Don't own anything except Marik's new hairdo.
Chapter 2
5 years later...
Malik Ishtaal walked along the street toward the dojo, his dark platinum hair blowing in the breeze. It had been almost three years since he'd been to Edo. He remembered everything; the streets, the people, and one in particular. No, Malik, don't start that again. Ever since the abduction and release, that boy had stayed on his mind. He had been so beautiful, young and free. Malik had only been 18, but he knew he'd fallen head over heels at the first look. He shook his head. No. Even if he saw the boy again, Marik would never trust him, and certainly never love him. He hoped the dojo was still there; he needed to practice. It came into sight a second later. Walking in, he passed several rooms that people were practicing in. A flash of steel caught his attention, and he looked in one large window. The sight took his breath away.
A boy stood there, about 18, holding a katana like it was a part of him. His stance was almost perfect, his eyes closed in concentration. But what had caught Malik's attention was his hair. It was down past his waist, platinum, swept up in a ponytail. Malik stared at it. It was so familiar, that same color of desert sand with the sun shining down on it. The boy's eyes opened, and Malik's heart leaped into his throat. That color of lavender, those deep pools of...no, it couldn't be. Then he saw it. Marked in purple on the back of the boy's neck. Ka. Malik watched Marik parry and thrust with extreme skill. Malik wanted to talk to him so badly. Without thinking, he went to the door of the room and walked in. Marik saw him and his eyes widened. The sword went up in defense immediately.
"You! What do you want!" Malik held up his hands to show he was harmless.
"Just to take you somewhere so..." He never finished. Marik lunged at him. Malik dodged with some difficulty. Marik came around again, and Malik saw his chance. In an instant he had Marik in an inescapable hold, pressing him against his body. Malik's hand was over his mouth, and that arm pressed Marik's own sword against his throat. The other hand held the boy's wrists, keeping him from pulling the sword away. Marik struggled carefully, so as not to slit his own throat. Malik sighed and squeezed the pressure point on one of the boy's wrists, causing him to drop the sword. It slid to the ground without cutting him. Marik's struggles intensified, but he could not free himself.
Then Malik just let go. Marik almost fell forward. The former assassin put his hands on his hips and regarded the stunned boy. He'd gotten prettier over the years. Come to think of it, he would be about 18 by now, only five years younger than Malik himself. He was lean and muscled, and his skin was even more bronze. Lovely.
"What do you want?" asked the boy, interrupting Malik's thoughts, "You let me go. Why?" Malik leaned against the wall nonchalantly, though inside his heart was pounding so hard he was sure Marik could hear it.
"I don't want to kidnap you again, baka. I just want to talk. See how you've been. It's not like the ransom thing was personal." Marik's eyes narrowed.
"I don't trust you," he said bluntly. Malik cocked an eyebrow.
"I can see that." Marik crossed his arms.
"Then why don't you go somewhere else?"
"I can be just as stubborn as you, boy." Marik glared at him for a long moment. Malik just looked at him with mild amusement. Finally Marik spoke again.
"I never caught your name. I was too scared years ago to listen. Who are you?" Malik stood up straight.
"My name is Malik Ishtaal. You are Marik Ishtar. Shall we go now?"
"Go where?" Malik thought a moment.
"Somewhere we can talk. Anywhere you feel comfortable."
"I don't feel comfortable anywhere with you." Malik rolled his eyes.
"Let's just go." Marik hesitated, then picked up his katana. Sheathing it, he followed Malik out the door.
