an action. He looked even paler now, and his leg was rapidly moving up and down. His lilac eyes were set fixedly upon the road with such determination it seemed he readily believed that he could will the car to move faster.

They reached the hospital within twenty minutes and the moment the car had stopped enough for a person to safely step out of the car Marik was out of it.

"Do you want me to come in with you dears?" The older woman asked. Marik waved her off as he helped Bakura out of the car.

"No thank you. Thanks for everything you've done. I don't know how we could have gotten here without you," He smiled. The lady fell for it but Bakura could see the urgency and hurry in Marik's eyes that the woman failed to see. He wanted to be in that hospital already and was only standing here exchanging pleasantries for the sake of this woman. He could see that clearly, but not one else ever could. If Marik talked to someone nicely then they thought that he was nice, but only Bakura could see the superficiality there. That kindness was surface level only, never going and deeper. Marik only showed the full depth of his lilac eyes to Bakura.

Only to me, he realized, for the first time, and then absurdly felt like bursting out into laughter. His insane urge was disrupted by Marik tugging his good arm and half-dragging him into the hospital. They burst in through the glass doors and Bakura heard gasps all around them as Marik stormed to the desk. It was no wonder. He was still bleeding and it looked like Marik hadn't thought to go to the emergency room.

"Excuse me, but we need help. My friend here has been shot and he's bleeding," Marik said urgently, barely able to retrain his voice to a normal level.

"Yes, we'll help him as soon as we can. I'll go get a doctor for your friend and maybe you can get his parents to fill out a couple of papers for us sweetie," The receptionist said, smiling for such a serious subject.

"We don't have any parents," Marik said shortly through gritted teeth. His patience was obviously wearing thin.

"Well that's a problem. I'm afraid we can't do anything without his medical and billing information filled out first," The woman said, still smiling, though a bit less now. Marik's eyes widened, then he lowered his head and his golden bangs covered his eyes. His fists clenched and his arms shook.

"What?"

"I said that we can't do-"

"No!" Marik's clenched fist slammed into the wall the receptionist sat behind. He raised his head and now his lilac eyes were burning with fury. "No no no!" With each yell he punched the wall again. "Why don't any of you understand that he's hurt?! He's hurt! He needs help, even if we don't have any money! Why doesn't anyone understand that?!"

"Please clam down! I'm sorry but-"

"NO!" Marik screamed. Bakura, who up until the screaming had started had been staring blindly at a section of wall (the loss of blood was doing strange things to his mind, making even the most inane of objects seem fascinating) now looked at Marik sharply. He wasn't the only one either. All of the young mothers with their babies and the sick and injured and old were looking too. Upon hearing Marik's screams the babies that hadn't already been fussing now began to start and the room was filled with their screams and cries.

"Oh please stop! You're making a scene!" The woman cried, smile finally leaving her face as she walked out from behind her desk. She went behind them and quickly ushered them into an empty room and shut the door behind her. Instantly the crying stopped and Bakura gratefully removed hands he hadn't even realized he'd raised from his ears. His shoulder stung and for a split second he thought his vision turned fuzzy. If it had then the moment had passed now, but just in case he leaned tentatively against the bed they made the patients lie in for checkups.

"I'm sorry, but in order for us to do anything we need your friend's medical and billing information. If you could fill out his medical sheet that would be fine, but we need a name and address of a person to send the bill to. If you can't get this and continue to make a scene then I'm afraid I'll have to call security. I'd like to help but without this information there's nothing I can do," The woman explained, frowning sternly.

"Wrong. You can help. You can help or I swear I'll fucking kill you, you worthless bitch," Marik growled lowly. Bakura's eyes widened. Suddenly he was back in the old magic store again, the place where the crazy man had tried to chop off his hand–

("Hello little thief.")

