I want to say a huuuuuge thanks to my reviewers, such lovely words made me put my brain in gear and get this chapter ground out for you lovely people. Much thiefshipping and slight angst ahead, sure you've heard it all before. Next update may be a while as I'm moving into my new house next week and need to pack, but I'll be going on holiday the week after so I should have a couple of good writing days. Also still deciding what direction I want this story to go in!

I would love to have a review from you, I accept anon reviews so you don't even have to log in! Honestly, they're what make me keep at this story, though I maintain my promise that I won't abandon it! It just helps speed things up a little ;)

naniething: I'm so happy you still like this story after all this time! And thank you so much for the compliments, I really appreciate them!

LaminateGem12: Honestly that is the best feedback I think I've ever had, it almost made me cry. Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm really glad you like the story- I hope you'll keep reading ^.^

Enjoy!

DustyStars

Chapter 10- Curiosity killed the cat

The sun was already high into the sky when Marik awoke, neck bent at an awkward angle from sleeping on the sofa. At first he didn't open his eyes, instead choosing to remain in the foggy dreamlike state of waking up, and moved slightly further under his blanket. For a few moments he had to think exactly why he was sleeping on the sofa before he remembered the events of the night before.

Marik smiled slightly. Of course, Bakura was here. The thought made him crack his eyes open and let out a yawn before daring to crawl out from under his blanket. Blearily he surveyed the living room, and was disappointed to find that the sofa was unoccupied by anyone other than himself.

Oh well.

Stretching, Marik yawned again before pushing himself off the sofa and headed towards the kitchen via the bathroom so he could smarten himself up slightly. He could hear voices as he neared the kitchen door, and on pushing it open he found Bakura and Ryou sat at the table, tea in hand, talking.

'Morning!' Ryou said brightly, turning to Marik as he opened the door. 'Sleep well?'

'As well as expected when sleeping on a sofa,' Marik muttered as he headed towards the kettle, rubbing his neck where it ached. He glanced at Bakura and noted that he looked a lot better than he had before; the bruise on his head was turning yellow and the cuts on his arms were a little less noticeable. Soon there would be no traces of harm at all.

'Since when were you a morning person, Ry?' Marik asked as he switched the kettle on and reached for a mug.

Ryou chuckled. 'It's practically afternoon, Marik. Me and Bakura have been up for ages!'

Bakura, who had remained quiet throughout the exchange, merely raised an eyebrow and said, 'Ages being about an hour, I believe.'

Ryou let out a little chuckle as Marik busied himself with making breakfast- well, lunch. The two whitettes resumed their conversation as Marik went through the motions of making eggs on toast for himself. He wondered why Ryou was here at this time: he ought to have been studying for his exams, either in the university library or at a friend's house, yet here he was, laughing at some sarcastic remark Bakura had made.

As he was reaching for a second egg Marik felt a sudden irrational surge of jealously: Bakura had come here to stay with him after all! Marik was supposed to be the one getting to know the man and helping him through whatever was troubling him, not Ryou! There was nothing his housemate could do that Marik wasn't perfectly capable of doing himself. Marik glared at the toast as it popped out of the toaster.

The stream of negative thoughts continued as he finished making his food, so by the time the Egyptian put his plate on the table it was with a little more force than intended, causing Bakura and Ryou to stop talking and give him strange looks.

'Everything alright, Mar?' Ryou asked, concern in his eyes.

Marik nodded shortly before turning to his food. He could give no logical reason for his sudden spike of anger, it wasn't as though Ryou was doing anything wrong. On the contrary, he had been extremely helpful so far, and was kind enough to allow Bakura to stay in the first place. Marik sighed, before realising the pair were still watching him. He must be scowling at his plate or something.

'What?'

'Nothing,' Ryou said quickly, sensing Marik's mood. There were a couple of seconds of awkward silence. 'In fact I'm just heading off now, I'll leave you to it. Study session and all that.'

The small teen pushed his chair back and smiled ruefully before leaving the room. 'I'll be back this evening,' he shouted as the door swung shut behind him.

There was silence in the kitchen for a moment before:

'Well that was odd.'

Marik looked up at Bakura's words. The Brit was looking after Ryou with a confused look on his face, as though his brain was still trying to catch up with his eyes.

'I guess,' Marik said reluctantly before taking a mouthful of eggs. 'He probably realised he was late or something, I don't know.'

