Mariku had grown up well. As a child, he had everything he had ever asked for. His family was wealthy from inheritance, one of his great-great-great-great-great grandfathers (he often lost track of how many 'greats' it was) having spurned such unbelievable wealth that his family still reaped it's benefits. And of course, he made his own money. Though through a very shady and unmoral way.

But no amount of money kept him from being teased. In his school and city, the majority of the population consisted of white people, making him feel very alienated from his Egyptian race. Throughout elementary and middle school, he was teased for his dark skin, and even more so for his blonde hair, not that it was different from other blonde's, but because it was unnatural for him, an Egyptian, to have blonde hair. Nearing the end of eighth grade, Mariku had begun to despise all parts of his family's history and culture, wishing to lead a new life.

Starting high school, Mariku had begun to befriend foreign student named Bakura, who had his share in dealing drugs and was already at the top of the 'delinquent' list. He was drawn to him-a foreigner different from everybody else-just like him. And even though his skin was light in color, his hair was as well; a blonde so light that it was often mistook for being white. And because of this, he was teased as well. But not for long; the far-too-old teasers were found bruised and bleeding in the school's gym locker room the very next day.

Bakura was smart, and his grades reflected it, but often times the people you associate yourself transfer more than your own identity, and this was very much true for him. As smart as Bakura was, it did not help him leave the gang that he had dragged Mariku into, after all, he'd grown up in the slums of his home town; the exact places Mariku's parents had warned him not to visit. And it was this that Bakura entranced him so. He was rebelling against his life style, wanting to live something other than a pampered life filled with proper etiquette-he wanted to feel the excitement of life and the adrenaline Bakura and his friends supplied.

His grades began to drop as he became more and more transfixed with the British male and the rest of his friends, finding much more enjoyment out of his new gang than any amount of 'proper behavior' his parents expected. But coming home one day, he found the familiar blue and white siding of police cars circling in front of his home, and this time, without him in them. An officer led him over to a quiet part of the yard when he began yelling and screaming for what had happened, and she quietly told him that his parents had been murdered, the culprit yet to be found. With this, he had gained all of his family's money through will. He had never had a big family in the first place.

Although Mariku had never felt close to his parents in any way, he still grieved for their loss, feeling even more alone than he had before. But consolance was found in the most odd of places; from Bakura himself. Mariku had thought he would have been chastised for his weak behavior, maybe even left in disgust, but he was both shocked and relieved as Bakura let him into his single apartment that night, sopping wet from the rain that had begun to fall after his parent's death. Sitting down on a dilapidating couch, Bakura watched his shoulders heave before quietly sitting down next to him. Gently patting his leg, he reasurred him that it would be okay, that he had lost his parents as well,(the reason of being sent to America was because he was to live with a cousin, which he refused, and bought his own apartment) and that 'hey, this means we'll have to stick together now.' Mariku just laughed harshly and slumped over, sleep taking control.

Finding no more point in education after high school, Mariku had offered to repay Bakura by letting the other live with him after he had bought a large house on the outskirts of town. Bakura refused, saying that 'he loved the gang life too much.' And so Mariku lived alone for three years, finding job after job to occupy his time, not for the money, but out of boredom. Those were the longest years of his life. It wasn't exactly a bad life, but it was dull, and it lacked the excitement that he had had before with Bakura and his gang. And also, because he was desperately lonely. His life, all and all, was missing something.

It was only when he was working as a cashier at a gas station that he felt the thrill of adrenaline again. At Two A.M. on a Saturday night, he was held up by one of the many gangs that roamed the city, and a gun was pointed to his chest, an order barked at him to hand over every cent that the register held (they would be disappointed to know that this was the 'twilight hour,' and there was hardly anything there TO hand over). He refused, knowing full well that he could die, but not caring in the slightest. If this was what it took to feel alive again, Mariku didn't care what he'd have to sacrifice.

