Prompt #44 - Sweet Nothings

[sanada_tomoyo]

He had spent these last few years carefully building his outlook on things: his old life, this new one, his purpose and how he interacted with the world and others.

It was utterly clear to him that he was not meant to be where he was. This world, the home of Yuugi and his friends, had not been made for him. There was no limitless potential here for him, no calling that echoed what everyone else seemed to grasp and run towards. And if he could not have rest, had done everything in his power to be what his Gods wanted him to be and still could not have rest - what was the point of his hard work?

So he occupied himself, to keep his mind away from contemplating those endeavors.

He'd severed his relationships with Yuugi and Marik, and begun them anew, to maintain that balance. To his friends, he made the promise to never walk down that path again, and he was willing to do whatever it took to honor his word. For him, that word was all he had left, as he had no others to follow. Instead he endured silently: the worried glances, the constant questioning of his motives, the arguments with Yuugi, Marik's loud, open longing. They were a small price paid for the trouble he caused. Yami knew where those thoughts would take him, if he slipped back into himself.

At night, his dreams were vivid, and there he truly suffered. Visions of his lost companions, impossible possibilties with the two lovers he'd cast aside; and occasionally, the one thing he desired and nearly attained. The latter he remembered in the most detail - the way he'd felt in Yuugi's bed, warm blood spilling from his veins, ribbons of red cradling his wrists. He'd been ready, then, to close his eyes and simply slip away, back through that glowing door that had once asked for his name. Back to where he knew in his heart he belonged.

Staying away from that logic was work.

But his usual methods weren't working much anymore. The house of cards that he had so carefully and painstakingly built was falling apart. That kiss with Yuugi - that stupid, ridiculous accident - had started it. Now Yuugi wanted more closure, Mokuba wanted more information and Ryou was just...

If nothing else had been decided, it was that Yami felt it unacceptable for a man to be haunted by his potential. The reminder of his failures - that while he was coping, it was only barely - had struck a blow to his spirit that he wasn't sure he could recover from. Lying to himself was becoming more difficult each day, but being honest was doing even more harm. Yami found he couldn't stop. Too many people were expecting it of him. The lies and truths were mixing now, a bubbling cauldron of disappointment brewing to be served.

Yuugi would be upset when he discovered his passport missing. Mokuba would be livid when Yami was nowhere to be found.

He must have radiated uncertainty; Yami couldn't get a moment alone after Yuugi patched up his hands. Several times, Yuugi checked on him without warning, as though he would come upon some unspeakable scene. Eventually, to appease those worries, Yami simply left his bedroom door open so that the passes through the hall would go unobstructed. Every few hours there would be a small tug at their connection, too.

It all made him feel worse. He had gone more than six years without an incident and suddenly, that pressure was creeping on him again. Yuugi would always worry and, just then, Yami couldn't handle that. He wanted to be left alone. But he'd never be allowed that, even when he needed it, because he made one mistake in the past that couldn't be undone.

The instinct wasn't just to cut and feel, an urge that sometimes came and went; that was simple. Rather, it presented itself as a solution to a problem that would never end no matter how good he was. Why should Yuugi have to waste time being stressed over him? Why should anyone? If nothing else, he deserved punishment for falling so far; he deserved relief, too. It would just be better for everyone if he could go back to where he'd been before. Years had passed since he felt so confined, but he was choking now.

There was nothing sharp in his room, of course - Sugoroku and Yuugi had seen to that long ago. As the hours passed, he was glad for it. When in the middle of the night, Yami crept from his bed and found Yuugi struggling to watching TV in the den, struggling for vigilance, he knew. Guilt just pushed him on, made him feel more like it was the right decision. Yami knew much more about this body than he had the first time.

If he hurt himself again, he would do it right. He had to get out; had to stop himself from suffocating.

Ryou was his first choice. His old friend, while a part of this upset, had given him a number just for that. But Ryou also had a family and a life full of success and Yami didn't want to disrupt it. He was pathetic enough for being unable to deal with all of this himself. Apathy came easily enough when his decisions were small, or only affected him. His friends had done so much. Yami couldn't bring himself to disregard their feelings and desires the way he could his own.

