Marik awoke several hours later. The space beside him in Bakura's bed was empty, but he could hear his lover and Ryou talking downstairs, and the faint clatter of pots and pans. Wincing as his back ached and protested, Marik slid out of bed and located his clothes. Holy crap, we really flung our stuff everywhere, he thought with amusement as he buckled up his belt. Guess that means we had a good time. Well, I know I did. I hope Bakura's not too sore, though.

While he dressed, he took the time to look around Bakura's room, having been too frantic in his earlier passion to have done so before. It was relatively bare, with only a bedside table and wardrobe, and a small shelf, but it had a Bakura-like feel about it from the various trinkets and objects scattered about - the scarab beetle brooch he'd picked up in Luxor, the gems and jewels from his hideout in Kul Elna, worn down stubs of oil pastels and half-painted Monster World figures. With a smile, Marik noted the empty vodka bottle sat on the shelf, the same bottle they had been drinking as they played Senet, just before their first kiss.

I wonder where he's keeping the Millennium Ring. He'd never leave it out for any old person to see.

Marik finished dressing and slipped into the bathroom to find a mirror, taking a kohl pencil from his jeans pocket and reapplying his eyeliner. He fixed his hair, smoothed a few wrinkles out of his shirt, then headed downstairs.

Bakura was seated cross-legged on the floor in the kitchen, tongue between his teeth and a frown creasing his alabaster brow as he swiped his finger left and right over a canvas in front of him, propped up on a low easel. Smudges of colour brightened his hands and cheeks, and one of his eyebrows had been stained a shade of royal indigo. His eyes flicked upwards as Marik entered, but that was the only acknowledgement he gave, deep in his work as he chatted with Ryou in English, his lighter half busy washing up and occasionally leaning over to stir a bubbling pot of what smelled like curry.

Ryou smiled widely at Marik, waving with a soapsud-covered hand. "Hi!" Ryou trilled, switching back into Japanese. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, thanks. I feel a lot better," Marik admitted, fiddling with Ryou's French press. "When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago," he replied. He dipped a spoon into the pot on the stove and offered it to Marik. "Here, does this need any more spice?"

Marik blew to cool, and then tasted. "Hmmm...hotter, I think. Will it blow anyone's head off?"

"No, Yugi's forever adding more heat to his food and Kura likes it hot too." Ryou grabbed a green chilli from the cupboard and started chopping. "Oh, I'll have a coffee if you're making one, please."

"Of course, honey. Kura, do you want coffee?"

"Sure," Bakura muttered, brushing hair out of his eyes and smudging his face further with a burst of deep red across his nose.

Marik made up the drinks and passed them out - black for himself, sweet and milky for Ryou, black with a pinch of sugar for Bakura. He dropped down beside Bakura and tried to peer at his canvas, but Bakura frowned and twitched it away, shaking his head. "It isn't done yet."

"I can't look till you're done?" Marik pouted.

"No."

"Kura, show him some of the other ones you've done," Ryou smiled.

"No!"

"You're really going to hide every single one of them away? They're good, Kura. Show Marik at least one of them."

Bakura sighed. "Fine. Here." He shoved the unfinished canvas towards Marik and snatched up his coffee, sipping with a deep scowl.

Marik blinked at the canvas, surprised. He didn't immediately recognise the subjects, but he knew from the stories Bakura had told him that he was looking at the Thief King and his older sister, as she might have looked had she been alive in Bakura's teenage years. Bakura's description of his former appearance paled in comparison to the visual representation, and Marik found himself staring at the haunting violet eyes Bakura once had, as if he'd known them his whole life.

His sister had the same eyes, but her hair was a darker, steely grey, and she was clad in flowing blue linens and ornate jewellery, every inch the princess Bakura remembered her for. She danced by the dying light of the sun as Bakura watched on, he himself draped in the finery that might have befitted the Pharaoh himself; indigo shenti tied around his waist, scarlet robe opened to reveal a muscled chest, numerous rings glittering on his fingers, and a golden chain woven through his wild mass of starlight hair. He bore a deep tan from years of toiling under the hot Egyptian sun, and a long scar stretched down the right side of his face from brow to cheek.

It was peculiar, seeing Bakura looking so different, and yet so similar at the same time. "You're beautiful," Marik found himself whispering, before he could stop himself.

He expected Bakura to scowl further, or snort with thinly veiled contempt. But instead, a little smile lifted the corner of Bakura's thin lips. "Wasn't that bad back in the day, I suppose," he replied.