–and he was frozen in the chair, unable to do anything but watch at the shiny butcher blade came crashing down on his wrist. He looked up into the man's eyes, his black, beady, constricted eyes, right at the blade was coming down. He looked up into them

(and saw madness, madness oh god he was crazy, he was crazy and he was really going to do it, he was going to cut his hand off, cut off his fucking hand! and it would bleed everywhere, everywhere, red everywhere on the floor and on the chair and in his eye and half the world was red, crazy red, angry red, mad as a hatter and he was really going to do it and he was right when he said no one would care, because who cares about two little orphans? who cares if they live or die, only Marik cared but Marik was red too, Marik's hands had been stained red and Marik was red too, as red as his one eye was red and oh god his fucking hand!)

and saw that strange odd gleam they had. And with a sickening certainty Bakura knew that even though he could not see Marik's face from this angle the other boy would have the same calculating gleam in his lilac eyes. Bakura jumped up from the bed he'd been leaning against and harshly grabbed Marik and spun him around, ignoring the protesting fiery pain in his own shoulder.

"Bakura?" Marik questioned. His eyes were wide and uncertain but there was no gleam to them, no redness. Bakura let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. If he'd seen the redness again he thought he might have just gone mad himself.

"What are you doing Marik?! I told you that they wouldn't take us without any money! And if for some reason they decided to forget about the money problem and take care of me anyways it's not going to happen when you're threatening the fucking receptionist! What's wrong with you?!" He yelled, shaking Marik's slender body. He winced as his shoulder throbbed and Marik caught that instantly.

"Bakura, I'm sorry.... I...," He started uncertainly. His eyes trailed from Bakura's grimace to his injured shoulder and suddenly his gaze was as hard as amethysts. He broke from Bakura's grip and turned back to the receptionist.

"I need a phone. I can get the information you want," Marik stated with determination.

"Alright. There's a phone on the wall there," The woman said, somewhat taken aback by the abrupt mood change in Marik's demeanor. Bakura watched with interest as Marik grabbed the phone and dialed a number. He waited for it to be picked up and when it finally was a look of intense discomfort flashed across his tanned face before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"Can I talk to Rishid? Okay. ...Hello Rishid. Yes... I know... it's been a long time. Ah... no. He didn't realize it was me. He just gave the phone to you. Okay.... Okay, I know. I will. ...Actually, I have a question to ask. Do you remember Bakura? Well... we've run into some trouble. Um... do you think I could sent you a hospital bill? We don't have any money.... I-I'm sorry but.... Really? ...Thank you Rishid. You have no idea how thankful I am. I have to go now.... Yes. ...I'll try. Thank you again. Goodbye. I love you Rishid."

Throughout the conversation Marik's emotions changed several times. The discomfort made another appearance as well as brief anger, embarrassment, and pain. He wore a perfect poker-face the entire length of the conversation, but it was in his eyes Bakura could see these feelings. Marik's entire thought process could be deduced just from his eyes and the emotions in them. Bakura read all of this, and his mind flashed back again to the first and only time he'd seen Marik together with his brother. He'd been so happy then, and Bakura wondered why he saw none of the same happiness this time. What had happened to take that away?

Marik gave the information to the receptionist, who now scuttled off quickly to get a doctor. Once she left, the room was eerily silent. Marik stood still by the phone, head down, bangs in his eyes. Bakura walked to him, looking at him curiously.

"Hey Marik," He said. The elicited no response from Marik, who continued to stand by the wall with the phone. "Marik? Hey Marik!" Marik said nothing. Bakura glared and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him again. "What's your problem Marik?!"

He spun Marik around and saw that he was crying silently. Tear were falling freely from his expressive lilac eyes and trailing down his cheeks. Bakura's glare disappeared and his grip on Marik's shoulders, which were now shaking, loosened. He took a step back from the boy, surprised and confused. He suddenly had no idea what was going on. Up until now he hadn't been paying much attention, but he didn't think the events that had happened could cause Marik to begin crying. Even now Marik was still a wimp and a bit of a baby, but still.... What had happened?

"I'm so worried Bakura...," Marik whispered, head down again and eyes obscured even more. He took a few unsteady, lurching steps to the center of the room and crumpled to the floor like a thrown out old doll. "I-I keep th-thinking that they're gonna-gonna turn us away a-and not help you. A-and if they don't help, what are we gonna do Ba-Bakura? I-It'll get infected and then you'll die! And what am I supposed to d-do then? What am I supposed to do without you?"

He was no longer trying to hide his crying but was sobbing outright. Bakura stared at him, completely taken aback and confused was to what exactly was going on and what he should do about it. He'd seen Marik cry before but never had it been like this. This was the whole range of emotions the other boy had felt just in the past hour put together and grown to fruition, and Bakura had no idea what to do to stop this outpouring of emotion.