He was surprised then when the man ripped off his hood, long white hair falling from it, Bakura staring at him for a while, gun still even with his chest, before he spoke again.

"Come back with me, Mariku, or I swear by the gods above that I'll shoot you. But, before that happens,"Bakura grinned,"give me the rest of the money."

Mariku had grinned back unlocking the register and setting out it's contents onto the counter. Leaning over the money, he smiled sweetly in a mocking gesture. "So, here comes my knight in bloody armor come to save me. Tell me, will you sweep me off my feet as well?"

Bakura watched him again, brown eyes narrowed as he leaned in the rest of the way to kiss him, before snatching the money out beneath him.

"As long as you have legs to walk with, I'll never degrade myself as far as to help you again. You're coming back with me, and that's an order."

He laughed, walking out from behind the counter and taking the hood out from Bakura's hand, playing with it for a while before throwing it back at him. Bakura caught it, glaring. It was such a welcoming expression, and one that Mariku had missed for a very long time. Knowing that cameras were taping the store, he left quickly with Bakura, tossing off his uniform and flipping off the camera, wondering how long it would take the police to show up at his house.

---

After his reunion with Bakura, he had once again offered for him to live at his house, and this time, he accepted. Their relationship had always been flighty, and Mariku was surprised that Bakura found him tasteful, not expecting him to have interest in him, a man. But after their re-encounter, Bakura had warmed up to him more(if that was how he could explain it) and told him how lonely he had been with Mariku gone. But even with the unorthodox love Bakura displayed for him, Mariku was still lonely. Bakura was often gone, doing god-knew-what, and even though Mariku had rejoined his gang, he wasn't nearly an active member that he was, and was still alone most of the time.

Then one day after walking to a corner cafe from his newest job(the gas station manager taking no charges after he bribed him with 15,ooo dollars to stay quiet about the theft) he looked up from the coffee he was sipping out the window, meeting the gaze of a dark boy walking down the sidewalk. The boy was beautiful, gold hair accented by his dark skin, small tattoos identical to his under purple eyes, and a petite body that looked almost feminine in nature if it were not hidden by the city school's boy uniform. But the most unique thing about him was his skin, abnormally dark not by the sun, but from race, Mariku could tell. He was Egyptian, just like him.

Their gaze held for a second or so, the boy breaking it off as he looked away, continuing down the street. But those brief seconds were all it took for Mariku to become entranced, wanting those eyes back on him. He stood up suddenly, leaving his coffee behind as he raced outside, trying to find the boy again, looking desperately around until he saw him turn the corner at the end of the street, walking into a bookshop.

Mariku watched him quietly, standing behind a bookshelf and spying on the other as he picked up a book, dusting off the cover and flipping through the pages. The boy sighed, setting it back down before picking up another. He watched the teenager go through this process what seemed like dozens of times before the boy smiled, picking up two from the pile he had made and turning them over to check their prices, seeming to make up his mind. The expression he gave next was sad as he frowned at them both, wincing a little as he set them back down into the bargain bin. In any other situation, Mariku would have laughed at this, someone so poor that they could hardly afford a book from the 'bargain bin,' but seeing the beautiful boy look so sad at their prices, he only felt pity.

As the boy sighed again and left the store, he followed quickly behind him, but not to close as to make the other feel as though he was being stalked, Mariku watched as he entered the same parking lot as he used. He rushed to his car, knowing the boy was to leave, and not wanting to let go of him that quickly. Sitting behind his wheel, he leaned his head onto his arms, just watching as the other Egyptian walked to a motorcycle, taking a chain of keys out of his pocket and unlocking the bike, picking up a helmet and setting it on his head. Mariku grinned a little then as the boy lifted a leg over onto his ride, giving him a nice view of his rear end, before starting up the motorcycle and kicking it back until he pressed on the gas peddle. Starting up his own car, Mariku followed him.

