Ryou's hands ran over his neck for the millionth time.
His skin was pale, almost translucent in the florescent light of the bathroom. Today was bath day, time for Ryou to have his alone time. But once the spirit had left, Ryou had begun to undress, as usual, until he spotted the dark bruises littering his throat.
He'd naively mistaken them for another one of Bakura's battle scars, assuming the spirit had got into another fight or something equally as awful but upon closer inspection he'd learnt they were bite marks. Love bites. Hickies.
So again he ran his hands over his pale neck, his bath water long since cold, and the ring lying on the basin unused. Anger was building deep inside of him, a rare and untapped source of rage was leaking out in tiny rivulets, causing his usually indifferent mask to erode and crack.
This was his body. The spirit had no right…
"Hostess with the most-est~" a voice cooed from behind the bathroom door, making Ryou's eyes snap around, "you've been in there for way over an hour and I really need to get in there,"
Malik.
Ryou grit his teeth, the cold anger turning his normally warm eyes into a stony dirty shade. His 'roommate', who Bakura had recruited and Ryou had often times wondered what Malik's purpose was, staying in his home, but now it seemed all to obvious. Actually, the thought made his cold anger turn almost icy. He approached the door and swung it open, revealing a somewhat startled Malik.
"…What? You haven't even gotten in the bath yet?" Malik seemed oblivious to the angry gaze on Ryou's face at first but soon his usually amused expression fell to one of question. He went to ask what was eating the young host up until he noticed the large bruising marks on the pale skin, and found himself unable to not stare.
"Oh my," a smirk quirked at the blond's lips and Ryou's anger finally reached hypothermic levels.
"Oh my?" he echoed in outrage, "how dare you. How dare you touch my body! It's not enough that I have one parasite…"
Malik's shock was barely veiled, he'd never, ever, expected to hear Ryou raise his voice, let alone have it aimed at him. And yet despite himself, he couldn't help but find the whole thing a little amusing. Like an angry child, Malik hardly took the Brit seriously.
"Calm down cotton ball, you almost look like Bakura when you get all angry," Malik mocked and watched as Ryou's smooth features creased in anger. Actually, Malik had expected Ryou to look more like Bakura when angry but despite his obvious rage Ryou's features retained their roundness, something that seemed lost when Bakura was in control.
"Get out of my home," the white haired boy suddenly, demanded, "get out!"
"Ok, now you're over reacting," Malik rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, not having time for such empty threats.
"I'm serious. Get out, get out!" Ryou suddenly reached forward to shove the blond, to empathise his point, but before his hands even reached their target Malik's hands had grabbed both of Ryou's thin wrists and bent them backwards, causing Ryou to cry out in shock.
Almost immediately, Malik felt awful. He forgot he was dealing with the host, not the spirit, and that look of hurt in those usually kind eyes made Malik feel a little sick. Which, it shouldn't have. He had no patience for the fragile little host who Bakura seemed so adamant to protect, especially not when the kid had the fucking gall to try and shove him.
"You should know how it feels…" Ryou said, barely above a whisper as he tried to pull his wrists back away from Malik's grasp, "to have your body used, hurt, marked beyond your control!" his voice had ended in a steady crescendo until he was yelling again and Malik's hold went limp, allowing the host to pull his wrists back.
Malik did know how it felt.
Neither one of them said anything for a moment, Ryou glaring hatefully and Malik frowning in mild annoyance before the Brit finally couldn't take it anymore and walked around the blond, their shoulders knocking against each other rudely, before he disappeared into the confides of his room.
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Bakura personally hated 'bath time'. There was no sense of time in the ring so he was often left with no idea how long he was being kept out of the loop. It soon became aware to him that the host probably abused the spirit's small virtue and took longer than needed, but it never bothered him.
He allowed Ryou that one small act of rebellion.
However, the time spent in the ring wasn't completely useless. He had nearly completed the drawn out map of Kemet, ready to place it into Ryou's thoughts for him to start making the actual 3D map, in time for Bakura's final show down against the pharaoh.
Despite what Malik had said about his plan being repetitive Bakura personally found it poetic. Ending the way they started, however this time Bakura would be the one to emerge victorious.
He often wondered what would happen after he defeated the Pharaoh. Would he vanish? Sent to peace with the spirits of his village? Or would the dark gods themselves, place him on a throne for eternity? Reward him? Or would he keep living? Stuck in this host's frail body, with no pharaoh left to vanquish?
All prospects terrified him.
Having lived as long as he had, death was truly daunting. He had lost faith in the solid representations of gods he had known about in ancient Egypt, seeing how easily all those myths and legends were dispelled when applying simple science, but at the same time he still knew such things as shadow magic and the dark God he worked for were all very real.
Maybe that was it though; maybe there was just no light. No good and evil, light and dark, or heaven and hell.
It was in truth much more one-sided than human's liked to believe.
Evil, dark, and hell.
That was all that was left in store for anyone anymore.
He let out a pitiless laugh into the empty ring. As glad as it made him feel to know that all that awaited these simple fools was a bleak and boring eternity, he still yearned to change his own fate. He wanted to draw out this game as long as possible, make it a true spectacle. He wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to relish in the Pharaoh's anger and despair. He wanted to witness that moment when he saw there really was no hope left. He wanted so badly to stay in those moments forever. He wanted to win, but he didn't want the game to end.
The end was far too foreboding, even for Bakura.
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
It was amusing, when Malik was upset.
Marik could literally feel the waves of anger, cascading over one another in a steadily growing storm. His weaker half really had no grasp over his emotions, but if he did, Marik wouldn't even exist, would he?
He watched from their shared mind as Malik paced their bedroom floor, going over reasons and justifications for his anger. How dare Ryou talk back to him? How dare he try to hit him? How dare he compare the two of them?
Malik's anger was usually so well masked nowadays, hidden behind false amusement and dismissive behaviour. The blond always managed to keep an air of nonchalance when dealing with everyone, from his family to his newly acquired roommates Malik put on a flawless performance.
To every person, but the one inside his own head.
Of course Malik knew the shadow of his mind was back but the strength had been so weak, barely existing, in the start, that the blond had barely taken notice. It was merely an inconvenient bump. Marik had not proven to be any danger to anyone and Malik had been too caught up in his newfound lifestyle to give a damn about demons he had long since vanquished.
But, now Marik was getting stronger, able to take over at will and could last much longer in control of their body. The only things that subdued him, had been those infuriating headache pills Malik had found, but the darkness quickly got rid of them. Those pills made him feel weak, faltering and fading. He hadn't liked them at all.
"Argh!" Malik threw a pillow against the wall, pointlessly. It was a rather childish act, like a teenager throwing a tantrum, but it had been enough to bring the darkness's attention back to his weaker half.
The anger Malik was showing was utterly humorous to Marik. Because from his view he could see exactly why he was so wound up.
Because Ryou had been right, the delightful little host, was really quite an interesting specimen and he had caught Malik right in one of his weak points, and now the Egyptian boy was fending off something he wasn't accustomed too; guilt.
Using someone's body, marking it and bending it for your own purposes. Malik knew all about that. No, not from his darker half, as you might assume (although that did play a minor part) it was the marks that had been left on his back, and the scars etched into his mind. Those thoughts and fears that created anger that had created Marik.
Malik had used Ryou's body, just as the Pharaoh and his father had used his. As a tool, a vessel, and the guilt was literally driving Malik nuts.
And Marik was becoming all the stronger, because of it.
Oooooooooooooooooooooooo
A/N: because apparently there's a plot in here somewhere.