He didn't want to talk to Mokuba. That was only a source of more guilt. Something had to be done, though, or it would get worse. Yami knew he'd start searching, soon enough, for something to give him release.

Fingers frantically jammed buttons on his phone until a familiar number was tapped out: Marik's. A part of him hoped, as the line rang and he stared - partially in disbelief - that the call would go unanswered. He hadn't been able to do much on his own. Why would anyone stop to help him? It rang once, twice, and he was was just about to end the call in the middle of the third-

"Yami?" Marik's voice was full of mirth, and there was murmuring behind it. "What's going on? How are you?" He was busy.

Yami was interrupting, but worse, there was a chance that Yuugi might hear him. He retreated back to his bed, throwing up the covers to burrow underneath them. It would muffle his voice.

"...I'm sorry," he managed. "I didn't mean to..." This was the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

"Oh, it's fine. I'm not doing anything important."

There was a bit of shuffling and, after a few seconds, all the noise died away.

"Isn't it super late where you are? What're you doing up?" Marik gasped dramatically. "Did you get into a fight with Mokuba?"

You can't hang up, Yami reminded himself. You know what you're going to do. And if he didn't answer, Marik would know something was wrong.

"I need to get out of here."

It sounded just as strange to Marik as it did to him. "What?" The joking lilt was gone.

For Yami, it was now or never. "I need to be somewhere else. Can you make that happen?"

Marik was silent for a few moments, and Yami held his breath.

It's okay, he said to himself. Just tell him you're joking. He could do that, hurry things along so that he could end it. A strange calm began to settle over him. He didn't deserve this sort of help. "I- "

"How fast can you pack?" Marik asked him. "Hang on."

The next half hour was a blur while everything was arranged. Marik didn't answer any of Yami's questions-as-excuses-not-to-go, only told Yami that the flight he booked left at 9AM and was reserved in Yuugi's name. He didn't even ask how Yami would come across what he needed to travel. That worked just as well, as Yami was sure he didn't want to hear about what was tantamount to stealing.

To placate his ever-growing guilt he left a note, saying that he needed some space and apologizing. He was going to return, naturally; he even told Yuugi that he would check his phone for messages.

The doubts began again shortly after. When it was all said and done, he'd come back and be monitored and that would only put him in the same position he was in all over again. What was the point of this? It wouldn't make him better. It wouldn't fix anything. But with the plans made, he couldn't change his mind.

The quiet of the cab to the airport helped calm his nerves. Though he felt like he was carrying a secret and could be stopped at any moment for interrogation, no one ever did.

Once he was in the air, however, the hardest part was done. Yami was no longer in Domino. All the stress exhasuted him; he slept through most of the first flight, and nearly missed the second after the layover. Both flights passed dreamlessly, and Yami was grateful for it. A few hours without feeling like peeling himself out of his own skin was more than welcome.

His phone stayed in his pocket the entire time. Though he said he'd check, his fingers trembled at the thought of what would be waiting for him. Yami couldn't bring himself to do it.

He'd only been to visit Marik once before, so nothing was really familiar when he finally arrived. Sunlight blared through the terminal, casting wide swathes of light through the impossibly wide collection of boarding areas. Everything was glossy, shiny or tinted in metal textures. He didn't have to wander far, though. Marik was there, waiting when he touched down, scanning the arriving crowd for him. As they made their way towards each other, that light tinted Marik's hair to gold, and brightened his smile.

Yami found it difficult to believe it was meant for him, even though it couldn't have been for anyone else. Marik enveloped him in a hug. It was a full, warm, and Yami couldn't stop himself from melting into it. He all but collapsed, comforted by the light perfume on Marik's neck, the touch of hands smoothing down his back.

He knew in that moment, that nothing good could have come of him staying in Domino.

This is a mistake, his knew. But this was a mistake that he needed.

"How was the flight?" Marik asked, and they separated.

"I spent most of it sleeping." He'd been put in an aisle seat on both flights, and his row mates kept to themselves. "Thank you for doing this."

Marik's expression shifted to something a bit more difficult to read. It made Yami self-conscious, and the relapse was immediate; he drew into himself, adjusting the small bag on his shoulders, arms pinned to his sides.

