Promise Me Nothing

Chapter Nine: Marik

I woke up, folded into Bakura's pale arms, with his face pressed into the soft area of my neck. His lips were softly moving against my throat, meaningless garble close to words. I shivered, noticing he'd thrown off the duvet.

On any other morning, I would've thrown Bakura off, but this morning, I didn't. There was something about seeing him in this light, each subtle crevice of his skin illuminated, that made me pause.

I couldn't stare at him forever, though.

With subdued movements, I extracted my shoulder from under his head, rolling out of his arms. Out of his grasp, I stood up, heading into the kitchen, making sure I stepped quietly.

I dug through the mostly-empty fridge till I found the eggs, balancing two in one hand, swinging my hip against the refrigerator door to close it. The fragile eggs in hand, I got out a bowl, before cracking the eggshells and depositing the contents into a bowl, then stirring them together. The mixed eggs were put into the microwave and left to cook, while I prepared myself a cup of coffee.

The timer went off, letting me know the eggs were done. The clear liquid had turned fully opaque, in yellow-white swirls. I jabbed a fork, tines down, into the cooked eggs.

Bakura came in, stumbling and muttering. On one side of his head, the hair was matted and tangled close to his skull, while on the other side, it was puffy and messy. However, on both sides, his "kitty ears" were sticking straight out.

I shuffled the eggs and my coffee, offering the former to Bakura. "Here."

The dark spirit of the Millennium Ring made a weird noise, which I took to mean, "thank you, oh smexy lord of benevolent sexy appeal." He then lurched to the table, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

Finishing my cup of coffee, I placed the empty mug into the sink, next pulling out a bowl and breakfast cereal. I poured the cereal into the bowl, stopping when it was nearly overflowing, then splashing milk in, sending sugar-coated pieces flying over the counter. I went to the table, flourishing a spoon out. Bakura and I enjoyed our breakfasts together in silence, though he less enjoyed, and more sullenly glared.

I finished my bowl, glancing up. Tantalisingly bouncing along with his chewing were Bakura's two poofs of hair. They looked so fluffy this morning, more so than usual.

Starting to stand, I slowly reached out to Bakura's head. He shot me a wordless warning with his eyes, which I ignored.

In a short instant, my hand made contact with one of the sections of sticky-up hair. It was only for a moment, my hand tingling in the sensation of contact.

I jerked away my hand, biting down a smile. "I'm going to shower," I said, backing out quickly. There was death in Bakura's expression-which mean now was a good time to run.

Scampering toward the washroom, my hand still felt the softness from the forbidden touch.