"Would you like to look like this again?"

"I can take or leave the scar, but I wouldn't mind having my old hair back."

Ryou settled down on the floor with the couple, hands cupped around his mug and a twinkle in his deep brown eyes. "We should get you booked in with a hairdresser," he told Bakura. "Mine is pretty good, and she specialises in Western hair. It would be safer than letting you go loose with any old box dye from the chemist."

"Nuh-uh, no way. I remember all too well those chatty women that fussed over you whenever you went to get your hair cut. It was hell, sitting inside you and just fucking waiting for them to shut up."

"You might like it now, who knows?" Ryou laughed. He heaved himself back up and returned to meal preparation. "I'll call her up and get you booked in, alright?"

"God fucking dammit, Ryou."

"I love you too, Kura."

"Fuck you."

"I'm already getting fucked. Thanks to Marik's over-excited mouth, I'm stuck doing the washing up for a week, and you've seen how much mess Yugi makes when he cooks!" Ryou giggled as he pointed his spoon at Bakura, indicating the necklace of bruises decorating his pale skin. "They're going to turn yellow in the next few days, you know."

Bakura rubbed his neck, smirking. "I'm aware. Worth it."

"Did I give you enough time?"

"More than enough."

Marik groaned. "If I'd have known you two were going to discuss this in front of me, I'd have held off."

"Oh, Marik," Bakura grinned, "Ryou and I shared the same body, do you really think we wouldn't discuss this stuff?"

"You two are terrible."

"Yep."

Ryou was laughing as he transferred the curry to his slow cooker and set it to keep warm. "Okay, now we're done embarrassing Marik, time for games?"

Final Fantasy X had just been released, and Yugi had bought it for Ryou's twenty-first birthday. Bakura had been playing it more often than not, but he handed the controller to Marik and showed him how to start his own save file. Soon Marik was running around happily, fully immersed in the game while Bakura lounged on the sofa next to him and played Tetris on an old, battered Game Boy. Ryou sat at Marik's feet, leaning back against the Egyptian's legs while he painted a few Monster World figurines and occasionally jotted notes on a sheet of paper. He and Bakura chatted about the campaign they were building, and most of what they said went completely over Marik's head, but it was just nice to see Ryou and Bakura getting along when just a few years ago, it would have been a battle for Ryou to even make himself known in his own body.

"Kura, this cloister is confusing me, what do I do?"

"Hm? Oh, you need to remove that sphere there…yep, that's the one…and put it in the recess on the far wall. Right, now remove it…just put it anywhere…and then touch the glyph."

"Ah! Thank you."

"No problem." Bakura shifted his position, slinging his legs over Marik's lap and reclining with his head on the arm of the sofa. Marik smiled, dropping a hand to rub up Bakura's calf as he worked the controller with the other hand. Bakura uttered a low purr of contentment, his usually hardened expression softening at his lover's touch. Ryou glanced up at them and smiled, pleased at their affectionate interaction.

They all sat and played games, occasionally switching around, late into the night, until Yugi let himself in and they settled around the table in the kitchen to eat the curry Ryou had made earlier. Marik didn't fail to notice that Ryou ate a lot more when Yugi was around, but he figured that was a good thing. Heaven knows, someone needs to make sure he doesn't just drink tea all the time.

"Did you have fun gaming with Jonouchi?" Ryou asked Yugi.

"Yeah, it was pretty awesome," Yugi replied, grinning. He'd removed his eyeliner now and tied his hair back, and he looked tired but happy. "He's going to be out of town for the next few days, but we'll pick up where we left off after that. In the meantime, could you help me replace a few parts in my computer? I think it might be dying."

"Of course. I'll have a look for some replacement parts after work tomorrow."

"Thanks, snowflake." Yugi paused to consume a few mouthfuls of food, his eyes lingering on Marik and Bakura. "And how are you guys?"

"Fine," Bakura muttered. He was still playing on his Game Boy in between bites.

"Great, thank you," Marik piped up. He still felt apprehensive around the King of Games, but it was clear that Yugi was making a real effort to make him feel comfortable, so he wanted to contribute as much as he could. "Are you staying the night, Yugi?"

"Yeah, I usually do. I've got the day off tomorrow and Ryou's in work, so it'll just be me here for most of the day."

"Fucking yippee." Bakura rolled his eyes.