Bakura's eyes narrowed a little bit before he commented, 'He told me he didn't need to leave until one in the afternoon.'

Marik shrugged, not in the mood to think about his housemate's strange exit. In truth he was mad at himself for feeling jealous; it wasn't as though he owned Bakura or anything and Ryou was perfectly within his rights to talk to him. He still didn't know a lot about the guy, and he was already making quite the impression in Marik's mind. He really needed to get that under control.

'So what are you up to today?' Bakura asked as though the last few minutes hadn't happened.

Marik shrugged again. 'I was going to work on my painting for my project, but it's probably not the most interesting thing for you to watch.'

Honestly Marik just wanted to be left to think for a while, and painting provided the perfect getaway from reality for him, but he worried that Bakura would take offence at being ignored and leave, which was something Marik wasn't ready for him to do.

'I don't mind,' Bakura responded after a few seconds. 'I'd just like a little respite at the moment, and some peace and quiet. If you don't mind me watching you that is.'

It was then that Marik realised something was really wrong. This wasn't the Bakura he had come to know, the one who had quick wits, was always swift to retort and was sharp enough to cut himself. Something had changed in him. He looked… Defeated, almost. It was as though he was talking to someone else entirely. Marik didn't like it. It was like the lights behind those russet eyes had burned out.

Marik knew better than to voice any of these thoughts. Instead he finished his breakfast, washed his plate and headed down to his art room, Bakura following behind him. The Egyptian hesitated before opening the door. Only he and Ryou had entered this room before, and it was the place he came when he wanted be alone or just to get away from the world. It felt sort of personal allowing someone else in here.

Shaking off the feeling Marik opened the door and let himself and Bakura into the studio, the familiar splashes of colour welcoming them in. Bakura paused in the doorway and looked around, staring at the paintings on the walls.

'Are these yours?' he asked after a moment.

Marik nodded as he headed over to his art cupboard. 'I spend most of my time in here actually. I like surrounding myself with colours, and it's where I go to be alone.'

Bakura made a noise of acknowledgement before shutting the door and moving to sit on the battered red sofa. 'They're good. Really good. I see why you got the contract.'

Marik made an interesting noise in the back of his throat before burying his head in his paint box to hide a blush that was forming without his consent. He heard a snicker from behind him, which he tried to ignore. Once he had successfully found the right colours to start working on the first coat of paint he finally straightened up and faced Bakura, who had managed to stop smirking.

'Seriously though, they are pretty amazing,' Bakura remarked as Marik set his paints near the blank canvas.

'Thanks,' he replied quietly. 'I've been doing it for quite a while now.'

Bakura nodded to show he had heard before turning to stare out of the window, which offered a stunning view of the block of apartments next to Ryou's. Marik snuck a glance at the man on his sofa, noticing that the angle he was sat at threw the fading bruise on his forehead into sharp relief. It looked pretty bad in this light actually.

'Do you want me to get anything for your head?' Marik asked quickly before he could stop himself. 'It looks quite bad from here.'

Bakura turned to him and raised an eyebrow. 'It's been worse,' he said lightly. 'I'll manage.'

'Are you sure it doesn't hurt?'

'I didn't say that.'

Marik gave a slightly frustrated growl. 'Have you put anything on it at all since you got here?'

'Nope.'

'So you're going to just live with the pain when you could quite easily get something to remedy it?'

'That just about sums it up.'

There was a glimmer of Bakura's true character shining through in the exchange, and Marik laughed despite himself.

'At least let me go and fetch some Arnica cream to put on it,' he said and, ignoring the Brit's protests, headed out of the door and towards the bathroom, where he grabbed the cream from the medicine cabinet.

He returned to his art room to find Bakura scowling on the far end of the sofa.

'I don't need any bloody medicine,' he muttered as Marik advanced with the cream. 'I'm fine without it.'

'Just let me put it on, okay?' Marik said as he unscrewed the lid. 'It'll heal a lot quicker this way.'

'I don't want it, Marik!'

'Well you're going to get it!'

Bakura glared. 'Why do you suddenly want to put that stuff on me?' he asked, eyeing the tube in Marik's grasp.

'Because it looks painful and I don't like seeing people in pain,' the Egyptian replied without thought. It was true; Marik had too many experiences of his own to wish any degree of pain on another. 'Just let me put it on, it'll only take a second.'

Bakura sighed and looked resigned. 'Fine, you may as well, but just this once.'

