What else is there to say?
To say that Myrtle was taken aback was an understatement. The idea that he was actually from ancient Egypt had never even crossed the farthest corners of her imagination; ok, it had, but Myrtle had never actually entertained the idea for longer then that split second.
"This must all be really strange for you." Myrtle blurted out, all her confusion and disbelief replaced quickly by chagrin; she had been so brusque with him at times, and had even thought him simple.
"Yeah," Bakura agreed, his eyes still moving agitatedly around her. "You're sure you don't mind?"
"It's surprising; I never would have guessed…" Muyrtle trailed off, her face turning a few tinges redder as her eyes fell to her mound of mashed potatoes. "But you're still Bakura; so, I don't see how I could mind…" How did one react to such a declaration?
"Yeah, I am still the same man."
"Or boy." Myrtle sent a skeptical look over the table. "Or did you lie about your age?"
"Add a few thousand years of sleep and the age is the same." Bakura replied calmly, though Myrtle didn't miss the small flinch at her accusation. "But yes, a man."
"That could be up for debate." Myrtle conceded slightly, trying to divert her mind from where he was from, to some simpler subject; like the weather! The weather was a lot different here then it would have been in ancient Egypt; Myrtle quickly scrapped that subject.
"The oranges are very good." Bakura's eyes had fallen to the fruit, and were watching his fingers peal away the slices with intensity worthy of a life or death situation. "Try some?" He proffered a piece, holding it to her face, his eyes finally moving to meet hers.
"Hmmm" Myrtle plucked the fruit from his fingers, and moved it the last few centimeters to her mouth. Her eyes ran over Bakura's deeply tanned face, as she slowly chewed. "It is very good."
The scratching of utensils against plates rang out; bodies intent on ingestion, and not looking at the other.
Myrtle couldn't help feeling there was more to all this. 'So, you've know the boy how long, and you can all of a sudden read him like a book?' The voices doubted; he hadn't ever lied, not really, just artfully avoided the truth.
But, if there was something; there should be nothing, between them. 'So, you've know the boy how long, and you're already married and spending the rest of your lives together?' No, but… Maybe.
'Whatever he deems worthy to tell you is all you should need to know; him telling you the time of day is doing you a great service.'
He kissed me.
'What does that matter?'
Doesn't that mean he loves me?
"Term will be starting tomorrow." Bakura was pushing the last remnants of some potatoes around his plate, as he looked up to hook Myrtle's gaze.
"Yes." Myrtle nodded before looking back down to her broccoli.
"I am sure it is going to be hard."
"Yeah."
"Can I say anything?"
"What?" Myrtle finally looked up again, startled.
"What do I have to say?" A muscle in Bakura's temple twitched in all too familiar irritation; Myrtle looked back down at her plate.
"Nothing."