Oh. My. God. This chapter was so hard to write! At this point I've decided to let the characters run away with this story by themselves, I just put the words on the page. This may be the last chapter for a while now, I'm going to university tomorrow to study physics which will be taking priority over this story, but don't worry, I won't abandon this story, ever! It will be finished!

Anyway, as an apology, here's a super long chapter that took forever to write and has much thiefshipping in it. I debated putting the rating up to M but decided against it, but be warned that this is a very high T rating! As in, very very high. You have been told!

Enjoy this chapter, please review and tell me what you think, thanks to all my reviewers so far, I hope you like!

Chapter 7- Arabic Cursing

The Wednesday after the phone call found Marik awake two hours before he needed to be at KaCorp and sat at the kitchen table. His completed painting was carefully wrapped in a cardboard box and bubble wrap so it wouldn't be damaged, and he was currently sorting through a few smaller sketches in case Kisara wanted to see more of his recent repertoire.

There hadn't been any parties for a few nights now. The two teens had talked over a meal out about the recent change in lifestyle and both agreed it was time to go back to how things were. Ryou had stopped inviting people over and for the most part they had respected his wishes.

The Brit had also confirmed Marik's suspicions: by constantly socialising Ryou felt he was able to distract himself and he felt safer when there were other people around him. Within a couple of days the apartment was back to normal and Ryou seemed to feel okay with it. There was also the plus side that Marik could look in the fridge and actually find food, which was a novelty.

Marik looked up from his sketches when he heard footsteps coming down the hall, and a few seconds later he was greeted by Ryou's 'morning face'.

His housemate yawned and rubbed his eyes as he made his way over to the kettle to make himself tea. Ryou wasn't a morning person and Marik knew better than to interrupt the Brit's tea making process. Once Ryou had taken his place at the table with his tea and some cereal Marik deemed it safe to speak.

"Morning, Ry. Sleep okay?"

"Yes thanks. It took me a while to get to sleep though, I was worrying."

"Oh?"

"About your interview," Ryou said before starting on his cereal.

Marik didn't reply, opting to go back to his papers and try not to think about how nervous he was. If he blew the chance he'd never forgive himself, because he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this for months. He only hoped he was good enough to qualify for the commission. At least this time he wasn't hungover and actually had all the correct paperwork, and as far as he knew he probably wouldn't be asked to draw cartoons again.

"Well I'm going to get ready, Ry. I'll be walking there and it's a fairly long way so I'd better set off early."

Ryou nodded and Marik left to get ready, leaving the Brit at the table with his cereal. Curiously, Ryou pulled the little pile of sketches towards him and looked through them, feeling slightly guilty as he did so. The top one was of a landscape with a lone tree in the centre, shaded to look as though the sun was setting, and the one below that was a close-up of the tree itself. Putting his spoon down Ryou picked up the papers and flicked through them.

There were about twenty altogether, some of nature, some of more urban architecture and a couple of people Marik knew. Ryou turned to the last picture, which was of someone he didn't recognise. It looked unfinished, as though Marik hadn't known all the details so had just left it. At first Ryou thought it could be himself, for the subject had white hair, but on closer inspection it looked to be styled a little differently, and Ryou was pretty sure he could never have such a mean look on his face.

Shrugging, the white haired teen put the sketches back where they were and finished eating his cereal. He was halfway through drinking his tea when Marik returned, wearing a rather smart shirt and his best jeans. He looked as though he might pass out from nerves.

"They're really good," Ryou said in an attempt to reassure his friend. "The sketches."

"Thanks," Marik said quietly. "I just hope they're good enough."

Ryou stood up and walked around the table to give his housemate a hug.

"If you get the job, then that's great. If you don't, you tried your best. I'm sure you'll be fine. From what you told me Kisara seemed to really like your work. I'm guessing the interview is just a formality."

Marik still looked unsure. "I suppose," he said slowly. "I can't really do anything more than I have done."

"Exactly," Ryou said, smiling as Marik picked up his sketches and put them in the box containing the painting. "I've got class today so I'll probably be out when you've finished but call me to let me know how it went, okay?"

"Sure," Marik said as he walked into the hall to find his shoes.

"And could you pick up some things from the shop on your way back?" Ryou asked. He felt bad asking his friend to do it but they really did need to stock up.

"Of course, Ry. If you give me a list I'll pick the stuff up."

