Promise Me Nothing

Chapter Thirteen: Marik

“There is nothing wrong with what I wear,” I said, as I was forcefully dragged along behind Bakura, who was pulling me through the clothing store.

“Right.” Bakura stopped, glancing back at me. “Do you have your Rod?”

“Always!” I reached for my belt loop and felt nothing. “Never mind. It’s in the motorbike cubbyhole.”

“Well, if we’re to pay for anything, you’ll have to go get it.” His grip tightened on my wrist, a twisting chill running up to my shoulder. “Let’s just hope there’s a Steve at the counter.”

I stumbled after him, trying to telepathically make him detour to the snack section. We passed by that aisle without even slowing. I sighed.

Then suddenly, Bakura stopped as I kept walking, me smacking into his back.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to shelves and racks lining the walls. “Normal clothes.”

“If ‘normal’ is what you wear, I’d rather be weird,” I muttered, picking at a generic shirt. In an audible voice, I said, “I’m not gonna wear any of this. It’s all ugly,” I whined the last word, draping myself over Bakura. “Let’s just go get snacks.”

“You’re not wearing this, either.” Bakura grabbed a fistful of my crop top, pulling me off of him.

“Guess I’ll just be naked, then.” I perked, grabbing the hem of my shirt.

Bakura smacked my hand, other hand grabbing me by the hair and yanking me to the offending clothing. “You’re going to pick out some clothes while I go get your Rod. Stay here.” He backed away, gaze holding steady over me before he turned, walking out the way we’d come.

I poked through the clothes, gagging over the selection. Not a crop top or sexy item to be found. After a few minutes, I began piling clothes on my arm, with each new addition apologising to my current apparel. Once Bakura returned, my stack was apparently satisfactory, since he didn’t nag at me.

“C’mon,” he said, trading me clothes for Millennium Rod.

After some asking, pleading and begging, there turned out to be an employee named Steve. We paid (mind-controlled the Steve to pay), then left the store, Bakura carrying the bag.

I pushed my rod into the bag, before freezing. “My fancy socks!” I turned, preparing to bolt back in.

Bakura reached out, hand falling to take my own, pulling me gently back. “It’ll be fine. Come back later; they’ll have socks still. Let’s just go home.” He was scowling, tips of his ears red.

I looked at the store, then Bakura, then the store again. “Alright,” I said, sighing and plodding after him. Our fingers were tangled where he hadn’t let go yet. It felt a little bit nice, having something to warm me in the cold air, my heart having sped up when he touched me.

Cautiously, I scotched closer, before squeezing his hand. Bakura’s step faltered briefly, eyes pointing straight ahead. I let him regain his footing before I leaned our arms together, nestling my head against his shoulder.

I could hear his breathing quicken, puffs of visible air appearing more frequently out of his mouth. We were close enough to the motorbike now, so I let go, untwining from Bakura and going to the bike. Even being apart from him now, his warmth and outline on my skin lingered.

I smiled, whisking hair out of my face. That had been really nice, actually. Maybe, if it was ever cold again, we could do that again.