Ataahua AN: This chapter was a real blast to write, but be warned, it was also a bit of an emotional roller coaster. I just want to mention that a few things happen in the next few chapters that I initially worried were out of character for Marik. Then, I remembered he isn't canon Marik. He's IAN Marik. He's had over 250k words and 33 chapters of character development and relationship progress with A'isha. With that in mind, I figure something out of character for canon Marik might not be for IAN Marik. What this means is a lot of fun for you guys, so YAY!

DH AN: Honestly, with all that being said, I'm still somewhat amazed that Ataahua let me go full RH Mode a few chapters ago- cause canon Marik does not seem to have that much…. Elasticity/ I think I overdid it at any the emotional roller coaster sentiment. (In Blondie's case, I say Emotionally Flippy.)

Enjoy IAN's thirty-third chapter, Pillow Talk: Round One. ;)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Pillow Talk: Round One

When A'isha awoke, it was to sunlight streaking between the seam of her eyelids. She rolled onto her side, only for pain to swarm her body.

Last night came rushing back.

Collins' screams.

Amara's pleas.

Marik's wrath.

Her blue eyes opened to the blindingly white bedroom, soaked in morning light—

Four soft knocks on wood had her tensing, until she remembered Marik never knocked like that. Odion did.

A'isha stretched beneath the sheets like a lithe cat, only for a wince to twist her face. A groan came next. "Come in," she yawned, eyes on the door.

The lock clicked free and unsurprisingly, the door eased aside to reveal Odion, a mauve cloak hiding his bulk and a silver tray in one large hand. The poor guy looked like he'd been dragged through his own personal hell. God, if even he looked awful, she must've looked like the damn Grudge. She sure as heck had one right now.

Cutlery rattled on the tray as Odion closed the door. "My apologies for the early intrusion, A'isha." He approached with slow steps, his gaze on the plush carpet.

That had her frowning. "Odion, don't beat yourself up about last night." She sat upright beneath the sheets, stacking her pillows behind her. "He had a point to prove. Trying to stop him in front of his man harem would've made things worse." She and Amara had learnt that first-hand.

Odion stopped near the head of her bed, his olive eyes crossing hers. She knew then that listening to her advice would be no simple feat for him. Even she was having a tough time doing so.

"May I?" He glanced at her sheet-covered lap, then at the tray in his hand. The heavenly scent of bacon was undeniable and already, she was salivating.

But a question rode the tip of her tongue, and given his next words, it must've been all over her face.

"A term of last night's ruse was that you'd eat whatever he eats."

With his free hand, he grabbed a hefty, hard-covered book from the tray. She glimpsed "Shakespeare" in gold font across its front, among other words she'd missed. Then, he placed the tray in her lap, presenting two slices of buttered toast, a side of scrambled eggs and another of thick bacon strips. Beside the white plate, a steaming mug of brown liquid sat. Probably a mocha.

A'isha gaped at what, to her, looked like a dang smorgasbord right now. Her stomach felt hollow at the mere sight of it, something she was eager to fix. She plucked the cutlery off the tray, looking to Odion. "Isn't he a vegetarian?"

"You and Amara aren't." He offered what seemed like his best attempt at a smile, but it didn't quite fit the definition. No, it looked more like he'd sucked a lemon. Or dealt with an egotistical psychopath of a boss only twelve hours prior.

A'isha appreciated the thought, all the same. A failed attempt at a smile sure bet the venomous glares that whack job hurled at her last night. "So," she drawled, her cutlery clattering as she adjusted her grip, "Amara's getting the same food as me?"

"She is."

A'isha stared at her plate, expelling a sigh. "That's good, at least." She pursed her lips for a fleeting moment. "I'm… surprised he's honouring any of the terms we agreed on." Her knife and fork shook in her grasp. Regardless, he was still the most disgusting pig she'd ever had the misfortune of knowing.

A'isha looked up just in time to catch Odion's lips twitch. Seemed he was fighting a frown.

Which didn't bode well for her.

"He's honouring… some of the terms."

