Nothing to Lose

by Jem Kallop

INCOMPLETE/DISCONTINUED: Marik Ishtar is forced out of Egypt due to his rather difficult past, and without much of an aim in life he takes a place at an English university. Expecting to live alone, what happens when he finds himself stuck with a rather difficult flatmate who goes by the name of Bakura? Multi chaptered fic, thiefshipping with deathshipping in later chapters.

19. Chapter 19

*Crawls in* Sorry that I'm so late again! I have no excuse. But it was my birthday this week and I am newly motivated, so I'm hoping to start writing more regularly again. I make no promises – I'll try and update once a week, but it might very well not be that frequent! I have the rest of this story planned, though. It will be finished! Also, I'm very sorry I've basically disappeared and not replied to any messages yet. Life has got on top of me again. I will reply as soon as I am able, but I just do not have much time at the moment!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and remember, I do NOT own Yu-Gi-Oh or any of these characters. This is an extra long chapter to appease you all. ^_^ Also, it's a bit dark at the start, I hope it doesn't cause anyone any problems! XD – Jem

There was darkness.

Cold black air stirred through the room, thick and musky with a sense of age. Sweat prickled against brown skin as Marik walked forwards, swiping the back of one hand across his forehead before his arm dropped back down to his side. It came back damp. Marik blinked hair out of his eyes, moving on through the ancient doors that crowded against his sides, familiar claustrophobia settling low in his stomach. Shadows swirled around him, thick and opaque, cloying as he breathed them in. Marik grimaced, lifting one hand to swat at them and realising that he was holding a lamp. Relieved, Marik watched as candlelight flitted out, dispensing the shadows and creating a small halo of light.

Eyes piercing through the thick, swirling darkness, Marik saw a plethora of stairs falling away by his feet. His heart lurched; it would have been so easy to trip down if he had not had the lamp. Edging a careful step forwards, Marik took one movement down, the world dipping with his every step. The stairs continued on and on, Marik's hand running along the warm stone wall beside him, lamp swinging wildly from his other hand. The air was close, stuffy and too hot. Marik felt more uncomfortable with each step he took. Turning his head, Marik saw shadows spiralling away above him, the light of day far gone from this distant dank belly of the earth. Marik swallowed, quickly snapping his head back around. This place felt too familiar.

Eventually, Marik's feet hit solid ground. He stumbled, almost falling, having to splay one palm flat against the wall to steady himself. It felt sticky beneath his skin. Marik's eyes narrowed as he started walking again, more carefully. The ground had levelled out but it was still pitch black, the only source of light the lamp swinging from his hand. It cast a dull beam, creating a puddle of yellow, but all it illuminated was the dusty brown of the stone that formed the floor and walls. Memories tugged at the back of Marik's skull; he was sure he should remember this...

Silence roared in his ears. It pounded against his eardrums, beginning a slow steady roaring that resounded through his skull, echoing in the caverns of his mind. Darkness pressed against his lids despite the lamp in his hand. The air took on a threatening stance, the walls groaning around him, as if the very earth itself was telling Marik to get out, be free, whilst he still had the chance. But something pulled him onward.

Marik knew he was needed down here.

Footsteps slapping against the stone, Marik hurried a little more, some of the urgency in the air beginning to catch in his head. He looked left and right but the corridor was straight and closed, no other rooms leading off it. Marik only had one direction he could go. Nerves built in his stomach the further he went, the roaring of the silence lifting to a loud screech, building through his veins until Marik almost wanted to scream. He bit down hard on his lip, hand tightening around the lamp. It swung.

Marik upped his pace yet again, growing more and more certain that something was deadly wrong. The walls creaked again but Marik ignored their warning. His feet crashed more loudly against the floor, one hand running along the wall by his head as he struggled to keep himself upright, lamp swinging crazily. Shadows leapt around him, leering and strange in the confined space. Marik swallowed, his heart in his mouth.

Finally, the tiny corridor opened out into a large, square chamber. Pillars held it up at regular intervals, the walls lit with regular torches, sending spiralling flames ghosting around the echoing, chilly air. Age sang out of every corner. Marik frowned, walking forwards quietly, the lamp comforting in his hand. A threatening hum sang through the air, warning him back, but Marik had already come this far. He couldn't leave now.