The discomfort only lasted a moment, though. Then Marik was back to smiling. He reached for one of Yami's hands. "Well, come on."

When their fingers were entwined, he realized the reason for the small shift in mood, and cursed himself: his hands were still wrapped, Yuugi's bindings tight around his palms. Yami forgot about them in the haste of traveling. Taking them off, however, wouldn't have been much better. The sight of bruised and battered knuckles wouldn't have been comforting.

But Marik didn't ask, so Yami didn't offer an explanation. He hoped that if he ignored it for long enough, perhaps he could forget again, and convince Marik to as well.

There were taxis outside, zooming about, looking for customers. Marik flagged one down immediately--or maybe it was waiting for them? Yami couldn't tell--and climbed in quickly, pulling Yami in behind him. They still weren't in the city proper yet, and what little surroundings he had been able to take in were not natural. Airports never were. Being cocooned in the winding labyrinth of curving, curling roads and parking structures, drop off strips and rental areas wasn't the way to properly arrive anywhere.

It wasn't until they had peeled out into the road, until the bright sun beamed down through the windows of the car, hanging high in the bright and blue sky that Yami felt even a little more comfortable; like he was finally in Marik's full custody, and away from...

"I wasn't sure whether to book a hotel or not. Did you want to come to my place, or...?"

Though Marik had waited to ask, the fact that he had even thought of it was touching. And something so simple as being able to make this decision for himself - where he wanted to stay - helped Yami gain just a slightly tighter grip on his own sanity.

This place held bittersweet memories for him, and Yami didn't want to be coerced into looking at old relics. On the other hand, hotels were expensive. this trip was already reaching out of the range of his personal comfort zone. Marik could spare it, if his boasts from the past were true. But that was no excuse to take advantage of him. Beggars did not deserve the luxury of choosing.

Yami did not deserve to choose freely, though it made him feel better to be able to.

"...can you promise not to show me anything I don't ask about?"

Marik turned to him, and frowned. "Why would I do that?"

It wasn't as though it would be the first time. Yami hoped that the glare he gave in response would get the message across.

"I won't."

"I should be fine at your place, then. If I'm not imposing." It occurred to him just after, that this was all an imposition, no matter how he looked at it. He didn't have to be here. Marik didn't have to take him in at all.

After Battle City, the Ishtar family left their underground crypt in favor of permanent residency on the surface, away from their tribe. They had a home as close to their tomb as legally possible. From what Yami knew, proving ownership of the area, and ease of access to the land was a literal trapping of legal troubles. But with the Items gone, they decided to take charge of their legacy and what remained. They were able to take several objects with them when they moved, including a few other tablets and a host of other treasures. Ishizu didn't hesitate to make what she could selling and renting to museums. The Ishtars were doing well these days. They were even able to manage keeping some of the desert lands in the hands of their tribe - though if Yami recalled correctly, that was Marik's doing, and he wasn't entirely sure how that came to be.

As they traveled, his eyes remained glued to the car's windows, looking out over the horizon. Sometimes, it was difficult to resist marveling at what developments had occurred between his time and now. In the Millennium World, civilization was grouped into small spaces, centered around water. While the desert was not nearly as cramped as Japan there were many more small towns and cities darting his view, tall structures and shining windows glinting in the sunlight. It reminded him of how many others there were in the world now. And of how few of them knew of him, even in his home land.

Being forgotten was not a fear for Yami. In fact, he felt moving onto the more relevant future was a natural course of things. The old belonged with the old and new, with the new and current. Perhaps if he'd cared a bit more about being important, it wouldn't bother him so much that he was displaced, that he was a man most certainly out of time. He'd be dueling still, certainly, and that would give him something more to do than wallow.

Marik's voice crashed through his thoughts, and Yami was glad for it. "Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?"

He hadn't. Not that he could remember. "I need to."

Marik slid closer to Yami just as the car gave a lurch on the road, and they were nearly thrown together. Lavender eyes looked bright and full of excitement. "You're my guest, so I'll make sure you don't leave hungry." He pressed even closer, until their shoulders were touching. Those eyes swept over Yami, looking a little less than innocent in intent.

