***This one is based on a dream I had where I wouldn't stop hugging my mom because I knew as soon as I woke up that I wouldn't be able to hug her anymore.***
Bakura sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Marik stumbled into the kitchen rubbing sand out of his lilac eyes. "Okay, it's early and you look contemplative, what's up?"
"I had a dream and couldn't go back to sleep."
"A nightmare?"
"No, a dream."
Marik sat down and looked at Bakura. "What happened?"
"I saw my mother. We talked."
"Did she tell you to brush your hair?"
"She teased me because my skin is white. I kept telling her that they did it. I knew who they were in the dream, but not anymore." Bakura set his cup on the table.
"Anything else? Perhaps which world-famous treasure we should rob next?"
"She said—" Bakura folded in on himself, tucking his knees into his chest as he sat on the narrow, kitchen chair. His sobs sounded like rust in his lungs, as if something corroded stuck into place for too long finally broke free. "She said she was okay."
Marik rushed over to Bakura's side of the table, dropping his knees on the cold, kitchen floor in order to rest his hands on top of Bakura's. The tears lasted for fifteen seconds then stopped again as quick as they came, and Bakura sat in his seat and tried to control his breathing to ensure new tears didn't come.
They both suffered from nightmares from time to time. When it happened, one would hold the other until their minds were calm again. This was a little different. Marik stoked the soft skin on Bakura's hand. "Ishizu says that spirits can visit us in our dreams."
Bakura sniffed. "Not sure if I believe that or not."
"Well." Marik shrugged. "If dark gods are real, and the Shadow Realm is real, and spirits can stay in cursed relics for three thousand years only to appear in different bodies again without explanation . . . then why not believe in strange things?"