The room was flat bar one raised platform in the middle, with a few steps leading up to it. A large stone tablet was laid out flat, a tablet that Marik recognised as if someone had whacked him in the stomach. The lamp dropped from his fingers.

It was just like he remembered. The straps at top and bottom, strapping down wrists and ankles. The cold of the stone, such a contrast to the muggy air and bright flames of the torches. The leering, towering figure in my father's grey cloak, holding the blade high as he approached the table. But it was all horribly, sickeningly wrong. Because that wasn't Marik strapped to the table.

The figure lying on his front, strapped to the table, had long white hair spilling down over his shoulders.

Marik froze in shock, his eyes going wide and glassy. This couldn't be real, couldn't actually be happening, but he could feel the wispiness of the air around him, hear the cackles of his father's laughter, the pants from Bakura on the table. The blade hovered over pale skin...

"NO!" Marik roared, leaping forwards and bounding up the steps. He threw himself against the grey robed form of his father, knocking him back, but it was like he'd run straight into a brick wall. Cackles sounded in his ears. Marik straightened and stared in horror; the grey hood had slipped, revealing his father's skeletal, deadened form, just as he looked after Marik had killed him. Marik swallowed and backed up, eyes wide. He stumbled and felt the cold stone of the tablet against the back of his legs, accompanied by a cross grunt. Marik whipped around with eyes wide to see Bakura laid on his front, back exposed and waiting for the blade.

"No," Marik whispered. He blinked down in shock, lifting one hand to run it along Bakura's pale skin, finding one strapped-down hand and giving it a squeeze. Bakura panted, gazing around with those bottomless brown eyes, and Marik stepped closer, running a finger through white hair. "No..."

A cackle of evil laughter, and something whacked into the back of Marik's head.

When he next opened his eyes, the room was much, much darker. The torches had died down to barely a flicker, darkness swirling much closer than it had before in the warm, stuffy air. Marik's mouth felt dry, his chest sore. His bones creaked as he moved.

Clambering painfully to his feet, Marik froze when rust hit his nostrils. Almost gagging, Marik blinked, pausing as he tried not to heave, knowing that he had to turn no matter how much he didn't want to. He drew in sharp shallow breaths, every inch of his body refusing to move.

Somehow, he turned.

The sight that met his eyes was worse than he could ever imagine. His father's cloaked, dead form was long gone, leaving behind a mangled mess of white and red that coated the stone tablet. It was unrecognisable. Marik's heart sad dead and cold in his chest, a heavy weight dragging his every step as he approached, climbing the steps up to the tablet with cold, numb fingers.

The body was what he knew it would be. Bakura's still, dead face was contorted into anger, his wrists and ankles rubbed raw where he had fought against the straps. His back was a mess, carved open in familiar shapes, ripped raw and bloody. His pale skin was encrusted entirely with blood.

Marik watched ... and felt nothing. His father had bested him again. Marik had lost all, everything that had ever mattered to him, and he was too late to stop it. Marik had lost. Marik always lost.

He sagged down to the stone floor and cried.

Marik's eyes flew open and he stirred, breathing heavily. Everything looked blurry until he blinked a couple of times, the room coming back into focus around him. A familiar brown piano sat at the edge of the bed, messy desk across the room just the same as always, clothes strewn over the carpet. It was still pitch black outside. Marik sighed, closing his eyes again briefly; he was tired of these bad dreams, tired of how his worst nightmares played out every night. Thankfully, after years of experiencing them, Marik had learned how to control his sounds, keeping his screams and whimpers to a minimum. It allowed Bakura to get an interrupted night's sleep, even when Marik couldn't.

Usually.

"Marik?" A familiar dark voice breathed into his ear, cool breath washing over the back of his neck. Pale arms wound around Marik's side, tugging him back into a warm chest, covers sliding over them. Marik sighed and turned, relief washing through him when he saw Bakura's familiar stern gaze looking back at him. Lifting one brown hand, Marik examined Bakura's features, tracing over them with his finger before he moved his arms round to Bakura's back, feeling the unmarked, unbloodied skin. He knew it had just been a nightmare, but it was nice to see for certain.

Bakura's eyes half closed and he moved a little closer. "Mm. What are you doing awake?"

"Nightmare," Marik responded, his voice cracking a little. He ran his hands over Bakura's back once more, sliding into his hold as he stroked along soft pale skin. He pressed a kiss to Bakura's neck.