He briefly wondered if Bakura would be mad at him for coming home so late, and wondered how he should react if Mariku told him that he had followed this boy all the way to his house. Mariku mused over this for a while as he turned the wheel of his sports car, watching the motorcycle ahead of him in the opposite lane take street after street. Only when the neighborhood became increasingly bad did he begin to worry. What would his boy be doing here? And then the boy slowed, pulling over and diligently locking his motorcycle up, before entering an old and dirty looking apartment building. Watching as he opened the door, light spilling framing his body, his silhouette was cut from view as the Egyptian shut the door, cutting off all ties from Mariku's gaze.

Mariku wanted more.

---

And so his game started, following the boy home and to school everyday, making sure to stay just out of sight, but able to watch his every move. Bakura laughed at him, not seeming to mind that he was watching someone other than him so intently, just remarking how he must be rubbing off on him. Mariku only shrugged.

There were a lot of things about his boy that he had learned, the first of which, being his name, from salvaging a school paper he had thrown away on the bus while emptying out his book bag; Malik Ishtar. The name was nice, and he took joy in it's familiar Egyptian...ness. Malik was sixteen, attending Saint Matthew High School, and he had an older sister, and either a step brother or an adopted brother (Mariku could not tell which it was), both of which were also Egyptian. His sister worked at the museum and his brother, a mechanic; neither of which bringing in an income that he felt suitable for his Malik. And it had come to this that Mariku had become to think of Malik as 'his'. Obviously, the boy had had a hard life, and was living close to poverty, and all he wished was to save Malik from his hell and comfort him, giving him everything that he lacked now. Since he owned little to none, he found it reasonable to think of the boy as his. Mariku was obsessed.

Some days, after work instead of returning home, he would park his car a block or two from Malik's apartment and just watch him. This was achieved by climbing a tree almost too conveniently placed next to Malik's window, using it's branches as a foot hold as he climbed it, knowing to stay hidden as he watched him. Malik was very studious, he learned, wanting to some day get out of the city and go to college and get a good job to support his family so they would never have to worry about paying the bills ever again. And it seemed that everything Malik lacked, Mariku had. But in the same sense, he also had everything Mariku wished for; a family that, despite their surroundings, loved him.

One particular night was bad for his Malik. He could hear him scream at his sister, arguing over work. She did not want him to work, wanting him to only immerse himself in school, but it was not what Malik wanted, and he retaliated that, since he had few friends, he had a couple of hours to spare to bring in some extra money. The argument was lost, however, and Mariku listened as Malik stomped up the stares, swinging his door shut with a bang as he flopped face down onto his bed and screamed into his blue comforter. Calming down, Malik flipped onto his back, staring up at ceiling for a while, before looking at the door and then sitting up to go lock it.

Flopping back onto his bed, Mariku watched curiously as Malik closed his eyes, hiding his face in his hands before dropping them back down again onto his stomach, lifting up his shirt and rubbing small circles onto his skin. Mariku's breath caught as Malik shrugged off his shirt, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands more freely now, watching silently as they moved upwards, gently touching his nipples. Malik sighed turned into a groan as he twisted them what looked like almost painful before he paused, panting a little and placing one hand onto his black belt, undoing it and trowing it across the room. Mariku froze, staring in front at him not daring to move an inch, and not wanting to do so anyway. How far would Malik go with this? He hoped for the best, wondering how long he could keep quiet himself, growing hard as he watched his Malik let go of tension. Hopefully, his hours of watching the boy would be rewarded.

And then Mariku's silent encouragement was rewarded as Malik's tan hand slowly undid his pants, pulling them off and flinging them across the room to meet his belt, his body now completely naked. Mariku surely wouldn't be able last through this silent show, and he even considered leaving then before he made noise, and letting Malik his privacy, even though he didn't know it was being invaded. But the sight of finally seeing all of his Malik before him was too tempting to give up, and he stayed, perched upon the tree and hidden in it's shadows as he continued to watch the teenager bestow pleasure upon himself. Malik was truly beautiful...

