So, another update, and a return to long chapters (I hope)!
To guest reviewer Themysticwonder: Thank you so much! Haha, please don't slap the characters, though – then they couldn't keep entertaining us! I hope to carry on keeping you happy. Thank you for reading!
So, enjoy this chapter! - Jem
The last work of term passed by relatively peacefully.
Marik never bothered to properly catch up on the work from the lectures he missed (being distracted by a certain white-haired someone didn't exactly help), so for him the last week was spent in a series of confusing lectures and seminars, full of words and questions he didn't understand. Marik's sketchpad quickly filled up with doodles during those sessions.
Bakura, of course, remained a star student despite his insufferable attitude. He practised any and al hours of the day and night, more often than not at the exact times Marik was trying to get some of his college work done. These sessions usually resulted in Marik throwing whatever pen or brush he happened to be using at the time straight at Bakura's head, who would easily dodge and laugh his sultry, dark chuckle.
At one such time, Marik eventually flipped.
Standing with a long growl, he whirled away from Bakura's desk (Marik's room had been largely unused since the two began sleeping in the same bed) and chucked a whole pile of papers at Bakura's head, half-coloured images swirling around white hair and floating down to land on the floor and stool, a couple landing on the piano keys themselves. Bakura, as ever, laughed, sending Marik a sly smirk. "If you're just going to destroy my room, you can go back to sleeping in your own bed."
"Like you'd ever let me," Marik seethed, his hands curling into fists by his sides as he glared at the pale student before him. "Just stop playing that damn instrument when I'm trying to work, alright?"
Bakura merely snorted, turning back to the keys as he picked up a couple of the loose papers, shaking his head. "Why do you always feel the need to throw stuff at me?"
"Huh?" Marik was sounding frazzled again, seating himself back on the desk and going back to his notes. He had copied most of them from Yami, but the words just did not join together in his head, and he would have an exam on this stuff at the start of the new term. It was safe to say that Marik was getting stressed.
Bakura noticed and backed off a bit, lifting his hands in the air. "Fine, throw your precious drawings at me if you want. Just don't expect to be getting them back."
Marik didn't respond, bent feverishly over the desk as he was, so Bakura released a very obvious sigh and gathered together all the scraps of paper, looking through them carelessly. He had to admit, they were good – Marik had a talent for capturing images on paper, it would seem. Bakura's smirk dropped into a thoughtful smile the more he looked, his brow creasing a little. "You know, these are actually remarkably good."
"What?" Marik eventually gave up on trying to make sense of the mixed-up notes and pushed away from the desk, spinning around in the chair to look at Bakura. "What are you going on about now?"
Bakura couldn't stop the smirk that tugged on the corners of his mouth, his eyes gleaming at the obvious irritation in Marik's voice. He waved the pictures tauntingly. "These. Where have you been hiding that talent?"
"Idiot." Marik rolled his eyes, attempting to snatch the papers back only for Bakura to hold them out of his reach. Marik fell back onto the desk chair with a disgruntled sigh, covering his face with one hand and shivering. "I haven't been hiding it; you clearly aren't very observant. And can you please turn the damn heater on? It's freezing!"
"It's England in December, what do you expect." Bakura shook his head, grinning. He closed the lid of the piano before sitting back and bringing his legs up onto the stool, resting the papers across his knees as he continued to peruse Marik's drawings. Marik noticed his occupation and sighed loudly, twisting back to the desk. Yami's neat handwriting flashed up in straight lines, but to Marik the words may as well have been written in Icelandic. He had absolutely no idea what any of it meant.
With a low groan, Marik dropped his head onto the desk and tangled his hands in his hair. "Gods, I am never going to be able to do this!"
Bakura, predictably, laughed at him. "Stop freaking out so much, Ishtar."
"Stop calling me my damn surname!" Marik whirled around, fixing Bakura with a dark, dark glare, his brows dangerously low and furrowed. Bakura just grinned, dropping the papers carelessly on the floor and crossing over to Marik easily, cupping his face with both hands.
"I think someone needs to calm down," Bakura smirked.
Marik glared back, irritably pulling out of his grasp and spinning the chair back around towards the desk. "Perhaps if someone didn't feel the need to irritate me so much, I wouldn't need to."
