It's Thursday, and here is your update! It's pretty fluffy. ^_^ Yami Marik is called 'Kek' in pretty much all of my stories. Miss Macabre Grey came up with it (Love you, GreyGrey!). So, when I say Kek, I mean Yami Marik. Got it? Good. XD Hope you enjoy this update! - Jem

Darkness, and running, and always that pain in his back that made it feel like his skin was being ripped off. Marik was fleeing. He knew what was going to happen because it happened every time, and there was no way that he could escape it – this was too familiar a situation, something he knew far too well to hold out any hope that this time, it would be different. Things were never different down here. The darkness was vast and unending, the occasional torch flitting by on the wall the only sense that he was moving, except for the burning in his chest and the pounding of his heart. He was running with everything he had, but he knew it would never be enough. He was coming.

Marik's footsteps echoed down the corridors, the soles of his sandals slapping against the stone as he tore through the encroaching shadows. He was running blind, with no real idea of how to get out to the surface; Kek had always taken him this way, but Marik never paid full attention then, his mind too fixed on exactly what they would do when they reached the surface. The corridors all looked identical, all paved with stone and lined with torches, joining together in an incomprehensible pattern to make a troubled underground maze. Still Marik ran, although he knew it was fruitless. He knew he still had to try.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him soon enough, letting him know that he was trapped. Marik could still feel it, though – that mindless terror that rocketed through his skull, rendering his limbs immobile and causing his heart to freeze mid-beat. He knew what would happen once those footsteps caught him. With a wrench, Marik forced himself to move again, tearing through the corridors at his fastest pace yet as he fled the man following him. He soon met a dead end, as he always knew he would, and the footsteps were getting closer. In a frenzied act of desperation, Marik turned to the walls, his nails digging in to the rough surface as he tried to climb, certain in the knowledge that he had to get away before he was caught, before he was trapped...

Rough hands brought him crashing back to the sandy floor, and Marik was screaming, screaming and screaming as he was dragged away, and he knew that there would be no help, no one would hear him from this far below the surface...

Marik sat straight up in bed, his eyes flying open and his hair sticking to his forehead, the sheets a tangled mess around his feet. It had been a long time since he'd had that dream. He had hoped, vainly, probably, that once he was out of the tomb and living in the open air his sleep would be undisturbed. Apparently, life had other ideas. Too used to the sensations by now to truly be bothered by them, Marik disentangled himself from the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His eyes felt gritty, his head stuffed, and as he tried to stand the room spun about him. Crashing back onto the bed, Marik let out a low groan, his eyes fluttering closed of their own accord as he collapsed onto his back, his hair falling into his eyes, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He grimaced and wriggled, one hand on his forehead as he attempted to stand again; the world still swayed, but it steadied much faster this time, and Marik was able to drag on yesterday's clothes and head out to the kitchen, in desperate need of some coffee.

Once the steaming mug was in his hand and he had taken a couple of sips, his head felt marginally clearer. An alarm buzzed on his phone and he pulled it out of his pocket, taking a quick glance at the screen – it was a reminder he had set himself, promising to ring his siblings to let them know he hadn't died. Marik sighed loudly. It was a Saturday, his first weekend here; he had almost survived his first week. His siblings would be worried about him.

Downing the rest of his coffee, Marik settled a bit more comfortably into his seat before scrolling through his contacts. The phone barely made it through its first ring before it was snatched up, and a deep male voice responded, "Hello?"

Well, at least it's Odion. "It's me," Marik spoke, tone resigned.

"Marik!" Odion's tone instantly lightened. "Good to hear from you." Yeah, right. "How is England?"

Marik let out a slight laugh. "Wet. And grey. And cold."

"Sounds delightful." Odion chuckled. "How are you settling in?"

Marik shrugged before realising that his brother couldn't see him. "As well as can be expected."

"You haven't had any trouble, though?" Odion's tone became a little more insistent. "No one's asked where you're from?"

Marik snorted. "Of course people ask where I'm from. I just tell them Egypt; I don't need to go into detail."

"So no one suspects? Are you safe?"

