Yami Marik would never leave him. He wasn't the same as Yami Bakura or Yami Yugi. He wasn't a separate person; they were both facets of the same person and they could never be ripped away from each other. They would forever be together.
They were part of each other, yet they were not the same.
Marik loved and he was left behind. Shadows stole his love from him and left him alone in a cold bed with only the voice in his head to comfort him.
Yami Marik loved and he comforted. Marik cried and Yami Marik wiped away the tears with imaginary fingers and soothed the pain the only way he knew how.
He wasn't good with words. He used what insubstantial body he had, the memory of the body he had stolen, to speak for him.
They both knew it wasn't the same. Marik never opened his eyes and never cried Yami Marik's name. Yami Marik spoke, never tried to dispel the illusion, never commented on the inevitable sobs.
It wasn't the same, but it was all they had, and they both knew it was all they would have for the rest of their lives.