A dark, silver laugh escaped Bakura's lips as he perched on the desk, right by where Marik was writing. Marik, exasperated, looked up at him and deliberately rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and glaring into Bakura's laughing brown gaze. "What the hell do you want now?"
"Oh, nothing." Bakura's tone was worryingly innocent. "I'm just sitting in my room. You can't scream at me for that, can you?"
Marik growled, turning back to the notes with another violent shiver. He wrapped his arms around his torso, clutching his black jumper closer to his tan skin, the freezing December air pervading the room with the small heater hardly adequate enough to alleviate it. Goosebumps rose along Marik's arms as he attempted to read through the notes, his head growing increasingly more fuzzy with each sentence. Bakura wasn't helping. He leaned back on the desk, his feet landing in Marik's lap to steady himself, white hair streaming down his shoulders as he tilted his head and smirked down at Marik. Marik steadfastly ignored him, refusing to give up on the notes, until Bakura's fingers wound their way into Marik's golden locks and started to play with them, twisting nonsensically.
Marik snapped.
"Oh, fucking hell, fine," Marik hissed, pushing the notes across the desk and turning to Bakura with narrowed violet eyes. "I'll pay attention to you. Ignorant child."
Bakura merely smirked, sliding off the desk and into Marik's lap, quietening him with a kiss. "You're the brat here, Marik, not me. About time you got a taste of your own medicine."
Marik sighed, disgruntled. Wrapping his arms around Bakura's neck, he pulled him back down into another kiss and complained against his lips. "I still need to get this work done, you know. If I fail uni I will never get a job."
Bakura grinned, using his grip in Marik's hair to tug the Egyptian up to him, planting kisses down his jawline. "Who says you need to? Just follow me around."
Marik couldn't hold back a scoff, his eyes sliding shut when Bakura nipped at his neck. He tilted his head and pulled the pale student closer. "Mm, I could do that. You're going to be some famous musician, so we should be fine."
"And you a famous artist," Bakura chuckled, his hands sliding down the back of Marik's top. "Don't think I'm just going to let you live off me for free."
Marik just grinned at him. "As if you'd let me starve."
Bakura scoffed, leaning down to claim his lips in another searing kiss. Marik hummed into his mouth, pulling him closer still, their arms naturally settling into place around each other. Bakura shifted, straddling Marik's waist on the chair as he slid his fingers through blond strands, tilting Marik's head up further towards him. Marik was just beginning to get rid of the cold surrounding him when a knock at the door sounded.
Bakura groaned, kissing Marik deeply again. "Why do things always interrupt us?"
"Stop being so grumpy and go get the door." Marik turned his head away when Bakura attempted another kiss, pushing him off his lap with a small grin. "It's bound to be for you."
Bakura gave Marik the finger as he left the bedroom and entered the corridor to answer the door.
Marik turned back to the desk with a small smile lighting up his features, Yami's notes all but forgotten. Bakura was a pain and a distraction, but he didn't half know how to make Marik feel good. This past week had been probably the happiest of Marik's life, and that was no exaggeration.
Bakura's dark curse sounded from the hall and Marik rolled his eyes, clambering up from the chair and throwing open the bedroom door. He was hardly surprised to see Yami and Bakura at loggerheads once again, both of them glaring at each other, neither willing to back down.
Marik stepped into the hallway, letting the bedroom door shut behind him as he heaved a small sigh. This sort of scene was becoming common to him now, and that was worrying. Marik stepped up to Bakura's side, laying a careful hand on his shoulder as he turned to face Yami.
Yami looked between them, releasing a sigh. "Ok, Bakura, I know you've got your minion, but you have got to accept responsibility here. I'm leaving tonight – after that, Ryou is all yours."
Bakura snarled. "Do I have to remind you that it's your fault he's with you in the first place?"
"Don't talk about that," Yami said quietly, his face resigned and dejected.
Bakura sneered, pulling out of Marik's grip as he advanced, his face creased into a perfect expression of mock-caring. "Oh, poor dearest Yami. Is the truth too much for you to handle? Because we both know how much you love lying."