Marik rolled his eyes, stiffening a little at the sound of a door opening down the corridor. Sure enough, the kitchen door soon swung open to reveal Bakura, who merely shot him a glare before going to the kettle. Marik sighed, twisting away from him.

"Marik?" Odion again. "Are you safe?"

"Yes, I'm safe," Marik grumbled down the phone, ignoring the questioning look he received from his grumpy roommate. "Quit worrying about me."

Odion's smile was in his tone. "I'm just looking out for you. Things have pretty much blown over here, although Ishizu still has the occasional question from work. She manages to put everyone off easily enough."

Marik grunted noncommittally, allowing Odion to continue. "Keep in touch, and let us know how you are. Remember, tell no one anything about your previous life. Just act as normal as possible."

"Oh yeah, sure, I was just going to walk around with a huge sign saying 'Egyptian deprived freak' all the time," Marik responded sarcastically.

"Just stay safe."

"For the last time, I am safe," Marik hissed. "The only danger I had was in Egypt. He's long gone now."

There was a small silence before Odion spoke again. "I cannot deny that. I'll let Ishizu know you called. Keep in touch, Marik."

Another grunt was all Odion got before Marik hung up the phone, sighing loudly as he dropped it back into his pocket. His head was pounding. Marik massaged his forehead with his palms, attempting to cool down the heat he felt there and sniffing loudly, twice. His throat felt parched, so he got up and headed to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water.

"Someone looks ill."

Marik jumped, having almost completely forgotten about Bakura's presence. The pale student was regarding him with sharp brown eyes, his arms folded as he waited for the kettle to boil. Marik ignored him, proceeding to take a long draft of his water before replying. "I'm not ill. I have a headache."

Bakura merely snorted before gesturing to a cupboard. "Paracetamol in there. Knock yourself out."

"I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about." Marik's head hurt too much for this. He turned, meaning to go back to his room, but a tug on his shoulder made him whirl back around.

Bakura was suddenly right in front of him, small box in hand. "Paracetamol. I'm guessing you didn't have them in that dark hole in Egypt."

"Shut up about that," Marik growled. "And what the hell are you trying to give me?"

Bakura rolled his eyes, popping out two white pills and holding them out to Marik. "They're painkillers. They help with headaches."

Marik lifted a brow. "Knowing you, you're probably trying to poison me, or something."

"Suit yourself," Bakura shrugged, tossing the pills and box onto the counter. "Read the label if you're that worried. I forgot that you've probably never seen a tablet before. Was that hole in the middle of the desert, by any chance?"

Marik hissed through his teeth. "I told you to shut the hell up about that!"

Bakura merely snickered.

Marik muttered under his breath, turning inquisitively to the box and reading through the label. Turned out Bakura was right – the tablets were painkillers. They looked safe, and the seal hadn't been broken, so in the end Marik just took them, swallowing with a grimace. He frowned when his head felt no better.

"They take twenty minutes to work," Bakura advised, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone. "You are so clueless, it's a wonder you've survived above ground for this long."

Marik snarled at him, but Bakura continued, unfazed. "What the hell happened in Egypt, anyway? That was a family member you were on the phone too. Why were they telling you to stay safe? What are you running away from?"

"None of your damn business," Marik growled, turning to stalk back to his room. "Leave me the hell alone, bastard."

Bakura smirked. "I'll find out one way or another. Probably easier if you just tell me, though – it would save you a lot of time."

Marik stopped short at his words, several foreign expressions crossing his face. When he turned back around, his face was impassive, almost cold. His tone, when he spoke, was even and gave nothing away. "I killed a man."

Despite himself, Bakura's eyebrows went up. Marik watched him silently for a few moments longer before turning and leaving the kitchen, only half-surprised when he heard footsteps following him, all the way into his room. Marik collapsed back onto the bed with his eyes sliding shut, groaning when he heard his desk chair squeak. "Who said you could come in here?"

"It's my flat," Bakura pointed out coolly. "I'll go where I please."

Marik opened one eye just long enough to send him a glare. "So when I go in your room, you freak out, but I'm just supposed to accept the fact that you'll walk in here whenever you feel like it?"