"You're m-my only friend. The first and only one I've e-ever had.... Y-You're my family! What am I supposed to do without you Bakura? What do I do? I won't-I won't have anyone else. N-not my brother or my sister or e-even my father.... Th-that was him on the phone, and he didn't even notice.... H-He didn't even notice it was his own son on the phone! I need you Bakura! You can't leave! You-you just can't! ...I-I love you.... I have since the first moment I saw you... Bakura..."

Bakura stared at him. The broken young boy sitting in a crumpled heap in the center of the floor who had just confessed his love to him. The same boy he'd known since he was seven and a half. The same boy who'd helped him when he had been in trouble in the past with the big man and was trying to help him now. Marik was still crying and sniffling softly to himself, and Bakura wanted to help him now but he didn't know what to do. Normally he would just tell at him to knock it off, but Marik had just told him he loved him. No one else had ever told him that before, and he was scared. He was just an orphan boy off the streets who stole for a living. He'd heard plenty of people tell him plenty of different things, but no one had ever told him that.

He took a few steps toward Marik and knelt down on the ground. The other boy raised his head and looked at him. Tears flowed out of his crystalline eyes and suddenly Marik didn't look so old and mature anymore. Now he looked like a small child who had lost his way and was afraid.

"Ba...ku...ra...," Marik whispered, sniffling. Only half-aware of what he was doing, Bakura placed his hands on either side of Marik's tear-stained cheeks. He raised Marik's head toward his, then lowered his own and met Marik's lips with his. Marik gasped and out of some kind of instinct Bakura pushed his tongue through those parted lips and explored the mouth of the other.

He barely acknowledged the receptionist when she came back in with a startled cry of "Oh!" Maybe he did it because of the blood lose and the affect it was having on his head. It made the world fuzzy and it was hard to concentrate on things. Maybe that was the reason, but as the rest of his trip to the hospital flew by in a seamless plethora of colors and voices, the one thing he was able to remember clearly were Marik's eyes. And the tears in them.

He didn't know why he kissed Marik, or what he was supposed to about that afterwards. Having never witnessed or really felt what love was like, or what it was like to be loved, Bakura went off what instinct and his body told him. He and Marik eventually discovered the joys of sex and Bakura decided that if that was what love was and what it felt like and looked like, then he was in love. But love was a complex and alien idea to him, completely befuddling, and at times he wondered if that was really what he felt. Especially at night when Marik told him again and again how he loved him, and Bakura lay silently staring at the ceiling and wondered why he couldn't say the same thing.

00000

"Bakura!"

An annoyingly cheerful voice shot through Bakura's head and his sleep, forcing him to wake up and pop his head out of the cocoon of a blanket he'd wrapped around himself to keep the cold coming off the floor from seeping in. He growled; Marik was back.

"You're still sleeping?! I left three hours ago! Come on, get up lazy. I've got a surprise for you." Marik kicked him none too gently in the side and with another growl Bakura emerged completely from the blanket and glared at the blonde standing above him.

"Well I had a long night so my sleeping in is perfectly justifiable," Bakura grumbled. Marik smirked and leaned over, then poked him square in the forehead.

"Well I had a long night too but you don't see me complaining. Now come on, I have a surprise for you," Marik said. Bakura grinned to himself as a wicked idea formed in his mind. He grabbed the other teen by the ankle and pulled him forward, causing Marik's smirk to transform into surprise as he fell and landed with an "Umph!" on top of Bakura and the blanket. Slightly winded but certainly not giving up on his plan, Bakura rolled over and climbed atop the other boy, straddling him.

"So, would this be the surprise then?" Bakura teased, running his long fingers up and down the other's slightly exposed torso. He licked his lips sensually and leaned down to connect his mouth with Marik's, instantly pushing his probing tongue into the other's mouth. He lifted Marik's shirt up further and lightly ran a finger up the middle of his abdomen. He felt Marik shiver and then moan into the kiss, which Bakura broke suddenly. He kissed the corner of Marik's lips and then the contour of his cheek before moving to the junction of his neck and collarbone and lightly bit the skin there. Marik moaned again, then regretfully shifted on the floor, making Bakura look up at him questioningly.