Yami flinched, backing up and refusing to meet Bakura's gaze. Marik stared between them with interest, his chest burning with the utmost curiousity as his eyes flicked back and forth. Bakura's face was white with fury, and Yami seemed surprisingly ... submissive.
As if to reiterate Marik's thoughts, Yami looked down, his back to a wall, and murmured, "I know you have no reason to want to see me. But I'm just passing on the truth – if Ryou needs you, you have got to be there for him. Even if you don't want to be."
Bakura saw red.
Marik actually took a step back at the force of Bakura's momentum as he flew into Yami, slamming him further into the wall and grabbing the spikes of his hair, forcing his head back. Yami winced, his face reddening as he stared into Bakura's narrowed slits of furious eyes.
"Don't you dare," Bakura seethed, his voice dangerously low and dark with fury. He wrenched Yami's head further back, bending the much smaller student almost in half as he leaned down and hissed into his ear. "Don't you fucking dare talk to me like that."
Yami hissed when his head was slammed into the wall, his eyes glazing over slightly. Marik stepped forwards quickly, grabbing Bakura's arm and pulling him back, ignoring the animalistic growl that slipped through his lips.
"Come on, Bakura," Marik panted as he forcibly dragged him back. "Killing – Yami – is not – going – to help you!"
Bakura snarled, allowing himself to be dragged back, reluctantly releasing Yami. He turned with a growl in Marik's grip, meeting his violet eyes with burning brown eyes. "Get him out of here."
Marik kept a tight hold on Bakura's arm as he turned darkened violet eyes on Yami, deliberately putting his body between the two bickering students. "Yami, I think you should leave."
Yami leaned away from the wall, hands gingerly going to his neck, where long red fingerprints were left imprinted clearly against his pale skin. One more look at Bakura's livid expression had him turning to the door.
As soon as the door shut with finality behind Yami, Bakura ripped out of Marik's grasp with a roar, slamming his fist into the wall. A nasty crack rang through the air. Marik watched with wide eyes, but he moved when Bakura made to slam into the wall again, instead grabbing his black-coated wrist and spinning him around. Bakura resisted, growling, but Marik firmly held him in place. Two brown fingers held a pale chin, directing their gazes onto each other. Violet brushed burning brown.
Bakura's shoulders sagged a little and he stopped resisting Marik, but his gaze remained intense and fiery as he turned it on Marik. Marik lifted one hand to push back white strands of hair, his other hand still tightly holding Bakura's wrist. Blood dripped steadily between pale fingers.
Marik heaved a sigh. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
"I'm not your fucking child," Bakura snarled, but Marik ignored him and led him through to the kitchen, firmly sitting him on a chair before recovering the medical kit. Bakura begrudgingly allowed him to bandage his hand, wincing pointedly when Marik pulled the bandage too tight.
Marik rolled his eyes. "If you sit still and calm down, this will be much easier."
"Fucking brat." Bakura's eyes closed, though, and he allowed his head to drop forwards. Marik watched him carefully as he finished tying off the last of the bandages, shoving the medical kit to one side. Bakura's face was drawn and tired, creases appearing in his forehead and around his eyes. Marik caught his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure with how to deal with this. He was still burning to know more about what got Bakura so riled.
With a small sigh, Marik stood up and crossed to Bakura's seat, planting himself on the pale student's lap. Bakura's eyes flew open, surprised at the sudden warm weight sitting on him, but he wrapped his arms readily enough around Marik and pulled him into his chest. Marik curled up happily enough, resting his head on Bakura's shoulder. Quietly, Marik murmured, "Tell me what that was about."
"Like hell," Bakura scoffed, but it was without venom. Arms tightened around Marik's form.
Marik sighed lowly, his lips close to Bakura's neck as he continued. "I think it's about time you started trusting me."
"You're an arrogant ass."
"Coming from you," Marik grinned, flicking Bakura's forehead lightly, "That's rich."
Bakura snorted softly, dragging Marik's head down further into his chest and resting his chin on top of the blond mass of tangles. "Yami and I have a lot of history."
"I sort of gathered that." Marik struggled to stop his lips from twitching into a grin. "Care to elaborate?"
