Facade

It was just one giant lie. It never meant to go that far. It wasn't ever supposed to, but somehow it had. He fell in love— he fell hard. There was always that shimmer of doubt though. He hadn't wanted to act on it, but he did. The words fell, the other eyes choked on tears threatening to fall, and it couldn't be stopped. It wasn't really love after all, was it?

- ThiefShipping: Yami Bakura x Marik -

Mis: Brand new shiny fic for my brand new shiny account. Getting settled in. I've just fallen in love with this pairing… I have a few more fics in progress for them too, but they're either longer or I just can't focus on only one of them!

Bakura: … You have the attention span of a flea.

Mis: [quickly] Shut up. Anyway!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this story that is mentioned throughout this chapter or the following; all rights go to the respective creator.

Although, I would really hope that the above is anything but a shock. It should be blindingly obvious…

Marik: It is.

Mis: [quickly, again] Shut up. Anyway, please enjoy the story! [bow]

"Marik. We need to talk."

The four dreaded words fell from his lips before he could even think twice about it. He had made the decision. There was no retreating from the path now. It couldn't be taken back.

The blonde Egyptian stared at his boyfriend, hands trembling. "W… what about?" Marik forced out, doing his best not to stutter. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was nothing after all. But something in those dark mahogany eyes said otherwise. Marik read them like a book— the eyes didn't betray, even the face did. Something was wrong.

"I want to break up." Bakura was keeping his voice steady as he could. He wasn't as prepared for this as he thought he was. Marik's eyes widened and for a split second, Bakura was about to say 'just kidding, didn't mean to scare you' … but the words didn't come. He couldn't turn back. He had to do this, despite how much he suddenly wanted to drag the little one into his arms and embrace him tightly and never let go. To think, the Thief King was feeling this way about someone— and someone who used to be his enemy nonetheless. Who would've ever imagined?

Marik's eyes began to water against his control. "Why?" He asked quietly. He had heard himself, but still his voice sounded so far off to his ears. "Do you… not like me anymore?" The thoughts suddenly started racing. "N-no, there's someone else, isn't there?"

"No," Bakura said quickly with a slight wince he couldn't well hide. "No, nothing like that…" He trailed off. Marik silently urged him to go on, despite really not wanting to hear it. "There's no one else. I still … like you," he murmured, the words still sounding foreign to his ears. "It's just that… You don't like me," he finally explained as his eyes went to stare at the ground by their feet.

"What?" Marik exclaimed, confused and angry all at once. He took a step back in disbelief, his mind reeling. "What the hell gave you that idea?" Marik growled, and suddenly the confusion was gone and replaced with pure fury. "You idiot! You stupid, white-haired, thieving albino looking idiot!" Now it was Bakura's turn to look shocked, but Marik didn't relent as his fists shook. He looked ready to snap. "Okay, fine. You're right."

Bakura wasn't expecting that. He was right? Marik didn't like him. Was it all a lie? Maybe he had, somewhere in his heart (yes he did have one, shut up), hoped for that response so they could part their ways without much emotion. Somehow though, it still hurt. Somehow.

"You're right," the blonde repeated and suddenly the anger was dissipating. "… I don't like you. I…" There was slightly hesitation before Marik suddenly blurted out: "I love you!"

"Wh—" Bakura took a step back in reeling shock, looking extremely flustered for a split second. It passed and, soon enough, he was angry again. "No. You don't."

"Don't tell me how the hell I feel!" Marik suddenly screamed, and Bakura saw his eyes flare. The Egyptian was positively furious now, if he hadn't been before. "Listen you idiot, I love you! Love! Yeah, that's right! I said it. Love."

"You don't love me!" Bakura shouted back, raising a fist to his side. "You love Ryou, not me! It was never me!"

Marik let out a cry of frustration, holding his head for a moment before whipping his arm out to the side. "Who in the hell said your hikari was involved in this argument? Why would I love Ryou, of all people! Who the fuck have I been dating for these past few months if it wasn't you— because it sure as hell wasn't Ryou because, newsflash, I can tell you two apart." His voice dropped to a venomous and malice-filled hiss. "What the hell has gotten into you."

Bakura growled. "You don't love me. This… this body— it's not me!" He was tugging angrily at the shirt's collar before angrily gripping at his hair. "This hair isn't mine, these eyes, this face! Nothing you love belongs to me—"

Marik slapped him.

It was all so instantaneous that Bakura hadn't even seen the hand rise. All he knew is that he was suddenly staring at the wall, shocked that it was there. Hello there, Mr. Wall. Were we having a conversation?

