Bakura sat up abruptly, after feeling something bump against the couch he was lying on. Glancing at the moonlit courtyard he spotted the familiar hooded figure standing in the doorway. Looking over the edge of the couch he spotted Malik sitting on the floor leaning against the couch; Marik must have startled him.
"Where did you go today?" Bakura asked sitting up properly and watching as Marik took off the hood, walking into the light caste by the lamp hanging from the opposite wall. Blood ran down his face and was splattered through his hair. The blonde removed the blood-covered cloak with one hand, sword still held firmly in the other, smeared in his most recent victims' blood. Before Bakura had a chance to try and get an answer, Marik was already walking down the hallway towards his room.
Malik jumped up off of the floor and ran after him before Bakura had a chance to advise him otherwise. Sighing and thinking he was developing a killer headache from dwelling on the history of Marik too much, he decided to leave Malik to learn for himself that Marik was not the social kind.
…
Malik sat on the purple silk sheets of the king-sized, four-poster bed, watching as Marik walked out of the adjoining bathroom, the long plain kilt wrapped around his waist sitting low on his hips.
"Thanks for stopping him…Bakura, I mean…" Malik spoke, looking hopefully up at the older boy. However, the older boy just stopped and stared at the younger one, breaking eye contact soon after as he picked up one of his swords off of his bed and grabbed the black bag off of the dresser before sitting on the floor, his back to the kid.
Malik got up off the bed and stood beside the other boy who had saved him from the white haired teen.
"What are you doing?" he asked, watching as Marik emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor. There was no reply. Instead, Marik picked up one trinket, a gold band studded with a blue lapis stone, and a cloth off the floor before rubbing off the blood smears.
Malik cringed as he looked over the rest of the contents from the black bag; nearly all of it was covered somewhat in fresh blood, and it unnerved him. It scared him but also awakened his curiosity.
"Where were you tonight? Where did you disappear to?" Malik asked as he looked over Marik's body, remembering how Marik had come home splattered in blood; there were no longer any signs of it. He was clean, he was beautiful, he was strong, and yet… he was out of his reach. Even standing right beside him without the other guy around he still couldn't gain his attention. This point was emphasised as Marik picked up the sword, pushing the flat of the blade against the younger boys arm and then towards the door. Get out; it was simple to understand; no words needed to be said, no words would be wasted. Malik didn't need to be shown twice, and disappointedly he walked out the door of Marik's room.
…
As the door gently, shut a sigh escaped the lips that rarely uttered a word. Head casually falling forward, he stared at the ground as he fingered the blade of his sword; his mind was torn between thoughts of the past and thoughts of the future.
…
Bakura watched as Malik walked passed him and out onto the courtyard, lying down on the tiles in the sunlight that passed through the leaves of the surrounding trees. He had a bad feeling about this; a feeling that this kids infatuation with Marik would only lead to more and worse problems.
……………
As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months and the months finally into years, very little changed. Marik was as silent as ever and the letters were still delivered without a trace. The targets on Marik's list to kill were still loyal followers of the pharaoh who made futile attempts with hired bodyguards to stop the inevitable as their numbers grew increasingly smaller. Furthermore, Malik's infatuation with the silent killer hadn't lessened.
It was now three years since Bakura had made the mistake of saving Malik from the bringer of death that was Marik, and the consequences were upon him. Sure he preferred talking to or yelling at the kid instead of muttering to himself, but the kid was a right royal brat!
Always with the questions; the kid had more than enough curiosity to last him into the afterlife and then some. And these weren't simple questions or questions he could easily lie about: these questions ranged from Marik's past, to why he always came back covered in blood that was not his own, to why he wouldn't talk to him… the list would go on if Bakura had payed attention instead of zoning out. He had eventually told the kid to forget about Marik, that Marik cared for nothing but his work and his life goal. However, that didn't seem to satisfy the kid.
Bakura sighed, tipping the last of the ingredients Duke had provided him into a stone bowl; the kid was getting in the way: sneaking out into the market place and trying to follow them when they left at night. He knew what he had to do; it would also save him some money, as this shit was costing him a fortune.