Bakura sighed, wrapping Marik snugly up into his arms. He lightly nuzzled Marik's blond hair, hands ghosting across the scars decorating his back, smiling when Marik wriggled in pleasure. Marik closed his eyes and hugged Bakura tighter, resting against his chest. "My father murdered you. Again."

"He's never going to do that," Bakura scoffed, but the sound was quiet and without vehemence. A light kiss was pressed to the top of Marik's head, fingers rubbing across scars. "You got to him first."

Marik sighed. "I know." Still, he slipped himself as close to Bakura as he possibly could, pressing a light kiss to his pale collarbone.

Bakura sighed; a low, alluring sound. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Marik's warm body, holding them close together under the sheets of their bed. Marik hummed in satisfaction, his legs entangling with Bakura's as he curled as close as he possibly could. Shivering a little in the cold winter air, Marik wriggled an arm free and tugged the covers up to their chins. Bakura rolled his eyes a little but allowed it, enfolding Marik securely in his warm arms, lips close to a brown ear. "Honestly, you and your Egyptian body."

"Shut up," Marik commanded sleepily. His nightmare still flickered in the back of his skull, serving to make him hug Bakura tighter.

Bakura snorted softly, nuzzling the top of Marik's head. "Now, when have I ever done what you told me?"

"Not often enough." Marik's berating was stifled by a yawn, however, and he snuggled back into Bakura's chest. Bakura chuckled lowly, holding Marik close, and Marik felt his eyes slide closed again in happiness. The nightmares were almost worth it, if it meant he could wake up to this. Marik turned a little, sleep making his eyelids heavy as he nuzzled into Bakura's shoulder, white hair tickling his nose a little. Marik yawned. "Why are you awake, anyway?"

Bakura was quiet for a moment, one hand lifting to stroke through Marik's hair. He cradled Marik's warm body close, feeling their chests moving in time, hearts slow and quiet in the silence of the night-time room.

Marik blinked, tilting his face up to meet Bakura's gaze. "Bakura?"

Bakura started almost imperceptibly before glancing down at Marik. He head butted Marik lightly. "How could I sleep with you writhing around like you do?"

Marik shook his head, kicking Bakura in return before snuggling close again. He settled down under the covers, running a hand down Bakura's side, feeling along the soft pale skin that was open to him and no one else. Marik's brows furrowed. "No, I've woken from nightmares before and not disturbed you." He shifted again, meeting Bakura's burning brown gaze. "Why are you awake this time?"

"Just how often do you get these nightmares?" Bakura's tone was stern as he gazed down at Marik.

Marik shook his head, moving up to eye level. They lay together on the pillow, staring straight at each other. Marik frowned. "That isn't the question right now. Why are you awake?"

"Because I am." Bakura remained perfectly cool.

Marik rolled his eyes, wrapping Bakura up in his arms again as he held them close together. "You're going to have to tell me." He kept his gaze trained on Bakura's face, watching as his features remained stern and impassive until they shifted a little, seeming to melt under Marik's watchful gaze.

Bakura rolled and pressed his face into Marik's chest. "I just can't sleep with ... him ... down the corridor." He kept himself close to Marik, arms tightening around Marik's back as he resolutely refused to meet Marik's gaze.

Marik looked down at him, surprise crossing his features for just a moment before he understood. Gathering Bakura up, Marik hugged the pale student close, nuzzling the top of his head a little before he moved his head down, breath tickling Bakura's ear. "Ryou?"

"Who the fuck else?" Bakura's voice was muffled, but the sarcasm was still evident in his tone. He burrowed closer, glad when Marik's arms wrapped around him, although he would never show his gratitude. Instead, he rolled Marik onto his back and settled down against his chest. "Now, can you shut up and go back to sleep?"

Marik blinked, looking down at the mess of white sprawling across him. He rolled his eyes. "I guess. But only if you sleep, too."

"I'd have more of a chance if you would shut up," Bakura pointed out with a nip to Marik's collarbone. Marik scoffed lightly, pulling Bakura closer as he wrapped him up safely, cradling him against his warm chest. Bakura tugged the covers up over the two of them, knowing that Marik would get cold soon enough, and turned onto his front so that his elbow wouldn't dig into Marik's stomach. Marik smiled, appreciating the silent gestures, and lightly kissed the top of Bakura's head. "Goodnight, love."

