A/N: This is my first fanfic, feel free to leave constructive critism. Another thing I'd like to point out, english isn't my first language, so there may be spelling/grammar errors, please tell me if you find any and I'll do my best to fix it.

One last thing, this is an alternate ending/shorter version of a fanfic I may never finish, but I like this ending so I'm putting it up.

"Do you love me?" the young Egyptian suddenly asked. Bakura was surprised. He hadn't expected such a question. At least not right now.

"You look beautiful when asking things like that." he said smiling, looking down on the tanned body resting in his arms.

"That's not what I wanted to hear…" the foreigner said quietly, his voice not high above a whisper, but loud enough for the other to hear.

"If you want me to say something specific, why don't you just tell me what you want to hear? It's easier that way."

"You don't understand..." the younger male looked hurt, a sight the slightly older one secretly enjoyed. "It's not worth anything if it's not solid," he began. "If it's not true, it's nothing special at all, like breathing thin air." He sighed. As if Bakura would ever understand.

"I understand. I'm sorry." Wait, what? Bakura tightened his hold around the body, breathing softly on Marik's neck. His breath was warm and his hold protective, so the young Egyptian didn't move. Bakura spoke,

"I love you, Marik, I really do." Not many words at all, but the Egyptian seemed content hearing them.

"I love you too." Marik said, closing his eyes. He wouldn't mind falling asleep as he was now, his back against Bakura's chest, the spirit's slender arms embracing him. Bakura smiled.

It seems I'm good at breathing thin air.

In Bakura's eyes it was a game. A game he no longer wanted to play. It just wasn't that much fun anymore. He pretended to love someone he didn't, they even lived in the same apartment. It was entertaining at first, but had become rather boring as the days went by. The only thing stopping him from giving up and admit that he lost the game was his strong desire to win. And he knew that he would, without letting Marik know anything until it was too late. It was all about timing and the element of surprise.

"Bakura, what are you doing?" Marik stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at the pale man sitting in the corner of the room. Bakura held a rag in one of his hands and a knife in the other. In front of him the rest of the household's knives lay on another rag, shining in the moonlight that made its way through the window.

"Cleaning the knives." he replied shortly, not looking up from the cold steel resting in his hand.

"Why would you do that?" Marik asked a bit worried. Before he first spoke, Bakura hadn't noticed him and he had heard the man mumble. It was something along the lines "Dying my dearest in crimson red.". He knew Bakura had a special relationship to his knives, but he wasn't sure that's what he mumbled about. Maybe he mumbled about him. Needless to say, Marik felt uneasy.

"Why? Well, let's just say one of these little darlings will be lucky enough to leave the kitchen tonight." He grinned, still not looking up. Marik swallowed.

"B-Bakura?"

"Yes, love?" Bakura held the knife over his head, admiring the shimmering steel. Not a single stain, not a single fingerprint. Beautiful.

"Are-are..? Are you going to..?" Are you going to kill me? Bakura laughed at Marik's words, not a nice laugh though, more… psychotic. He got up, still holding the knife, and walked towards the Egyptian. Marik backed away, terrified. He bumped into something and couldn't back anymore. It was the wall in the hallway.

Shit, shit, shit!

Bakura came closer, he was only a few inches away now. Marik's heart beat fast. His eyes were wide open, fixated on the knife. His body was completely paralyzed with chock and terror. Bakura wasn't completely sane, Bakura was a murderer. Marik knew that. But still, he never thought Bakura would hurt him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand stroking his cheek.

"You're so silly, Marik." Bakura smiled and the young Egyptian sank to the floor. He wasn't going to die? The pale man sat down in front of him, laying down the knife beside them. He looked at it.

"It's not for you," he said calmly. "It's for some fuckers at the bar." Marik looked at him, he hadn't really gotten a chance to calm his nerves yet.

"O-oh."

"But before I can take care of those, it seems I'll have to take care of you." Bakura chuckled quietly, lifting Marik off the floor princess style. The young man's cheeks tinted slightly pink, he wasn't a princess. He wasn't even a prince.

"Y-you don't have to-" he began to stammer.

"Hush." Bakura put a finger over his lips. "Don't say a word."

I don't want to hear your stupid voice.

Bakura lay down Marik on the bed, gently letting go of the body. The young man was all quiet now, his skull broken and his golden hair dyed in crimson red.

Seems I'll have to clean the knife again.