Her breakfast fell victim to a glare. She had a sneaking suspicion the meals and this room were the only conditions he planned to honour. And really, this room was more like a punishment now. That is, assuming she couldn't leave nor see Amara at her leisure.

A small sigh from Odion stole her focus. "May I sit, A'isha?"

"Knock yourself out."

Book in hand, he settled at the foot of the bed. His eyes kept ducking back to the floor and she knew her presence wasn't to blame. He had no reason to be intimidated by her. No, whatever it was, it involved that thing that didn't bode well for her sorry butt.

"So, uh"—she made a start on cutting her bacon—"what isn't he honouring?"

Odion's eyes were on the large hands in his lap, his thumbs circling each other. "Under no circumstances will you or Amara leave your room unsupervised."

"Unsurprising," she muttered, glancing between him and her plate. "What else?"

"In Amara's case, the camera room will be manned at all times—"

Screech!

A'isha paused mid-slice, her eyes darting to Odion. His cloak covered his shoulders quite thoroughly, but even so, he looked stiff. And if her suspicions were correct, he had good reason to be. Amara's room, like her own, could be locked from the outside; yet, his royal highness still felt the need to have the cameras manned nonstop. For her, that could only mean—

"As this room has no cameras and we have no spares at this time"—his thumbs were practically sprinting around each other—"you'll instead be monitored in-person twenty-three hours a day."

Her chest squeezed tight.

"I'll be with you between the hours of seven AM and ten PM."

"He'll—" Of course, her voice cracked. "He'll be the other guard, won't he?"

Odion nodded slowly.

Immediately, her insides writhed at the reality of being alone with him. Doubly so at the fact Mr Actual Nice Guy would be replaced by Mr Saltier Than The Sea, which made for one helluva contrast to deal with so suddenly.

Odion's gaze shifted from his lap to meet hers, revealing eyes rife with pity. She resisted every dang urge to tremble.

"He'll watch you between the hours of ten PM and six AM..."

Fingers shaking, A'isha dumped her cutlery on her plate. "Three guesses as to how he argued his case!" Her arms flew in sync with her imminent spiel. "Probably something like… oh, I'm a raging insomniac—emphasis on RAGING—so it's only logical that I'm the one to assume night-watch duties of my DEAR captive." She snorted. "Oh, and after three Rare Hunters threatened to – how would he put it? – claim her maidenhead, I really don't trust her with ANYONE but me or you, Odion. Oh wait! I was one of those Rare Hunters. Well, too bad I can't recognise my own shortcomings because if I could, then MAYBE I'd realise how utterly STUPID it is to guard the girl I went FULL PSYCHO ON last night!" She splayed her fingers across her chest in a mocking manner. "Alas, I'm NEVER wrong. Dear A'isha ALWAYS has a choice and how DARE she choose to blab to Julie to get out of her little predicament – also known as being KIDNAPPED. So, uh, sucks to be her!"

Her eyes fell on Odion. His darted away that very moment, but she could've sworn a hint of amusement had glittered within them.

A'isha twisted her arms across her chest, complete with a huff. "Actually, that's WAY to self-aware for him." Her shoulders slackened with a sigh. "I'm right in thinking he wants to keep Mar and I apart, right?"

"Correct," Odion murmured, sparing her a glance. The pity was back, as much as he tried to hide it.

She plucked up her cutlery, cutting the rest of her bacon strips. "Sorry if my company's a bit… sour today." Bacon now cut, she mixed the pieces with her eggs. "I'm certifiably pissed right now, but none of it's meant for you."

"I understand, A'isha." He observed as she took her first bite. "While delivering Amara's breakfast, she mentioned you prefer to be left to your own devices after any, uh, unpleasant events."

With a nod, A'isha swallowed. "She's not wrong. Though… before you do that"—she paused, a chunk of toast and egg on her fork—"do you know if Mirah told her that he… he didn't… y'know?"

Odion nodded. "Mirah relayed the information to me, and I to her."

Tension drained from her shoulders. Some of it, anyway. She still felt as stiff as a cat clinging to a sinking log out at sea.

