***So, I've been taking a break from the Lemonade/Cotton Candy stands because of the holidays, but here's the one exception. This prompt is from chaosrocket. She wanted a Thiefshipping fic where Marik and Bakura try to cast a spell, and instead of doing whatever it was suppose to do - it makes it so that Bakura can't tell a lie. You may notice that nothing about that prompt actually happens here, and that's because this is broken into 3 chapters. I'll post chapter 2 tomorrow, and chapter three the day after (because I'm still editing them, lol).***

The room was dim, not quite dark but close. Bakura stared at the ceiling. Everything sat motionless in the room; nothing moved, not even Bakura, not even the air. He sighed, knowing he should get up, shower, eat. Ryou would cry again if he didn't, but Bakura couldn't find the energy to move.

That was never a problem before, when he had vengeance to motivate him, when he had an enemy just out of reach of his fingertips, but now he had nothing, no purpose to drive him, and a hole inside him where Necrophades used to sit. He was empty, numb.

He heard the door open and shut, and he waited for Ryou's chirping voice to sing a forced, happy song to try and encourage him to get up . . . it wouldn't work. It never did. If Ryou cried he'd usually forced himself to eat lunch, but otherwise he stared at the ceiling.

A weight shifted onto the bed. Bakura felt the subtle warmth of a body next to him. He frowned, looking to the side. He expected to see Ryou, but instead of white he saw gold.

"Marik?"

Marik turned his head, looking Bakura in the eyes. "Hey."

"I thought you were in Egypt."

"Moved here a month ago."

"Oh." Bakura turned back to face the ceiling. "It's dark in here. You shouldn't be here."

"I bet Ryou opens the blinds to let the sun in, doesn't he?"

"Did he send you here to talk to me?"

"I asked him if I could come. I bet he tells you to get up. Knowing him, he probably bribes you with games and food."

"Yeah."

"But it's too much effort to get up, isn't it? Everything feels to slow and heavy? Except your core, that feels like air in an empty coffin, doesn't it?"

Bakura turned back to look at Marik. He kept his face pointing up, staring at the ceiling as Bakura had. His profile showed the beautiful angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Bakura did the math in his head, Ryou was twenty-one and that made Marik twenty. Four years wasn't that long to Bakura, not after thousands, but it made quite the difference on Marik's face. He looked less like a brat, more like the god he always wanted to become. Bakura turned away. "You need a haircut. It's getting too long."

"Yeah, probably. You know Ishizu was doing the same thing to me. Every morning she'd insist I eat breakfast, insist I smile, insist I go outside. She didn't understand." Marik snorted shaking his own head. "When I banished my darker side . . . for some reason I thought that gap would get filled with light. I'm not sure why. Yugi and his friends made it seem that it worked that way somehow, but you know what I realized?"

"That you stay empty inside."

"Precisely. Nothing fills that hole. It's just a hole. Want to move in with me?"

Bakura wanted to look at Marik again, but couldn't bother turning his head. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"So you can lie to Ryou and tell him everything's fine, just like I lie to Ishizu."

"Okay." Bakura sighed, closing his eyes and gathering up enough will to sit up. "I'll pack a bag. I don't have much."

Marik rose to his feet, flipping the light switch on. Bakura winced as harsh yellow struck the room, but he didn't complain because he knew- no matter how blasé Marik acted- that the darkness of the room bothered him. Bakura still didn't understand why he hadn't turned the lights on to begin with.

After Bakura shoved his things in a duffle bag, Marik left so Bakura could change into clean clothes. He walked down the hall with his bag slung over his shoulder. He turned to go into the bathroom to brush his teeth and pack his toiletries. Ryou's sobbing echoed down the hallway, so Bakura stopped to listen. He leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his tangled white hair casting faint shadows across his sallow cheeks.

Marik's voice was the first to speak. It was neither the commanding tone of the former leader of the Ghouls, nor was it his insufferable Namu act, but rather something in between those two voices. "He'll be fine. I promise."

"I know." Ryou sniffed, trying to stop the tears. He seemed to cry more than he didn't these days, and Bakura knew that was his fault. "I can't help but think . . . maybe . . . maybe it would have been better if I never found a way to bring him back. I was trying to help. I didn't know he'd be so unhappy."