"Just go to sleep." Bakura's tone wasn't quite as grumpy as usual, however, and Marik drifted back into sleep with a smile at his lips.

...

The next morning, Marik woke to an empty bed. He sat up slowly, blinking a little at the sun that slanted at a sharp angle through the window, lighting up the mess of student living. Marik grimaced. Bakura wasn't at the piano, where he usually was if not in the bed when Marik awoke, but he was also not anywhere else in the room. The whole flat felt dead and quiet, eerily silent. Bakura was nowhere to be found.

Marik stretched, gazing around the room with a frown creasing his brow before he heard a rustling by his hand. He glanced down to see a note glaring up at him from the pillow. Gone to college, don't freak out. Make sure I have food by lunchtime. Next to the note sat the music player that Bakura had given Marik for his birthday, headphones attached, set to play one song. Marik arched a brow. This was certainly new; Bakura hardly ever bothered actually going into college, mostly just turning up for exams or assessments. That meant whatever he had gone in for this time must be important. Marik sighed, clambering out of the bed and stretching before recovering the music player and slipping it into his pocket. Marik had a free day from uni for once, so it was typical that Bakura would have to go in. They hardly ever got alone time any more.

After a long shower, Marik entered the kitchen with still-damp hair, dressed in the warmest clothes he could find. To his surprise, it was occupied. There was a pan poaching eggs on the hob, toast in the toaster, and a small white-haired form busily cutting strips of bacon ready to place in the oven. Marik arched a surprised brow. "Ryou? Shouldn't you be at school?"

The small form jumped violently, almost dropping the bacon he was holding. Soft brown eyes turned to look at Marik, wide, although they settled a little when he saw who it was. Ryou's shoulders sagged and he turned back to the food, apologetic smile at his lips. "Marik, sorry. I thought you were him for a minute."

"If you mean Bakura, he's at college." Marik tilted his head. Ryou's voice sounded thick, his skin a little flushed as he pottered about, setting the bacon on the grill before placing it in the oven. It was certainly unusual for Ryou to be seen at this time; usually, he would have been up with the crack of dawn in order to get to school on time.

Ryou straightened again, setting a timer on his phone before turning to check on the eggs. He shot a disbelieving look Marik's way. "Him, going to college? I never thought he had it in him."

"He isn't as bad as you make him out to be." Marik furrowed his brows a little, folding his arms.

Ryou shook his head sadly. "I know him."

Marik furrowed his brow, watching Ryou with a small frown decorating his features. He had never really understood Ryou. He went about his life trying to keep as separate from Bakura and Marik as he could, despite living in the same place, and yet the few times Marik had spoken to him had always been civil; pleasant, almost. But Ryou made it perfectly apparent that he was still completely against anything Bakura might do. To Marik, it made little sense.

"You want some of this?" Ryou turned, gesturing to the eggs in the pan. "I can add more, if you like."

"Oh, um, sure, thanks." Marik flashed a quick smile before taking a seat at the table, watching Ryou carefully as he placed another egg in the pan. Ryou hummed a little as he worked, pulling the toast out of the toaster and putting in another two slices. His timer buzzed so he switched it off, turning to the oven and pulling out the bacon. The smells wafted over and Marik smiled; he realised that this would be the first time since coming to England that Marik had not had to cook his own food.

"Salt? Pepper?"

Marik blinked, looking up to see Ryou sending him a questioning glance. Marik shook his head. "Oh, no, I'll just take it as is."

Ryou nodded once, piling the food onto two plates before returning to the table. He set one in front of Marik, adding cutlery, before taking his own seat with a smile. Marik stared down at the steaming plate, blinking once, before flicking his eyes back up to Ryou, a frown creasing his brow. The younger Touzoku was barely picking at his food, his pale cheeks still flushed, brown eyes dulled.

Marik sighed. "What's wrong?"

"Hm?" Ryou jumped, startled, before glancing up to see Marik's gaze trained straight on him. Ryou wriggled a little. "Oh, nothing. I've got a cold, so I'm not going into school today."

Marik lifted his head, lips parting, before he snapped his jaw shut and nodded brusquely. "Oh, right."

Silence reigned for a few more minutes as they both picked at their food, feeling a little awkward.