Yugi laughed. "Say it like you mean it, Bakura."

"I fucking do. You're a pain in the ass."

"Ya amar, be nice."

"This is me being nice."

"It's true," Yugi said, feigning sadness. "He's so nice to me that it sounds mean."

Yugi's changed so much, Marik mused, watching him banter back and forth with Bakura. His lover was scowling, but he could tell that he was quite amused by their exchange. The Yugi I remember was so meek and withdrawn. Friendly, but incredibly shy. It was the Pharaoh who was the confident one. And now look at him. It's like looking at Atem himself. It's incredible.

After everyone had finished eating, Ryou washed up, then excused himself to take a shower and turn in for the night so he had enough sleep before work in the morning. Yugi retreated to the living room and curled up on the sofa with a book, while Bakura threw down his Game Boy, snatched up the abandoned canvas and pastels from the kitchen floor, and hurried off upstairs after Ryou, leaving Marik wondering what to do next. He didn't want to hang around Bakura all the time, knowing he would want some space if he was feeling a little overwhelmed by Yugi's constant presence. In the end, he settled for joining Yugi in the living room and picking up Final Fantasy X again.

Yugi looked up from his book and smiled at the screen, watching Marik playing blitzball. "You guys all seem to like this game. I'm glad."

"Yeah, it's great," Marik grinned. "I've never actually played this series myself. Are the other games any good?"

"Oh, you're missing out! I'll bring my collection over tomorrow and you can try out some of them, how does that sound?"

"I'd like that. Thanks, Yugi."

"Don't mention it." Yugi's eyes flicked downwards to his book again as he turned the page.

"No, really. It's nice of you to – " Marik had turned around to speak, and now he frowned. "Um, Yugi, since when do you wear glasses?"

"Oh, man." Yugi laughed lightly, pushing the aforementioned glasses higher up on his nose. They made a peculiar contrast with his general appearance, but not in a negative way, rather, Marik just wasn't used to it. "I only need them for reading," Yugi explained. "I'd been squinting at my cards for ages, so my mother eventually carted me off to get my eyes tested. Been wearing these for about six months or so."

"They suit you."

Yugi's cheeks lit up in a slight blush. "You're very kind. Thank you."

Marik found himself smiling a true smile, at last feeling perfectly at ease around the King of Games.

"Hey, Marik…wanna see something adorable?"

"Huh?"

Yugi hopped off the sofa and knelt on the floor beside Marik, lowering his head down to peer between the legs of the sofa. He rummaged around a moment, then slid out a covered canvas. Holding a finger to his lips, he pushed it towards Marik, grinning madly. "If you value my life at all, please don't tell Bakura I showed you this."

Depends what it is, Marik thought with amusement, sliding the cover off the canvas.

His mouth dropped open in shock. Holy fuck, no wonder he didn't want to show me.

Bakura had brought his lover to life in an explosion of artistic creativity. Marik couldn't help but smile as he beheld himself on the canvas, a lone figure in the Egyptian desert, with arms raised as if he could fly into the deep night. A glimmer of gold wings burst from his shoulders like a majestic phoenix radiating light to chase the shadows away, the human embodiment of Ra himself. It was breathtakingly beautiful, the perfect epitome of Bakura's talent with oils. "It's amazing," he whispered. "I can't believe he's so good at this."

"He could make a career out of it, don't you think?" Yugi said, his eyes back on his book. "The knowledge he has on Ancient Egypt, he could amass a fortune through his work. Nobody else on this earth knows what he does, and if you think this one's good, wait till you see the others he's done. Ryou and I have wanted to suggest going professional to him, but he gets so easily embarrassed, we don't want to make him uncomfortable."

Marik covered the canvas back up and replaced it under the sofa. "Thank you for showing me, Yugi," he smiled. "I'm a little tired, so I think I'll go upstairs now. See you in the morning?"

"Sure thing," he replied. "Sleep well, Marik."

Marik made his way upstairs and popped his head around Ryou's bedroom door, where he found the white-haired young man reading in bed. "Do you mind if I hop in the shower?" he asked.

"Don't be silly, go ahead," Ryou laughed.

"Thanks, honey. Put that book down and get some sleep, you hear?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Just fuck already!" Bakura yelled from his room. Ryou's eyes went wide at that, and he threw his book at the adjoining wall. Bakura burst out laughing, as did Marik. Ryou just groaned and flopped down, yanking the covers over his head.