'Thank you!' Marik huffed as he sat on the sofa next to Bakura, who continued to glare at him. As Marik began applying the cream, however, his face softened slightly and his body relaxed. Marik made sure to cover the whole of the bruise, taking care not to press too hard or cause any pain, moving slightly closer in order to see better. By the time he had finished he was only a few inches away from Bakura, whose eyes had slipped closed.

'See, that wasn't so bad,' Marik said quietly as he screwed the top back onto the tube.

Bakura made a small noise in the back of his throat before opening his eyes, looking slightly surprised to see Marik so close. 'I guess not,' he replied in a low voice. 'I don't generally use medicine or accept help from anyone, you know.'

'Well this is a day of firsts for you then, isn't it?' Marik said, losing focus of what he was saying, instead distracted by how close Bakura was. He could see each individual eyelash framing the deep russet tones of his eyes, which were suddenly boring holes into his own. Marik was unable to look away. He could feel the other's breath on his face, and if he just leaned forward a little bit-

What was he doing? Marik came back to earth with a crash, pulling away quickly as though he had been burnt. He turned away, and so missed the fleeting look of hurt that crossed Bakura's face.

Marik was about to apologise before the sound of a phone rang through the room. A slight rustle and a quiet curse from behind him told him it was Bakura's.

'Be right back,' the Brit said quickly before heading out of the room, leaving Marik to sit on the sofa and wonder what the hell had just happened.

Had he really been close to kissing Bakura? More importantly, had Bakura been close to kissing him? The Brit hadn't pulled away when he had seen Marik so close, had that meant that he had been fine with the close proximity?

Marik had promised himself not to admit anything to the white haired man only the night before, yet here he was finding any excuse to be close to him. The Egyptian put his head in his hands. He could hear Bakura's muffled voice outside but paid it no attention. He had to convince himself that Bakura had no feelings for him or the whole thing was going to end in either humiliation or violence. He didn't even know whether the driver was gay, never mind whether he liked him!

The conversation outside ceased, yet Bakura didn't reappear in the art room. Instead there was only silence from the other side of the door. Deciding it would be more productive to begin painting than find out what his house guest was doing, Marik got off the sofa and began to mix the paints together to start the first layer.

He needed to begin with yellows and browns for the background of the piece, before progressing onto the base of the skin and the subtle differences in fabric. The next layer would then consist of more vibrant colours to help bring out the shadows and shape the sunset behind them. Marik sighed; it looked like he would be using the russet paint in this piece as well.

A few minutes had passed before Bakura re-entered the room, quietly sitting on the sofa as the first dabs of paint found their way onto Marik's canvas.

'That was my boss,' Bakura said after a few more minutes of watching Marik paint.

'Oh?'

'Yeah. He wants me at work tomorrow or he's firing me.'

Marik paused at this. 'Are you going to go?'

He heard Bakura sigh before he said, 'I don't really have a choice, I need the money.'

'I thought as much.' Marik couldn't seem to manage to keep the regret out of his voice.

They remained in silence after that, the only sounds in the room the occasional movement from Bakura as he repositioned himself on the sofa and Marik's careful, precise brushstrokes. The Egyptian became absorbed in his work, allowing the swirl of colours to wipe away any awkwardness from before. Bakura, for his part, seemed content to stare out of the window and zone out, only occasionally glancing at Marik's back. A few of hours passed in this way, until Marik had successfully managed to paint the first layer of yellows and brown.

'I'm done for now as I have to wait for this layer to dry before I do the next one,' he said to Bakura as he placed his brushes in a cup of water. 'I would like to start another sketch today but I'm not sure what to do.' He looked outside to see that the sun was slowly working its way towards the horizon, and added, 'plus it's getting a little late.'

The Brit let out a low hum before turning to look at the Egyptian, who had moved and was currently bent over the cabinet putting his paints away.

'Fair enough,' he responded before slowly untangling his legs and getting off the sofa, stretching. 'I'd ask if you wanted some help tidying things away, but I do have a reputation as a bad house guest to uphold,' he said, laughing as Marik shot him an almost amused look as he straightened up.

'Fine, I don't need any help anyway,' he said in a mock angry tone. 'You can keep your reputation for all I care!'

Bakura let out a quiet laugh before turning and heading out of the door. Marik heard his footsteps fading down the corridor, shortly followed by the bathroom door opening and closing. He breathed a heavy sigh. It had been odd having someone other than Ryou in the room whilst he was painting, especially for such an extended period of time.

