The Less Familiar One

The Less Familiar One

By: Taemanaku

Summery: It was a mistake really. A mistake to believe that Bakura could be replaced. Angstshipping/Thiefshipping Oneshot

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Marik knocks at the door in three quick thumps.

He waits impatiently, nervously, as the rain comes down in sheets and drips over his face. He fiddles with the motorcycle keys in his coat pocket as his heart races.

The door, made of extensively polished red oak, seems to stare at him stoically, standing before him sturdily. Marik doesn't feel sturdy at all. He feels drowned. He's not sure what he expects of this visit, exactly, but hopes perhaps for a gulp of air.

The door opens.

"Marik?" the boy asks, sounding distinctly surprised and curious.

Marik's breath catches, and he finds himself staring at brown eyes. White hair. Long, long white hair and alabaster skin. It has been so long—far too long since he has last seen these features. Momentarily, Marik is simply struck by the resemblance.

"Ryou," he finally says.

The word doesn't match—doesn't quite describe—these features. Marik isn't used to the name, and rather chokes on it.

The boy smiles brightly. "It's great to see you, Marik. Please, come in, don't stand out in the rain!"

Marik frowns upon hearing the kind words, but quickly crosses the threshold and enters Ryou's warm household. He shakes his hair a bit, to get the rain out.

"Here, let me take your coat," Ryou offers, and removes the coat from Marik's shoulders in an instant. "You shouldn't ride your bike out in the rain—you'll catch a cold that way. I'll make you some tea to warm you up."

Marik stands a bit shell-shocked at Ryou's torrent of well-meaning words. He's hardly ever spoken with Ryou before now, yet here he is, acting as if they're old friends. He doesn't even question Marik's visit. Somehow, that doesn't make Marik feel better; Ryou's words and actions stand in complete contrast with what Marik expects.

"Earl Grey or Lady Londonderry?" Ryou asks as he fumbles through his kitchen cupboards.

It takes Marik a moment to realize he's asking about tea. Marik's never even heard of the second option, so he chooses the more familiar one.

"Earl Grey."

"Hmm," Ryou digs out two boxes of packaged tea bags. "I rather like Lady Londonderry, but I suppose that's because I've gotten tired of the old favorite."

As Ryou prepares two cups of tea, Marik stands just near the kitchen door and takes in the sight of the cramped apartment. Everything is neat and ordered. The sugar bowl is labeled Sugar and the cookie jar on top of the fridge is labeled Cookies. A large ceramic bowl sits in the middle of the dining table, containing several peaches, apples, plums, and figs. The beige tablecloth features a pattern of round, orange pumpkins, whose vines link into a cluster of supple, purple grapes.

Marik feels irritated as he takes in the homeliness. It looks far too comfortable, and the colors far too gentle. Marik craves disorder. He craves spontaneity and impulse, but finds none of that in this welcoming kitchen.

Then Marik examines Ryou. The boy is wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a fleece pullover, and pads across the wooden oak floor with bare feet. His every movement reminds Marik of how intimate he'd been with this boy. Or rather, with his body.