Hi everybody!

Welcome to Chapter Six. Please keep your arms, legs and tails inside your chairs at all times.

The night wound on, time passing smoothly as Domino slept.

Tick.

Three O'clock.

Tick.

Four O'clock.

Tick.

Five O'clock.

In a different place entirely, on a thoroughly battered couch, Ryou Bakura turned over in his sleep, twitching, his eyes shut tightly, hands curled into fists, so close to waking up...

"Just say yes..."

Then he moved an inch too far.

"Agh!"

Ryou woke with a start, and wasn't entirely surprised to find himself lying on the floor, limbs splayed out like those of a doll that had been tossed aside by a stroppy child.

"What a lovely awakening." He muttered to himself. It wasn't easy being about as graceful and coordinated as a giraffe on an ice rink. At length he heaved himself up into a sitting position, this being difficult with one wrist out of action, crossed his long legs and leaned against the sofa, his back aching after its recent clash with the floor.

A stream of light was creeping in from the gap above the curtains and turning plain dust motes into sparkling glitter which spiralled through the air, moving and twisting aimlessly towards the floor, where they would eventually gather into ugly, insignificant dust balls. Ryou watched them for a bit, trying and failing to follow one individual point of light, but eventually found that one of his legs had gone numb. He scowled and stuck it out to the side, shaking it and fully aware of how weird that would look if Marik happened to catch him...

Marik.

The events of the previous night came flooding back. For a moment he felt a rush of delirious happiness, for reasons he couldn't fathom. Then a mini panic attack.

Oh, God. I Hope I didn't wake him up.

Ryou glanced at the bedroom door across the room, disappointed to see that it was firmly closed, smugly concealing anything and everything within. Toying with the idea of sneaking off before Marik woke up (but dismissing it because of the long walk), Ryou pulled himself to his feet, or foot, almost skidding on a discarded magazine, his pyjama top hanging from his skinny frame. Ryou shivered, briefly remembering how cold it had been the night before, and found himself watching Marik's door once again.

Considering how little he knew about Marik, it was ridiculous to even be thinking about nosing around in his bedroom while he was sleeping, Ryou told himself as he bent down to pick up the magazine; seeing that it was at the very least R-rated, he dropped it hastily behind the sofa, feeling uncomfortably like a naughty schoolboy doing something he shouldn't.

What do you do when left alone in the house of a stranger who only hours ago rescued you from death by deep-freeze?

It wasn't a question Ryou had ever expected to be asking himself.

Ryou hopped across the threadbare carpet, wobbling on his one leg and nearly tripping over the step next to the plain white door.

Behind which was Marik.

Oh dear. I am truly pathetic.

Ryou placed his uninjured hand on the cold door handle and turned it slowly, pushing the door inwards as quietly as he could. He remembered long ago games of hide and seek. Back in the days when he'd had someone to play with.

The door is always the hardest part.

Luckily, there was no crash of falling paraphernalia or (even worse) a fully conscious Marik staring at him in confusion. Ryou could just imagine the expression of shock on his face. Then he'd probably laugh and make some comment about stalkers. And Ryou would undoubtedly wind up blushing.

Behind the door lay a disappointingly generic bedroom, everything bathed yellow by the sun which shone in from a huge bay window opposite the door. Stacks of books and magazines were randomly pressed up against all four walls, which were painted off-white. The only other furniture was a rickety looking stool and a double bed, on which Marik was lying.

Ryou limped towards the bed, making sure he didn't knock the books, for no reason other than to get a better view.

With the light pouring over the bed, Marik looked almost angelic. The harshness in his face seemed to soften and his closed eyes no longer displayed the darkness that was Marik. You could almost be fooled into thinking he was an innocent. Ryou was entranced. This Marik was stunning.

Marik lay, one arm flung out to the side, the other folded beneath him, his hand curled up next to his face, his blonde hair catching the light as he slept. His dark tattoo spread all the way up his side, as though a black fire had been lit at his hip and had crawled up his spine and crept across his ribs, scarring and staining the flawless skin.

Ryou tried to remember what he was looking at. A stranger, a twenty something year old he knew nothing about, had nothing to do with and probably should never have even met. The beautiful face and the tanned, wiry limbs and torso were just the surface. It was the way his ribs rose and fell, the curved frame pulling the skin taunt, making the fire dance and the near silent sound of breathing, and his eyes wandering beneath their lids and the half – smile he wore in sleep that set him apart from some beautiful mannequin.