"I'm glad you understand the situation."

Marik could hear Bakura's smirk, and he sat up with a glare. "You are really fucking irritating, you know that?"

Bakura grinned, an amused tint to his eyes. "I'm aware. So, what kind of murder are we dealing with here? Who did you kill?"

"You've got to be kidding me," Marik snarled. "I am not talking about this."

"If I'm living with a homicidal maniac, I have a right to know." Bakura was still smirking.

Marik glared, flopping back down on the bed and rolling away from Bakura. "You don't have a right to know anything about me."

"Whatever, Ishtar."

Marik kept his eyes closed, hoping that if he feigned sleep for long enough the white-haired would just get bored and go away. A rustling from behind him told Marik just how wrong he was about that, especially when that dark voice, now laced with amusement, spoke up again. "Just what are these?"

Marik groaned, rolling back over. "What are what?"

Bakura lifted up a wad of papers, smirk back in place. "These."

Marik cracked open his eyes, shooting upright when he saw what Bakura was holding. "Asshole! Give me those back!"

"Or what?" Bakura grinned, spinning away from Marik and laying out the pictures on the desk. He took in the childish images, filled with bright colours and wide smiling faces, and lifted a brow. "An artist, are you?"

Marik was off the bed and snatching the papers up and out of sight in an instant, shoving them quickly back under his bed. "Don't touch my stuff, bastard."

"You know, some of that wasn't half bad," Bakura commented sagely. "Rather childish, though. Says a lot about you."

Marik growled. "I did that stuff years ago. Of course it's childish. Get the hell out of my room."

"Consider it payback for you being in mine yesterday."

"I think you nearly snapping my spine was payback enough," Marik grouched, hand absentmindedly reaching back to stroke his scars. "And at least I wasn't stalking you."

Bakura lifted a brow. "You were freaking out over my piano. Never mind the way you were practically in a trance the first time you heard it. That is far worse than stalking."

"Not my fault I'd never heard it before," Marik muttered. "I just wanted to know what it looked like."

Bakura rolled his eyes, leaning back in Marik's seat and putting his feet up on Marik's desk. "You must have seen one before. They have pianos in Egypt, you know."

"Not where I was," Marik muttered. "And dad would never have let me see them, anyway."

Bakura fixed him with a look and Marik stared back a little defensively; he hadn't really meant to reveal so much. Bakura spoke again, his tone and face impassive. "Your dad not let you out much, hm?"

"I'm not going to talk about it," Marik hissed. "Shut the hell up."

Bakura shrugged, keeping his keen gaze trained on Marik, who shifted uncomfortably. They were silent for a long moment, both trying to read the other, before Bakura rose to his feet and gestured imperiously. "Come."

"...Excuse me?"

Bakura tossed an enigmatic look over one shoulder, beckoning once more. "Come."

Slightly surprised and extremely curious, Marik followed Bakura out into the hallways and down the passage until they were stood outside of Bakura's room. He pushed the door open and entered, beckoning Marik over to the piano. "If you wanted to know how it works, you should have just asked, idiot."

"Forgive me for not exactly wanting to come back in here after you almost broke my back," Marik grumbled, but he still stepped towards Bakura, his curiousity getting the better of him. The white-haired student had settled onto the piano stool, his hands naturally falling over the keys. He rolled his eyes at Marik's hesitance.

"Just get over here. Don't touch anything, though. I don't need you breaking it."

Marik edged closer gingerly until Bakura got bored and grabbed his arm, pulling him unceremoniously down onto the piano stool beside him. Marik let out a yelp, rubbing his arm and glaring at Bakura.

"Much better." Bakura flashed him a smirk before turning back to the piano, his hands stroking the keys gently. A small tinkle of sounds rippled beneath his fingers, and Marik watched, fascinated, as he picked out a simple melody accompanied by basic chords. He didn't notice himself leaning closer until a chuckle rasped in his ear, and that low, commanding voice commented, "You might want to lean back a bit. I can't play with you lying all over me like that."

Marik drew back quickly, steadfastly ignoring Bakura's dancing eyes in favour of staring at the piano some more. "So, you just press the keys and notes come out?"