Marik retreated to the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting it warm up while he pulled his clothes off. The scents of strawberry and watermelon lingered in the air from Ryou's earlier shower, and the opened red bottle sat on the inside shelf told Marik that was the one he'd used, but that aside, he wasn't sure which products he could use himself. Everything of his own was back at the hotel, having yet to move it all over.

I guess one night of stealing some shampoo and shower gel will be alright, Marik decided, grabbing the nearest couple of bottles as he stepped in. He usually cleaned his makeup off with oil first, but that, too, was back at the hotel, and he'd have felt rather strange marching downstairs and taking some from the kitchen, so instead he just scrubbed at his face till his fingers no longer had smudges of kohl on them, before washing his hair and body. The room was hazy with steam by the time he stepped out, towelling off his hair and then wrapping the towel round his waist.

"You ass, you used my shampoo, didn't you?" Bakura accused, the moment Marik entered his room.

Marik shrugged. "My stuff's still at the hotel, and somehow I don't think I'd suit smelling like strawberries."

"Fuck you, don't use my shit, Ishtar."

"Whatever." Marik was too tired to argue with Bakura, who wasn't looking at him, just scowling at his half-finished canvas from his position on the bed. Marik removed the towel from round his waist and slipped under the covers, propping himself up with his hand under his head and watching Bakura trail delicate strokes of pastel across his canvas. Bakura's brow furrowed in concentration as he set down the inky blue in his hand and picked up a few similar shades, turning them over in his hands. It was an exquisite expression, something Marik never thought he'd see on Bakura. "You know you look absolutely gorgeous when you make that face, right?" he teased.

Bakura rolled his eyes, but he smiled faintly. He chose the colour he wanted and went back to work. He was silent for a few minutes as he finished up, then put the canvas aside and hopped up to use the bathroom. He returned with his hands and face rinsed clean of oil pastel smudges, teeth brushed and ready for sleep. Marik turned down the blanket on the empty side of the bed, and Bakura wasted no time in pulling his clothes off, only pausing to flick the light switch on the wall before clambering into bed beside Marik. A dimly lit lamp on Bakura's side of the bed gave enough light to put Marik at ease, and the gesture, though small, was enough to make his heart swell further with affection for his grumpy lover. He curled up into Bakura's chest and draped an arm loosely round his waist, sighing happily. "I'll bring the rest of my stuff over tomorrow," he murmured. "Does Ryou have an attic here or anything?"

"Yeah, he does," Bakura replied. "Why?"

"Well, I figure I need to put everything somewhere that won't clutter the place up. We could be here a while, right?"

"Nope."

"Hm?"

"I already found us a place."

Marik sat up, blinking rapidly. "You did? You didn't say anything!"

Bakura laughed softly. "Not really the sort of thing you come out with when you're getting fucked, and you fell asleep afterwards, so I didn't exactly have the opportunity."

"Where is it, and how on earth have you afforded it? I was going to help you out when I arrived."

"Just round the corner from here, and Ryou gave me some of his savings for a deposit."

"That was very sweet of him."

"Kid's too nice for his own good." Bakura drew Marik back down and ran a hand through his golden locks, brushing them back from his face. "Said he wanted us to have a good head start."

Marik closed his eyes, settling his head back against Bakura's chest and listening to the steady pounding of his heart beneath his ribs. "Have you thought about what you want to do? You know, like working or anything?"

"Haven't got that far yet," Bakura admitted. "What about you?"

"I thought I might take a few classes somewhere. Kinda hard to get anywhere in life these days when you were underground for most of your life and have no qualifications."

"Guess you've got a point."

"You could join me?"

Bakura snorted. "Fuck that. I've had my fill of classrooms through Ryou. Never again." Sighing, he settled his head against Marik's and tightened his hold on him, drawing their bodies closer together. "Can we talk about this later? I'm worn out."

"Sure."

"Hey…Marik?"

"Yeah?"

"I, uh…I'm just…really grateful you brought me back."

"My pleasure, ya amar."

"You really need a different nickname for me. I hate that one."

"I could call you habibi."

"That'll do."

"Marik…ana bahebak, habib albi."

Marik grinned, tilting his head back to kiss Bakura's lips gently. "Daisuki, Bakura-kun."

"Habibi" - a common affectionate Arabic term meaning "my love."

"Ana bahebak, habib albi" – Arabic for "I love you, love of my heart."

"Daisuki" – Japanese for "I love you."