Promise Me Nothing

Chapter Fourteen: Bakura

Marik never complained about being cold, he never shivered and in whole, seemed unbothered by late December, edging into Christmas, despite his scanty attire. These new clothes would help warm him (even if he didn’t seem affected) and hide his skin from just anyone passing by.

At home, Marik headed straight for the ratty couch, stretching himself out over it. “I’m taking a nap,” he said, hand flapping imperially.

“Alright, Marik-sama.” I lugged the clothing bag to his room, which was somehow already a mess.

I kicked things out of the way, nudging his old clothes into a pile. Most of them were exact mirrors of what he was currently wearing. He had other clothes, of course, but he obviously didn’t like them as much.

Snatching a limp, purple piece of clothing off the floor, I tossed it between my hands, contemplating, before grabbing two more shirts just like the first—his only three crop tops, excluding the one he was currently wearing. These would be disposed of, forcing Marik to wear his new clothes.

For the moment though, I just stashed the shirts in my own closet. This done, and oart of Marik’s room cleaned up, I looked into the living room.

Marik’s body was cramped into a ball, curled tight around himself due to the couch’s size. He was still growing, though, not yet being eighteen. My own body back in Egypt hadn’t even reached his current height, though I’d been full-grown.

It was strange, looking so passively back at my past. Usually there were emotions with each memory. Right now, I was just tired out from being with Marik.

I came forward, stooping over the couch to gather the Egyptian into my arms. He was lighter than I expected, only fifty-five or so kilos, I guessed.

His body curled into me, lavender eyes stretching open and focusing on me. “Fluffy,” was all he said before closing his eyes again, expression peaceful. A smirk from a smothered grin coiled around my lips. I brought him to his room, placing him in bed.

“Goodnight, Marik,” I said, letting my hand rest over his forehead a moment.

Barely, I was beginning to think, this was possibly more than just a lusting desire. It was fiercer than that, less sexual than it had been.

In the end, what did it matter, as long as this pleasure never faded?