Bakura dug his nails into his palms. He was an asshole and he knew it, but even he disapproved of the way he was affecting Ryou after all his former host had done for him. It's not that he wasn't grateful for being pulled out of the Shadows, it was that he simply couldn't forgive himself for failing. He deserved the Shadows. He deserved that pain and darkness for failing.

"Give him some more time. It seems like a long time ago for us, but remember he's on a different timeline than us."

"Yeah . . . I guess you're right." A final sniff and Ryou's voice sounded calmer. "Please stay for breakfast. I made too much again."

Bakura went into the bathroom, and afterward, found them sitting at the kitchen table. Ryou had cooked rice, tamago, fish, tofu, miso soup, and umeboshi. He sat down, giving the food an empty stare.

"Good morning," Ryou's said.

"It's noon."

"Yeah . . . do you want some?"

Bakura nodded. He wasn't hungry, but he knew it would make Ryou happy and he wanted to give his landlord at least that much before leaving.

Ryou jumped up and started fixing a portion of the food for Bakura. Marik snorted, sipping on miso soup. "Enjoy it, Bakura, because I'm sure as fuck not cooking for you."

"Bet your cooking tastes like crap anyway," Bakura muttered as he used chopsticks to bring a bite of rice to his mouth.

Marik snorted. "Either way, you'll never know."

"I'll just come back here when I need to be fed." He gave Ryou a wink.

His eyes lit up. "Anytime. You can always come back, Bakura. Please remember that."

"Stop fucking being so nice, yadonushi. I've warned you about that before."

Ryou smiled, eating tofu and pickled plums. "You never listen to me, why should I listen to you?"

Marik chuckled at Ryou's comment. Bakura even managed half of a smirk. After breakfast, Marik helped Ryou with the dishes. Bakura sat at the kitchen table, watching them absentmindedly. He wanted to go back to sleep, but knew he needed to stay awake so they could leave when Marik was finished.

When it was time to go, Ryou hugged both of them and watched them walk down the hall before he shut the door. On the streets, the sunlight made Bakura's eyes water. He couldn't remember the last time he had left Ryou's apartment.

"You look like a fucking skeleton. Did you know that?"

Bakura shrugged.

"I'm not Ryou," Marik continued. "I'm not going to cry and beg you to eat, or live, or be happy or any nonsense like that, but if you do starve yourself to death I'm going to dump your body in the pier because your sorry ass isn't worth a funeral."

His statement actually pulled a small, rattling laugh from Bakura's throat. "The pier where we first met, how romantic of you."

"A cleaning service comes to the apartment twice a week. I'll give you their schedule so you can stay out of their way."

"Cleaning service? You lazy asshole."

"Yeah? You scrub any toilets since coming back or did Ryou do everything for you?"

Bakura shrugged again.

"That's what I thought."

"Well, it's not like I expected you to be the domestic type."

Marik's lips curled up as he glanced at Bakura. "Let's be honest, could you even imagine me holding a mop?"

Bakura snickered. "Or me with a toilet brush?"

Marik snicked with him. "Thank the gods for maid service and take out food."

Marik's apartment was only three blocks away from Ryou's. They were on the top floor. Marik slipped an extra key into Bakura's hand. "I know you don't really need it, but consider it a gesture of welcome."

"Yeah, thanks." Bakura pocketed the key into his jeans pocket, looking around. "Got enough windows?"

"Suck my cock, Bakura."

He licked his lips. "Present it."

Marik narrowed his eyes into a sultry, come-hither stare. "You wish."

"In your dreams, perhaps."

Marik rolled his eyes and hung his own keys on a hook near the door.

Bakura looked around again. "Where am I going to sleep, by the way?"

"I'll show you around. You can see the kitchen from here. It's not really big, but then again I don't expect you cook much more than I do. Down here is the bathroom. It's all yours since I use the one in the master bedroom, and here's your room."

Only a futon and wardrobe sat in the room, but Bakura didn't care. He slung his duffel bag on the mattress and plopped down, staring at the ceiling. Marik crawled over Bakura's body, his mouth close to Bakura's mouth. "Hey, Bakura?"