Marik coughed, glancing back up at Ryou. "Do your teachers need to know, or..."

"Yugi will tell them." Ryou pierced a piece of bacon, placed it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, before looking back at Marik. He blinked once. "I texted him."

"I see." Marik nodded before looking back down, continuing to eat his food. Silence stretched uncomfortably between them but Marik largely ignored it, grimacing a little but too hungry to do anything to calm the heaviness pervading the air between them. Ryou seemed content just to eat, so Marik followed his lead. Once both plates were empty, Ryou stood and collected the dirty dishes, placing them in the sink and turning on the hot water. Marik watched before jumping up and going over to him. "Hey, no, I'll wash up ... you should probably rest, if you're sick..."

"I don't mind." Ryou's voice still sounded thick and raspy. "I should thank you, anyway, for letting me stay here. The least I can do is clean up after myself."

"It's more than your brother does," Marik muttered sullenly before grabbing a towel. "At least let me dry."

"I guess you can do that." Ryou flashed a sudden smile at Marik before turning back to the sink. He began to wash, silence once again sitting heavily in the air as the two teenagers worked, Ryou passing dishes to Marik at regular intervals. Marik couldn't stop himself from shooting sidelong glances at Ryou; it was still unsettling how someone as close in looks to Bakura could act like such a polar opposite. The idea of Marik ever standing beside Bakura like this was laughable.

Ryou caught one of Marik's looks and pursed his lips, tilting his head. "Are you thinking about him?"

Marik felt his lips twitch slightly. "Just thinking about how unlike your brother you are." He picked up another dish, drying it quickly and adding it to the growing pile on the draining board, lips still twitching. Bakura would just storm out of the room after yelling at Marik for not cooking fast enough. That, or he would seduce Marik until Marik kicked him out, laughing that they were not having sex on the table where they ate.

Ryou chewed his lip as he passed the last dish to Marik. "I'm glad I'm not like him."

Marik looked over, hardly surprised when Ryou's features were furrowed in darkness, his brown eyes dimmed and brow creased. His pale fingers tightened in the counter momentarily before he released it, draining the sink of water. His features were still dark.

Marik sighed. "Come on, Ryou, Bakura isn't that bad." He sidled a step closer, handing Ryou the plates to put away whilst Marik took the cutlery over to the drawer.

Ryou stared in shock, his eyes going wide and fingers falling slack around the plates. He set them quickly in the cupboard before continuing to gaze at Marik, shock and horror apparent in his every feature as he backed up, resting against the counter. Marik caught his look and rolled his eyes a little. "He's not as bad as you make him out to be."

"Are you serious?!" Ryou's voice came out a high pitched squeak. He backed up further away from Marik, hands flinging out in front of him as if to ward him off.

Marik frowned, taking a step closer. He was getting increasingly frustrated with how the brothers seemed incapable of holding a civil conversation, whether in each others' presence or not, and Marik was determined to do something about it. He couldn't let this fury continue. "Yes, I'm deadly serious! Bakura is fine, and so are you."

"He killed my family," Ryou seethed. His voice was a low, deadly hiss, brown eyes narrowed in fury at Marik. His breathing was audible, still and subtle as a snake, but there nonetheless.

Marik's jaw set. "He didn't." Ignoring Ryou's automatic flinch, Marik closed the remaining vestiges of space between them and grasped Ryou's forearm, holding him still and forcing him to meet Marik's burning violet gaze. "Bakura did not kill your family. He's the only reason you made it out of that fire."

"Stop it." Ryou's voice was still a vehement hiss. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know better than you!" Marik gave Ryou a quick shake, fixing him with a stern gaze. Clicking his tongue impatiently, Marik continued, his voice getting stronger the more he spoke. "I actually listen to Bakura. If you bothered to pay any attention to what he says, you would know just as well as I do that he had nothing to do with that fire."

"And I'm supposed to believe that Yami did?!" Ryou defended himself, snarling again. "You don't know anything about this! Who are you, anyway? Just some henchman of my brother's!"

Marik's nostrils flared as he felt his temper snap. He pressed Ryou flat against the counter, forcing his small body to bend backwards in a way that was probably painful, but Marik was too far gone to care. He leaned closer, spitting poisonous words straight into Ryou's ear. "Shut the fuck up. You're wrong about this, Ryou. Your brother has done nothing wrong."