Malik sighed for the third time that night, gently touching his erection as he swung his other hand over his mouth, muffling the moan that came from it before becoming more bold. He closed his eyes, teasing the tip of it gently before moving his whole hand down it's length, pausing at the base before repeating it again. Letting go of his mouth, Malik seemed to think that he was capable at not making noise. Letting his now freed hand gently play with his nipples as his occupied hand increased in it's ministrations, his hips quivered slightly. This continued for a couple minutes or so before Malik seemed to become desperate for friction, his top half losing interest as his hand lowered itself between his legs, joining the other as he bucked up, giving out a soft hiss, his eyebrows furrowing. But it was not enough, and so softly he moaned that Mariku had to strain to hear it, before his right hand left the other and moved lower between his thighs.

He teased his opening with a finger, slowly inserting it, his expression turning pained when he added a second. As much as he loved his show, Mariku felt the need to tell him to stop. He did not want to see his Malik in pain. But the expression was short lived as Malik moaned a little louder than the last, pumping his erection faster as his fingers mimicked the motion. Biting his lip, he could tell Malik was reaching his limit(to early, much to his disappointment) as the other sped up, writhing a little before he came suddenly without warning. Giving one last moan, Malik dropped his hips, taking both of his hands away from his lower regions before dragging one hand onto his chest into the puddle of cum and lifting it up and staring at it.

Mariku had never exactly thought of his Malik as a sexual creature exactly, but was pleased to find himself wrong. Only this was obviously thought to soon as he watched Malik stare at his hand before his expression turned disgusted. Then, to his somewhat horror, Malik began to cry softly, his eyes wide as he rubbed the white substance off of him desperately, the fact that he had pleasured himself seeming to be horrifying. But Mariku could only watch as his beautiful boy cried softly, head in his hands as he rocked himself back and forth. Oh, what he would have given to reach out and hold him...

Eventually his Malik calmed, wiping his face with one hand before standing up to turn out his light. Still concerned, Mariku only left when the other blonde finally fell asleep, feeling the need to watch over him. Even though he didn't know that he was watching him, or even who he was, Mariku still stayed.

It was with this that Mariku had begun to fantasize: what if he were to truly make Malik his? What if HE could become Malik's answers? What if he could take Malik away from all of his hardships and problems so that he never had anything to worry about again? And the more he thought about it, the more he began to think that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't just be a fantasy.

It was very late that Mariku had come home that night, surprised to see Bakura waiting for him. Usually he was the first one home. Bakura stared at him for a while, almost seeming to suspect something before he grinned, his eyes traveling down to his crotch, looking up at him and smirking. He was still hard. Mariku took the offer, but he almost felt guilty for it. For the whole time, it was Malik he was fucking, not Bakura, and it was love he was proclaiming, not wild lust. Oh well, at least Bakura always knew the answers to his problems.

---

Mariku knew that with their lifestyle, lots of danger followed suit. Bakura would often return home by slamming the door fast and telling him to close all the windows as he watched outside for whatever he was worried about. Whether or not it was the police he worried about, or another gang, he did not know, nor did he wish to care. Every ounce of spare time he had had started to shift into favor of his Malik, watching him diligently, almost as if he was living out his life along side him, and naturally, Bakura had started to grow jealous.

He said he had not minded before, that Mariku could watch the boy as long as he wanted as long as he didn't touch him, but when he had accidentally moaned Malik's name instead of the British man's during sex, he had flown into a fit of rage. He had beaten Mariku that night, and he was surprised with himself that he did not fight back(as much as Bakura hated to admit it, he WAS stronger and bigger than him), but simply took the beating quietly. Bakura had stopped eventually, exhausted from his abuse upon the blonde, and stared down at him. He watched back, not moving before Bakura had spoken.