A strange buzz filled Bakura's body, a sensation unlike anything he ever felt in his original body or in Ryou's, and he wasn't sure exactly what it was he felt. "What?"

Marik lowered his mouth by a centimeter. "Duel me."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Why not? It'll be fun to kick your ass."

"I don't have cards."

Marik tilted his head. His hair tickled Bakura's cheek. "How the hell do you not have your cards?"

"I always used Ryou's."

Marik rolled his lavender eyes, pulling away. "Lucky for you, I used to to run a crime syndicate for trading cards."

"That sounds . . . fucking ridiculous, Marik."

"You're right, it does." Marik held out his hand and Bakura took it. Marik said, "my room."

Bakura followed Marik. They camped out Marik's bed. Marik gave him a stack of cards and waited for Bakura to fashion together a deck. They wasted the next few hours playing and trash talking each other through every move. Bakura wondered why he hadn't done the same with Ryou - his former host had offered enough times, but Bakura never managed to get out of bed. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Marik and all but climbed on top of Bakura when he asked. He hadn't been adverse to the action, but he knew answering yes would removed Marik quicker than if he'd said no and started an argument.

They ate pistachios in lieu of dinner. After so many games, Bakura had lost count, Marik set his cards on his nightstand and pulled off his shirt. "I need to sleep. Just make yourself at home."

Bakura stared a moment at the sight Marik's muscles rippling beneath his curry-colored skin. Blinking, he offered the cards back to Marik.

Marik shook his head, standing up and removing his belt. "Keep them. We'll probably play again sooner or later."

Bakura wanted to stay and stare at Marik with detached fascination as Marik continued to undress, every movement of Marik's was fluid and lithe and Bakura wanted to appreciate it in the way one appreciated the ballet, but he knew that his actions would be misinterpreted as interest in Marik, so he stood and carried his deck of cards into his new room.

Bakura set the cards in a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. He dropped his duffel bag inside the closet and stripped down to his boxers, lying on the futon in Marik's spare room. He thought he might sleep. He felt tired, but he only stared at Marik's ceiling. It was smoother than Ryou's ceiling; neither had cobwebs, although Ryou cleaned his himself while Marik hired someone else to do it for him.

It wasn't until sunlight filled the room again that Bakura's eyes closed, and it didn't feel like long before he felt a weight on his bed again. Bakura struggled to open his eyes, remembering the days when no one could get near him without him hearing them. "Marik?"

"Hey."

"What time is it?"

"Two in the afternoon." He handed Bakura a small, plastic bottle. "Drink this."

"What is it?"

"Kefir."

"I don't want it."

"I know. I never do either, but I promised Ishizu I'd eat three times a day."

"Do you?"

"I drink that in the mornings, and I usually eat dinner. Close enough."

Bakura groaned as he sat up, drinking the thin yogurt and wincing after he finished.

"It was plain. Do you prefer flavored?"

"Doesn't matter. I don't want any of it."

"That's what I figured."

Bakura scowled. "So why are you making me drink it?"

Marik smiled. "Making you, am I? I didn't know I still had the powers of the Millennium Rod." He stood up, taking the empty kefir bottle and tossing it into a small waste basket near the futon. He wore white cargo pants and orchid colored shirt similar to his old one, but without the gold chain. Once again, Bakura found his eyes tracing up and down all the lines of Marik with vague fascination. Marik's hair draped past his shoulders, gold hair resting on orchid silk and the colors were memorizing together. He shrugged. "I sort of promised Ryou I'd try to snap you out of your depression."

"Since when did you keep your promises?"

Marik rose his thin, salon-tweezed eyebrow up at Bakura's statement. "Whatever could you be referring to? My promise to my sister to eat? I look a lot better than you do." He took two steps closer and leaned down towards Bakura. "Or are you still angry about the whole Rod thing? If that's the case, I guess I could show you my back like I did for the Pharaoh."

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest. "Idiot, I saw your back when you showed the others. My soul was still in the Ring."