"That's the general idea," Bakura drawled, his fingers still picking out the melody. "God, I forget how much of an innocent you are half the time. How do you even function in society?"

Marik ignored the insult, his eyes still glued to the piano keys. "Seems rather easy to me."

Bakura sent him a glare. "Oh really."

"Yeah," Marik shrugged. "You just hit the keys in different patterns, right? Easy. Even a little bit boring."

Bakura's only response was to suddenly increase the tempo of the music, his hands flying over the keys in a mess of semiquavers and dotted rhythms as he embellished the once-simple melody, making it sound about a thousand times more complex. Of course, he still never missed a note. Marik felt a tiny flare of jealousy rise in his chest, his fingers itching to stroke the keys for himself. He stretched out one hand...

A slap rang through the room. "Don't," Bakura snarled, the music coming to an abrupt halt. "Don't touch, Ishtar, ever. I mean it."

Marik glared right back at him, the slap an unpleasant echo to his life back in Egypt. His back tingled.

Bakura continued to pin him with a dark frown until a knock at the door had them both moving, jumping out of the piano stool and away from each other.

Bakura grunted, looking away. "You can get that."

"It's your flat," Marik hissed. "You answer it."

Bakura sighed loudly. "I'm not answering. Go get the door, idiot."

"Bastard," Marik seethed, but he stalked out of the room and went to answer the door, ignoring Bakura's dark chuckles that sounded from behind him. He pulled the flat door open, rubbing his head where the headache was now fading, and grumbled out, "What?"

A badge was shoved into his face, and a stern voice said, "DI Wilson and Officer Wright, police. Can we come in?"

Marik started, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the two uniformed police officers standing at his door. Why on earth would the police want to come here? They couldn't have traced him from Egypt, surely ... There was no way they could know what he'd done...

A dark voice sounded from further down the corridor. "Get out of the way, idiot."

Marik jumped, moving quickly away from the police officers. Bakura sent him a disparaging look before gesturing to the officers, folding his arms in front of him in his typically arrogant stance. "What the hell do you want?"

"Now, Mr Touzoku," The DI responded calmly. "No trouble. We're investigating the disappearance of a prized collection of jewellery. Tell me, have you seen this bracelet anywhere?"

Bakura barely gave the photo a glance before snorting, "No, I haven't. You can go now."

"Not just yet." The Officer turned to Marik, holding out the photo. "Take a look at this. What's your name?"

Marik stared at him sullenly, reaching out a hand to take the photo; he had to forcibly stop his eyes from widening when he recognised it. It was the bracelet, the one he'd seen in Bakura's room! He looked up, attempting to stop his jaw from dropping, to see Bakura send him a dangerous glare over one shoulder before turning back to the intruders. The officer in front of Marik raised a brow, his notepad open in front of him. "Your name, sir?"

Marik jumped, turning back to him and forcing his tone to remain even. "Namu ... Karim. And I haven't seen this bracelet before in my life."

The officer made a note, shooting him a keen glance before turning back to Bakura. "Sure you haven't seen it?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm sure."

"It is a prized piece from the museum," The DI continued, her tone unimpressed. "If you know of its whereabouts, you must tell us. Mind if we have a look in your room?"

Marik schooled his expression in order to keep it impassive, although his thoughts were reeling. Bakura stole some jewellery from a museum? How in the hell did he get past security? Unless he was just working for someone else, which seemed far more likely...

"Like hell," Bakura scoffed. "Do you have a search warrant?"

Silence.

Bakura smirked. "In that case, get the hell out of my flat. Come back when you actually have some evidence." Without a backwards glance, Bakura turned and stalked into the kitchen, the door slamming shut behind him.

The DI raised her eyes to the heavens. "That boy, I swear..." She turned to Marik with a sympathetic glance. "If you want some advice, get out of this flat. Touzoku is trouble. And you see any sign of that bracelet, give us a call." A card was pressed into Marik's hands before the two officers finally left the flat.

Marik stared after them, dumbfounded. They hadn't come here for him ... he was safe. The panic died in his throat as Marik sagged against the wall, his breathing ragged as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat. That had been far too close for comfort.