"I don't care anymore, Mariku. If you truly love that boy more than me, then fine. But it'll be him that you hurt, not me."

He hadn't had time to tell Bakura that it was 'you that I truly love!' before he just simply scoffed, throwing on his clothes and stomped down the hall out the front door. Dejected, Mariku was once again lonely, thinking of both Malik and Bakura, not knowing which he loved more, but knowing that neither of their love was returned back to him.

Days had gone by without Bakura's return, but Mariku waited for him, cooking dinner every night in case he might come back, though it was a very futile attempt. On the third day, he had dismissed himself from his lover, not finding point in waiting for him when he obviously was still mad, off sulking somewhere like he usually did. Bakura was very fickle. Instead, he opted for his other love; and his growing obsession.

That day, Malik had gone to the movies with a friend, something Mariku was glad to see him do. Malik often kept to himself, it seemed, and he was somewhat cold towards other people, and so this random burst of socialism pleased him, liking how this other person made him smile. But a pang of jealousy hit him, wanting the other to be dead, and for it to be HIM that Malik was smiling at. Growling at his burst of emotion, Mariku stuffed it down, waiting for the pair to leave the theater. No matter how dedicated he was, he would not watch the movie with them. In all honesty, he had never been fond of horror movies.

Relieved as they finally exited, it was growing late when his Malik and his friend left the movie theater, the other boy offering him coffee, which he accepted graciously. Entering behind them, Mariku sat at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, he had lifted a newspaper up so he could watch them without being seen. A waitress approached him, asking if he would like to order, but he shooed her away, not wanting to miss anything. She looked a little put off(him being one less tip she would receive) before flitting over to his Malik's table.

Malik's friend had ordered the same for them both, chatting with him a while until their identical iced coffees arrived. He had grown bored of watching the conversation between the two boys, eventually just focusing on his Malik. Every move he made he drunk in and worshiped, from the tiniest things like a flip of the hair or a pause in speech. Everything Malik did was beautiful and captivating, and Mariku was becoming more and more entranced with him by every passing second, becoming high on the feeling of watching him, pretending his Malik was his. H-he...he loved him He loved him with every ounce of his soul.

Jostled from his focus on Malik, he watched in horror as the other boy paused, whispering softly something before sitting up gently and leaning over the table, kissing his Malik. A rage he could not conceive to describe bubbled up then, and it took every ounce of his will power to not throw his paper down and strangle that boy. Strangle him for even daring to set eyes upon his Malik, and to mutilate his every nerve for go so far as to...kiss him. But what he saw next shocked him even more, for he had believed his Malik to welcome this gesture and return the favor by kissing him back. This was not the case, however, and his Malik froze, tensing greatly until he suddenly stood up, knocking over his coffee.

The other boy stood as well, asking over and over what was wrong, as Malik had looked on the verge of tears, before he put a hand to his mouth, backing up slowly away from the table and then turning quickly and running out of the store. From his corner, Mariku watched as his Malik left, before his attention quickly snapped back to the other boy who dejectedly paid the drinks and cleaned up the spilled coffee. He tipped the waitress and left the store. Mariku followed him.

The boy turned a corner, taking a shortcut through a dark alley to his parking lot, only to be shoved roughly into the wall. His eyes were wide and he was scared before he was flipped around, forced to face his attacker. Mariku glared with a hatred so intense at the boy that there were not words adequate enough to describe it, before kicking the boy in the side over and over until he pulled him up. He told the boy that he had no right to touch his Malik, and the boy had protested that he was in no position to call him 'his.' Later, he mused that he could have drawn out the meeting to be more dramatic, instead of just shooting the boy and watching as his blood dripped down his neck before throwing him away, disgusted. But he was never a romantic like that.