"But who is my brother?" Ryou's voice came out hollow, almost hopeless. "Yugi and Yami are my family now. They have been for years. They were here for me when I needed them, when my whole world fell apart. But Bakura?" Ryou's head turned, his brown eyes piercing straight into Marik. "Where was Bakura when I needed him?"

Marik kept still, narrowing his eyes. Biting his lower lip, Marik examined Ryou's features, taking in his sorrowful, almost vengeful expression, years of bitterness and anger etched into his every feature. He stared right back at Marik with a deep, aged gaze, far too old for his young years.

"I don't know all your history," Marik admitted quietly. "Not all of it, anyway. But I do know that you are blaming Bakura for something he didn't do. And it's killing him."

"Oh, it's killing me, is it?"

Marik's eyes widened, his head whipping around in shock at the coldly familiar dark voice that sounded from behind him. One arm remained on Ryou's shoulder as Marik met a second burning brown gaze. Bakura leaned in the doorway, his brows furrowed, expression coldly amused as he flicked his gaze over Marik and Ryou pressed against the counter. He smirked. "Go on, Marik. Just how much is dear little Ryou's betrayal hurting me?"

"How long have you been standing there?" Marik abruptly released Ryou, spinning around instead to face Bakura with narrowed violet eyes. He placed his hands on his hips and stalked forwards, making sure to keep himself between the two feuding brothers.

Bakura looked on calmly, although his set shoulders betrayed his inner tension. "Long enough." His voice sounded as a growl.

Marik snapped. "Well then, you should know that you and Ryou actually need to talk to each other."

"And what, pray tell, would be the point?" Bakura's voice dipped into a snarl as he pushed away from the door frame, advancing on Marik. "We have nothing to say to each other."

"I told you so," Ryou's small voice sounded from behind Marik.

Marik whirled to face him, ensuring to remain between them lest they start actually fighting. "No, you didn't! And yes you do have things to talk about." Marik looked between them sternly, ignoring the dangerous glare Bakura levelled at him. "I've had enough of your arguments."

"So sorry to have inconvenienced you." Bakura's voice was cut through with spite. Marik blinked and looked at him, surprised by the anger sparking in his furrowed brow, his features hollowed and quite clearly showing his anger. Bakura stalked forwards again, his nails digging into Marik's arm as he pulled him out of the way, literally dragging him across the kitchen and ignoring the startled yelp that escaped Marik's lips. Instead, turning to Ryou, Bakura growled. "Get the fuck out of here. Now."

Ryou blinked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Marik, but he turned readily and left the room.

"Hey, no, wait!" Marik fought uselessly against Bakura's strong hold, struggling to get out of his grip. "Ryou, get back here!"

Bakura growled, right in Marik's ear, and span him around. With wide eyes, Marik's back slammed into the wall, sending pain flaring through his scars as he winced. His violet eyes widened, then narrowed into deep slits. Marik hissed at Bakura. "The hell do you think you're doing?"

"I should be saying that to you." Bakura's voice was a low, dangerous hiss. He leaned in close, pinning Marik easily against the wall as he snarled. "Stay out of my way, and do not interfere with my family."

Marik snapped, tone sarcastic. "Oh, I'm so sorry for talking to the other person who lives in my flat..."

"I mean it," Bakura growled, slamming Marik back into the wall again. His whole expression screamed controlled fury. "Stay away from my brother."

Marik blinked, gazing straight at Bakura with dangerously narrowed eyes. Bakura stared back just as angrily. His fingers were sharp in Marik's wrists as he held him firmly against the wall, ignoring the little winces that would run through Marik's body as pain from his scars slid down his back.

"I will stay away from him when he isn't living with us anymore," Marik growled, trying to hide the pain in his eyes.

Bakura snarled. "That's your fault anyway."

"We couldn't just kick him out on the street!" Marik drew in a hiss of pain, wincing again as burning heat trailed down his back. Bakura finally seemed to notice and begrudgingly released him, stepping back just enough to allow Marik to step away from the wall. Marik snarled, rubbing at his back. "Ouch. Much as you might not want him to be, Ryou is still your responsibility."

Bakura's jaw clicked as he set it, staring stubbornly at Marik. He placed his hands on Marik's shoulders and span him around, ignoring his angry protestations as he easily pulled off his shirt. "Drop it, Marik."

