[YGO fic] Lonely
※ With his light gone, Marik is starting to fade away too.
※ Pairing - Marik/Ryou friendship
※ Warnings - none
※ Disclaimer - I obviously don't own it.
ღ - ღ - ღ
He looked out at the same sky he had been sitting beneath nightly for the last few months. He could remember easily how insignificant and small he’d felt against the stares of a billion or more twinkling stars on the first night he’d discovered this peace.
But mostly, he could remember his sadness.
He was the entity of pure evil. Accepted by no one, feared or hated by all. He’d been returned from the Shadow Realm only after the all mighty Son of Ra ‘purified’ his soul. He’d gained an identity and a soul of his own, but in no way had he attained a ‘life’. Even though he’d been ‘purified’ he was still not to be trusted. He was under constant supervision, if it wasn’t under the suspicious and distrustful frown of his other half’s older siblings, it was the hateful and spiteful glare of the Pharaoh himself - the all mighty Son of Ra.
More often than not, he’d wondered if it had been worth leaving the Shadows. He had gotten time to himself within the darkness, anytime he wanted. He could manipulate the Shadows to amuse himself, play with the Shadow Creatures he’d created to keep himself entertained. Now, the only time he was physically alone was in the dead of night when he’d sneak up to the roof and lay across the shingles, watching the night sky twinkle and dance.
For a long time, the only thing he could do to occupy his time was to think…nobody had taught him to read at all. He had been able to read the descriptions on the Duel Monster cards, not that anybody would let him near another card again; but he didn’t know enough to actually read a novel. The TV didn’t interest him; his imagination could come up with better storylines than half the programs running.
And nobody dared give him an object to amuse himself with. He might have used it as a weapon after all.
He’d tried talking, but nobody had listened. So he had even tried talking to himself, but that had gotten more than a few whispers about ‘insanity’ and ‘suspicious behaviour’. So he’d stopped talking altogether.
Eventually he’d been given a cheap sketchbook and a box of wax crayons and every once in a while he’d draw out a situation or an image to pass the time. If anyone had actually cared to look they would have been surprised. Not only by the raw talent of the artist, but of the content of the art. There was nothing dark or evil about any of the sketches. He’d always draw what he wanted: acceptance, a place to belong. A family.
Sometimes, when he was alone with his thoughts, he’d wonder if the Pharaoh hadn’t done this as a sort of punishment. Perhaps he deserved it, this living with no life, but that didn’t make the sting of rejection go away.
He’d tried to prove himself at first. Darkness he may be, but he wanted acceptance. Sometimes even thought he needed it. He’d tried to be nice, to be helpful, but was always told to stay out of the way. He’d be blamed when something would go wrong, but he’d grown used to that. He didn’t try anymore.
He’d never asked for anything material before. He’d been given a few pairs of old clothes, a small room with a bed, dresser and a window and a roof over his head…not that he spent his nights in that small bed. He was a spirit still, immortal. He didn’t need to sleep, or even eat…which was a good thing, he soon realized.
There had never been a plate set for him at the dining room table during family meals. Isis never had asked if he was hungry before…or even if he had wanted anything. During his time alone, he sometimes wondered what some of the things he could smell cooking tasted like. He never asked though, for fear he’d be overstepping the invisible boundaries that had been set up around him.
There was a shooting star beside the moon and his lavender eyes caught it, quickly making a wish. Something he’d heard Isis tell Malik while they had been star gazing one night. Every time he’d spotted a shooting star since, he’d ask that star the same thing he’d asked the others.
He was grateful for what he had, but there was just one thing that he wanted more than anything else. He would have happily gone on living with no life without complaint if he could have just had one conversation with someone who would actually listen. He wanted to tell someone - anyone what he was feeling at least once. They didn’t have to care or say anything in return they just had to listen.
Maybe this time will be different. He sighed and closed his eyes, knowing that once again his request would go ignored. He was shunned from humanity and ignored by the gods. But it always gave him a little hope every time.