Bakura sighed loudly, fingers of one hand gently caressing Marik's side, finding their way under the black jumper and sending warm sparks of light across the brown skin. "This situation is just really rather ironic. To think that Yami is lecturing me on family responsibilities ... Yami, of all people..."
"What is it you've got against him?" Marik twisted slightly in Bakura's lap, lifting his gaze to his pale face. Bakura's eyes were faraway, his fingers continuing their movements along Marik's sides.
Bakura started to speak. "Yami ... is the reason that Ryou and I don't get along. Hell, he's the reason my family are dead, never mind anything else."
"...What?!" Marik's jaw dropped, his eyes going wide as they fixed on Bakura's expression.
Bakura caught his look with a wry smile, his lips twitching upwards slightly. "Yeah, that's the reaction everyone gives me when I tell them. Utter disbelief."
"No, I don't not believe you, it's just..." Marik shook his head, his mind still stumbling to process the information. "He ... what? What the hell happened?"
Bakura's expression folded in on itself. "There was a fire..." His eyes instantly tightened, fingers digging into Marik's flesh as he held him close against his chest.
Marik blinked, his fingers pulling gently through white hair as he rested his head on Bakura's shoulder, warm breath tickling a pale neck. "Were you there when it happened?"
"...Yes." Bakura's voice was quiet, a barely-there whisper.
Marik lifted his head slowly and started when he saw Bakura's expression; brown eyes were closed beneath almost-transparent lids, a pale mouth formed into a straight line. One soft tear tracked a slow path down one cheek.
Marik sighed, wrapping his arms around Bakura's neck and drawing his head into his chest, kissing the top of Bakura's white locks. "That must have been horrible."
"No shit, Sherlock." Even at a moment like this, Bakura couldn't stop the sarcasm from seeping into his tone. Marik released a low chuckle, shifting a little on Bakura's thighs as he rested their foreheads together, meeting Bakura's gaze. Bakura half-smirked. "Enough questioning for today? Because I'm hungry."
Marik grinned, leaping off Bakura's lap and heading to the oven. "I guess that could work."
Bakura watched him cook with an unreadable expression decorating his features, the tiniest of creases in his forehead. His wrist ached, but the bandages were soothing, much as Marik's touch had been to his pounding head. Bakura's lips twitched upwards into a small smile.
...
Another week passed in relative peace. The university was closed for the winter, most of the students gone home, so very often it felt like Marik and Bakura had the whole place to themselves. The city centre got busy during the day, as ever, but in the evenings it was quiet enough to give Bakura and Marik some privacy.
"Why do they even have a holiday at this time of year, anyway?" Marik grumbled, his hand firmly in Bakura's as they walked shivering along the pavement. The air was freezing, bitingly cold against the exposed parts of Marik's skin, even bundled up in coat, hat, scarf and gloves as he was. He hung on to Bakura's side as they wandered along the almost empty streets, breath steaming in the air. "It's freezing. Holidays are supposed to be warm!"
Bakura snorted, not bothering to keep the derisive tone out of his words. "I guess they didn't educate you on Christmas in that tomb you grew up in, Ishtar."
Marik sent Bakura a glare. "I do know what Christmas is, idiot. I'm complaining about it being at this time of year. It's bad enough having a birthday in the winter, never mind anything else."
"You have a birthday soon?" Bakura's brow arched.
Marik couldn't hold back a grin, despite his chattering teeth. "Yes, I do. And I fully expect a gift from you, oh great boyfriend."
Bakura shoved him away playfully. "As if. And you might need to tell me when it is."
"The 23rd." Marik shivered, coming back over to grab Bakura's wrist, leaning against him and closing his eyes. "Not that I really want to remember. It isn't exactly a happy day."
Bakura's eyebrow arched again, silently asking for elaboration, and Marik rolled his eyes. "I had the initiation on my 10th birthday."
"...Ah." Bakura didn't say any more, but he wordlessly slipped an arm around Marik's shoulders and drew him closer, keeping them held tightly together as they continued down the street. Marik leaned gratefully into his warmth, wrapping an arm about Bakura's waist.
They walked in silence for a few moments before Marik saw fit to speak. "So, where is it exactly you're taking me today?"
Bakura sent him a wicked grin, brown eyes twinkling in the streetlights that lit the air on that dark evening. Marik still felt shivers roll down his spine merely at that sight.