Yami's attentions stayed fixed outside. The important things had been established: the biggest pressure on him had been relieved, even if temporarily.

All promises made had been kept. Yuugi wouldn't be disappointed - at least, not about that. Everything else was negligible.

There was a small nudge and when Yami turned, Marik's expression was suddenly sullen. Blond brows furrowed, lines etched into his forehead in concern, and his lips were a straight line. Yami tried to brace himself for whatever question he knew was about to be asked.

"Are you okay, Yami? Do you want to talk about it?"

He wanted to protest, to pretend that there was no way he could be anything but 'fine'. But when a cry help began with I need to get out of here, he couldn't exactly get away with that, could he?

So, Yami kept it simple. "No."

Marik doted on him because that was normal, for them; he didn't know about everything else.

That was Yami's saving grace for this entire situation. Having another person expecting the worst from him would make matters worse. Yami would take ignorant kindnesses over frenzied concern any day.

"To which one?" Even he could be irritatingly persistent.

Yami didn't answer, and he hoped that would be enough. The rest of the ride passed in silence.

He'd only seen the Ishtar residence once, when he visited, and it looked just the way that he remembered. A rectangular structure, it was wider than it stretched back. The exterior was seamless, as though it was shaped all at once, and painted a pale yellow. Yami hadn't liked the color at first, thought it was too bright and annoying. But seeing it near in the distance filled him with a sense of warmth; he felt soothed by it.

Because of its color, the building became a beautiful shade of Blue under the night sky. Dried sand caked to the base of the home, and it gave the paint an ombre effect, becoming darker as it neared contact with the ground.

There was a tiled patio out front. Large, rounded squares of teal lined the path inside.

Marik shouted to no one in particular, "I'm back!" There was no answer and he didn't waste time waiting. Fingers wound tightly around Yami's wrist instead, pulling him further inside.

The interior was a little less modest. That pale yellow color persisted on the top half of the walls. It was interrupted by a bright blue that reminded Yami of the ocean during summer time, and stretched down to the floor. The Ishtar family altogether seemed very taken by the concept of decorating in bright colors in general. Art adorned the walls at regular intervals, and beyond the entry hall, several pieces of art were also on display.

They both traveled quickly and without stops, ascending stairs only a few steps away. There were no detours. A sharp right turn at the top was all it took to reach Marik's room.

There were a lot of memories made in this room alone, and it was the only part of the house he could recall with clarity. Yami felt badly. He didn't remember what the rest of the home looked like, and a part of him felt obligated to at least greet Ishizu since he was imposing.

Marik had a fondness for sheer fabrics. They hung all about in various colors, strung in intersecting lines across the ceiling. The light passed through them and tinged the room in colored stripes. Having just stepped in, Yami found himself blue, red and pink all at once. Where he was joined to Marik, their skin was a deep purple. The floor also took on most colors well. Slivers of what looked like cherrywood peeked out from under several intricately decorated throw rugs. This room was a canvas and Marik used it to express himself to the fullest capacity.

What furniture it held consisted of a small couch and smaller table for entertaining guests, an assuming chest of drawers in one corner and a bed in the opposite, seemed a little haphazardly arranged. They were clearly secondary considerations. Clothes were strewn about, left in piles and tossed over the edges of anything standing.

Marik had the grace to look a little bothered by it.

"It's not how I want it," he said, nodding towards a few of the piles, "but make yourself at home. You didn't bring much, did you?"

It just reminded Yami of how last minute this all was, and he felt worse for the reminder.  But he'd been asked a question. Shoulders shrugged, and then tightened, suddenly aware of the weight of a bag on his back. He'd brought a single change of clothes and that was it.

"I won't be here that long." He couldn't stay. Running from problems wasn't in his blood. Destiny had molded him into a man of action.

Maybe that was the problem. A life where he was idle by comparison was driving him mad.

Marik dropped his hand, and immediately Yami relieved himself of his tiny burden, leaving the bag leaning on one of the couch cushions. When he turned toward Marik again he started. The man was just behind him - so close that in turning they brushed against each other. The contact made him self-conscious all over again. He was there precisely for space, which he desperately needed.