"I'll spend the day reading my book," Odion continued, brandishing the green hard-cover he'd dumped in his lap, "but if you wish to talk, know that it's welcomed." His smile seemed a little less forced now. "Once you've finished your breakfast, feel free to get showered and sorted at your own pace."

The bed gave a quiet squeak as Odion returned to his feet, book once again in hand.

"Hey, Odion? Could you please switch on that blue boom box?" Her fork was full, so she instead pointed her knife toward a white shelf across from her bed. Marik had gifted – she used that word reluctantly – it to her back in Catania. "Whatever CD's in it is fine."

Odion didn't hesitate to do so.

And she didn't hesitate to thank him.

Adam Lambert's "For Your Entertainment" bounced in the background as A'isha scoffed down her breakfast, her haste driven by the thought of washing away at least some of the prior night's ick. After grabbing an oversized T-shirt, a pair of grey sweatpants, and some fresh underwear, she limped into the bathroom and scanned for cameras. None that she could see. Hoping that was so, she went about undressing. Her body shivered and screamed in protest as the aftermath of Marik's ire was exposed to the open air. Hopefully he wasn't watching through The Rod.

To her distaste, bluish purple fingerprints scattered her arms, and one look in the mirror above the pristine sink revealed knuckles still stamped across her cheek. (Frankly, comparing her to the Grudge really wasn't unreasonable at this point.) Removing her bandages blind seemed like a mission and a half, so in case he was watching, they came off before her lingerie. Exposed was a sizeable scab on her knee, smaller ones on her knuckles, and a pool of bruising around her now-slightly less swollen ankle.

As her lips and body trembled, A'isha wished only rage was to blame. "Damn psycho!" She hurled the bandages at the floor, regretting it as pain flared all over.

The better half of her shower was spent scrubbing with her eyes shut. The other half was spent with a vision so blurred that even with them open, Marik couldn't have seen a thing.

For once, she welcomed the tears. Each and every one.

When suppressed, they drowned her.

But when released, she felt just a little calmer, a little lighter, a little freer.

And right now, any sense of freedom was a welcomed one.

A'isha rolled a ballpoint pen between her fingers, her free hand toying with the edge of the paper splayed before her. The bedsprings squeaked as she shifted to her stomach and between doodles, stole glances at Odion. He'd spent the day in a modest armchair, tucked away in the corner closest to her bathroom door, his lap wearing that hefty book. Her own day had consisted of doodling, a little small talk with Odion, and singing along to the radio while counting the two hundred and twelve squares on her ceiling.

Dusk descended, reds and oranges fading above the Mediterranean Sea, and with no clock in the room, Odion's eyes often flicked from the manila pages to the salt-spattered porthole behind him. Night had long since befallen when he started to fidget. Clearly, she wasn't the only one dreading the shift switchover.

Far too soon, three distinct knocks echoed.

And just like that, A'isha's body ached all over, last night's injuries once again flaming to life. She stared down the hallway door, apprehension squeezing her chest. Maybe twenty-four hours had passed since she'd last seen Sir Jerk-A-Lot. That wasn't nearly long enough.

No length of time was.

A lock clicked, the door eased open, and paper crunched in her palm at the mere sight of him.

Marik's face was still, indifference seeming to ooze from his every pore, but as he stepped into the room, his body betrayed him. Stiff shoulders. Every pace unusually rigid. He reminded her of a child, cautiously showing his face after throwing a petulant fit, complete with a slam of his bedroom door.

Really, that description was right on the money.

He'd thrown what might've been the biggest temper tantrum known to man. God, he'd even slammed his door at the end of it all.

A'isha bit back a scoff. His body might be betraying him, but she was clearly misreading its language. There was no way he felt even the slightest bit of shame over what he'd done.

Hell would sooner freeze over.

A'isha sat upright on the bed, legs folded. Her eyes followed Marik's every rigid step as he crossed the room, not once looking her way.

Bookmarking his page, Odion eased his novel to a close and rose to his feet. "Ten PM?"

Marik stopped before him, offering a curt nod. "It is." He moved to claim the armchair. "Enjoy your sleep—"

Odion placed a hand on Marik's shoulder, stopping him mid-step. Not a word was exchanged between them, but a two-second look was. She suspected that was Odion speak – or in this case, no-speak – for "don't be an ass". Seriously, that man was the living embodiment of a giant teddy bear.