Ryou went back to the kitchen and quickly wrote down the items they needed on a sheet of paper before heading back to the hall and handing it to Marik.

"Well, good luck," Ryou said, sounding as nervous as Marik felt. "And call me when it's over!"

Marik nodded again, tucked the painting more firmly under his arm and headed out of the door. It was quite warm outside now, so much so that Marik didn't even need a jacket. He knew he had plenty of time to get there, so he didn't rush, instead enjoying the slight breeze that ruffled his hair. There had never been any of that in Egypt. Unless there was a sandstorm the air was utterly still, yet another reason why Marik had hated the place.

He mentally shook himself and instead took the time to plan what he could say in the interview. Unlike last time he was determined to be prepared. Of course he didn't have an annoying taxi driver this time round but he really wasn't going to think about that right now. He focussed on art instead, thinking of all the reasons he had for wanting the job and all the things he could bring to the project.

He thought about nothing but the upcoming interview for the hour it took him to walk into town and find the address Kisara had given him the week before. It was a modest looking building, made of a light coloured material with the company logo emblazoned on the front of it. Marik had never been to this part of the city, but it seemed to be one of the nicer areas of Domino, and for that he was thankful.

Taking a deep breath he headed inside to the large reception area and made his way over to the desk. A brown-haired girl with green eyes looked up from the computer.

"Can I help you?" she asked, smiling.

"I have an interview with Ms Mizu at eleven," Marik replied. "My name is Marik."

"Okay, just a sec," the girl said, tapping at the keyboard. "Yep, there you are. Ms Mizu will be down shortly if you'd like to take a seat?"

"Thanks," Marik said, trying to keep his voice level.

"I'm Mana, by the way," the girl added. "If you need anything just give me a shout."

"Thanks again," Marik smiled before turning and heading over to one of the chairs. Sitting down and checking his watch he realised he had a good quarter of an hour before he was due to be interviewed, so he forced himself to keep focussed on his professional side and filter out everything else.

Eventually the lift at the other end of the reception area opened and a tall woman with long light blue hair stepped out. She had paler skin than Ryou's and was wearing a light brown dress with heels. Marik guessed this was his interviewer.

He was proved right when the woman came over to him and said, "You must be Marik?"

Marik nodded and stood, holding out his hand, which the woman shook.

"I'm Ms Mizu, if you'd like to follow me we can start the interview."

Before Marik could reply he found himself following the woman, who was fast becoming one of the most efficient people he had ever met. Instead of entering the elevator, Kisara headed straight past it and down a corridor, where she opened a door about halfway along on the right.

"Here we are," she said, smiling slightly. She gestured for Marik to enter and he found himself in a rather spacious room with neutral walls, bare except for a few abstract paintings on the far wall. If there had been a little more furniture, Marik would have guessed it was an office, but the amount of space seemed to indicate that it was a studio of some kind. Kisara entered the room after him and took a seat at one side of the desk in the centre of the room, and Marik quickly sat himself at the other side.

"So then, Marik. Let's see what you've brought for me to see," Kisara said.

Marik nodded and smiled as he opened the cardboard box.

Half an hour later, Marik left the Ka Corporation building, happily waving goodbye to Mana as he went. The second he got outside he pulled his phone out with shaking hands and called Ryou.

On the second ring his friend picked up. "Marik? How did it go?" Ryou sounded anxious.

Unable to keep back his happiness any longer, Marik shouted, "I did it, Ry! I got the job! I got the commission!" He had to stop himself from physically jumping up and down, instead settling for pacing and wringing his hands.

He heard a whoop from the other end of the line. "Oh that's great, Mar'! Congratulations!" Ryou sounded as happy as him. "What exactly do you have to do?"

Marik recalled what Kisara had told him he would be doing after she had seen his painting. "The company is opening a new gallery somewhere across town in a few months and they want to showcase some art from an unknown artist. They want ten paintings produced to a theme of 'Important Things in Life' and they're going to be the main part of the gallery when it opens!"

"That's wonderful, I'm so happy for you!" Ryou said. "I'll not be back until late afternoon because I've got a study session but we'll find a way to celebrate when I'm back."

"Sounds great," Marik replied. "I'll get something nice from the shops too."

"This is amazing, Mar', I knew you could do it! You're way too good an artist to not make it."