Ryou could feel himself smiling in response. The urge to reach out and touch him was almost unbearable, but that would shatter the illusion. This ethereal creature would become a human being as soon as Ryou could feel his heart beating.

Then Marik stretched and muttered something, his head turning suddenly.

"Mmmph...Kura..."

Ryou jumped back.

Crap, crap, crap.

Ryou did the first thing he could think of. He stood as still as possible, as a wild animal does when faced with a predator.

Inventive, Ryou. Really, really inventive! Just revert to your animal roots, why don't you?

He watched as Marik opened his eyes a little, a sliver of indigo staring blearily at him.

"Eh...Bakura?"

Ryou frowned. How did Marik even know his surname?

"Bakura?" He asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

Marik opened his eyes a little wider, finally focusing on Ryou, who folded his arms, waiting for a response. Recognition flashed at last, and Marik gave him a tired half smile.

"Sorry... thought you were someone else. Ryou, right?" He said, laughing quietly. It was a strange laugh; a sad, nostalgic laugh.

Ryou wasn't sure what to say, so he just said "Good morning."

Marik sat up, rubbing his head thoughtfully, messing his hair even more.

"What...what exactly are you doing in my bedroom?"

Ryou's mouth opened into an O, as if he was about to say something, but then he changed his mind.

Marik grinned at him; it was a grin of pure, if beautiful, evil.

"Cat got your tongue?" he said slyly.

"Erm... no." Ryou desperately tried to think of a reason for his being there, but couldn't.

"Human curiosity?" He eventually said

"Of course. Insatiable." Marik said, humouring him."Now, shoo! Go and find some food, or something."

Ryou slipped out of the room. Once outside he pondered over the appearance of this bizarre, beautiful stranger in his dull, monotonous life.

"I'm so lucky, lucky! I'm so lucky, lucky! I'm so lovely, lovely. I'm so lovely, lovely."

The sound of Marik's singing over the buzz of the shower, almost bell like, childishly high in comparison to his more masculine speaking voice, made Ryou smile once again.

He thought about school and home, but they seemed far away and insignificant and soon faded from his mind, if only temporarily. This had originally seemed so surreal, but now it was as though this was realer than real. The start of something strange and unknown.

An unprecedented opportunity of untold depths.

You are being completely delusional, Ryou Bakura. Marik is as much a person as anyone else. A bit more crazy, but a person nonetheless.

Perfectly on cue, Marik burst out of his bedroom, still humming happily, a towel flung around his shoulders. Or, he seemed happy, as far as Ryou could tell. His dazzling eyes darted about the room, as if he was a child fascinated by the world and all its madness.

He reminded Ryou of Malik. Only more strange and extraordinary.

"Shall we bother with breakfast? There isn't that much food around."

"I don't mind," Ryou said, "Really!" he insisted, when Marik gave him a disbelieving glance.

"You're such a little pushover. And I'm a very bad host. I don't even have bread – or edible bread, anyway."

Ryou wrinkled his nose in mild disgust "That's gross."

Marik's grin stretched wider, "Isn't it just? Shall I take you home?"

"Yes, I... wait, what?" Ryou felt his heart sink inexplicably. He tried not to let his disappointment show on his face.

"You didn't think you were staying forever, did you? Because I don't plan on keeping you." Marik said teasingly.

"No, of course not. I just..." Ryou looked down at his bare feet, noticing the bandage for the first time that morning.

Of course it's going to go like this. I should have known. I never get lucky.

"Ry-ou! Don't look so down; you don't want to hang around me for too long, it gets boring. Trust me."

Marik lifted Ryou's chin so he was facing him. There was hurt in his dark brown eyes, and Marik couldn't quite work out why. Ryou prised his face free of Marik's grip.

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that." Marik frowned, more out of confusion than anger.

People didn't usually want to stick around, and he hadn't supposed Ryou would be any different. People came in and out of Marik's life faster than raindrops slide down a window on a rainy day, and most of them left running. Marik had just resigned himself to that fact. People didn't like him. Or rather, they liked him, just not enough to bother putting up with his problems. Of which, he'd been told, there were many.

Well, Ryou is special. You could see that from the start. Idiot.

Still, they found themselves in the truck, driving away from Marik's home ten minutes later, Ryou hunched against the window. It was only about 6 in the morning, and the sun was still hanging low, setting the horizon alight.

"Turn right here." Ryou's voice was loud after the prolonged silence.

"What?" Marik turned to Ryou, who stared back.