"Okay, time to get your hands out of my shirt now," Marik instructed. He was trying to look stern but the corner of his mouth curled upward into a smile, completely ruining the look he was going for.

"But I don't want to," Bakura pouted, cocking his head to the side.

"Well unfortunately you're going to have to. I've got something to show you," Marik said, serious now. Sighing, Bakura rolled off the other and allowed him to escape, which he did so. Bakura watched him smooth his shirt and hair down for a minute, then got up and put some clothes on, going extra slow and pretending not to notice the way Marik's eyes trailed all over his body. When he was ready Marik grabbed him by the hand and led him out of the abandoned building they still stayed in.

Bakura almost had to run to keep up with Mark. He was obviously very happy for some reason, much happier than most of the moments he could remember having been with him. Marik looked like he didn't have a care in the world, the same way he'd looked so many years ago when he saw his brother in person. It still annoyed him to some extent that Marik could continue to act so optimistic and naive even as everything around him was horrible and depressing, but for the most part he sort of admired the strength Marik had. And he liked it when Marik was this happy with him and no one else. Maybe he still wasn't sure what love was, but he had passed the possessive part of the test with flying colors.

Marik led him into an apartment building that was not abandoned and used a key to get in, doing this all with a huge smile on his face, as if he knew the world's greatest secret. They went up three flights of stairs and stopped in front of a door numbered 313. Marik pulled out another key and unlocked it, then held open the door for Bakura to go inside, which he did so after only a moment's hesitation where he looked questioningly at Marik, who only gestured again, still grinning.

The apartment was small and dingy with some shabby furniture littering the ground. There was a worn, ugly couch and a small tv placed on a tiny folding stand. A lamp without a lampshade stood in the corner of the room. Other than those objects the room was empty.

"Do you like it?" Marik asked excitedly.

"Sure... but I don't really get it. What did you do, steal some guy's keys?" Bakura questioned, smirking at the idea. Marik however, appeared crestfallen.

"No. I got a job the day before my birthday and have been working since then. I rented this apartment for us to live in. I thought it was better than where we were living, and at least it's got heat. Do you like it?" Marik asked, tone falling as his enthusiasm did too.

"You're been working? And I thought this whole time you were cheating on me," Bakura mused. Marik frowned and punched him in the arm.

"Ow! Okay, okay, seriously though, I like it. Now that we're both old enough I should probably get a job too actually. It'd be good to have a reliable source of income," Bakura laughed.

"Do you really mean it?" Marik questioned again, ignoring the other's teasing. "You aren't just trying to make me feel better are you?"

"Why would I do that?" Bakura questioned. "Look, it's old and worn down and I'm sure that everything's broken, but it's still better than what we had before, right? Now we'll have electricity, and a bathroom with a shower, and a refrigerator, and heat! No more getting sick all the time come winter and having to rely on body heat to keep warm the whole time, right?"

"Well...," Marik began, a lecherous smirk slowly spreading across his face, "I rather liked that last part." Bakura grinned as well and sauntered over to his lover. He walked around behind him and put his head on his shoulder and lightly nibbled the other's earlobe.

"Well then perhaps we can keep that little activity up," He whispered slyly.

"Of course," Marik agreed.

They did a little dabbling with the aforementioned "activity" and then after than moved the few other items they possessed into the small apartment. After that Marik used the last of the money he'd saved from his paycheck to get fast food for the two of them. (He said that he wished they'd had more money to go someplace better, but the security deposit for the apartment had been large and he'd only just now gotten enough to actually rent it.) After their dinner they went back to their new home and completed the celebration by breaking in their mattress.

After Marik had fallen asleep beside him Bakura participated in a different favorite activity of his; watching Marik. He slept with an arm draped possessively over Bakura's chest, the dark tan of his arms in perfect juxtaposition with the pale ivory of Bakura's chest. Marik's head rested against his shoulder, his hot, steady breath tickling his bare skin. His blonde hair hung in his eyes and Bakura brushed it away carefully –only to have it fall back in his face a moment later. He smiled gently, not even aware himself that he was doing it. Marik was always so peaceful in his sleep, so untroubled by anything. He looked like a child again, the same way Bakura always pictured he'd look before he left his house to live out on the streets.