Marik laughed. "I wouldn't go that far but thanks anyway, Ry."

"Don't mention it," Ryou said, chuckling. "I have to go now, I'm supposed to be in class, but I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," Marik said happily before hanging up. He had done it. He'd got the commission and he was actually going to get some recognition for his work. The day couldn't get any better.

Putting his phone in his pocket the Egyptian headed towards the town centre where the shops were, thinking he could get Ryou some creampuffs for being so supportive of him and wondering what else he should get for them to celebrate with. It wasn't a particularly long walk, but being so hyped up Marik made it there in record time.

He grabbed a basket as he entered the supermarket and headed up and down the aisles, half concentrating on what he was buying, half thinking about the commission. What were his paintings going to be of? How long could he spend on each piece? And of course, what new materials would he buy with the funding from the company? He could now get the highest quality paints and brushes if he wished, which he had been wanting ever since he had started out painting.

He found the creampuffs for Ryou, along with some ingredients to make Koshari later, including rice, lentils and onions. It had been a while since Mark had eaten his favourite meal, from a street vendor in Egypt just before he left, so he was quite keen to make it himself again. He also managed to find the items on Ryou's list, and by the time he made it to the check-out he was wondering how he'd be able to carry it all.

After paying for the items Marik picked up the four bags he had accumulated and struggled out of the door into the sunlight. He really should have thought this through, he thought as he began the long walk home. The bags were heavy and threatened to overbalance him, and they caused quite a bit of a distraction as he tried not to hit anyone with them.

Within five minutes his arms were aching, so he didn't appreciate when someone barged into him and caused him to drop two of the bags, their contents rolling across the pavement. Marik was about to yell at the culprit when he realised who it was.

"Bakura?"

The white haired man was indeed right in front of him, looking rather warily at Marik, as though he as a bomb that might go off at any moment.

"Marik," he said quietly before bowing his head. On closer inspection Marik could see that the taxi driver didn't look too good. He had dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn't slept for a week, and his hair was a lot wilder than Marik remembered. He also had some fading bruises on his jawline and his knuckles seemed red. He had obviously got into a few fights recently.

Before Marik could examine Bakura any further the latter moved and began to pick up the items that were scattered across the pavement, turning away as though ashamed. Marik quickly bent to help him, silently cursing when he saw that the bag of rice had split open on impact. The last item on the ground was an onion, which they both reached for at the same time. Their fingers brushed for a second and Marik felt Bakura tense beside him before he pulled his hand away quickly, allowing Marik to pick up the vegetable and put it in the bag.

Bakura stood as Marik picked up the heavy bags once more, and they stood awkwardly for a second or two, not making eye contact.

I'm sorry," Bakura said suddenly.

Marik, thinking he was talking about the fallen groceries, said, "Don't worry about it, it's only the rice that got damaged."

The white haired man took a deep breath. "No, I mean about what happened a few months ago with Mariku. I was an idiot to think he was safe to be left alone with someone so fragile, I should have stopped him. I feel awful about it, I haven't been able to stop thinking…" A pause. Then, "Is he alright?"

Marik was shocked. The last thing he had expected from the usually annoying man was an apology. Carefully he said, "Ryou's fine now." He emphasised the 'now' for some reason. Perhaps to tell Bakura that no, Ryou had not been fine up until a week ago.

Bakura nodded, still not looking directly at Marik.

"I haven't spoken to Mariku properly since it happened," he said quietly. "I punched him in the face right after you left, and ever since that he's been avoiding me. I don't even know what's going on in his head right now, but I know he's pretty messed up so I would be careful if I was you."

At this Bakura raised his head and looked directly at Marik. "I've never apologised to anyone before."

It was a raw statement, and Marik could tell the man was telling the truth. Bakura had fixed his gaze on Marik almost defiantly, and the Egyptian could tell that somehow, Bakura had changed. And perhaps against his better judgement, Marik decided to give Bakura a second chance.

"I don't suppose you'd help me carry some of this stuff home, would you?" he asked, indicating the heavy bags. It was pretty lame as chances go, but it would be enough to let Bakura know Marik was alright with talking to him again.

Bakura smiled slightly, a small upturn of the corners of his mouth, but it was enough for Marik to know he understood his decision. The white haired man nodded and reached out to grab the two bags in Marik's left hand before they set off down the street.

"What happened to your jaw?" Marik asked carefully after a moment. "Did you get into a fight or something?"