Marik had expected Bakura to make a sarcastic comment or two to distract him, but the white haired man had remained silent and had spent most of the time staring at the walls or out of the window judging by the quick glances Marik had thrown his way. There had been a different atmosphere to the room than when it was just himself- an almost comfortable one, which Marik honestly couldn't work out whether he liked or not.

He shook his head slightly as he finished clearing up. Bakura would be leaving tomorrow and despite what Marik wanted he would be unlikely to be coming back too soon. Marik still was unaware of what the Brit's accommodation arrangements were, and he had to assume that Bakura would need time to sort them out before he approached Marik again. After all he had been incredibly reluctant to stay with him this time even when his situation had seemed pretty dire.

Marik sat in Bakura's recently vacated seat with another sigh. Something wasn't adding up here. Of course there were things the man wasn't telling him, but Marik was at a loss as to how to piece the information he did have together. Once again he was left wondering what had happened to Bakura to make him so unable to trust him with anything. His unwillingness to accept help suggested that he was often alone and had to rely on himself to get by, but Marik was unsure how Bakura had even managed to get this far in life if that was the case.

It was a mystery.

After giving the room a final glance over Marik stood and left, heading towards the living room where he flopped onto the vacant sofa and proceeded to flip through one of Ryou's magazines without really paying attention to what he was looking at. A couple of minutes later the sound of the bathroom door echoed down the corridor, followed by footsteps.

An amused snicker told him Bakura had entered the room.

'Writer's Weekly?' he questioned, eyebrow raised. 'I didn't take you as that sort, Marik.'

'Hm?' It took the Egyptian a few moments to realise what Bakura was referring to- he looked down and realised he was indeed looking at one of Ryou's literary magazines. He quickly threw it onto the coffee table as Bakura took a seat next to him.

'I was curious,' he said defensively. 'Nothing wrong with that.'

'They say curiosity killed the cat,' Bakura answered mildly, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes.

'Do I look like a cat to you?'

The white haired man merely snorted in reply.

Marik shook his head slowly, before a thought suddenly struck him. He was hesitant to say it, but the word kill had reminded of a question he had wanted to ask for a while now.

'Do you remember the time you drove me back here?' he asked Bakura, who cracked an eye open and nodded. 'You said if I didn't pay you then you'd break in and steal it anyway. And you also said you'd like to see me try and kill you. What did you mean by that?'

Bakura closed his eye again and let out a long breath. There was a long pause, as though he was debating what to say, before: 'It was something said on the spur of the moment, you needn't worry about it.'

Marik frowned. His tone wasn't quite right. It was uncertain, almost a question.

'It didn't sound like that at the time,' he said, and a pained look crossed Baukra's features.

There was a spell of silence, so long that Marik began to believe he wasn't getting anything more out of the man, when Bakura suddenly replied.

'There are some things that are better left undiscovered,' he said quietly, almost a whisper. 'And some things I would prefer to keep that way.'

It was said with an air of finality, and Marik knew that he was getting no more out of Bakura on the subject. His reluctance hadn't surprised him, but the way in which he had said it had. He sounded almost ashamed of himself. Once again the Egyptian would have to content himself with not knowing.

Well, at least Bakura hadn't killed him, so it wasn't true that curiously killed the cat. Marik couldn't help but let out a tiny snicker as the irony struck him, earning him a glance from said would-be killer.

'You're not going to push it?' he asked Marik after a few moments, a look of mild worry on his face.

Marik shook his head. 'You'll either tell me when you're ready or you won't tell me at all. I'm not going to force you.'

Bakura nodded slowly.

'Call it common courtesy,' Marik said.

'There isn't much of that where I come from,' Bakura replied, raising an eyebrow.

'I can tell.'

'Watch it.'

'It was just an observation.'

'And who asked you to observe?'

'I invited myself.'

'Nobody likes a gate crasher you know.'

There was a small smile tugging at the edges of Bakura's lips as he closed his eyes again, thinking he had won the battle. However it was only silent for a few seconds before a retort came.

'You're the guest here, so technically you're gate crashing.'

'Gate crashing what exactly?'

'My life.'

'Oh? And you have a problem with that?' Bakura opened his eyes again to find that Marik had moved closer towards him on the sofa and was staring at him intently.

…

'No.'

Bakura's smile grew as Marik dropped his gaze as though admitting that he had lost the exchange.