“I thought I saw someone up here.”
The spirit jumped in surprise and shock at the sudden addition to his ears. He jumped to his feet and stared at the intruder.
White hair…
Why was the tomb robber here? He only came around to see Malik…unless the other spirit thought he was Malik…
A smile.
Not a smirk. Not the tomb thief. The only time the Thief King smiled, he’d noticed a long time ago, was when he’d look at Malik when he thought nobody was watching.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The thief’s host realized what he had done. “I was just taking a walk to clear my head and I noticed you up here…I’ll leave though, sorry to bother you.” He spoke with cheerful words and made to leave the same way he’d climbed up. A tree that had been planted long before the Ishtar’s had moved into the house.
He shook his head, “No.” He whispered softly, his voice hoarse from misuse. “You…you can stay…if you’d like.” He finally managed to spit out.
The boy smiled again and took a seat, seeming comfortable within the presence of the spirit.
Slowly, the spirit sat down again where he had been sitting before. And so they sat in silence, and though the mortal seemed comfortable with the silence, the spirit was not. Why was the boy here? The Thief even refused to associate with him…what was going to happen if the other spirit found his mortal host with the psychopath? He could just imagine what his other’s sister would have to say to him. His bedroom window would probably be barred and a lock placed on his door and what little freedom he had would be taken away.
“You seem distressed.” The other spoke, not even looking at him. “What do they call you?” He wondered, brown eyes turning to look at him.
Call him? Did he mean a name? Ah yes, his identity that nobody ever acknowledged anyway. “Marik…they called me Marik.” He replied softly, unable to look at the boy. Though the Thief was around often, this boy had never been around before. Marik knew of him, but had never actually met him, even before he’d been sent to the Shadow Realm.
The other blinked. “Called? As in they don’t call you that anymore?” White hair fell to the side as the boy tilted his head in confusion. “What do they call you now?”
Marik hesitated, not sure if he should continue and not sure if he wanted to. But the boy seemed to want to listen…wasn’t that what he’d wanted? “They…they don’t call me anything now.” He said slowly, trying to find the right words to use. He didn’t have much practice talking to people, and in his own mind, it didn’t matter if a word wasn’t quite right, he understood what he meant. “I think they’ve forgotten.” He wanted to add, ‘Or they just don’t care’ but decided not to.
The boy looked confused again, “Forgotten? How? They must use it when they talk to you.” He began.
Marik slowly shook his head and smiled, “No, they just don’t talk to me.” He shrugged it off as nothing.
The boy was quiet for a while. Perhaps it was because he didn’t know what to say, or perhaps he just didn’t want to say anything. Marik was used to that and he was content with the usual silence.
It was broken though, by the human. “How does that make you feel?” He wondered.
Marik thought, and thought hard. How did it make him feel? He’d cared at first, it had hurt. But that wasn’t the right word for it.
“It makes me feel lonely.” He decided.
“Lonely?” The white haired boy wondered. “Not angry?
Marik shook his head, “No. I deserve everything. I’m just…lonely.”
The other frowned, “How sad…when the pharaoh brought you back…I thought he had given you a second chance.”
Marik looked over at the boy. “They don’t trust me. Nobody does.”
The boy smiled sadly, “I can understand that.” He sighed, “I’ve tried to get Yugi and his friends to trust me, but I’m afraid that since Bakura is a part of me, it’ll never happen.”
Marik was quiet, and then he asked softly, “How does that make you feel?” He repeated the light’s early inquiry.
The boy looked up, brown eyes bright despite the darkness of the night. Chuckling at the irony of having his own question thrown back at him, the boy shrugged, “Lonely.” He smiled, “Hey, Marik…as long as we’re both lonely, why don’t we be lonely together?” He suggested.
The Egyptian blinked, mulling over the suggestion. If anybody saw the two of them together it would mean the end of these beautiful nights, alone with the stars. On the other hand, a conversation had been all he’d wanted and he was being offered a little more.
Deciding to take what he could get, for as long as he could get it, Marik nodded, “I’d like that.”