"So, why did you lie, Ishtar?"

Marik breathed out, sending a dirty look Bakura's way. "Not for you, that's for sure. I can't have the police here. And who stole that bracelet for you?"

"I stole it, moron," Bakura smirked, heading for his room. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you not to tell anyone, or I'll murder you in your sleep."

Marik hissed. "No way you stole it from the museum."

"I'm a good thief," Bakura shrugged dismissively. "And if you tell the police, I'll tell them that you lied about your name and killed someone in Egypt."

Marik stopped short and Bakura entered his room, door shutting behind him. Marik stared after him, fear twisting in his gut; no way would Bakura hand him in. Marik wouldn't let him. Marik couldn't let him, because no way was he going back to Egypt, not when had worked so hard to escape.

Without thinking, Marik shoved the door open and strode into Bakura's room, hands on his hips as he glared at the pale, white-haired idiot, who was sat back at the piano sending him a mildly surprised look. Marik strode right up to him, invading his personal space. "Listen, you. You are not to tell the police anything about me, because if you so much as try then I'll march right round there and show them all your stolen jewellery. I saw your box of trinkets, thief."

Bakura growled. "I won't hesitate to tell them about your past in Egypt, Ishtar."

"The way I see it," Marik hissed, "We need to come sort of agreement. Promise me that we won't have any more police sniffing around in this flat, and I won't tell them about what you've stolen. Agreed?"

Bakura scoffed. "Like hell. You won't tell them because if you do, I'll tell them about you."

"Slight problem with that." Marik strove to keep his voice even as he glared at Bakura. "You have no evidence. No one in Egypt knows where I am. It's impossible to trace that crime back to me." I hope. "You, on the other hand, have incriminating evidence right here in your room. You need to get your act together, because quite clearly neither of us wants police sniffing around this flat. Get better at being a criminal if you want to survive."

Bakura snarled, standing up from the piano stool and leaning threateningly over Marik, so close they were almost touching. "Don't you dare presume to tell me what to do, Ishtar."

"Way I see it, you're in my debt," Marik forced an arrogant smirk onto his lips, knowing that it would drive Bakura wild. "You owe me. Touzoku."

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment, the air heavy with tension and sparks almost flying between them. Bakura opened his mouth, snarling, "I don't owe y-"

He was interrupted by a sudden, incessant ringing. Marik cursed and stepped away, his hand dipping into his pocket. Odion. With an eye-roll, Marik turned away from Bakura and went back into his own room, sitting on the desk chair as he answered the call. "Odion, what the hell? I haven't died since I called this morning, you know."

"It's Ishizu actually, Marik, and you could be a little more grateful," His sister's voice sounded down the line, crackly from bad reception. "I'm calling because I've got some unfortunate news. Turns out you're not the only idiot in the family."

Marik hissed, but Ishizu ignored him. "Kek's got into trouble. He needs to get out of Egypt, so we're sending him over to stay with you; he'll be at the harbour on Monday morning, I'll text you the details. Put him up for a bit, hopefully when things calm down he'll be able to come back, unlike you."

"Wait, slow down." Marik's head was reeling, his thoughts a scrambled mess. "Kek? Why? What's he done?"

"I'll let him explain when he gets there," Ishizu continued with a sigh. "He just needs a place to lay low for a while. He'll be safest with you."

"But he doesn't know!" Marik almost shrieked. "He doesn't know about dad! What the hell do I tell him?"

Ishizu had already hung up.

Marik threw the phone across his room, his anger enough to cause a dent in the wall as the phone slid down to the floor, landing with a dull thump. Marik buried his head in his hands, his elbows digging into the flimsy wood of the desk as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. He was still losing his temper far too quickly, but this was serious, very serious. Kek couldn't come here. Kek couldn't stay here. Kek didn't know...

"Well, someone sounds angry."

Marik turned with a snarl, throwing the thing closest to hand at the shadow in the doorway. A pale hand snapped out and caught it, and Bakura lifted an amused brow. "Pencil sharpener. Imaginative."

"Get the hell out," Marik growled, his head falling back into his hands.

