A/N: I'm pretty sick and it seems the only thing I have the energy to do is write, so here's some more Thiefshipping drabble. Rated T just to be safe, I don't think it's all that bad. The rating systems on here are just so vague.
"I hate the rain." Yami Bakura spoke to no one as he scowled out the window at the storm clouds. Rain dredged up near-forgotten memories of his past, long ago in Egypt when he was completely and utterly alone. His family killed, his home destroyed, wandering with no place to go. Bakura could see so vividly his young self stumbling around in the soaking ruins of his once-home. His life had been a living hell. He could feel the pain and emptiness that were all he had until the hate had consumed him and forced all other feelings out. That driving need for revenge, the all-consuming loathing. The hate had been the only thing that kept him alive.
It was only now that he had met Marik that Bakura could feel something other than burning hatred. The long nights together sparked a feeling the spirit was unaccustomed to, something he thought he had forgotten how to feel. He wouldn't dare put a name to it, never admit to something like love, but the feeling was there all the same.
But it was raining and Marik wasn't home.
Lighting flashed, illuminating the otherwise dark apartment. The lack of light or noise only made the storm seem worse, but Bakura didn't care. Fear and love were both a sort of weakness, and Bakura could allow no weakness if he was to get the revenge he desired, even deserved. Being with Marik sometimes made him forget that. If he ever let go of that driving force, he would loose his reason for living.
The rain was subsiding a bit. The clouds overhead still poured down, but other patches of the sky were clear, allowing sunlight to stream in here and there. The view from the apartment, looking out onto the waterlogged city that was gradually brightening, could even be called beautiful. Another word Bakura would never use.
Marik appeared in his peripheral vision, standing on the sidewalk, seemingly unbothered by the drenching rain. He was holding grocery bags, but dropped them and beckoned towards the window as if asking Bakura to come down. Like Bakura would ever go out in this weather. Marik's gestures became less restrained. He looked ridiculous, waving his arms out there all by himself. Bakura sighed and grabbed his coat.
By the time he got outside, the rain was light but still enough to dampen Bakura's hair and send trails of water down his face. Marik smiled at him, not seeming to care about his clothes and hair were soaked and dripping.
"Isn't it just great outside?" the blonde exclaimed, staring up at the sky.
If Marik had brought him out just to watch the clouds, Bakura would be seriously pissed.
"Look at the rainbow." Marik pointed. "Isn't being outside after it rains just great? It smells like nature and life."
Bakura was about to point out how it was still raining when Marik wrapped his arms around him and kissed him gently. Bakura deepened the kiss, his tongue twisting into Marik's. He ran his hands down Marik's chest, feeling how real, how warm he was even in the cold rain. That unnameable feeling enveloped Bakura, a feeling so different from hate. He no longer cared about the rain or weakness or revenge. Perhaps he had found something else to live for. Something better.
Maybe the rain wasn't so bad after all.