As he approached the exit, Odion glanced her way. The pity in his eyes, as concealed as he tried to keep it, still wasn't lost on her.

From the corner of her own eye, Marik hooked his laptop adapter into a socket near the armchair. He was on his knees and again, her fist clamped down on the paper in her palm.

Her senses were numb, limbs unresponsive, and through it all, Marik's laugh echoed in her mind alone. Then, like a second backhand, a command sliced through her head.

"Kneel!"

And she did, stiffly, dazed as she dropped before him, hot pain screaming from the open gash in her knee—

"Goodnight, A'isha."

Odion coaxed her back to the present, offering a reassuring smile. His large hand was wrapped around the knob of her bedroom door, still ajar.

"Night, Odion." She couldn't bring herself to call it a good one.

The nicer man in the room – or rather, the only one – sent her one final, fleeting look. Perhaps a silent apology. He didn't owe her one. And she didn't expect one from the jerk who did.

Too soon, the door closed.

They were alone.

Marik settled in the armchair, his fingers gliding across the keys of his laptop. His posture was as annoyingly perfect as ever.

Unsurprising, she thought, withholding a scoff. Slouching must be hard with an entire tree trunk up your ass.

The typing stopped.

Narrowed eyes shot her way.

A'isha went rigid, realising he was in her head, but her death glare only fell for a second.

"You clearly have something to say," he spat, snapping his laptop shut. "Say it." It was a dare, a challenge, an ultimatum. "I'm waiting."

Crunch!

The paper in her hand looked like it'd gone through a trash compactor.

"I would, but you've probably heard it all before." She glared at The Rod, resting on a side table to his left. "And after enduring your idea of fun, I'd really hate to bore you."

Marik's eyes broke away from her face, falling to her bruised arms. Probably admiring his damn handiwork. He recaptured her gaze seconds later. "Try me."

"Thanks for the generous offer, but I think I've undergone enough bodily harm to last me a good, long while." Testing his patience was riskier than ever, but damn it, he made it so hard not to!

"Do you really think I'd do more damage?"

"Do you really think you wouldn't?"

Only as he broke their unannounced staring contest did she realise she'd been a participant.

"Last night," he murmured, eyes fixed on the wall to his right, "was an anomaly."

A'isha stilled, his words like flint, igniting hot fury within her. "An anomaly?" The question came slowly, shakily, riddled with quiet disbelief, as though repeating his words would make his offhanded stupidity make sense any quicker. It didn't. No, it just served as oil for the fire that burned in her chest. "Last night was an ANOMALY?" Had it not been for her ankle, she would've leapt from the bed and marched right up to him. Instead, she flung the paper ball at his head. Not nearly as satisfying, especially when he caught it. "Have you gone FULL STUPID?! What the hell is WRONG with you?!"

Marik tossed the paper ball in a nearby trash can. "Nothing you can fix." His answer was calm, though perhaps a touch bitter.

Two-night-old memories careened through her mind, turning the hot fury in her chest to ice.

"I was ten," he whispered, so softly and suddenly that at first, she thought she was hearing things. The pale moon reflected in his eyes—set on the ocean, glassy and lost and screaming his solitude—

"That night was also an anomaly."

"Get. Out. Of my head."

Marik huffed, clearly amused. "I don't need the Millennium Rod to know where your mind has wandered."

The gold bands around his arms shone in the dim lamplight as he extended a hand toward the side table. She tensed, at first thinking he was reaching for The Rod. Instead, he grabbed a beige mug he must've brought with him and drew it to his lips, drinking deeply of its contents. A black coffee, no doubt. Probably his fifth one today.

"My sixth, actually."

A'isha bristled at that. "You're such a dick!" She shot ramrod straight on the bed, eyes fixed on him as she silently cursed her mouth.

Surprisingly, he let out a laugh. A genuine one. She didn't like that she knew the difference. "I suppose I asked for that."

"You're hearing it in my head regardless," she muttered, a crease between her brows. "At least this way's remotely satisfying for me."