Coming home, he was glad to have Bakura waiting for him, relieved that he had been forgiven. But relief was short lived as Bakura saw his bloodied jacket, interrogating him for why it was there, and whose it was. Reluctantly, he admitted that he had continued to follow Malik after he left, and killed the boy who dared kiss him. Bakura only laughed, mentioning how he 'must be rubbing off on him.' Mariku had to agree. Only a pang of worry was left then. Maybe he should have gotten rid of the body instead of leaving it in the open...

---

After the incident, his obsession with Malik had taken a dark turn, instantly despising anyone who looked at Malik or even had the gall to touch him. Of course, his Malik had grieved over his friend's death, blaming himself for it since it happened only just after he left. He had locked himself in his room for days, not wanting to show weakness in front of his family, and opted for solitude instead, but Mariku watched intently, so he never was truly alone. Since his Malik's family chose to ignore his grievances, Mariku took this task upon himself, silently and lovingly watching over the boy until he deemed himself ready to accept his friends death. That day was a celebration to both his Malik, and to him. Mariku hated to see his Malik unhappy.

A couple weeks had passed by, every breath Malik took filling the hole in his heart, but he was still lonely. His Malik didn't know of his existence, and it was then he began to create fantasies of his Malik; his God.

Years would have passed, and Malik would live with him in a life of ease, by the ocean, perhaps. Malik would love him, and would admire him and his undying love as Mariku worshiped his body, remembering the day that he had first seen his Malik's body presented to him. The other blonde would moan softly as he kissed his legs, one of the most beautiful things about him(but how could he choose...?). The kisses would travel slowly upwards to the inside of his thighs, making his Malik grow impatient, wanting his mouth elsewhere. A tan hand would gently grab his hair, beckoning him closer, and would only let go when Mariku complied, sucking the tip of his erection, closing his eyes and feeling so happy that what he was experiencing was real, that his Malik loved him and was offering his body to him. Need present in himself, Mariku would suck harder, making his Malik gasp and thrust into his open mouth before coming suddenly, his back arching as he cried out in pleasure, Mariku gladly swallowing everything. Exhausted, Malik would lie back and watch silently with half closed eyes as Mariku prepared himself for what came next, the lube coating his own erection as he lined himself up, leaning over the bronze body and intertwining their fingers, kissing Malik slowly before he thrust in. Malik would gasp sharply, crossing his legs behind his back as he pleasured him, thrusting in and out and then back in again, proclaiming his love for him over and over until the tightness became almost unbearable. His thrusts would become more erratic, the friction between their bodies making his Malik hard once again. Reaching between them, he would grasp Malik's erection, pumping it in time with his movements, the sensation of it all overwhelming his Malik as he tensed up, closing his eyes and giving one last moan before cumming for the last time. The sudden tightness unexpected, Mariku would cum as well, giving one last thrust before pulling out and sighing, kissing his Malik and smiling at his own little paradise. Malik would smile back, at him, and would be happy.

With time on his hands, Mariku had created many fantasies, but his favorite of which being the one where he was at his Malik's mercy, the blonde having kidnapped him and drugged him, taking him far away from his life and everything he loved, having no choice than to comply to his every whim. At first, he would be terrified of his captor and his demands, but would quickly grow to love him. His Malik, seeing his change of heart, would offer him the choice of freedom, but Mariku would decline, choosing to stay out of his free will, and spend the rest of his life with him. That one he liked the best, the idea of being owned absolutely exhilarating, especially if he suffered under his Malik, who would then, of course, love him in return.

Then one day everything crashed and burned when Bakura came home, or so he thought. Hysterical, Bakura screamed in rage when he asked what was wrong, grabbing the front of his shirt roughly and choking him as he wrenched Mariku towards him. The glint in his eyes was horribly and terribly mad, but also...scared.