Those lavender eyes crinkled at the edges in that same strange expression he'd had a in the car. "You're not alright," Marik said. "Did something happen?" So much for that. He leaned in closer, and Yami sat on the couch to create a bit of a gap between them.

The pressure for an answer set upon him in waves. "I was suffocating," he blurted out.

Marik's expression shifted to something recognizable. "It must be bad for you to take me up on my offer." Suspicion. It reminded him of Yuugi, and that made him more uncomfortable.

Yami gulped air, and very carefully avoided the attempt at prying. He looked away and couldn't meet Marik's gaze. "I enjoy your company most of the time." There. That was personable, right? Racking his brain, it agreed that he'd given a typical response.

"Don't bullshit me," Marik snapped, sliding onto the couch next to him. "Should I be worried about you? Do I need to talk to Yuugi?"

He struggled to fight off a cringe at the very idea. "Please don't do that."

But Marik was bold, and unafraid to press further. "Why? What's he going to tell me if I do?"

This place was supposed to feel safer for him. Perhaps Marik was only being a concerned friend, but it was only making him more nervous. He had hoped to be convincing enough to not be fussed over. "He'll tell you to be worried about me."

Pale brows knitted, and Marik's hands moved to rest on Yami's shoulders. He winced at the contact.

"Dammit, Yami, just tell me - should I be worried or not? What do you need me to do?"

He'd taken a twelve hour flight to stop himself from doing something stupid. Clearly he needed help. The emotion he felt welling up inside would be overwhelming, before long. He was incapable of handling anything. No wonder Yuugi had hidden their link away. Who would want to be connected to him? Why couldn't he just deal with his problems like a normal person - just sit and think and persevere?

When he opened his mouth to say, Yes, please worry, the words caught in his throat. He tried again and still, nothing came out. Dread began to creep over him, a chill that began to crawl up his injured hands like an illness, spreading to infect the rest of him. Soon enough, he wouldn't feel comfortable expressing anything. He was thousands of miles away from home, and no one knew him here. No one knew about his history, recent or otherwise.

If he wanted to perish here, he really could. Yami couldn't let that happen. He couldn't get stuck.

Without any sort of explanation, Marik had done this for him, had taken him into the Ishtar home. It would hurt immensely to have the one person who still believed in him wholeheartedly to know just how misplaced that belief was. But if anyone deserved to know more about how he felt, it was the man sitting next to him.

Say it, he urged himself, internally. Fucking do something.

The deep breath that he took was not enough to muster the strength he needed. "I just don't understand," his voice was small, fading, as he whispered, "why I'm so fucked up." He nodded, finally, to answer the first question he'd been asked, but it hardly mattered now; it'd be lost in translation.

Yami didn't breathe in the silence that followed.

Marik did. A loud sigh tumbled out into the small space between them. That hesitation was only for a moment, though. That momentary stutter in time became a hug, and he pulled Yami to him.

"No - you're perfect," Marik said. "There's nothing wrong with you." He wished it was true. Soft lips brushed a kiss against his forehead. Marik held him, but barely. "I want to know what happened."

Mokuba would ask this, Yami thought. What would he think? How upset would he be?

Yami didn't want to see anyone else disappointed in him. Marik, for all his flaws and bravado, was never disappointed. Even this, the sight of him broken and needy, only spurned more motivation and care. Marik still saw him as a hero, shiny and golden and full of capability.

What sort of person could look at this mess and call it 'perfect'?

But that didn't make this right, either. "This can't happen again," Yami said. The fact that he was there spoke on a weakness that he never wanted to suffer from again. He'd all but collapsed into Marik's arms, and was accepted. It was all he could do to keep his breathing steady. Heavy thoughts settled in his chest and it felt as though they were trying to crush his lungs.

There were no right choices to make. Answering one challenge correctly meant answering another wrong simultaneously. And somehow, he had to pull himself out of this quagmire.

Fingers laced themselves in his hair and for a few more moments, held him. When the silence was so offensive that Yami's ears began to ring, Marik finally said, quietly, "You're a fucking asshole, Yami."

None of the motions stopped. Those words simply hung between them, demanding an answer.