Bakura smiled wryly. "You could say that. Some idiot thought they could steal my wallet without me noticing so I put him straight." Now he wasn't apologising Marik could sense the man's usual attitude returning, and to his surprise he found he'd missed it. "How's life going with you?"

Marik sighed. That was a particular maze he didn't want to get lost in. "Well Ryou's been having a lot of friends over lately but that's kind of stopped, and I just got accepted for an art project with Ka Corporation." Despite himself Marik felt himself smiling again at the thought of his recently acquired commission.

"That's not half bad you know," Bakura said. "You must be pretty good to get work there."

Marik smiled and shrugged modestly. "It was actually due to the other interview I had, the one you drove me to a few months ago?"

Bakura nodded for him to continue, but Marik was struck by a sudden thought.

"Actually there was something I wanted to ask you about that…"

"And what would that be?"

Taking a deep breath Marik said, "Why did you offer to wait for me after the interview even though you'd been distracting me for the whole journey? At the time I thought you were mocking me but now I don't know…" He had to stop himself before he revealed how much Bakura's kindness had affected him at the club a few months ago when Marik had had his breakdown.

Bakura bowed his head as he walked, as though thinking of the best way to answer the question. "I'm not sure myself," he said eventually, as they waited for the lights to change so they could cross the road. "I guess even then I was interested in you and I wanted to know how you had done. I wasn't mocking you." He spoke quietly as though ashamed, though Marik couldn't think for the life of him why. It was almost as though Bakura had been brought up to care for nobody but himself.

Once they were across the road Marik realised what Bakura had actually said.

"What do you mean you were interested in me 'even then'?"

At this Bakura fixed Marik with a piercing look. "I mean that on the night we met in the bar I became even more interested in you, and then Mariku managed to fuck it up."

Marik stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, wary but intrigued. "Define 'interested'."

Bakura, realising Marik had stopped, turned and walked back to him, stopping very close to the Egyptian. Bakura's russet eyes were searching his face as though looking for answers, and it was all Marik could do to keep his breathing even. He had no idea why Bakura was affecting him like this, for he had never had this reaction to anyone or anything before.

After a few seconds, though it felt like forever, Bakura took a small step back and said, "I don't know. I really don't."

Then he turned and continued walking, leaving Marik no choice but to hurry after him. They finished the journey in silence, and only spoke once they had entered the apartment.

"Nice place you have here," Bakura commented as Marik began putting his purchases away.

"Technically it's Ryou's," Marik replied as he heard Bakura head down towards the living room. "Do you want a drink at all?"

"Sure, whatever's going," Bakura half-shouted back. Marik smiled. He had never met anyone like Bakura before: he seemed free and not tied down to anything, and it felt like a breath of fresh air for Marik. As he started making tea- Bakura was British after all- he thought back to the unreadable look on the man's face as he searched Marik's face earlier. Marik wasn't sure what to make of it, and neither did Bakura, so it seemed. He decided to roll with it, and to hell with the consequences for the time being.

With this in mind he finished making the tea and went through to the living room, where he found Bakura sprawled across the room's only sofa.

"Here you go," Marik said, setting the tea down on the little table and raising an eyebrow at his guest. "Are you going to sit like that for the rest of your visit?"

"Perhaps," Bakura smirked.

"Oh come on, you're not a very good houseguest are you?"

"Nope," Bakura replied, but moved his legs so Marik could sit down anyway.

"So what were you doing out today before you knocked my shopping out of my hands?" Marik asked once he had reclaimed his part of the sofa.

"Not much," Bakura said with a sigh. "I had a day off so I decided to go for a walk. Normally I head towards Mariku's but that's obviously not an option."

"Ah." Marik nodded, not wanting to press the subject further. Instead he said the first thing that came into his head. "Why did you get fired from your last job?"

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit of a random question, Marik. Why do you want to know?"

Blushing, the Egyptian looked down at his lap. "I guess I just want to know why you act like you do."

"Meaning?"

Marik looked up, expecting the other male to be angry, but there was only curiosity in his eyes. "Well," he began, "You didn't seem too bothered about losing jobs, even when I threatened to get you fired, so there must be a reason for you thinking like that and I guess I was just interested…"

He trailed off as Bakura's eyes grew harder. "That's a rather long story to tell, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Bakura looked down at the floor as though lost in thought, and Marik instantly felt guilty for bringing up obviously painful memories.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"Nah, it's fine," Bakura said, looking up again. "It's just that in twenty one years I've never told anyone that story, so I'd rather not break that streak if you know what I mean."