Of course, Bakura ignored him. Marik heard the bed shift and groaned. "What the fuck do you want?"

Bakura was silent, and so Marik whirled to face him. He growled when he saw his phone in Bakura's hands. "Give that back."

"In a moment." Bakura met Marik's gaze, his brown eyes impassive. "Who is Kek?"

Marik's jaw dropped. "Were you eavesdropping, you bastard?"

"Besides the point," Bakura waved him away. "If he's staying here, I need to know."

"He isn't staying here," Marik spat, turning away again. No way could he let Kek in, especially not with Bakura here. "I'm not letting him."

"Didn't sound like you had much choice to me." There was amusement in Bakura's tone.

Marik span back around, anger sending him flying off the chair. "Shut the fuck up! You don't know the first thing about this!"

"So tell me." Bakura's voice was dark and commanding. "Why are you freaking out so much?"

"Because Kek doesn't know!" Marik's hands fisted in his hair as he stared wildly at Bakura, words tumbling out of his mouth before he'd thought them through. "Kek doesn't know why I'm here, or what I did, or what happened, he doesn't know any of it! What the hell do I do? What do I do?!"

"Slow down." Bakura stood up, grabbing Marik's arms and pulling them down to his sides; Marik flinched at the contact, struggling, but Bakura held him fast. "Start at the beginning. What doesn't Kek know?"

"He doesn't know that I killed my dad!" Marik wailed, words out before he'd realised what he said. Bakura remained still as he continued talking, his grip tight on Marik's arms. "He just thinks dad had a heart attack, he doesn't know what I did or why I'm in England, when he asks me I'm not going to be able to lie to him because he always knows! What the hell am I going to do?"

Bakura remained silent, his eyes analysing Marik's expression. "Calm down, Marik. You need to tell me everything."

His words brought Marik somewhat back to his senses, and he gasped as he realised what he had just revealed. With a violent jerk, Marik pulled himself out of Bakura's grip and stepped back. "Like hell I do," He hissed. "You forget what I just told you. Don't ever speak of it again."

Bakura shook his head, stepping forwards. Marik skittered back. "Get the hell out of my room!"

"No fucking way," Bakura hissed. "Why did you kill your dad?"

"Get OUT!"

"Marik!" Bakura grabbed the fist that was aimed at him, forcibly turning him and shoving him towards the bed; Marik tripped over his open suitcase and landed on his back, hissing as pain exploded along his marred skin. Bakura stood over him threateningly, blocking the door. "I am not letting you out of here until you tell me everything. Why did you kill your dad?"

"Because he did this!" Marik all but screamed. In seconds, before he could think, Marik flung himself upright and pulled his shirt off, turning around and baring his back to Bakura. He was trembling, his mind filled with a confused haze of emotions and thoughts; Kek coming here threw everything out of balance. He was at a total loss of what to do. And now his secret was out.

Silence weighed heavily through the room as Marik shook and shivered, waiting for Bakura's reaction. He almost expected a snicker, a snide remark, or for him to just walk out of the room and leave Marik there. What he didn't expect was the dark voice to sound, with anger apparent in its tone. "Your father did this?"

"W-when I was ten." Marik cursed the stutter, his chin snapping up. He wouldn't show weakness in front of Bakura. He refused.

Bakura was quiet for another moment before he spoke again. His words dripped with controlled fury. "If I have this right, your dad locked you up in a hole in Egypt and tattooed shapes into your back?"

"Hieroglyphs," Marik corrected casually, although he still shook. "And they're scars, not tattoos."

Bakura fell silent again, and Marik trembled. He almost screamed when he felt a cool touch on his back, and his head whipped around to glare at Bakura.

The pale one ignored him, continuing to trace his fingers lightly over the scar tissue. "A knife did these," He eventually said. "A hot knife, if I'm correct."

"You don't have to tell me that," Marik spat. "Get your filthy hands off me."

"Hush." Bakura continued to brush over the patterns, causing shivers to ripple down Marik's spine. No one had ever touched them before. "Tell me about Kek."