A moment of silence followed, a reminder that Adam Lambert was quietly playing on repeat. Currently, "Whataya Want From Me" floated through the boombox speakers. A song that usually had her singing along instead had her biting back a groan. It was the same song that'd played as she'd driven her captor to Alexandria Docks, before he'd officially become her captor. That truly felt like a lifetime ago.

A'isha observed as he rolled the mug in his palms, watching the coffee that swirled within. She didn't need to see his eyes to know amusement still shone on their surface.

Following a final gulp, he returned the mug to the side table and looked to the wall across from her bed. It still flaunted a fist-sized hole. "You were imagining my face when you did that." Any prior amusement was suddenly gone from his voice, replaced by calm fact.

Her stomach churned as she glanced at her knuckles, the abrasions scabbed and free of bandages. One glance at Marik's hand revealed it looked much the same. "Were you aiming for my head last night?"

"You'd doubt me no matter my answer."

Well, he wasn't wrong.

A'isha watched as he pulled up the lid of his laptop and pressed a tan finger to the power button. The screen cast a soft glow upon his face, highlighting the disinterest it showed. "It's late. You should sleep."

Of course. Because sleeping in the presence of a mind-reading psycho is as easy as counting sheep.

"You're right," A'isha muttered, her scowl ever-present. "I wouldn't want sleep deprivation to ruin my busy Christmas schedule."

With a roll of his eyes, Marik returned to typing on his laptop. He was obviously a Grinch. She, on the other hand, loved Christmas. It meant a trip to the UK, surrounded by the warmth that was Julie's giant family. It meant love and light and laughter; feelings she rarely enjoyed under her own roof. Obviously, a UK Christmas wasn't in the cards this year, but Amara was in this shitfest right along with her. And to say they'd grown closer this past week was a massive understatement. If Marik allowed it, she hoped to spend the holiday with—

"I will allow it."

A'isha stiffened. Was him hearing her thoughts really the new damn normal?

"There's a catch," she said with a pointed stare, "isn't there?"

Marik placed his laptop on the side table, swapping it for The Rod. Then, he swept from the armchair. "Not a catch, per se." He started to pace, normal when his mind was abuzz. "Rather, a question."

She chewed at the inside of her cheek. He was in her head and while she didn't know the logistics of the Millennium Rod, surely any answer he could possibly want from her was readily available. "Why do I get the sense this question's gonna be humiliating?"

"It's only humiliating if you let it be."

A'isha planted an elbow on her knee and propped her cheek in her hand. "That's not how you say yes," she muttered to herself, not that it mattered. Voiced or not, he could supposedly hear it.

The pacing stopped. "I'm clearly not boyfriend material." He looked her way. "Where am I lacking and where do I excel?"

Her jaw dropped, eyes bulging. "I – You – WHAT?" The only thing she was grateful for in that moment was that she hadn't been drinking.

Marik arched a brow. "Did I stutter?"

For at least five seconds, all she could think to do was stare at the impatiently waiting blond. "Why the heck would someone like YOU care about something like THAT?"

He resumed pacing, sending her the occasional glance. "While I have neither want nor need of progeny, if that changes, I imagine I would rather make the entirety of the experience as mutually pleasant as possible. I can't do that if I don't know where to start."

Her cheek left her palm as she gaped his way. The idea of him having kids was a terrifying one, but the idea of him trying to make it pleasant for the poor sucker he duped into sleeping with him… oh, that was just laughable. Or rather, it'd be laughable if every variation of WTF wasn't busy crossing her face.

This time, it took her ten whole seconds to string an answer together. "Of course, if anyone could make the concept of dating sound unappealing, that person would be you." And not just because the concept of dating him was unappealing.

He stopped pacing in favour of staring at her. "Well?"

Little by little, disbelief faded from her face. God, this was really happening. "Okay. Let me get this straight. If I want to spend Christmas with my cousin, I have to give you hypothetical relationship advice and an honest judge of character?"

The haughty smile he flaunted had her free fist twisting around the bed sheets. "I commend you, A'isha, on your ability to deduce simple statements."