"You'll like this one, Ishtar," Bakura responded sagely, tugging Marik along at a slightly faster pace. "I'm continuing to expand your horizons on everything you missed in that tomb of yours."
"It wasn't my tomb," Marik responded irritably, although he followed along happily enough. Since university ended and they both had more free time, Bakura had taken it upon himself to attempt to show Marik a little more of the world above ground, seeing as Marik really hadn't had much time to get to explore before enrolling in the university. It had taken them along a myriad of adventures, mostly embarrassing for Marik and involving Bakura laughing at his expense, but Marik had to admit that he enjoyed their excursions. Anticipation shot through his gut as he wondered exactly where he was being taken today.
Violet eyes widened when Bakura directed their footsteps towards a large building on the corner of one street. Marik read the sign, tilting his head with confusion creasing his brow. "Cinema? What's that?"
"You have got to be kidding me." Bakura stifled a chuckle and dodged Marik's whack, trapping both his wrists easily and tugging Marik further into his side.
Marik sent Bakura a firm glare, fixing him with narrowed violet eyes and a stern expression. "Yes, Bakura, we all know that you like to tease me about my lack of knowledge. Can we skip that part, and go straight to you telling me where the fuck we are?"
Bakura snorted. As they joined the queue to enter one of the screens, Bakura tightened his grip on Marik's arm and tugged him towards him, forcing Marik to walk right beside him. Marik only resisted for a second before happily sliding nearer to Bakura, anchoring himself firmly beside him. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing yet?"
"You'll see soon enough," was Bakura's only reply, accompanied with a mischievous wink.
Marik sighed loudly, resigning himself to simply following Bakura until the pale teen saw fit to tell him whatever was going on. The queue dwindled slowly enough, hardly anyone around at this time of night, and so they reached the front relatively quickly. Bakura released Marik for just long enough to take out a pair of tickets, handing them to the attendant, who showed them into a theatre. Marik's brows knitted together when they entered the practically empty screen room, Bakura leading them swiftly to two seats in the middle of the theatre. "This looks suspiciously like a stage show, but we did that last week."
"It's a different type of theatre." Bakura was struggling to keep the laughter out of his voice as he pulled Marik down beside him. "And you'll like it; trust me."
"As if I would ever trust you," Marik scoffed, looking around suspiciously in the darkened lighting. Bakura merely flashed him a wide grin, leaning back in his seat and stretching. Marik took a moment just to admire Bakura's slim form, smiling a little dreamily as his thoughts spiralled down towards the gutter.
Bakura glanced over and caught his expression, smirk soon creeping back over his lips. He leaned forwards, deliberately lowering his voice into a seductive husk as he breathed into Marik's ear, looping on long arm about his shoulders. "What's got you looking so excited, hm?"
Marik started, instantly coming back to himself to meet a laughing brown gaze. His brows furrowed. "Get the hell off me, idiot."
"I thought we were curbing your erratic tendencies," Bakura murmured, lips grazing Marik's skin as he pulled the other closer to him. Marik fought for a couple of minutes before giving in and collapsing against Bakura's chest, his head landing inside the open buttons of Bakura's black coat. A dark laugh rumbled against Marik's ear. "You should be able to leave me alone for five minutes, Ishtar, really."
"You were the one who forced me here," Marik grumbled discontentedly, violet eyes still attempting to pick out exactly where they were through the darkness.
As he looked, the lights dimmed further and a slow hissing started at the back of the room. Bakura leaned down, his lips grazing Marik's ear teasingly again as he whispered, "Settle down, Ishtar. The show is about to start."
Marik opened his mouth to ask Bakura just what he meant, but he almost leapt out of his skin when a bright light suddenly appeared before them, accompanied by a loud crash of music that filled the entire theatre.
Marik jumped violently, a small cry escaping his wide mouth as his head shot up off Bakura, his eyes wide. There were images on the screen before him, huge images like you'd see on a TV, only about ten times bigger. Memories shot through Marik, of the first time he'd seen a TV, on one of those forbidden trips outside with Kek. Ishizu had been with him that day, though...
"Marik, we have to go!"