The Egyptian across from himself, when the thief finally returned his gaze, looked positively livid. If Marik hadn't been so under control of himself, Bakura had the terrifying thought that the other might've slit his throat.

"You son of a bitch," Marik seethed. The corner of his mouth was twitched into a dangerous snarl, eye twitching lightly. His fists were clenched so tightly that the knuckles were as white as his (ex?) boyfriend's skin. "You honestly think I love you for that face." It wasn't a question— it was a statement. "I love you for that body, those eyes, that hair." There was no response. Marik took a step forward, even angrier. "Do you?"

Bakura absently touched his stinging cheek. He had thought it was a rhetorical question. "I… W-well, ye-yeah, I mean… Why else—"

"You're dense as hell!" Came the sudden shout. "By that fucked up logic," Marik growled, but his face was calm. He had reached such a point of anger that it wasn't even showing. "You only like me for my face." Violet eyes narrowed dangerously. Bakura was starting to slightly worry that he might come face-to-face with the evil spirit, that Yami Marik would surface, but so far nothing happened. Marik was under pure control of his rage.

"…No," the thief finally mumbled bitterly. "No, I don't. I like—"

"My personality?" Marik cut him off with a sneer. He turned his nose up as if, suddenly, he felt the other was the scum of the Earth. "How hypocritical. You idiot." Marik threw his hands up, exasperated that he seemed to have to repeat himself. "I love you for that same reason, are you stupid? I couldn't give a damn if your eyes were rainbow, your voice sounded like a chipmunk, and you had bright neon pink hair!" Marik stopped and, unexpectedly, his voice took on a softer tone. He hands lowered limply to his side and his eyes suddenly looked so lost. "I love how you act. I love… that you're so oddly tender with me… the way you laugh when I do something stupid, or how much of a sore loser you are when we play stupid games…" A strangled chuckle escaped his lips. "The only thing that pisses me off about you is the mystery. All I can do is call you Thief King Bakura… Touzoku? Though I guess that doesn't help, it's just that in Japanese… Feh, I don't even know."

Bakura's eyes widened a bit before looking down and, quietly, he murmured: "I don't really have a name," the spirit admitted while rubbing the back of his head.

"Well, that's sort of sad," the other remarked.

The thief looked up, face a mix of confusion and vague amusement. "…This is not what the argument's over."

"Regardless." Marik sighed. "Please… Bakura, does this prove anything to you?"

He was silent. "You… love me?" He finally murmured.

"Yes."

"Me?"

"Last time I checked."

"You really mean that?"

Marik rolled his eyes. It was like talking to a three-year-old who wouldn't believe that ice melted and turned into water. "No, I'm lying," he said sarcastically with hands absently thrown up in exasperation. "Yes, I mean it. Come on, now."

Mahogany eyes looked down, breaking the strained eye contact between the two. "…Marik?" The blonde stayed attentive, the violet orbs not leaving the spirit's form. "I… Thank you." A soft, barely there smile found its way on Bakura's lips, and Marik couldn't help but grin back. The white-haired boy rarely smiled— it really lit up his face despite it never being a grin (sadistic ones didn't count). Although he was smiling, Marik still felt like he wanted a little something more from the other boy. A hug would've been appropriate (they had barely even held hands, Bakura got too flustered and embarrassed about it) though the blonde knew it wouldn't happen. It sort of upset him in a way but he couldn't really be too angry.

Because the Egyptian didn't respond, a comfortable silence fell between them, both unmoving. Marik had turned his head to absently look out the apartment window. After a few more passing thoughts (and a fleeting wish of more contact with his partner), he returned his eyes back to Bakura—well, sort of.

"Ryou," Marik said with an absent smile. He wasn't surprised to see the other boy. Bakura tended to "flee" like that often. "Hello."

The white-haired hikari looked more surprised to be standing there than Marik did. "Oh… Ah, hello," the timid Bakura replied with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry about my yami. He gets… weird ideas in his head sometimes, and I don't mean the murderous ones."

Marik simply shrugged. "So I must assume you heard all that." There was a nod. "Of course you did. I hopefully didn't offend you. That thief is thick-headed, though."

Ryou only started to laugh, a bell like sound that was so much different than his yami's. "That he is! And no, I took no offense at all. I'm glad things worked out between you two," The gentler white haired boy mused with a little chuckle. "You know, Marik-kun, he likes you a lot. Has he told you so?" Ryou questioned with a cock of his head. Marik looked a little surprised, cheeks flushed. After a moment, he shook his head. Ryou sighed. "Figures."