'Exactly,' Bakura said. 'And as it usually follows that gate crashers are unwelcome I wouldn't class myself as one in this context.'

'Oh shut up,' Marik mumbled, and even from this angle Bakura could see him blushing.

'Make me.'

Bakura had said it without thinking, almost on impulse without considering the connotations, but the effect it had on Marik was very interesting. The teen's head came up quickly and he fixed his purple gaze on Bakura questioningly, almost saying, What do you mean?

Bakura simply raised an eyebrow. Whatever you like.

Neither of them were quite sure how, but they were suddenly very close together, and for the second time that day they could each see themselves reflected in the other's pupils. Bakura could feel Marik's breath coming in shallow bursts, and the Egyptian felt sure he was going to drown in the russet eyes that were only centimetres from his face.

'Marik…'

Marik began to close his eyes, and Bakura's breath quickened. Was he really going to do it? He had been wanting to for a while now admittedly, but was he actually going to…

He made the decision and began to lean forwards, closing his eyes too. They were millimetres away from each other, almost touching-

Brrrriiiinnnggg!

'Fuck,' Bakura swore as they were both brought back to reality with a thump. Marik scooted away right to the other end of the sofa, blushing hotly, as Bakura fumbled in his pocket for his phone, letting out a stream of curses as he did so.

Marik, finding himself unable to contain his blush, or other parts of him for that matter, quickly got off the sofa and went into the kitchen while Bakura was still distracted. Once there he leaned against the counter, letting out a few choice curses of his own. Once again he had found himself giving into his desires and coming close to breaking his promise to himself.

Bakura was here for help, not to have Marik practically throw himself at him. And the second time in two days!

To say Bakura had answered his phone it was very quiet in the living room. Then as Marik listened, he heard one word spoken in a low voice before silence again. Not quite trusting himself at the moment Marik opted to remain in the kitchen and allow Bakura to come through when he was ready. Sure enough, a minute later the door swung open revealing the white haired man.

Marik was about to say something light hearted to distract from the awkward moment but something in Bakura's face stopped him. The pale man had gone, if possible, more colourless, and he was wearing an unreadable expression. He looked tired and resigned, and Marik was suddenly wary.

'I'm leaving tonight,' Bakura said quietly, not meeting Marik's gaze. 'There's something I need to do.'

'What's wrong? I thought you were leaving tomorrow?' Marik asked, unable to keep the shake out of his voice. It was quite clear the phone call hadn't been a friendly one.

Bakura still wouldn't raise his eyes. 'I can't say, but I have to go. Sorry.'

There was barely any emotion in his voice, none of the previous enjoyment or even any resignation. Just… Bland. Bakura was a lot of things, Marik thought, but he certainly wasn't bland.

'Bakura, who was on the phone?'

'I said don't ask.'

'But-'

'Leave it, Marik!' Bakura shouted, head snapping up to glare, and the teen caught a glimpse of panic in the normally calm eyes.

They both stood there silently, staring at each other from across the room, neither knowing what to say. After a moment Bakura turned on his heel and stalked out of the door, leaving a very confused and upset Egyptian in his wake.

What the hall was going on? Surely one phone call couldn't change a person's mood so much! Then Marik thought back to the phone call he had shared with his father, the one where he had been forced to return home and realised that yes, a single call could do that to a person.

Marik was totally out of his depth. He heard the bathroom door close and then quiet. He carefully headed out of the kitchen and down the hall. As he passed the bathroom he thought he heard a muffled choked noise come from within, but didn't dare knock. Instead he moved a few paces away and sank down against the wall, waiting for Bakura to emerge so he could talk to him.

He leant his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He was scared. Scared that a strong person like Bakura could be so utterly floored by a twenty second conversation. Marik needed to think of a way to convince the man to stay, even just for another night.

Although it was uncomfortable against the wall Marik felt himself begin to drift away from reality and slowly edge towards sleep. He was still tired from his late night before, and he was sure that even if he fell asleep he would hear Bakura leaving the bathroom. But no noises were made.

Marik jerked awake when he finally slid sideways and hit his cheek on the floor. Standing quickly he checked out of the nearest window and judged that he could have only been asleep for ten minutes at the most.

The bathroom door was open. With a sinking feeling Marik called Bakura's name. He searched every room for the white haired man, but there was no sign that he had ever even been in the apartment. The reality finally sank in.

Bakura was gone.