"But sister, look at it! It's beautiful! The colours ... it's as if it's really here!"
"Yes, Marik, I know, but we've really got to go!"
Marik pulled irritably out of his sister's grip, young wide eyes gazing in awe at the huge box before him. A man was moving on it, moving and TALKING, and Marik could hear every word as if the man was right next to him! There was a woman as well, but Marik wasn't as interested in her. The man was tall and alluring, speaking with an accent Marik hadn't heard before. As he watched in wide-eyed wonder, the man left the woman and secured a helmet on his head, climbing onto a machine the likes of which Marik had never seen. It was sleek and red, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. Marik jumped back with a startled shout when the man kicked it and it roared, zooming away into the horizon without a care in the world.
A slender grip wrapped around one his wrists.
"Marik, we've got to go, now!"
Marik turned with beseeching eyes. "Please, sister, just a little longer! There's so much more to see..."
"I know, Marik, but father..."
Father...
Father always ruined everything.
"Marik?"
Marik drew himself back to the present with a small gasp, his gaze fixing once more on the dark theatre, the bright screen, and Bakura's brown eyes that bored into him with a quizzical expression.
Marik half-smiled, sinking back into his seat. "Sorry. Another flashback."
"I'm going to have to start writing down what triggers those," Bakura murmured, reaching back over and tugging Marik towards him, fingers lightly brushing over his scars. "You're missing the best bit."
Marik curled gratefully up against Bakura, the fingers on his back reminding him that he wasn't in Egypt anymore; that he'd escaped the horror of his childhood, and could watch TV whenever he liked. A small smile graced his lips at that, and he turned back to the screen. "So, what's going on here, Bakura?"
"It's a cinema." Bakura chuckled darkly, his lips once again brushing Marik's skin as he continued. "They project films onto that big screen, and we, the captive audience, get to watch them. Most people consider this 'fun'."
Marik scoffed lightly. "Not you, though."
"Of course not. My idea of fun is stealing from a mansion, and I've already taken you out to do that once." Bakura chortled, fixing Marik with a bright brown stare. "And we remember how well that turned out, don't we?"
Marik rolled his eyes. "You are never going to let that go, are you?"
"Nope." Bakura threaded his fingers through Marik's golden hair as the adverts drew to a close, and the opening credits of the film started up. Marik watched in wide-eyed wonder, his gaze similar to the one he'd worn as a boy, when he first witnessed the moving pictures on a TV. This time, though, there was no sister telling him he had to go back to a miserable existence underground, and Bakura's warmth was pressed pleasantly against his side. Marik shuffled a little closer, leaning his head on Bakura's shoulder.
Predictably, Bakura had chosen a horror movie. Marik had not seen many films before, only a couple of rented DVDs, and none of them had been this full-on with the gore. Several times during the film, Marik shuddered and withdrew, burying his face in Bakura's chest and enduring the pale student's teasing.
When the film finally ended and they left the theatre, Bakura couldn't stop himself from poking more fun as Marik wandered the streets at his side. "So, Ishtar, did you actually see any of that film, or did you just spend the whole time cuddling me?"
"Asshole." Marik half-heartedly flicked Bakura on the shoulder, still a little shaken-up from all the gore. He wouldn't ever let that show, though. "Your fault for picking the damn thing."
Bakura chuckled darkly, leading Marik quickly through the streets on the way back to their flat. Marik stretched when they entered the familiar space, a yawn stretching his lips wide, his muscles stiff from the hours spent in the theatre chair.
A dark chuckle ghosted along the back of his neck, and hands gently caressed his sides, playing teasingly with the hem of his shirt. "Tired, Ishtar? Want to go to bed?"
Marik grinned and span around, catching Bakura's shoulders and drawing him into a firm kiss. "Not too tired."
Bakura chuckled, fingers tugging at Marik's shirt as he pushed him back towards the bed.
...
Darkness, and running.
Torches burning periodically in the walls, flashing by at an alarming rate.
Heavy breathing, falling through parted brown lips, mangled in a mess of blood and dripping and liquid and running.
Memories threatening to fall.
Eyes squeezed shut. Knife in hand. Fear on one side, loathing on the other. No way out, no way back. The only way was through, but even that was impossible now.