"I love you Bakura. More than you can even imagine. Sometimes I think if it weren't for you, I couldn't bear this place. You're the person who keeps me going. I know that as long as I have you, I can do anything. Thank you for that."

Marik told him that he loved him every night. Sometimes he told him more than that, as he had tonight. He could still picture how he'd said it, sweaty and tired from their late night exertions, one elbow propped up on his chest, looking at him with lilac eyes that seemed to glow in the dark and still reminded him of a cat's.

"I love you Bakura."

Marik said it every night. Then he would close his eyes and fall asleep half on him, half off. And Bakura would watch him and wonder why Marik didn't seem to care. He had tried to say it once but his mouth had frozen and by the time he'd been able to say anything again the other teen had already fallen asleep. Since that failed attempt he hadn't tried doing it again and Marik was fine with that.

Bakura yawned and Marik mumbled something softly in his sleep, shifted somewhat, then curled even closer to Bakura, arm tightening its hold on him before falling slack once more.

"Marik...," Bakura whispered. Marik mumbled something again but stayed asleep. "How much do you love me Marik?"

He knew the answer to that question easily. A lot. Probably more than he loved himself. Everything Marik did was for him. Even when they'd been young, Marik had done whatever he'd wanted.

"…I-I love you.... I have since the first moment I saw you... Bakura..."

"How much do I love you, Marik? ...Do I love you?"

He didn't know that one.

00000

The door was open. That was what put Bakura on the lookout. He'd lived here for little over a year now, and not once had the door been left open. Marik was very serious about closing and locking the door and keeping it that way at all times, whether they were home or not. Within their second month of living in this apartment someone had broken into their house and robbed them (not that they'd really had much to steal). Since then Marik had made sure the door was always tightly shut. There was no way it would be left open now.

He took a silent, cautious step into the apartment. The lights were off. It was silent. More signs that something was definitely wrong. Frowning to himself, Bakura shut the door, throwing the apartment into darkness. He flicked the light switch on and the darkness vanished, showing him the living room, exactly the same as he'd seen it last.

"Marik?" He called out. No answer. His frown deepened. Marik was supposed to be home. He didn't have to work today, but if he had left for some reason he wouldn't have left the door ajar. Bakura headed next for the bedroom, keeping his sharp eyes trained for anything else that might have been wrong.

At first he didn't notice it. It took a moment to soak through. Then he felt the lukewarm stickiness that was seeping through his sock. Bakura, who had been only slightly concerned before, entered a whole new level of panic. Suddenly he was glad that he hadn't turned the bedroom light on just yet and that his eyes were still fixed on the window opposite him.

He could see himself in the glass pane, a dark silhouette against the light pouring in from the living room. One hand was poised above the light switch. Don't do it, the silhouette advised. Don't do it. You don't want to see it, believe me, you really don't. Things have never been good in our life but right now they're not too bad. Just leave. Forget about all of this stuff and just leave. Don't look. You look and it'll all go away and things will be the worst they've ever been. You don't want that. We don't want that. So don't look, just leave, then forget about it. Besides, it's not like he matters, right? He never has. So just leave and forget it all.

Bakura wanted to listen to these words. It would be so much easier to leave and pretend like it hadn't all happened. And he didn't matter, did he? He'd never been able to tell it to him after all. So it didn't matter.

"I love you Bakura. More than anything else. You're my everything."

Bakura turned the light on. And screamed.

He sunk to his knees in the pool of blood, the same stickiness soaking through his pants. He stared at it in horror, the red of it

(red red red red red red red madness red red red)

everywhere, sinking slowly into the cheap carpet and staining that too. They'll have to replace it, Bakura thought randomly, those damn cheapskates will finally have to replace the carpet. He almost laughed; he and Marik had been trying to persuade the owners of the complex to replace the old carpet for over half a year now. Who would have thought something as simple as some blood could have accomplished the job?

Bad thought. Bakura's stomach flip-flopped and he had to look away, dry-heaving. The smell of the blood and the feel of it touching his skin made him cringe and caused his stomach more trouble. He didn't throw up, but it felt like that could happen at any time. He clenched the siding of the doorway and kept his head turned, body shaking violently, keeping his eyes tightly shut. But that was no good either, he could still see the image burned into his retinas, promising him that it would be there for a long time.

Told you you shouldn't have looked. Told you it wasn't good. Now you'll be stuck with it forever.

"Shut up!" Bakura growled, voice hoarse. "How could I not have looked?! How could I not?! I've been with him for ten fucking years so how could I not?!"

He had to. He had to look because he'd been his only friend too, and it had been ten years. Ten years the two of them had been together, for more than half of both their lives. He couldn't just turn his back on all that and act like it had all never happened. He wanted to desperately, but he knew that even he wasn't that heartless. So he unclenched his fingers and turned again to once more face the gruesome sight of his Marik lying in a pool of his own blood.

His once bright and lively lilac eyes were now dull and blank, staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. The bullet hat hit him right in the middle of his forehead. A small trail of blood streamed down from the wound to his cheek and then the carpet. Other than that nothing looked wrong, and that was perhaps the hardest part. If he wiped away the blood and moved his bangs to cover the bullet hole, Marik would have looked fine. He could have gotten up and laughed, telling him he couldn't believe that Bakura had actually fallen for such a simple trick. For a moment it almost seemed plausible too, and Bakura hoped that it could be the truth and that this was just a horrible joke. He moved his hand to Marik's neck and felt only coldness. No warmth. No pulse.

"Marik...," Bakura whispered. "Marik." His hands reached out and painstakingly took the body of his lover into his arms. "Marik." He was much heavier and colder than Bakura could ever remember him being before, and his arms trailed behind him as Bakura pulled him onto his lap. "Marik." Lilac eyes now stared at him blankly instead of the ceiling. "Marik." Ne noticed a tear on the tanned cheek of his lover and belatedly realized it was one of his own. He was crying.

"Marik.... Marik...! Marik! Marik! Wake up! Come on Marik! Get up!" He yelled, tears now streaming down his cheeks, shaking the limp body of what had once been Marik. His head lolled back and forth and his arms flopped at his sides like he were some useless doll, a crude parody of the beautiful person he'd used to know. Those lilac eyes continued to stare at him, mocking him with their blankness, silently laughing at his tears.

"MARIK!" Bakura screamed, tightening his grip on the cold body and bringing it closer to him. He was sobbing now, sobbing in the same way Marik had sobbed three years ago in the hospital when he thought Bakura was going to die, right before he told him he loved him. He screamed and cried and hugged the body tight to him, all the while praying that this was just some vivid nightmare.

"Sing me a song lover. Sing me a song of our futures together."

Images and memories of Marik and the time they'd spent together flashed through his head, one after another, each one torturing him more than the next. One stood out brightly, vying for his attention like none of the others could.

It had happened two years ago, when they'd both been fifteen. He had found an old battery powered radio. He'd turned it on and to both of their surprise it had still worked. He and Marik had began singing and dancing and laughing. They'd listened to it all day, having a greater time together that day then they'd had in a long time, forgetting their troubles as they sang together. When night fell and they had to turn the radio off, they had fun in a different way.

"Sing me a song lover. Sing me a song of our futures together."

Marik was lying with his arms and head propped up on Bakura's chest, idly drawing random designs on his skin.

"What?"

Marik looked up at him, lilac eyes positively sparkling with love and happiness, and he'd smiled and said it again.

"Sing me a song lover. Sing me a song of our futures together."

He had smiled too and played along, telling Marik that one day they would live in a big house and have plenty of money and food and everything else they could ever want. He said that one day they would be on top of the world and look down on everyone else. Marik smiled and laughed and lied his head on Bakura's chest, right over his heart.

"I love you Bakura."

Now those times were over. Now he would never see Marik's beautiful lilac eyes shine with happiness, sadness, anger, curiosity, lust, passion, love, anything. The wide array of emotions he'd always been able to make out in them had gone dead, cold and lifeless.

"Ma-Marik.... Why did you have to go? You idiot...," Bakura sobbed, hugging the body even closer to him. He raised a shaky hand and brushed the bangs away from Marik's face. The bullet hole stared back at him as an ugly reminder that this was no longer Marik. This was just a lifeless husk meant for the worms.

His cheek was cold, his eyes remained hard and lifeless. Those eyes, eyes that he had once thought to be creepy, eyes that he had loved to watch whether they were open or close, eyes that would now evoke neither response from him, just as the one they belonged to would no longer laugh with him or touch him or kiss him or make love to him. Eyes that were dead.

