They sat on their old blanket, at their usual haunt out in the desert, watching the sunrise – Bakura more asleep than awake. He leaned against Marik, dozing in Marik's arms despite the growing brightness of morning.
"You'd think I'd be sick of it by now," Marik muttered, more to himself than to Bakura.
"Hmm?" Bakura asked, waking up at the sound of Marik's voice.
"Watching the sunrise. You would think it'd be boring at this point. They're all the same, really. Sometimes the sky turns yellow, sometimes a few clouds make it more orange and purple, each one's a little different, but not really. It's the same thing every morning, and you think it'd wear on my nerves after this long, but I never get tired of them, never get enough. I'm always excited that there'll be another one the next day."
Bakura looked up at Marik. "Yeah, I feel the same. I could stare all day long and never tire of it."
Marik grew flushed. He almost turned away, but kept his gaze pointed at the glowing horizon. "You're not even looking at the sun, Bakura."
"Yes I am."
"No, you're staring at me."
"Yes. I am."
Marik's eyes broke away from the rising sun so he could stare back at Bakura.