"You missed it." He said, matter of factly.

"I missed... oh, shit." Marik was tempted to hit his head over the steering wheel. Ryou burst out laughing.

"Earth calling Marik?" He giggled, and Marik couldn't help but join in.

"That wasn't even funny."

"Oh, but it was." Ryou continued grinning for a few seconds, then suddenly a look of absolute horror crossed his face, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Marik!" he squeaked.

"What's wrong?"

If I've run over someone's cat, I'm dead meat.

"My mother." Ryou said, blinking rapidly.

"You what?"

"She's going to kill me!" Ryou grabbed his arm in exaggerated panic. "Don't take me back! I need to go into hiding!"

Now it was Marik's turn to laugh. "Yes. We'll get you a new identity and a couple of bodyguards to protect you from Psycho Mother. And I'll patrol the perimeter of your hideout with a sniper and some grenades."

"That sounds pretty accurate, actually." Ryou mumbled, poking Marik's arm, annoyed he wasn't taking this seriously.

A few minutes later, Marik spoke

"It's really thanks to your friend that you didn't freeze last night."

"My friend?"

"You know. The pretty one. Blonde. Noisy."

Pretty?

"Oh, you mean Malik? What does he have to do with anything?"

"He came back to the shop on Akefia's whim," Marik looked scornful at that, "And knocked a bunch of things off my desk. One of those things was my room key. So I went all the way home, found out I couldn't unlock the door, got really, really pissy and then drove all the way back. That's when I saw you. So I guess you'll have to thank him for that, and for the fact that my landlady was being such a cow last night."

"Malik's an angel. He's always rescuing me." Ryou said, smiling. "I should thank you too, obviously. I owe you one."

"Nah." Marik shrugged. "All in a day's work."

Ryou frowned. So much for being special.

Soon getting bored with being annoyed, Ryou started fiddling with the handle for the glove box under the dashboard. It burst open and a few leaflets fell out onto the floor. Ryou recoiled instantly, as one does when they knock something over in a shop. Marik was apparently still trying to get back to that turning they had missed and so didn't notice, him being busy cussing and squinting at Domino's infamously complex road signs.

Ryou breathed a sigh of relief, and continued nosing around in the small compartment. Its contents consisted mostly of old receipts and discarded speeding tickets (unpaid, most likely) and Ryou was about to abandon his search, when he noticed something strange right at the back; an unidentifiable object. Reaching his hand in, he realised it was lace. Curiosity piqued, he pulled the object out. It took him all of three seconds to work out what it was.

"Ack! Oh, gross!" Ryou yelped, and threw the thing back inside the glove box, slamming the door as fast as he could, as though it were going to jump out and bite him.

"What now? Did I miss another turning, or run over an old lady?"

"Marik, why do you have thongs in your glove box?" Ryou scrubbed his hand on his pyjama bottoms.

"It's not mine, if that's what you're suggesting." Marik said, affronted.

"That does not answer my question!" Ryou looked at him, giving him the 'death glare'.

"Well, you know what they say about spies. You might come across something you don't like."

Ryou muttered something along the lines of "avoiding the question" and turned to the window huffily. He could see Marik laughing out of the corner of his eye.

The houses flashing past the windows were slowly becoming grander and neater. As they turned onto Ryou's street Marik gave a low whistle.

"I wonder if I'll get a reward for rescuing you. Seriously, it'd probably set me for life." He looked around, a tiny spark of jealousy starting in his chest at all of the fancy facades and expensive, shiny cars.

Ryou sighed. "You wish. My mother would probably faint if she saw you on our doorstep, and then have you arrested for kidnapping."

"I'm offended."

"Don't be. My family are rich snobs. People think I am." There was hurt in that, along with a low, burning rage. Ryou felt his stomach twist as he voiced what he'd known for years, but had never truly admitted.

"My family are dead. People think I am." Marik said quietly.

"What?" Ryou turned to Marik as the truck drew up outside his house. Marik seemed far away; probably remembering that which he wasn't keen to remember.

"Nothing. We're here." Marik said, his voice hollow, his eyes dark.

Ryou clambered out of the truck awkwardly, and started walking towards his house; his huge, ornate whitewashed cage, which despite its balconies and bays, still managed to come across as hideously ugly to its youngest inmate.

"Hey."

Ryou turned, his white hair lit peach and gold in the sunlight, his eyes brightened to toffee. Marik had leaned across the seat and wound the window down with some difficulty(it was an old truck). He tapped the inside of the door; it was a command.