"I feel like it's a big enough accomplishment that he admitted we're dating, sort of." Marik paused suddenly, looking almost devastated at the events from earlier played back into his head. "At least… I … I think we are…"

Ryou frowned. The poor hikari. "Marik-kun, I'm sorry."

"… Shit happens."

"You know he likes you, though," Ryou replied in a somewhat worried voice as he stepped towards the boy. The blonde looked ready to cry. "Oh, Marik-kun, please don't …" Violet eyes glistened but the Egyptian only shook his head. "You sure you won't?" A nod. "All right …" A pause. Ryou shifted uncomfortably before, unexpectedly, held his arms out to Marik. Their eyes met and the white-haired hikari frowned, visibly upset.

The Egyptian wasn't sure what to do at first, but then he figured it out. It was a sympathy hug. With a sigh, Marik walked over and hugged the boy with Ryou soon returning it. "He really messes with my head," the younger admitted. "… And my heart," he whispered as an after thought.

"I know. Some of the things he says I wish I could hit him myself," Ryou admitted with a light chuckle. "He needs a mental filter."

"Can't he hear you?"

"I'm sure he can."

"Oh."

The conversation ended briefly and without much warning, but the two boys still didn't move. It wasn't anything romantic— neither Ryou nor Marik felt anything spark when they did it. The only thing Marik felt was comfort, and Ryou felt friendship. Bakura never was one to really comfort Marik when he was upset (which wasn't often, despite the blonde being the more, er, "emotional" of the pair) or say something very meaningful on the subject. Although Marik didn't much hang out with the other hikari, it was pleasant to every now and then. Usually the two went shopping and then chilled out in the park, either savouring some ice cream or tossing tocks into the river. Bakura often expressed displeasure the two hung out, but after Marik started to (fake) cry the white haired thief quickly took back every word. He still didn't know the younger had been faking.

There was a flash of light that Marik hadn't really noticed until the grip around him was tightened almost painfully and he was brought out of his thoughts. The voice that floated from the teen gripping Marik was not Ryou's, but a deeper and scratchier Bakura's.

"For being a push-over, he sure doesn't let me take over in the times I need to speak for myself," Bakura murmured bitterly with a heavy sigh. He set his head on top of Marik's and soon enough he felt the blonde's arms tightening around him as well. The face was nuzzled into the crook of his neck and the older boy couldn't help the faint pink that tinted his cheeks. "… Marik, are you angry?" The voice was still gruff, but it somehow it held a soft, calculating and almost nervous tone. Vaguely it reminded Marik of Ryou's but the thought was quickly pushed aside.

"Not anymore. So you believe me?"

"Yes." A pause. He shifted slightly and pulled Marik's arms off of him. He put his hands on the other's shoulders and looked him into eyes as if talking to a child. "I'm… I'm sorry." Two words that the Thief King never said and meant— even if he did say it.

A smile. "It's okay."

"Hey, Marik?" Bakura began carefully. He hesitated a bit, and Marik only kept smiling at him. The white-haired boy let out a "hmph" of amusement, smiling gently as his eyes became soft. "… I love you."

The spirit had never seen Marik's eyes light up as much as when he said those three words. The smile turned into a broad grin and suddenly the blonde was on his tiptoes, crushing his lips to Bakura's. The white haired thief was stumbling back in surprise but Marik held him pretty much in place with a grip on his arm. After a minute, the spirit relaxed and kissed him back. When they broke apart for air after tongues had danced with each other, Bakura set his forehead against the other teen's, sighing in a new feeling of contentment.

"That's new."

Marik had to laugh at the statement. He didn't say much more on that subject specifically. He was just happy he managed to muster up that last bit of courage and kiss the other boy— and Bakura kissed him back. Maybe this meant they could up the affection level, if even just a bit.

"Oh, and to answer you… I love you, too."

Lips were pressed to Marik's forehead, and he flushed slightly. Bakura just looked a bit smug, but … happy.

Funny how enemies could become friends, who then became closer than that.

Well, funny or lucky… whichever worked.

Mis: Yup, and there's the end of that. It took a bit of a different spin from when I had first done the draft, but I'm much more content with how this worked out in the end.

Read & Review & Critique please! I'd love to hear your input. Flame if you really want to, but any of them will just be given to Bakura. And Ra knows, it's not a good idea to give him something potentially dangerous.

Bakura: I think it's a wonderful idea.

Mis: … No. No, it's not.