"No!" Marik snarled and shivered when he felt Bakura's hands on his scars. He pulled irritably out of his grip, attempting to turn back around against Bakura's strong grip. "You need to stop being such a bastard."

"Drop. It." Bakura released Marik, much to the latter's relief, but he soon returned with a familiar bottle in his hand. He motioned for Marik to turn again, quickly pouring some lotion onto his hand before rubbing it into Marik's scars. "And why do I need to stop being a bastard? Ryou's the one falsely accusing me."

Marik hissed, wriggling a little as the lotion cooled the burning in his scars. He sagged, pressing his palms against the wall again as he let Bakura treat him, knowing he didn't have much choice; Bakura would not let him go until he was satisfied that Marik wasn't in pain. "I know he is, but if you never talk to him then he isn't going to have any reason not to believe it." Marik winced. "Besides, Ryou feels like he's lost you."

"Well, poor him then." Bakura's tone turned a little dark as he continued to caress Marik's scars, rubbing them fully with the lotion as he traced the pattern down. Marik held in a groan. Bakura leaned forwards, lips close to Marik's ear. "Why the fuck are you so interested in him?"

"I'm not," Marik responded grumpily. "I'm interested in you, and this is obviously upsetting you."

Bakura growled. He finished tracing Marik's scars and span him around again, backing him up to the wall more gently this time despite his still burning browning gaze. "I am not upset." His hands fell on the wall either side of Marik's head.

Marik glared back. "You can't sleep because he's in the flat. That sounds upset to me."

"Just leave it." Bakura's eyes slid shut seemingly without his approval. His brows remained furrowed, skin pale and cheeks hollow as his head dipped towards Marik. Marik watched him with a disapproving gaze. Bakura looked absolutely exhausted; his arms were shaking as they held him up, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he looked even thinner than usual.

Marik tutted. "You need to start looking after yourself." Peeling himself carefully away from the wall, Marik wrapped his arms around Bakura's shoulders and turned the unwilling student around, leading him over to the table where Marik pushed him into a seat. "Stay there and let me feed you."

Bakura groaned, sending Marik a half-hearted glare. "Don't order me around."

"Stop being so stubborn, then." Marik returned Bakura's glare with a smirk before he turned away, flicking the hob back on. He threw together a simple meal, setting it before Bakura accompanied by a fork. "Eat. Now."

Bakura rolled his eyes but obediently dug his fork in, chewing quickly. Marik pulled his chair around to Bakura's side as he ate, leaning forwards to tuck back some stray strands of Bakura's hair before he spoke again. "You should spend the rest of today catching up on sleep."

"Can't." Bakura snorted before swallowing again, swatting irritably at Marik's hands. "Got a concert tonight."

Marik arched a brow but he obediently sat back. "Oh? And why did you not tell me before?"

"Because you don't need to know my every movement. Possessive bastard." Bakura, in a very uncharacteristically childish gesture, poked his tongue out at Marik.

Marik rolled his eyes. "And you call me immature." He chuckled loudly until Bakura's wrist curved around to cuff the back of Marik's head, almost making him faceplant the table. "Youch!" Marik rubbed the back of his head, glaring at Bakura as the pale man burst into dark laughter.

"You," Bakura chuckled, lifting one foot to kick Marik lightly, "Are priceless." He finished off his meal in record time before launching up from the table, reaching around to press one more kiss to Marik's head. "But I have to go. Make sure you're available tonight."

Marik swatted irritably at Bakura, poking his tongue out. "Maybe I'll just leave before you get back, bastard."

"You won't do that." Bakura tossed Marik a wink, kissing him once more before heading out of the flat. Marik watched him go, lips twitching into a smile despite himself.

...

With a low growl, Marik threw his pen down, snarling at the stubborn piece of paper sitting in front of him. He was still meant to be studying for his exam, but French Impressionism must have had a vendetta against him. No matter how hard he tried, the information would not stick in his head.

Closing his textbook with a snap, Marik rested his head on the desk in Bakura's room with a growl. It felt strange not to have the pale student with him, either practising piano and making beautiful music ring through the flat, or distracting Marik in every way he possibly could. Marik liked to think he could blame his failing grades on Bakura, but even when Bakura wasn't here Marik found it hard to study. He just couldn't remain attentive for long enough to learn anything.