Marik gave Bakura a look thick with mock surprise. "Were you? I must not have noticed your smirking asshole spirit face with everything else that was going on at the time."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "For all the good it did me. I still lost."

Marik straightened up, looking away. "We all lost."

Bakura winced. His throat hurt and his eyes burned, but he wasn't sure why. He couldn't process the physical reaction. "Go away, I'm trying to sleep."

"Yeah." Marik walked out the room without further arguing.

Bakura had gotten what he'd asked for, but it didn't feel right. He was used to Marik arguing. Bakura held his pillow to his chest, staring at the door as if Marik would come back and start screaming, but it didn't happen, and Bakura fell back asleep.

When he woke up, Marik sat at the foot of the bed, and the lights were on.

"You're back."

Marik combed tanned fingers through gold hair, shaking it out a little. "I was trying to figure out what I wanted for dinner. What sounds good?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly. We should drink champagne and forget the mortal inconveniences of nourishment." He glanced at Bakura, eyes searing through the former dark spirit. "What did you eat when you were alive?"

"Beer and bread mostly."

"How boring." Marik made a face. "I want grapes. Let's go to the store."

"Why should I go?"

Marik shrugged.

Bakura turned so that he stared at the wall instead of Marik. "Then I'm staying here."

Marik stretched out, "You're so fucking boring. You were never this boring before."

Bakura turned to face Marik, maroon eyes flashing in the bedroom light. "Then maybe we should plan to kill someone. That seems to be when we had to most fun together."

Marik grinned, revealing ivory teeth. "Tempting . . . then again, it wasn't all that fun."

"But going to the store and getting grapes would be fun?"

"No, but have you ever had them out of the freezer? They're good."

"I'd have to brush my hair."

Marik chuckled. "That's not a bad idea. You're starting to look like those nasty American college kids that backpack through Europe and smell like cheap Patchouli."

"Fuck you, Ishtar."

Marik smiled, his voice demure. "But then I'd never get my grapes. You'd be too tired to go to the store after getting fucked by me, Bakura."

Bakura scoffed, sitting up. "Even in this scenario where we're actually going to fuck - what makes you think you'd be the one to do the fucking?"

Marik sat up as well, leaning closer to Bakura. "Isn't that exactly how it'd go down?"

"I am not a cow to be mounted."

Marik adjusted the gold at his wrists. "That's a very specific choice of animal, Bakura. I can't help but feel like your subconscious chose that because you think of me as a powerful bull."

Bakura snorted and stood up. He found the hair brush from his duffel bag and started at the tips of his hair. "Sure, Marik. More like a golden calf - the downfall of any who kneel before you."

Marik doubled over in laughter. "Tell me you didn't just reference The Bible?"

Bakura glanced at Marik. "The what? That was just some story an old woman told us as kids about some slaves that left Egypt." Bakura pointed the brush at Marik. "See? They hated the pharaohs as well. It's not just us that suffered. The dynasties were unjust prison systems disguised as government."

Marik sniffed, his laughter fading. "No argument there." He stood up. "Then again, I can't really talk since I've owned my fair share of slaves when I ran the Ghouls."

Bakura reached the crown of his hair, trying to get his horns to lay down and failing. "Whatever happened to all of them, anyway?"

Marik tried to hid a grin, his arms crossed over his chest. "You'd laugh."

"I'm going to the store to get your stupid grapes. I deserve a good laugh."

Marik shrugged, hair teasing his arms. "I suppose you do. The last command I mentally sent to them all before relinquishing the Rod was to go and fulfill their secret desires in life. I had to repress any goals they had to control them, but at that last moment I opened the floodgates to give them a purpose in life."

Bakura snorted, dropping the brush to the bed and shuffling his hair with his fingers. "That's kinder than I expected from you."

Marik crossed his arms, leaning against the wall and looking off as if he could see the past with his bright, lilac eyes. "I was so happy that day. My dark half was gone. I had my family. I was finally free - at least I thought I was. At that moment I wanted my dolls to have a chance for the same kind of life, so I told them to go find it."

"Too bad it's not that easy," Bakura said without masking his bitterness.

Marik shrugged. "Quit playing with your hair and let's go."