Shadows leaping, fear of the chase, fear of the knowledge. What would happen when he finally got outside? What would be waiting for him, out there in the land of the living, away from the only place he had ever called 'home'? Inadequate as it was, it was all he'd ever known.
Just keep moving. Think later. Run now.
Torches growing ever more infrequent. Shadows decreasing, then increasing, then decreasing again. A slope as the tunnels began to rise. Then a trip, a stumble over the first set of stairs...
Hurried climbing. Loud breathing. A need to get out, get away, growing incessantly more urgent with every step.
A band constricting his chest. A tight grip failing on the blade in his hand. The ever-present drip-drip of the falling blood...
Sunlight...
Sand rustling...
The outside.
He had made it.
The doors to the tomb swung open slowly, the sound of stone scraping stone impossibly loud in the expanse of silent, empty desert. Violet eyes blinked in the sudden sunlight, but the relief he thought he would feel was absent. Wasn't he meant to be happy about this? Excited by the expanse of world that opened up to him? Why was he feeling nothing?
With a few slow steps forwards, he encountered a small pile of water in the sand. His throat was parched. Leaning over it, blond hair falling in matted tangles around his face, a brown hand lifted a mouthful to dry, chapped lips.
The water fell with a scream when it was mixed with blood.
Wide violet eyes fell back from the horror-filled reflection, blade slipping from a loosened grip as lips stretched wide in a never-ending scream, the tearing sound rolling away in the endless expanse of the desert, heard by no one, no one to take heed, as one lonely little boy spilled his heart out to the silent, uncaring grains of sand...
"Marik!"
A loud gasp ended the scream when pale hands attached to his own, dragging him out of the vestiges of sleep and back into the safety net of the present. Marik's shivering, quaking form was pulled backwards into a strong, white chest, his scars protected by the skin behind him, his hands held tightly in a comforting grip. Marik focused on breathing, on ridding himself of the blood-soaked horror of the half-imagined dream, the memory of the real thing sending cold sharp spikes of sweat rolling down his spine.
Continuing to shiver, Marik forced his violet eyes open as he looked around the room, slowly taking in his surroundings. It was still pitch black in the room, so it had to be the early hours of the morning; no sign of the dawn chorus of traffic yet. The desk was as messy as ever, the carpet littered with their outfits of the day, the covers pulled tightly around them, and a warm presence pressed lovingly close to Marik's back, cooling his burning scars. Breath teased the back of Marik's neck and he felt himself relax imperceptibly, the shivers slowing until they were almost non-existent.
A low sigh was released from behind him and Bakura's dark voice murmured, "Better?"
Marik's eyes slid shut before he opened them again, rolling onto his other side in order to face Bakura, lifting one brown hand to tangle in white hair. He forced a shaky smile onto his lips. "Much."
"Not enough, though." Bakura's expression was unreadable as he tugged Marik a little closer, arms winding securely about each other. Bakura pressed their foreheads together and watched Marik closely, eyes flicking over every inch of his shivering, sweating form. "What was the matter this time?"
"Same as ever. Tomb, father, blood." Marik closed his eyes again, curling up against Bakura's side, reminding himself that he was safe when ensnared in those pale, cool arms.
Bakura sighed. "Won't the nightmares ever stop? I sort of miss getting a good night's sleep."
"Like you ever did anyway," Marik smirked half-heartedly. "I heard you practising all hours of the night." There was still a hidden pain in his tone, however; an underlay that Bakura did not miss.
With a small sigh, Bakura wrapped his arms tighter and entangled his legs with Marik's own, the covers warm and protecting around them. Marik settled happily into this closer embrace, his head resting comfortable against Bakura's as he found himself held tightly. He sighed, daring to speak again. "Sometimes ... I just need to remember ... that I'm not there anymore."
Bakura remained quiet at this admission, but nothing more needed to be said. The quiet, steady beating of his heart and the slow rise and fall of his breathing were enough to send Marik back into a safe sleep.
Bakura watched him with a slight frown, resolving to remain awake until Marik woke up the next morning from a deep and dreamless sleep.
That's it for now. It's a BIT longer than last week's... ^_^ Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much to all reviewers and readers of this story! See you on Thursday - Jem