Marik nodded. Bakura was obviously talking about his childhood: Marik dimly remembered Bakura telling him at the bar how his past wasn't exactly nice. Well, that was common to both of them.

A slightly awkward silence fell on them, Bakura staring out of the window and Marik being fascinated with the floor.

"I'm going to get a drink," Marik said, thinking Bakura may want a moment alone. The white haired man nodded in acknowledgement as Marik stood and went into the kitchen, where he ran himself a glass of water. He hoped Bakura wouldn't begrudge his stupidity. What had he been thinking asking about Bakura's past when it was obviously painful? Marik cursed under his breath in Arabic.

He finished his water and tentatively headed back into the living room, to find Bakura sprawled across the sofa as he had been earlier, a nonchalant look on his face that was ready to turn into a smirk at any moment. Yep, Bakura had recovered from Marik's idiocy and had stolen his place to boot.

"Really?" Marik asked as he leaned on the doorframe. "You're going to be a bad houseguest again?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps not," Marik retorted before smirking to himself.

"What are you going to do about it, huh? I'm not moving." Bakura's grin widened, so Marik decided to do the only direct option.

He sat heavily on Bakura's legs.

"Hey, I need those!" came the indignant cry.

"Should have thought of that before you took the whole sofa, shouldn't you," Marik said primly from his rather uncomfortable position on Bakura's lower half.

Growling, Bakura tried to unseat Marik by wriggling his legs, but the latter only laughed and used his hands to pin the former's feet as well.

"Hmph, if that's how you're going to play it," Bakura muttered before jolting his knees upwards sharply, causing Marik to cry out and fall sideways onto Bakura, who braced himself for the extra weight.

"Why hello there," he said sarcastically to Marik, whose face was currently planted in Bakura's chest. "Having fun down there?"

Marik lifted his head up to glare at Bakura, who raised an eyebrow in return.

"You stole my sofa," Marik said, pouting slightly. "It's very rude of you, you know."

Before Bakura could reply Marik grabbed his arms and pulled them both off the sofa, succeeding in banging into the coffee table and coming out on top of his guest. Bakura struggled to get free but Marik grabbed him by the arms and grinned. "Nobody steals my sofa."

He tried to get off Bakura but the second he let go of his arms Bakura grabbed Marik round the waist and dragged him back down, trying to roll them over so he could retake to sofa. The resulting position caused Marik to blush suddenly when he felt where Bakura's knee was.

They were almost in an embrace, Bakura refusing to let go lest Marik retake the sofa, and Marik's arms were on the floor as though he was about to start doing press ups. Marik's head was once again planted against Bakura's chest, which meant he couldn't see so his other senses were heightened. Their legs had tangled and now Bakura was pushing onto a very personal spot, which unfortunately, to Marik's chagrin, appeared to be responding.

"Let go of me," he hissed desperately. "Get off."

"Never," Bakura whispered back. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Marik tried to wriggle free but only succeeded in making the situation worse. His blush increased and he was glad Bakura couldn't see his face.

"Get the fuck off me or I swear to God…"

Bakura was unaffected by the threat if his lack of movement was anything to go by.

"Give me one good reason why I should."

Marik, who by this time was trying to inch away from Bakura's invading knee without drawing attention to it, bit back a moan and raised his head to look for an excuse. To his great relief he quickly found one.

"Because you knocked your bloody tea onto the floor," he said quickly, trying to make the sentence sound like a threat instead of a plea.

It was true: their impact with the coffee table had knocked the cup sideways and now brown liquid was dripping onto the floor. Ryou was going to be pissed.

The white haired man turned his head to the side. "So I did," he remarked.

"That means you need to let go of me so we can clean it up," Marik growled in frustration.

"But we were having so much fun," Bakura whispered, which didn't help Marik's predicament at all. In fact the quiet words went straight to his groin, and he was terrified that Bakura was going to notice it any second.

"C-come on, let me up!" Marik cursed the stutter in his voice.

"No."

"Fuck you!"

"Was that a request there?"

"What? No!"

"Sure sounded like one."

"Piss off."