Marik let a huff of air hiss through his teeth before speaking. "He's my cousin. He doesn't know what dad did, and he doesn't know what I did. If he comes here asking questions I don't know what I'm going to say. I can't tell him."

"Why not?"

Marik sent Bakura a shocked glare, trying to wriggle out of his grasp; Bakura held him steady. "What do you mean, why not? Why the fuck do you think?"

"If you tell your cousin the truth," Bakura continued calmly, "Then he'll understand and you won't have to hide anything anymore. Unless he's the sort of person who has an aversion to crime, in which case we both need him out of this flat."

Marik snorted at that. "Trust me, he has absolutely no issue with crime. But he's still going to flip. I can't tell him. I can't even face him. How the hell am I meant to talk to him on Monday?"

Silence held for another long moment before Bakura eventually growled, "I'll go with you. We can all sort this mess out at the same time."

Marik nearly fell over in shock. The fingers along his scars paused momentarily before resuming their surprisingly gentle movements, and Marik found his shivers slowly stopping the further Bakura went. Why the hell was he being so understanding about this? How could he go from absolute asshole to understanding friend in a matter of minutes?

...Friend?

No, Marik had not just thought that. With a snarl he ripped out of Bakura's grip, whirling around to face him and crossing his arms self-consciously. "Why do you want to help?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "This quite clearly concerns me, too. I don't want some random stranger causing trouble in this flat. We'll go together on Monday to get him, and that will be an end to it. Turn around and let me finish tracing those scars."

"Like hell," Marik hissed, backing further away.

Bakura snorted, his eyes taking on a cunning glint. "If you let me finish touching them, I'll let you touch my piano."

"No fucking ... wait, what?" Marik tilted his head, a frown creasing his brow. "For real?"

Bakura merely nodded, gesturing imperiously. "Turn around."

"...On one condition," Marik smirked. "You have to show me how to play it."

"Fine," Bakura snapped. "Now turn the fuck around."

With a shudder, Marik turned, jerking when he felt fingers on his back once more. "Calm down," Bakura muttered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't know why you're being so nice about this," Marik growled, trying his best not to flinch as Bakura traced the last pattern.

By way of response, Bakura placed his hands on Marik's shoulders and whirled him around, meeting his eyes with an unreadable expression on his face. When he spoke, it was with an intensity that Marik had never heard him use before. "Parents shouldn't scar their own children."

Marik stared back, his expression dimming, before Bakura turned and beckoned. "Come on. I'll keep up my end of the deal now."

Despite himself, Marik felt a small coil of excitement jump in his stomach as he tugged his shirt back on. He followed Bakura back into his room and took a seat at the piano, watching as Bakura's fingers fell so naturally into place. Bakura didn't look at him as he began to speak. "So, you've probably guessed by now that each key sounds a different note. I press the keys, and a tune comes out."

Marik nodded, watching as Bakura's fingers picked out different keys, causing a rippling melody to sound through the air. "Can I try?"

Bakura sent him a glare, and Marik huffed. "You said I could touch it."

"That doesn't mean play," Bakura muttered, but he reluctantly moved his hands away. "Go on then. You try."

Marik eagerly pressed his fingers into the keys; Bakura flinched at the crash of dissonance that resulted. "Be careful, Marik. Do it like this." Suddenly, pale hands were on Marik's bronze fingers, placing them on separate notes. Fingers wrapped around his wrists, adjusting them slightly and causing Marik's flesh to tingle in their wake. Bakura kept his hands over Marik's as he pushed down, and a sudden bright chord rang through the room. Bakura smirked. "And that's C Major. Congratulations."

Marik felt a smile rise unbidden to his lips, and he pressed down again. Bakura watched him with an impassive expression, trying to ignore the small flutter in his stomach which he knew was a very, very bad sign. But then Marik smiled, his face lighting up and his violet eyes dancing, and Bakura found his eyes sliding to Marik's back, to the scars he had so recently discovered, those beautiful, dangerous scars that so marred the perfect bronze skin. His heart skipped.

This was not good. This was not good at all.

So, that was quite a fluffy chapter. Sorry if Bakura was a bit OOC, when his back story is explained his motives will be revealed. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem