A/N: My Y. BakuraXMarik one-shot. Another hopeless attempt at getting rid of my writer's block. Re-submitted with some minor mistakes fixed. Hope you enjoy :)
Bakura was usually prepared for anything. Nothing fazed him, nothing dared try. Life itself was a never ending cycle of predictability and monotony to the thief, and while others wasted their time away with menial tasks, he remained indifferent. Emotionless.
Except for today. Today, among a crowd of familiar faces, flowing tears and memories, Bakura stood in the center of it all, seemingly unchanged, yet secretly withering away.
Yugi offered quiet condolences. Yeah, like that little twerp knew a thing about heartbreak. All of his friends, whether they had succumb to comas or other unexplained tragedies, always came back. They always survived.
Why couldn't Bakura have been so lucky?
The taller girl with the brunette hair, what was her name again? Bakura barely knew her, though she was seen with Moto and his friends at every single encounter. He had never really been bothered to get to know her that well. After all, getting to know others was Ryou's area of expertise, not Bakura's. He ignored the girl's cries and jolted away when she tried to cling to him. The thief didn't need sympathy, and how dare anyone try and tell him otherwise?
The mass of people quickly turned into a blob of strangers as Bakura slumped past each and every solemn face. No matter how they tried, no one could break past his concrete exterior.
Then, he stopped dead in his tracks. There, kneeling at the tombstone, tears streaming relentlessly down each cheek, was Ishizu Ishtar. Bakura's eyes widened at the sight of raw human emotion. She didn't even notice him approach, and stayed rooted to the ground, shaking violently with each sob. Odion, the woman's adopted brother, came over, and attempted to sling one heavy arm around Bakura's shoulder. He resisted the display of affection. Why should anybody care about his feelings? It's not like he had just lost his own brother.
But he did lose his best friend.
Ishizu stood up then, and turned towards him and Odion. Odion walked over to her and they shared a long, heartfelt embrace.
Disgusting, Bakura thought bitterly. There was no chance he'd catch himself letting anybody touch him like that. Not since…
Bakura fell to his knees. Agony and regret rippled through every vein in his body, chilled him to his very core, and nestled beneath his skin like a parasite. The voices were drowned out by the sound of blood whirring in his eardrums, he could no longer hear the delicate sobs of his yadonushi*, Ryou.
Soon, the service was over, people scattered and went their separate ways, few came to say goodbye to Bakura. Actually, nobody had come to say goodbye. They must have figured he was too broken to reply.
And though the thief would never admit it, that was indeed the case.
"Here lies Marik Ishtar. Rest with the Gods, brother."
Bakura viciously wiped away a tear as he stared at the carved lettering. Beneath this patch of earth was Marik, in a deep, endless slumber. He placed his cold, pale hand on the ground and slipped his fingers under the dirt. It was damp and freshly packed, though it looked like it had never been touched. How it should have stayed.
Marik shouldn't have died. Not this early. Bakura knew that it was going to happen someday, and he was gong to have to witness it, but he never imagined he'd be burying his best friend so soon.
Tears began to fall from his eyes, but he didn't stop them. It was ridiculous, the great Thief King Bakura never cried for anyone, not since his family had been slaughtered three thousand years ago. After that day, he vowed for vengeance, and swore he'd never let his emotions be his ruin. But a lot can change in three thousand years. Or make it 3 years, ever since he first met the young Egyptian in Battle City.
That was when the shit began, and it never ended. Until today that is.
So many memories. Bakura wondered how he ever continued to put up with Marik's unceasing idiocy. Like the time they bought a huge piñata and tried to stuff themselves in together. That only ended in near suffocation and several hours in a very uncomfortable position. Finally somebody happened to come across it and cut them out. Gods know how they even managed to fit in there in the first place.
Bakura would never forget the leather pants heist, or Marik crawling into bed with him that one night he stayed up playing Slender. Bakura tried to warn him, Marik insisted as usual, then he had nightmares for two weeks because he was afraid the Slenderman was going to get him. Bakura, oddly enough, enjoyed that insufferable moron's company as they cuddled beneath the sheets.
One time, Marik forced everyone into karaoke night at his place, even though "his place" at the time counted double as his evil council's secret lair. Inviting the Pharaoh was just asking for trouble. Not to mention, Bakura despised the very thought of singing, but Marik was persistent as always. And Bakura never thought he'd hear the words "I love you," come out of Marik's mouth in such a way that actually suggested he had those feelings. But it certainly happened. And after that, Bakura actually did end up singing, hoping that if he did, even just for a little while, that Marik wouldn't be lying just to get him to do what he wanted.
Bakura's heart skipped at the thought, and sunk again with the realization that now he'd never know the truth. But even if he'd never find out Marik's true feelings, he still had his memory to hold onto. And that still counted for something, however miniscule.
The wind blew through Bakura's tangled, white mop, refreshing him and eventually, the tears evaporated.
"Well, now that you're gone, I may as well come out with it. I love you, you buggering fool. And maybe you can hear me, maybe you can't, but I'll say it just in case. This is between you and me, Marik. Don't tell anyone about my feelings, or even that I wept because of your death, or so help me Ra, I will slaughter your corpse."
Then, Bakura did something he'd never thought he'd do again. He started to sing, without prompts, in a low, wavering voice.
"Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me..."
And all that followed was the sound of high-pitched, off key singing in the wind, as it gleefully joined the thief in song.
*yadonushi- host