He couldn't disagree. "I'm sorry." Yami didn't want to need this, but he did.

If it were possible to look up and say that this was all a misunderstanding, that he was in fact as strong as he had always been, he would have. It hurt him to know the truth, too, to know that he couldn't handle things with Yuugi, things with himself; he'd never really tried. Now he was in shambles and there was no choice but to rely on others.

Pain was something he liked. This nagging sense of futility was something else entirely.

The second sigh that fell out of Marik betrayed Yami's hopes that somehow, this would be enough. That this embrace would be the thing to force his second wind. He heard the rasp from Marik's throat, the grind of frustration on a syllable as he found words much more easily that Yami ever would today. "Why can't you just- "

Once, he had been able to move forward with clarity and certainty. That vision of himself was something that, when he thought of it, seemed like a broken mirror. Yami was only those pieces now. Where had that power gone?

He didn't know, and the frustration forced an answer from him this time. "Because everything is wrong, Marik!" For the first time in year, he spoke plainly. There was no vagueness shrouding the sentiment, no riddle-like confession guarding it. "I try and I try and everything ends in failure. I'm not supposed to be here. I don't belong here and you all know it." When it came to criticism, it was all too easy; Yami never found it difficult to speak when it was against himself. He hated that fragmented reflection more than anyone.

His fingers dug into the Marik's hoodie, and into the skin beneath on the man's lower back. If he didn't grip tightly enough, he might try to make himself disappear.

Marik didn't reply. Instead, he pressed another kiss to Yami's forehead. "Okay, Yami. Okay." It was a testament that, despite this being the wrong decision, Yami couldn't have made a better one.

When his gasps for air slowly devolved into small, quiet sobs, Marik sprung into action.

"Come here," he said, and pulled Yami even closer; looking down put their lips close enough to meet, and he soon closed that distance, too.

This was a mistake. It wasn't so much a thought as a truth that resonated in him. He needed this, but it wasn't...

Yami pulled himself away, out of those comforting arms so that he could cross his own. "I can't," he said. They would shake if he didn't.

"Why not?" Marik asked, and sat up straight.

There was space between them again, and Yami tried to steady his breathing. For once, instead of brooding, or trying to shape his answer, Yami spoke his mind. The cat was out of the bag now, and Marik had not yet wavered. "Yuugi said it before. I have to deal with this myself. But I can't, and I..."

This all felt too familiar, and Yami didn't want to be that person again. Suddenly, he wanted to be back home, even if it meant the worst. So what if Yami hurt himself? He wasn't strong enough to keep his promises, but that was no reason to hurt Marik. None his choices made sense anymore.

"I have to choose," he said, echoing Yuugi's near-ultimatum from earlier, "and I can't..."

It can't be you.

His vision was blurry as he stood, but firm in his decision. He couldn't keep hurting people for his own sake. "I can't be here." Earlier, he told Yuugi that they hurt each other, but that wasn't the whole of it. Yami hurt himself and he hurt everyone else he became involved with, too. There was no option without the guilt of knowing that.

He had tried to fool himself, and failed.

"I can't keep doing this to you," he added.

Then Marik stood, moved to block Yami's path. Face to face, arms took hold of shoulders to hold Yami still. "Wait. I don't know what happened, but you need to slow down. This isn't like you. Take a deep breath." After a moment, Marik repeated himself. "I mean it. Breathe. Now."

So Yami did. It helped him stave off a sob, push that emotion back down, made it feel just a little less intense.

"Okay. Sit down. I have to tell you something."

The look on Marik's face didn't give anything away. So Yami kept taking breaths, swallowed them and tried to compose himself. Slowly, reluctantly, he sunk back onto the couch. When Marik crouched low in front of him, Yami panicked again. That was the opposite of what he wanted. Devotion was not what he deserved; he didn't want to have to face it.

But Marik grasped his bandaged hands and squeezed lightly. Too quickly for Yami to pull away, Marik leaned forward to press lips against the cloth covering his hands."Stop. You have to understand - I'm here because I want to be."

That wasn't comforting. If anyone asked Yuugi, he would say the same.