"Mariku, you fucking idiot, do you want to know why I'm so damn mad? Do you want to fucking know why?!" Mariku was reluctant to nod his head yes. "I'll fucking tell you why! It's because of that day when you were chasing after your prissy ass little princess and his little fuckbuddy. You got pissy because he kissed him, and killed him. But hmm, Mariku, let's see here...what did you do wrong?" Bakura tapped his chin to mock him, and it would be almost comical if he wasn't even more angry than before. "I'll tell you what you fucking did wrong...You forgot to get rid of the body! So let's just get it all out into the open then, shall we!?

A maid from the gay-ass little coffee and biscuit shop you went to saw you leave after him, and after interrogation, guess what, my little Mariku? She fucking told the bloody cops. So now the fucking police are after you, and once they know where you are, they'll see me as well and know that it was me that robbed the Galleria. So, since you're such a wise-ass little boy, tell me, what do you propose we do?"

The question was shot at him with so much venom that he only stared blankly back up at Bakura, a short reply the only answer.

"We leave."

---

The prospect of leaving the house and all of their belongings behind was not something he had meditated over, having never felt tied down to material possessions. But there was one thing he could not leave behind, and it was the one thing that he did not want to give up; his Malik.

Watching his Malik every day as though it was his last, he waited for Bakura to say when the right time was to leave. Accepting that he would have to leave his Malik was terrifying, and it never was accomplished. He had resigned himself to never seeing his beautiful boy again before he had actually thought about maybe, just maybe, how he could keep him. The idea came suddenly, and he was surprised at it's spontaneousness. He doubted it would work, but he would try for that one sliver of hope that he wouldn't have to bid his Malik a fare-well. Everything ready for his plan, all Mariku had to do then was wait in the dark and abandoned building, praying to Malik, his god, that he would pass by.

Recently, construction had begun on Malik's small street, plans for a retail outlet booming. Everyday, coming home from school, Malik would take the street adjacent to which he lived on to cut across to his apartment. All Mariku had done was place a stolen construction sign(courtesy of Bakura) in front of it's entrance, telling passer byers to take another road if they wished to pass. His Malik would have no choice then to take a detour, the closest one a block or two from his apartment, hoping that he would pass by Mariku's hiding spot where he waited for him. And that...was it. It was simple in theory, but seemed almost ingenious in his eyes.

Praying for what seemed hours that his Malik would come, that he would not have to create a new plan, and would not have to leave him behind, Mariku almost cried in relief as he finally saw his Malik appear. He came into his vision running, and out of breath, sinking down to the ground in front of the building Mariku was hiding in. Hating that his Malik started to cry, he consoled himself that this would be the last time that he would watch silently while he suffered. The tears coming to an end, Malik wiped his face with his sleeve, staring down at his lap. Knowing that this was the opportune moment, Mariku called out at him, Malik looking up sharply, as if he didn't quite hear him.

Clearing his throat, Mariku yelled out again, louder than the last. He watched as his Malik stood up, ready to help his persona that he had adopted to lure his Malik to him. Almost too easily, Malik opened the door to his building, stepping inside and inquired to why the information didn't match up. But Mariku was ready for him, and knocked him out cold with a bat he had bought.

A little unbelieving that what was happening was real at first, Mariku knelt down, reaching out a shaky hand to touch the side of his Malik's unconscious face for the first time in his life. He almost cried from happiness. His Malik, finally his. He would never be alone again.

---

Writing through Mariku, I find, is much more exciting and of a challenge than Malik. To capture his dark obsession and intense love for Malik is hard, especially when Malik himself doesn't even know of his existence. Mariku sees Malik as someone who is weak and needs protecting, his fantasy of having Malik's attention completely on him shrouding over the fact that Malik has, in actuality, more of a backbone that he wishes for. That's why in chapters through Malik's point of view, he is a lot more harsh and cocky, even if he admits himself to be weak. The idea that society has that 'boys do not cry' is something that I really wanted to interpret, the unbelievable stress of his life and the terror of being held hostage would have anybody cry. Malik does do this, but hides it, ashamed for his feelings and what he sees as 'weakness.'. Just thought I should clear somethings up. ;