Marik's knees were shaking by this point from the strain of keeping Bakura's knee away from him, and the longer they lay there the harder it was getting to stay away. He had to do something that didn't involve swearing, fast.

"Look, I need to clean up the mess there or Ryou is going to kill us when he gets back, which will be at any moment. So I suggest you let me go or face the wrath of my housemate!" Marik tried to make the statement sound threatening but again it came out as more of a plea.

Finally, however, Bakura relented, even though he made a great show of chuckling as he did so.

Marik shot off the floor and ran towards the kitchen, saying something about wet kitchen towel as he went. Once he had gained the sanctuary of the kitchen he risked a look at his pants. Yep, there was no way he'd be hiding that from Bakura any longer- he wouldn't have been surprised if the other man had already noticed.

'I bet he knew right from the start,' Marik thought bitterly as he thought of the best way to get to the bathroom without any awkward questions. He was still thinking this through when Bakura entered the kitchen quietly.

"Need a hand with your problem, Marik?"

Marik jumped at the euphemism before making a show of grabbing some kitchen towel, thanking Ra that his back was towards the man. He wet the towel before replying.

"Yeah, go and start getting the stain out of the carpet," he said, turning his top half to throw the towel at Bakura, who caught it and raised his eyebrows.

"And what are you going to do?" he asked, the picture of innocence.

"I'm going to the bathroom and then I'll come and help you," Marik said, pleased that his voice had come out steady.

Bakura smirked slightly before shrugging and leaving. Marik breathed a sigh of relief before rushing towards the safety of the bathroom. Once there he locked the door and leant against it.

What the hell had that been about? Why had his body responded like that? He had no clue what was going on, other than the fact he now had a raging erection and Bakura was the cause of it. Sighing guiltily, Marik tried to think of the most awfully disgusting things he could to make it go away, but his mind kept wandering back to the white haired man currently in his living room.

Dammit, he didn't even know if he was gay or not!

Seeing no other way to get rid of it quickly other than a cold shower, Marik guiltily unbuckled his pants and let them slide to the floor as he grasped his member. He moved his hand in quick strokes, all the while trying not to make a noise in case he alerted Bakura. After a few minutes he came in his hand, letting out a stifled moan as he did so.

Quickly he washed his hands and pulled his pants back on, only then realising who he had been thinking of through the whole thing. Stupid annoying taxi driver…

Once again Marik found himself cursing in his native language as he dried his hands and went to the door. On opening it, however, he realised he should probably have been more discreet.

Bakura was stood leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, a smirk firmly planted on his face and his eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"Need a hand, Marik?" he chuckled, as the Egyptian turned bright red.

"H-how long have you been there?" he asked quickly as he exited the bathroom, closing the door rather firmly behind him and heading down the hall back to the living room.

"Long enough," Bakura replied. "I cleaned up and got bored so thought I'd come and see what was keeping you."

Marik could practically hear the grin through Bakura's voice.

"Well it's rude to spy on people, you know."

"Oh believe me, I know," Bakura said. "Though if you were being innocent you would have no worries about people listening in on you."

"Oh shut up," Marik growled as he sat on the sofa before Bakura could steal it again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," Bakura said casually as he took the rest of the sofa. "Not at all."

The Egyptian tried to resist swearing at Bakura in Arabic, but failed miserably. He was beyond embarrassed and annoyed at the man, yet for some reason he wasn't kicking him out. Marik had to vent his emotions one way or another, so he coloured the air with words he knew the British turned Japanese man wouldn't understand. After the stream of curses had died down he risked a look at Bakura, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"Interesting," he remarked.

"Whatever," Marik said grumpily.

"You do know that I can speak Arabic, right?"

"What?"

"Yep. I understood every word. Especially the part about me being a 'stupid distracting arsehole'. I liked that bit."

Marik, who had hid his head in his hands, slowly lowered them, expecting to see Bakura looking angry. Instead he was met by an expression of amusement on the other man's face, as though he was about to burst into laughter at any second.

"Although the rest of it was quite good too, you really have a way with words, Marik."

Bakura's grin widened as he saw how red Marik's face was. He was practically a blonde tomato.

"I didn't know you could speak Arabic," Marik mumbled, all earlier rage gone now.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, isn't there?"

"I guess so."

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Bakura said, "Well that could be changed, I suppose."