"And I get it, I think, what you're saying." Marik had the nerve to chuckle. "Don't be so full of yourself." Those words were said sweetly, as though they were having a chat about something pleasant. Thumbs caressed the back of Yami's hands. "You're just so upset, and I can't resist being here when--well, whenever you need it."

And that was just it. They both knew what had almost been said. "I can't- I'm not him, Marik. I'm not- "

"I know," Marik snapped. "But that's who you are to me, and that's not going to change. That's not important right now. Right now, I'm asking you to take a few minutes to pull yourself together. Chill out. Believe me, I understand. Deranged Psycho Number One over here. But you're trying to think for me. If you want to know how I feel, just ask."

Yami nodded. That was strangely sound advice. It was no secret that he brooded, overcalculated; that was the reason why he was falling apart.

Dutifully, he muttered, "How do you feel?" and braced himself for the answer. He could never be ready for it, but for Marik, he would try. Yami had been given all this attention and asked for nothing in return.

Mark never asked him for anything in return.

"Better than you," he was told. "You said you needed space. You have it. Enjoy it. Tomorrow I'm sending you back home." Those comforting hands squeezed his again. Marik inched closer, now on his knees, and smiled. "I've been talking to Ryou. He's worried about you, too. But I don't have to be. Things are just hard right now and you can't handle it. You do belong there. "

No one wanted a broken savior except this madman, and he would never understand it. With the next breath, Yami suppressed the urge to simply shut down and not think; he wanted to just force himself to stop. It was all too complicated for him.

"You're not leaving yet, so come here." This time there was no creeping and no hesitation. Hands pulled him closer. Marik took Yami's lips and held them.

That warmth in his chest bloomed during their embrace, and Yami didn't resist. He was so tired of fighting himself, of fighting for a self he didn't want. So instead he gave to Marik freely. If nothing else, Marik had earned it.

They peppered kisses back and forth, teasing, comforting touches as Marik eased himself back onto the couch. "It's okay to not be okay. You will be." More kisses were pressed to his cheeks.

Those small points of contact eased into longer embraces, like the ones they'd shared when they were together. Like the one they'd shared at the park. Marik's kisses were always filled with panting breaths and deep sighs. He would always cling for a few seconds before they broke for breath, like he couldn't get enough. Being on the receiving end of that was invigorating. And Yami was so tired.

After several minutes, Marik's hands set to roaming. One of them ended up in Yami's hair. The other traced over his chest, his sides, his hips. Marik's touch was the epitome of his personality. Rushed and hurried but somehow still well thought out. Those fingers didn't pause for long in any single place, but seemed to remember when they had reached a place where they could illicit a gasp. Marik remembered those things about him, and Yami found that remarkable. It was effective. Yami's thoughts faded into a fuzzy murmur in the back of his mind.

He reached out, too, to touch and found his attempts rebuffed fiercely.

The voice that spoke had an edge that made Yami's hair stand on end. "No. Don't move."

When they resumed, Marik watched him. Bright eyes were ravenous as Yami twisted and writhed underneath gentle touches. He unwound so easily; sunk further into the couch with every caress, opened himself more with every kiss. He wanted so badly to be filled by something other than the dread of living.

Marik whispered to him, too. Those pretty lips dripped promises that they could keep, if Yami wanted. They fed him saccharine coated words, echoed things that Marik had said told him before: that he was beloved and cared for, that he was okay just the way he was - that he didn't need to have all of the answers. The touches and kisses didn't stop, either.

When Yami was properly mewling, Marik's hands grew bolder. Fingers began loosening buttons and zippers, exploring underneath fabric. Nothing barred their paths. Skin finally meeting produced a hard shiver that caused Yami to curl up into himself. Every brush left shivers in its wake.

"You look so delicious," Marik sighed happily. His hands still traced shapes on Yami's chest and hip.

They shared another kiss and, at this point it was clear to Yami that Marik was trying to torture him into a better mood. When any feeling became nigh unbearable, when he began to squirm, Marik moved his hands somewhere else. Neck, chest, lips, back - everything felt as though it was burning when Marik was through, and then he began again. Yami's hands were fisted, clutching tightly to that lavender hoodie in an attempt to stay put. Marik's slid around to the curve of his hip and he clenched his grip. There was a longing deep down for release, and the hope that with it he could be more balanced; it would give him the peace of mind to find focus.