"It's not fair.... Damn it, it's not fucking fair! Why should he die?! He hasn't fucking done anything! He's never done anything!" Bakura screamed. "You want to fucking kill someone, then why don't you kill someone who fucking deserves it?! Like his god-damned asshole father for instance?! Or how about even me?! What the fuck, sure, kill me then! At least I've done something! I'm a thief! But what had Marik ever done?! When has he ever done anything wrong?! DAMN IT!"

Life was unfair, people said that all the time. He and Marik had been taught that lesson too well. In the game of life they'd both pulled the short stick. Nothing had ever come easy to them, but even that Bakura was almost able to accept. Some people just got screwed. But this was too much. This was where a line had been crossed. It wasn't fair. Bakura's life had been horrible, Marik's life in particular had been horrible, but somehow they'd gotten to a point where things almost looked better. They had a home, they had jobs, they had each other. And now that was all gone? No. It wasn't fair.

(Of course it's not fair. Because no one cares about two little orphan boys, do they?)

He looked at Marik. He looked at Marik's blood-stained cheek. He caressed Marik's cheek, smudging the horrible trail of blood on it. The red smear it left behind was even worse. He raised his bloodied hand and dragged it down his own cheek, reveling in the way the icy, sticky feel of it made his skin crawl. He grinned. If blood was red and red was madness then he was drenched in it, drenched in Marik's madness. He almost wanted to laugh. Instead he lowered his head and brought his lips to Marik's one last time. His white hair fell like a veil around the two of them, cutting them off from the rest of the world, locking them in their madness.

"I love you Marik," He said against the other's lips. "I think I always have too. I just never said it before. You know I've never been good with my emotions. That's why you never pressured me to say it, isn't it? You knew I would realize it sooner or later, right, Marik? You've always been so smart. And I'm so stupid."

Marik remained silent. Tonight would be the first night he wouldn't tell him that he loved him.

"I love you Bakura. I've loved you from the first moment I saw you and I always will. I promise."

"Sing me a song lover. Sing me a song of our futures together."

The promise was broken. There would be no singing tonight. The time for singing was over. There would be no future between the two of them. The only thing there could be was a pool of red and enough madness to fill him with it. Because that's what love was, after all. That's what their love had always been. Even in the end no one cared about two little orphan boys. The man had been right all along. It was madness for them to hope, madness for them to dream, madness for them to think that one day they could be happy together. Madness to think that they could even have a future.

It bubbled up from deep within him and stuck in his throat like a bone. It stayed there for a second or two, then Bakura could hold it back no longer. He began to laugh. Small laughs at first, then his laughter become so extreme that his shoulders were shaking and the tears that ran down his face were no longer because he was crying but because he was laughing and because he could not stop. It wasn't funny, it was horrible and disgusting and made him sick but he couldn't stop it any more than he could bring Marik back to him.

He didn't know how long he sat there, laughing his mad, uncontrollable laughter, cradling the cold body of his lover in his arms. He didn't know how many times he tried to stop but couldn't. He didn't realize that his limbs turned numb and the blood on his hands and clothes and face dried. He did know that the sun had began to rise and that Marik would never again feel its warmth on his skin. And as suddenly as his laughter had come, that thought sobered him and then his crying started again and the tears wetted the stains on his cheeks once more. He knew that Marik's body had begun to experience rigor mortis. And he knew that he eventually closed Marik's eyes, forever drawing the blanket over the part of Marik that had always held the most life. He was gone.

He was gone and the world was red, and it was slowly consuming him. The red was taking over, covering him in it, making him cold, making him lonely, making him want to feel Marik once more. The red came closer and then it was all that he could see. His sight was red again, now in both eyes instead of only one, and his Marik was no longer here to help him recover from his fatal injuries. He was dead and gone.

"I love you Marik."

00000

Sing me a song lover.

Sing me a song my starry-eyed lover.

Sing to me of life and death.

Sing to me of a close we almost had.

Sing me a song my poor, ill-fated lover.

---

So, did you all like it? It's horribly sad isn't it? I felt so bad for poor Marik as I was writing it. I'm always so mean to him.... Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, I came up with the stuff at the beginning and the end too. Well anyways, leave me a review and all of you have a happy holiday!