Sighing loudly, Marik pushed himself up off the desk and sat back in his chair. He closed his eyes slightly. It felt so strange not to have Bakura with him, it was almost like an ache in Marik's very chest. When had he become so dependent on the pale student? With a small shake, Marik forced his eyes open again and sat forwards, deciding he needed to distract himself, both from his lack of work ethic and the lack of Bakura. He lifted his sketchpad towards him, resorting back to drawing. Hoping to calm himself, Marik sketched a simple desert scene, thinking back to his childhood in Egypt – the part that was spent above ground with Kek, at least. The sunset had always looked so beautiful over the river...

It didn't take long for Marik to immerse himself completely in his art. Hours passed as he sketched and coloured, even digging out his old paints to mix the colours for the sky, and for the first time in a long time Marik began to feel at peace.

That was, until a loud knocking sounded at the door.

"Cousin!" That deep voice was unmistakeable. "Open this fucking door right now!"

Marik sighed loudly, pulled reluctantly from his restful stupor. He pushed his chair back from his desk with a groan, forcing himself to his aching feet as he wandered over to the front door and pulled it open. As soon as there was enough space, Kek was through it.

"Fucking hell, you took your time!" Kek slammed the front door shut and immediately looked through the spyhole, his hair spiking wildly with his every movement.

Marik arched a brow, rubbing at his forehead. "What do you want?" He yawned, stretching up on the balls of his feet before landing back down again.

"To kill your fuck buddy." Kek responded casually, continuing to stare through the spyhole into the corridor outside.

Marik blinked, rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and blinked again before frowning at his cousin's back. He walked straight over, hand fisting in the back of Kek's shirt as he pulled him away from the wall and fixed him with a glare. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Bakura, that's what!" Kek shook his head, coughing before turning back to the door again, easily pulling out of Marik's grip. "He was meant to meet me but he didn't show, so I ended up getting fucking caught! They chased me halfway across town."

Marik stared. He attempted to absorb what his cousin had just said, then wondered exactly which stupid thing he should address first. He shook his head, hands on hips as he glared at Kek. "Alright. Number one, what on earth were you doing when you got caught? Number two, why in Gods' names would you lead them here? And number three, what made you think you were meeting Bakura? He's at a concert."

Kek glowered over his shoulder. "Bakura and I were supposed to be making a move on the house Kaiba wants us to attack today, but he never showed. And where else would I lead them? I couldn't take them back to my flat."

"So you led them here?!" Marik shook his head sternly. "You are such a bastard."

Kek snarled, spinning away from the door to advance on his cousin. "Your fucking boyfriend messed this up, blame him!"

"Bakura is at a concert," Marik seethed, hands balling into fists. "He wasn't meeting you tonight."

Kek glowered. "He arranged it, not meet. And he left me completely in the lurch! I swear, I am going to fucking kill him for dropping me in it whilst he chased after the Gods-damned Items..."

"Excuse me?" Marik stopped short, gazing at Kek with sudden shock, feeling as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Bakura had gone off looking for the Items? Marik still didn't really know what they were. He resolved to ask Bakura about them, as soon as he got his lazy ass back home. "Where is he now?"

"That's what I want to know," Kek growled. He shook his head, droplets of rain dropping from his wild mane of hair before he glanced back at Marik. "He's probably still out there, fucking idiot. As long as he didn't get caught."

Marik stared, something very close to fear suddenly clenching in his gut. "Wait ... he could still be out there? In danger?"

"Could be," Kek shrugged. "I have no clue ... hey, where are you going?"

Marik ignored him, running straight to the front door and pulling it open without bothering to grab his coat. "I have to find him! Stay here until I get home, alright? I am not finished with you!"

"But you'll never find hi-" Kek cursed loudly when his younger cousin disappeared out of the door anyway. He raised his eyes to the heavens before sagging back against the wall, rolling his eyes. "Fucking idiot."

Without another word, Kek wandered through into the kitchen and helped himself to food. The least Marik could expect was for Kek to raid the cupboards, if he was left in the flat alone. Kek wouldn't want to disappoint.

Ah I'm sorry about that rubbish ending. I was planning on carrying on with some deathshipping, but that will have to wait until next chapter as this one is already really long. I hope you enjoyed, and I'll update as soon as I can! Thank you all for reading and being patient with me. - Jem