It was quite an offhand remark, and had it been anyone else Marik would have brushed it off almost instantly. But he was intrigued as to what Bakura was suggesting. Was he saying that he wanted to get to know Marik better? No, surely he would be too proud to admit anything like that... Then what had he meant? And what would Marik say in response?

It seemed that he had thought about it for too long. Bakura looked away and shifted slightly on the sofa- the moment had passed. Perhaps the words had more meaning than Bakura let on.

Marik had to say something, but what? He was about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when there was the sound of the door opening down the hall. Ryou was home and Marik still hadn't said anything.

"I'm back,Mar'!" Ryou called down the hall cheerfully.

"In the living room," Marik called back, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Bakura didn't look away from the window at the noise, nor did he move when Ryou's footsteps came towards the living room where they were sat. It was only when the teen came through the door that Bakura turned to face him, expression unreadable.

"Oh, hi there," Ryou said, smiling. "I didn't know we had a guest, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, I was just leaving." Bakura's voice was quite flat and he didn't look at Marik as he got off the sofa and made to exit the room.

"H-hey, wait!" Marik said, causing both white haired males to look at him in surprise.

"Uh, one second," he said quickly before rushing into the kitchen, leaving Bakura and Ryou to look after him in confusion.

Paper, he had to find paper and a pen. He had to do something! He didn't know why but he couldn't just let Bakura walk out of the door because he might never come back. Marik might never see him again and Bakura would leave thinking Marik wasn't interested in the slightest. The thought made him strangely uncomfortable. There was some sort of connection there- other than Ryou and his siblings Marik had never been close to anyone before, nor had he ever had a wish to. But now? He was a long way off rom trusting Bakura of course, but there was something between them that needed to be explored. Bakura couldn't leave now!

Desperately he searched for something to write on, and finally found a scrap of paper on which he quickly wrote his mobile number with a pencil he found in one of his pockets. Before he could think things through properly he hurried back into the living room.

To his relief Bakura was still there, and even though Marik had only been gone for a minute he seemed to have struck up a conversation with Ryou. As Marik watched from the doorway he saw Bakura say something quietly to Ryou, who gave a small smile and nodded. Watching the interaction gave Marik a sudden pang of jealously, even though he knew he had no claim to either of them, but he brushed it off in favour of clearing his throat quietly.

Ryou and Bakura stepped away from each other, Ryou blushing slightly and Bakura back to his unreadable expression.

"I'll… I have something to sort out," Ryou said vaguely, sensing his presence was unwanted. "It was nice meeting you, Bakura." The small teen smiled as he left the room quietly, leaving Bakura and Marik in a rather awkward silence.

"Um," Marik said. "Here."

He walked forward and held out the scrap of paper to Bakura, who looked at him oddly before taking it.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked after a couple of seconds.

Marik nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"You sure?"

Marik nodded again.

"'Cos I'm not the nicest person to hang around with, you know."

"I know."

"Just warning you."

Marik thought for a moment before saying, "You'll have to tell me that story one day, I think."

"Hm?"

"The one you haven't told anyone before."

"Perhaps I will," Bakura said, smiling slightly. "If you tell me yours in return. I don't do things for nothing."

"And I know there's a reason for that," Marik said quietly.

He looked down at the floor as he said it, so he failed to see the flash of emotion that crossed Bakura's face.

Later, when Bakura had left and he and Ryou had celebrated Marik's new commission, the Egyptian found himself lying in bed once again thinking about the white haired man. Why did he act the way he did? Something must have made him become the cynical bitter person he claimed to be now, and Marik would be damned if he didn't find out.

But was he willing to share his own past with someone who wasn't Ryou or his family?

His phone buzzed on his bedside table, indicating a text.

'My shift ends at 5 tomorrow, you going to be home?'

Marik smiled despite himself. Yes, he could probably learn to trust Bakura, with time. He knew there was a story beneath the cynical exterior that Bakura would refuse to tell him for some reason, and that was probably the key to understanding him. Marik found himself wanting to understand Bakura. He knew what it was like for nobody to understand him, when they didn't know the events that had occurred in his past to make him the person he was today.

Marik knew it was bad timing: he had his commission to work on which would take up a lot of his time, and he couldn't count on help from Ryou as he had university and work to deal with. He knew that this was the worst time to embark on another challenge, but he didn't care.

'Yeah, come over any time.'

There was no going back now.