Ryou walked back to the truck, and stood, hands laced behind his back, feeling shy and slightly lightheaded.

"Will I ever see you again?" he asked quietly, taking a step closer to the open window. He balanced on the very edge of the kerb, swaying back and forth like a little child. Marik shrugged and flashed him a fabulously crooked smile.

"If you're lucky." He said nonchalantly. "Or if you're unlucky. It's really a matter of opinion."

"Let's hope I get lucky." Ryou said, smiling slightly.

Marik laughed lowly. "Don't break any mirrors."

He leaned out of the window, and his lips brushed against Ryou's cheekbone in what could be considered a kiss.

Ryou's heart skipped, and then Marik was gone.

Ryou flushed happily.

The image of him, stretched out across the seats, his dark arms folded lazily on the door, a slice of tan back and black tattoo visible between his jeans and his shirt, his indigo eyes slanted and hypnotising and alien, was enough to distract Ryou from the imminent danger that his mother presented.

Of course, that kiss probably meant nothing to Marik, Ryou thought, as he walked up his garden path. So I won't get my hopes up. I'll probably never see him again, and he probably won't even care. No, won't even notice.

As the door opened and he saw his mother standing there, eyes blazing, he imagined Marik placing the same feather light kiss on the cheek of another person.

The owner of the lingerie in his glove box.

One of the tenants in the house he stayed in.

One of the customers in the tattoo parlour where he worked.

As his mother seized him by the collar and screamed at him, her words grating on his ears, he imagined what might have happened if he'd been a bit more lucky.

Maybe if he'd told Marik what he thought right there in the tattoo parlour, instead of blinking stupidly like a rabbit in the headlights, maybe if he'd refused to leave the flat, maybe if he'd taken Marik's face in his hands and kissed him right back through the window of his battered truck, he wouldn't be here. And Marik wouldn't be gone.

He saw his mother raise a hand, as if to slap him, and he flinched instinctively, cowering. The ringed hand hovered, shaking, until his mother drew it back to herself, clutched it in the other and told him;

"Get out of my sight!"

Ryou went.

He wasn't going to school today.

The red truck drew up outside the tattoo parlour, parking itself clumsily against the kerb.

Marik jumped out of the driver's seat, not looking forward to working the night shift at the hospital later that day but not particularly caring. Frost glittered on the pavement and the faint footprints of Domino's early risers were just visible in the sugary dust.

He rounded the front of the truck, looking at the open window, where, just minutes before, the beautiful Ryou had been standing, looking prettier than anything Marik had ever seen. And he had seen a lot.

The only explanation he could come up with for Ryou's perfection was that Ryou was somehow magical, and one day he would vanish into a puff of smoke. Or that Marik would wake up. Neither of which was particularly optimistic.

Maybe Ryou is just a fabulous person. Unlike you, Marik. You're a disgrace, but he's wonderful. You do the right thing, and keep away from him. The cynical voice in his head chastised him harshly.

Marik stomped less than gracefully up the steps and through the front door. Akefia was sitting on his desk, drinking coffee.

Coffee means good mood. Alcohol means bad mood. Coffee and alcohol means avoid at all costs.

"What is this vision I see before me?" Akefia asked lazily "Marik Dakede, smiling?"

"Aren't I allowed to be happy? Oh yeah. I forgot. Our customers are cheerless freaks, drawn in by an aura of darkness and despair." Marik replied, smiling slightly. He liked Akefia, and so put up with his incessant banter.

"Now now. Don't insult our kind patrons. What exactly is the cause of this absurd change in character? Or should you just go admit yourself to the mental ward?"

Marik thought for a moment about how to explain himself. Then his grin returned.

"I think I'm in love." He said.

"Oh really? Lucky you."

"Yeah. Wait, no. If I was lucky, I'd have fallen in love with someone more..."

"More...?" Akefia prompted.

"...sturdy."

"What?"

Marik sighed and picked a pencil off his desk, absentmindedly twirling it between his fingers. "It's like one false move and..."

Snap.

The two men watched the remains of the pencil fall to the floor. Marik looked to Akefia, his eyes briefly displaying the fragility and the hollow desperation that he tried so hard to hide.

"I see what you mean."

So there we have it! Chapter 6. Chapter 7 is going up as soon as this has, so look out!

I don't know if anyone is still interested in this, but whatever. If you are, I'd love to hear from you!

Kal277 x

P.S. I do love a bit of Akefia and Marik conversation. It's so masculine :D