It was how things usually worked. Distractions kept his mind from wandering.

A chuckle filled the breaths between them. "Ryou told me to be gentle. Am I doing a good job?"

Then it was time for a break, it seemed. His hands retreated back into Yami's hair, massaging with light pressure. He cooed and sighed into Yami's ears, nipping the lobes and tracing the edges with his tongue. It was the first silence Yami felt comfortable with since he'd arrived.

"I can't say it doesn't hurt," Marik said, moments later, "to be rejected."

His voice was still husky. The words were stripped of the sting they would have usually had, like a dulled knife wrapped in silk to be given as a gift. Leave it to an Ishtar to make something so terrible sound so good.

If Yami didn't know better, he would have believed it was truly of no consequence.

"I have other things going on," Marik continued. "I keep myself busy. And I think it would be a bit worse if we didn't talk. That's not what I want." Another nip followed, this time to Yami's neck, and then his hands were moving again. This time they dropped to caress the neighboring collarbone.

The tingle left in wake of Marik's fingers rekindled the heat on Yami's skin. It was hard to concentrate on what he was being told when where was no pause in those ministrations.

"It used to really bother me. I guess sometimes it's hard? Mostly, I just can't stand to see you moping."

One of those hands trailed down his arm, over his waist and down into his pants to grasp the erection waiting there. It squeezed, and he let out a gasp. Yami buried his face into the cushions nearby as he grit his teeth.

"Oh, and I love that face. Don't hide it," Marik told him, then added, "Mokuba must love it, too."

He winced at the reminder, fought the other sounds at the top of his throat to voice it, but fell into shivers instead. He fell prey to that familiar touch again, long strokes from his base to his tip and done too quickly for him to recover from. Even when Yami shut his eyes, the image of Marik over him, bottom lip pulled between teeth, gaze lingering over his flushed face imposed even in the absence of vision. It was too familiar to him. In the end, the only sound he made was a stuttered, stifled moan that Marik worked with his fingers until it bloomed into something raucous. He pushed the worry away.

It didn't take much to work Yami to completion. His lips found themselves captive again as he came. Marik held them close, and littered Yami's face with kisses until he could begin to catch his breath again. Though it didn't occur to him at first, he realized it couldn't have been comfortable at all. The couch was small, and while simply touching was pleasant, he was nestled far better than Marik into the cushions. They weren't quite sitting and weren't quite lying down, either, bodies at an angle but flush at the sides. And still, Marik didn't move.

"Keep breathing," Marik said after a long while.

Yami found he didn't especially need the deeper breaths from before. The clutter of his thoughts weren't completely silent, but all those voices were dulled in the wake of a fresh orgasm; in having been comfortable enough to be vulnerable. He hadn't hurt himself, hadn't succumbed to his darker desires. Even the absence of pain from his climax helped him feel a little more in control of himself.

Marik tilted his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. "Better?"

There wasn't a simple answer, though. Not being overwhelmed by his problems didn't solve them. "I ...I feel better than when I got here." That bit of truth didn't cost him any guilt, and that was the most relieving part. For the moment, he was more concerned about how loud he'd been.

He tried to soak up every scrap of the goodness he'd been gifted. When he allowed himself to sink into it, the release he got from any kind of sex just centered him. His problems seemed just a little more distant. Yami was forced to slow down and as Marik had told him - breathe.

"I'm very sure that's called improvement." Finally, Marik began to carefully disentangle himself. From the moment he shifted, Yami felt the absence, and clung. Marik was just was patient as always, though, placated Yami with slow kisses and pulled himself free, cradling messy hands. "I'll be back," he promised. "You have to eat too, remember?"

Being left alone didn't feel as pressing. Yami pushed to organize himself - to think of what he needed to do. These were precious minutes of clarity, and he didn't want to them to go to waste. The conundrum of his existence still nagged at him, but it was an ache and no longer sharp stabs interfering with his thoughts. He could struggle along a little longer.

He needed to take the first step. That included owning up to his mistakes.