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※ Pairing - Marik/Ryou friendship
※ Warnings - none
※ Disclaimer - I obviously don't own it.
ღ - ღ - ღ
He looked out at the same sky he had been sitting beneath nightly for the last few months. He could remember easily how insignificant and small he’d felt against the stares of a billion or more twinkling stars on the first night he’d discovered this peace.
But mostly, he could remember his sadness.
He was the entity of pure evil. Accepted by no one, feared or hated by all. He’d been returned from the Shadow Realm only after the all mighty Son of Ra ‘purified’ his soul. He’d gained an identity and a soul of his own, but in no way had he attained a ‘life’. Even though he’d been ‘purified’ he was still not to be trusted. He was under constant supervision, if it wasn’t under the suspicious and distrustful frown of his other half’s older siblings, it was the hateful and spiteful glare of the Pharaoh himself - the all mighty Son of Ra.
More often than not, he’d wondered if it had been worth leaving the Shadows. He had gotten time to himself within the darkness, anytime he wanted. He could manipulate the Shadows to amuse himself, play with the Shadow Creatures he’d created to keep himself entertained. Now, the only time he was physically alone was in the dead of night when he’d sneak up to the roof and lay across the shingles, watching the night sky twinkle and dance.
For a long time, the only thing he could do to occupy his time was to think…nobody had taught him to read at all. He had been able to read the descriptions on the Duel Monster cards, not that anybody would let him near another card again; but he didn’t know enough to actually read a novel. The TV didn’t interest him; his imagination could come up with better storylines than half the programs running.
And nobody dared give him an object to amuse himself with. He might have used it as a weapon after all.
He’d tried talking, but nobody had listened. So he had even tried talking to himself, but that had gotten more than a few whispers about ‘insanity’ and ‘suspicious behaviour’. So he’d stopped talking altogether.
Eventually he’d been given a cheap sketchbook and a box of wax crayons and every once in a while he’d draw out a situation or an image to pass the time. If anyone had actually cared to look they would have been surprised. Not only by the raw talent of the artist, but of the content of the art. There was nothing dark or evil about any of the sketches. He’d always draw what he wanted: acceptance, a place to belong. A family.
Sometimes, when he was alone with his thoughts, he’d wonder if the Pharaoh hadn’t done this as a sort of punishment. Perhaps he deserved it, this living with no life, but that didn’t make the sting of rejection go away.
He’d tried to prove himself at first. Darkness he may be, but he wanted acceptance. Sometimes even thought he needed it. He’d tried to be nice, to be helpful, but was always told to stay out of the way. He’d be blamed when something would go wrong, but he’d grown used to that. He didn’t try anymore.
He’d never asked for anything material before. He’d been given a few pairs of old clothes, a small room with a bed, dresser and a window and a roof over his head…not that he spent his nights in that small bed. He was a spirit still, immortal. He didn’t need to sleep, or even eat…which was a good thing, he soon realized.
There had never been a plate set for him at the dining room table during family meals. Isis never had asked if he was hungry before…or even if he had wanted anything. During his time alone, he sometimes wondered what some of the things he could smell cooking tasted like. He never asked though, for fear he’d be overstepping the invisible boundaries that had been set up around him.
There was a shooting star beside the moon and his lavender eyes caught it, quickly making a wish. Something he’d heard Isis tell Malik while they had been star gazing one night. Every time he’d spotted a shooting star since, he’d ask that star the same thing he’d asked the others.
He was grateful for what he had, but there was just one thing that he wanted more than anything else. He would have happily gone on living with no life without complaint if he could have just had one conversation with someone who would actually listen. He wanted to tell someone - anyone what he was feeling at least once. They didn’t have to care or say anything in return they just had to listen.
Maybe this time will be different. He sighed and closed his eyes, knowing that once again his request would go ignored. He was shunned from humanity and ignored by the gods. But it always gave him a little hope every time.
“I thought I saw someone up here.”