Her death glare returned with a vengeance. "Is labelling you a lost cause an acceptable answer?"

"You can't possibly think I'd find that adequate on its own."

"You can't possibly think I'm stupid enough to not know that." She folded her arms across her chest. "I've been stuck with you for over a week. I know how pedantic you are."

He rolled his eyes. Tonight's expression of choice, apparently. "A week isn't long at all."

She scoffed, unsurprised but no less annoyed by his audacity. "It is when you're KIDNAPPED!"

As if to nerve her further, Marik approached the right side of her bed. Obviously, he planned to sit. Her cue to shift from the centre of the bed to the opposite end, her ankle aching all the damn while. She refused to be within arm's reach of him.

The moment Marik seated himself, the tan skin of his abdomen twisted beneath his stupid, midriff-revealing hoodie as he faced her from the waist up. "Do you intend to answer my question?" He cocked a brow. "Or am I to assume you don't wish to spend Christmas with Amara?"

"You're an emotionally constipated and absurdly erratic crime boss, who has no qualms about mind-reading, mind-controlling and murdering." Her glare didn't let up. "Am I forgetting something?"

"That I'm aesthetically pleasing?"

Her nose crinkled.

"I'm well aware," he continued, sounding oddly reluctant, "that Mirah calls me Mr Really Hot for a reason."

She scoffed, unsure of whether the nickname or his reluctant delivery of it was to blame. Honestly, if either of them should be embarrassed right now, it was her.

"You disagree?"

"Personality plays a huge part in attraction."

"Then, clearly, there are areas in which I am overcompensating for my apparent poor personality." To her immense distaste, a lopsided smirk inched its way onto his lips. Oh, how she hated that thing. "Or did I just imagine my recent findings concerning your... conflicting opinions of me?"

Unwelcomed images of last night hissed through her mind once more.

"Tell me, Ish." His arm tightened around her waist, stealing a gasp. "Do you think Dani ever imagined you'd spend your two-year anniversary in the arms of another man?"

Like a caged animal, her lips drew back in a snarl. "Fuck you."

His next words were no more than a whisper, meant for her ears alone. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Despite the aches of protest from her skinned knuckles, A'isha's nails dug into the edge of her mattress. Just last night, he'd used The Rod on her for the first damn time; then, he'd unearthed her stifled attraction, her repressed feelings for him, and of course, he was throwing it all back in her face.

Again.

The floor fell victim to her seething glare. "You wanna know where you're lacking in the boyfriend department?" Her narrowed eyes turned on him. "Well, it's a good thing you're here until six AM because boy, I'm gonna talk your damn ears off!"

"Those earplugs are still in your suitcase, correct?"

"Earplugs?! You ASKED for my opinion!"

"That was a joke." He revealed a mocking smile. "It's a thing someone says to spur amusement or laughter."

"Sorry, but my sense of humour right now is about as lacking as you are when it comes to being boyfriend material." She wrapped up her reply with a mocking smile of her own.

Marik watched her, as though absorbed by some thought or other. "It's apparent," he eventually said, "that my question isn't at all appealing to you—"

"You don't say?"

"—so I propose a compromise."

A'isha quieted at that, her curiosity sparked. He'd probably hoped for that.

"I'll list the qualities I possess and deem to be beneficial in a partner. Once I've made my points and only then, I'll allow you to dispute them – with sufficient reasoning." His fingers lightly drummed against the mattress beneath him. "After which time, you'll be permitted to share any qualities of mine you deem to be unfavourable—"

"God, you love the sound of your own voice…"

"I repeat," he stated, sounding drier than burnt toast, "you may share your points only after I've made my own."

"You said nothing about sharing facts."

"Now then"—of course, he ignored her—"I'll begin."

Another scoff. She had a feeling it'd be her go-to reaction tonight. "And just why do you want to know all this boyfriend material stuff?"

His answer was instant. "Amusement-driven curiosity."

A'isha slapped a hand to her forehead. "How silly of me. I forgot that ten percent of your energy comes from the sweet, sweet misfortune of others." She frowned. Or rather, her perpetual frown deepened. "No wonder you're the one watching me at night. I bet this is already the most rested you've been in years." An uninvited shudder shook her body. Actually, last night absolutely wins first place on that front.