The spirit jumped in surprise and shock at the sudden addition to his ears. He jumped to his feet and stared at the intruder.
White hair…
Why was the tomb robber here? He only came around to see Malik…unless the other spirit thought he was Malik…
A smile.
Not a smirk. Not the tomb thief. The only time the Thief King smiled, he’d noticed a long time ago, was when he’d look at Malik when he thought nobody was watching.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The thief’s host realized what he had done. “I was just taking a walk to clear my head and I noticed you up here…I’ll leave though, sorry to bother you.” He spoke with cheerful words and made to leave the same way he’d climbed up. A tree that had been planted long before the Ishtar’s had moved into the house.
He shook his head, “No.” He whispered softly, his voice hoarse from misuse. “You…you can stay…if you’d like.” He finally managed to spit out.
The boy smiled again and took a seat, seeming comfortable within the presence of the spirit.
Slowly, the spirit sat down again where he had been sitting before. And so they sat in silence, and though the mortal seemed comfortable with the silence, the spirit was not. Why was the boy here? The Thief even refused to associate with him…what was going to happen if the other spirit found his mortal host with the psychopath? He could just imagine what his other’s sister would have to say to him. His bedroom window would probably be barred and a lock placed on his door and what little freedom he had would be taken away.
“You seem distressed.” The other spoke, not even looking at him. “What do they call you?” He wondered, brown eyes turning to look at him.
Call him? Did he mean a name? Ah yes, his identity that nobody ever acknowledged anyway. “Marik…they called me Marik.” He replied softly, unable to look at the boy. Though the Thief was around often, this boy had never been around before. Marik knew of him, but had never actually met him, even before he’d been sent to the Shadow Realm.
The other blinked. “Called? As in they don’t call you that anymore?” White hair fell to the side as the boy tilted his head in confusion. “What do they call you now?”
Marik hesitated, not sure if he should continue and not sure if he wanted to. But the boy seemed to want to listen…wasn’t that what he’d wanted? “They…they don’t call me anything now.” He said slowly, trying to find the right words to use. He didn’t have much practice talking to people, and in his own mind, it didn’t matter if a word wasn’t quite right, he understood what he meant. “I think they’ve forgotten.” He wanted to add, ‘Or they just don’t care’ but decided not to.
The boy looked confused again, “Forgotten? How? They must use it when they talk to you.” He began.
Marik slowly shook his head and smiled, “No, they just don’t talk to me.” He shrugged it off as nothing.
The boy was quiet for a while. Perhaps it was because he didn’t know what to say, or perhaps he just didn’t want to say anything. Marik was used to that and he was content with the usual silence.
It was broken though, by the human. “How does that make you feel?” He wondered.
Marik thought, and thought hard. How did it make him feel? He’d cared at first, it had hurt. But that wasn’t the right word for it.
“It makes me feel lonely.” He decided.
“Lonely?” The white haired boy wondered. “Not angry?
Marik shook his head, “No. I deserve everything. I’m just…lonely.”
The other frowned, “How sad…when the pharaoh brought you back…I thought he had given you a second chance.”
Marik looked over at the boy. “They don’t trust me. Nobody does.”
The boy smiled sadly, “I can understand that.” He sighed, “I’ve tried to get Yugi and his friends to trust me, but I’m afraid that since Bakura is a part of me, it’ll never happen.”
Marik was quiet, and then he asked softly, “How does that make you feel?” He repeated the light’s early inquiry.
The boy looked up, brown eyes bright despite the darkness of the night. Chuckling at the irony of having his own question thrown back at him, the boy shrugged, “Lonely.” He smiled, “Hey, Marik…as long as we’re both lonely, why don’t we be lonely together?” He suggested.
The Egyptian blinked, mulling over the suggestion. If anybody saw the two of them together it would mean the end of these beautiful nights, alone with the stars. On the other hand, a conversation had been all he’d wanted and he was being offered a little more.
Deciding to take what he could get, for as long as he could get it, Marik nodded, “I’d like that.”
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