The lean muscles of Marik's shoulders, exposed by his sleeveless hoodie, went taut in an instant. Had he heard that thought too?

"Do you have any questions?" His voice was strained, echoing his body language. "Or shall I begin with my points?"

"Take it away," A'isha said, waving her hand before her for emphasis. I'll try not to hurl all the while—

"To start, I'm an adequate kisser."

—and wow, I'm almost hurling after two measly seconds.

Marik fired a dirty look in her direction. "Adequate in terms of execution," he clarified, slight irritation trickling through his words, "as opposed to timing or circumstance."

Face twisting, A'isha broke his stare in favour of the floor. Even now, the memory of merlot—robust and sweet, fruity and dazing—had her lips burning along with her stomach. Even now, she heard rolling waves and muted steps on fine sand. Even now, she felt the gentle warmth of a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

"For the longest time and perhaps even still, the only thing I could control with ease was when I choose to care." From the corner of her eye, Marik took two carefully placed steps toward her. His coordination was better. That only amped up her unease. "It was always when… Never was where or about whom considered." Another careful step. "I suppose I still can't control those last two factors."

The moon and its reflection upon the ocean were gone; in their place, a pair of oddly sincere, lavender eyes. The soft warmth of his knuckles traced her cheek, but his voice was softer still.

"I've often wondered how it feels."

Marik's lips met hers, slowly, delicately, hushing a gasp, as his thumb glided across the scarlet skin of her cheek. His free arm eased her flush against him, each beat of his heart thumping so wildly she could feel it, even hear it. They were close. So very close. Closer than he should ever want her—

"You weren't exactly unwilling…"

Marik's words were uttered with a level of quiet detachment that was staggering, each syllable punching straight through her chest. His back was to her. To her chagrin, that only hurt more.

A'isha sprung from the bed, only to totter right back the moment her ankle caved. "I was SHOCKED!" Unshed tears suddenly seared her eyes, the room around her no more than a mess of colours and shapes. "The R.H. – my KIDNAPPER – was KISSING me! On the LIPS! After saying he has FEELINGS for me!" She blinked away her blurred vision, watching his motionless form for any sudden movements. He could hurt her. He would hurt her. He'd made that sickeningly clear. "How COULD you? No! How DARE you! That's what you said in the parking lot, right? How DARE you? Well, how fucking dare YOU! How DARE you take me. How DARE you kiss me. How DARE you make me care about someone as awful as YOU and then threaten to RAPE me!" To her embarrassment, her voice cracked with those final two words.

Each rise and fall of her chest had her shaking, her breaths deafening. She stared at the rigid curve of his back, the shoulders shoved up to his ears, the fingers that clung to the edge of the bed. And with each passing second that was met by his silence, the pit in her chest grew ever larger.

A'isha's fist slammed against the bed, skinned knuckles be damned. "Asshole!" Spoken or not, he'd hear it. At least this way helped quell the anger.

Time ticked by. She didn't know how much. No, all she knew was that her unshed tears had dried and each silent second was suffocating in ways she'd never imagined.

His silence shouldn't hurt her one bit.

His answer shouldn't mean a thing.

He shouldn't matter to her.

Marik shifted on his edge of the bed, facing her. "Why should you care about an emotionally constipated and absurdly erratic crime boss, who has no qualms about mind-reading, mind-controlling and murdering?" The question came sincerely, shakily and scathing all at once, as his eyes flicked between her and the abandoned armchair over her shoulder.

A'isha ripped her gaze from his to stare down the trembling fists in her lap. They only trembled with anger. He didn't frighten her. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

With a frown drooping her lips, she quite literally shook her head of such thoughts. Instead, she focussed on unriddling his question. A question that, despite its wording, wielded what was perhaps a truth gone unsaid. That she wasn't the only one in the room who didn't know its answer.

It seemed Marik didn't want to anyway. He jolted to his feet so suddenly it was a wonder he didn't have whiplash. "Your thoughts are now your own."

Scratch that. It was a wonder she didn't have whiplash.

Marik approached the armchair so stiffly it made his arrival tonight seem lax. "Get some sleep." He plonked the Millennium Rod on the side table, sunk into the armchair and dumped the laptop on his thighs. "I imagine you'd rather be well-rested for a day with your tiresome cousin."

A'isha gaped. Was he… really letting her spend Christmas with Amara? After… that?

Marik said nothing, a reminder that he'd supposedly left her head.

But how could she know for sure?

Hey, Asshat?

No reaction, but his poker face was no doubt impeccable.

Have you come across my dream featuring you in a little, red dress? Spoiler alert: you only looked slightly more girly than usual.

Marik tapped away at the mousepad, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen.

That reminds me. Dream Marik climbed a tree using a pair of bananas. Meanwhile, you're so incompetent you can't even climb one with your creepy, R.H. hands.

Not even a lip twitch. At least, not from Marik. Her lips, on the other hand, were steadily curving up at the corners.

Marik and any girl sitting in a tree T-A-L-K-I-N-G. You open up your mouth. She leaps to the ground. It's a five-storey drop, but it was totally worth it. The end.

He cupped his chin, while his eyes coasted across the screen, left to right and back again. "I meant what I said." His sight shifted her way for only a second. "Any unsavoury thoughts that you're currently entertaining are a waste of your time and energy."

A'isha huffed. "And for how long will you STAY out of my head?"

"Between the hours of ten PM and six AM each day, provided I'm the one watching you."

She sent him a pointed look. "Does that mean you're always in my head outside of those hours?"

"No. It merely doesn't rule out the possibility."

"What if I'm showering? Or using the toilet? Or getting changed?"

He had the nerve to roll his eyes. "Obviously, I avoid such circumstances."

She snorted. Sure, you do.

But speaking of which…

A'isha stood from the bed, carefully placing most of her weight on her left ankle. "I'm gonna brush my teeth."

"I don't know why you're telling me that."

With his face tilted toward the laptop screen, she had to settle for glaring daggers at his forehead. Not nearly as satisfying when he wasn't watching. In saying that, when he was watching, a smirk or a scathing comment was usually involved, which really wasn't much better.

A'isha limped toward the bathroom door, right beside his armchair, and hated how the aftermath of his psycho rage was on full display. He seemed absorbed in whatever he was doing, but that didn't stop every inch of her from tightening as she passed him, locking the door in her wake.

She went through her evening ritual. Brushed her teeth. Freed her hair from its messy bun. Used the toilet, after placing a few strips of toilet paper in the bowl to hush the sound. Even if he wasn't currently in her head like he claimed, his armchair was right by the door and the thought of him hearing her pee was just weird. Her loose-fitting outfit doubled as PJs, so at least there was no need to change. (She'd avoided looking down while on the toilet… just in case.)

All too soon, A'isha wriggled beneath her bed sheets, rigid as a tree caught in the fierce heat of an Egyptian summer. She tossed and turned, the white fabric clinging to her frame. The evening air was occupied by the soft clicks of a keyboard and the quiet, lilting tenor of Adam Lambert's voice. With her back to her company, she tugged the sheets up to her nose and focussed on the second sound. The first was just another ick reminder of the creep sitting around five measly metres away.

It took an indefinite amount of time, some self-instated breathing exercises and the fact that she'd dozed off around Marik before without being strangled in her sleep, but eventually, A'isha surrendered to a restless slumber.

Ataahua AN: DH suggested "Pillow Talk" for the chapter title and I went ALL OF MY YES. I then proceeded to add "Round One" to it. Yup, this is only the first round of what we're dubbing the pillow talk scenes. I think showing some of her thoughts through brief flashbacks made the scene feel more emotionally charged. Hopefully you guys agree! :)

DH AN: Yup, I came up with the title and almost thought it too mean… but I have to admit it grew on me. Bring on Round 2! I know the drunk kiss rehash was unpleasant, but it's kinda the better of the two (Less bad on the circumstances and timing scale) and after the shitfest…. I'm taking a little cute as we can get it…