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It wasn’t the quiet that had made Malik do it.
After all, he’d asked for no one, not his family in Luxor or his friends in Domino, to bother him this week. No explanation had been needed this year, or any of the fifteen years since he’d been “gifted” his scars. The time leading up to and after the day in question was equally hard to deal with. Malik had learned long ago that to see this entire week as anything but traumatic was utterly futile.
This birthday was shaping up to be no different. He had spent most of the day in bed, writhing in pain as his scars burned and his heart hung heavy. The solitude in his large apartment was just enough to get him through hours of lying under blankets and taking showers and forsaking decent meals…until it wasn’t.
For the first time in almost twenty-five years of existence, Malik didn’t want to be alone around his birthday.
Yet, there was no one left with whom to spend this time. Malik Ishtar, for all his charisma and dominating personality, was always alone. He pushed people away, whether he meant to or not. He dealt with his emotions on his own, even when such feelings caused a tremendous sense of weakness, ugliness and failure on his part. Not just from the scars which hurt the most at this time of year, but from his entire being. The carvings branded him a servant of the Pharaoh even into death, no matter how much he’d rebelled and fought to reclaim his family’s future.
And what of his future? Sure, he’d made a life for himself here in Luxor, living in opulence and having the choice to finally do whatever he wanted. But even in a “normal” Egyptian society, he’d never felt like he belonged. He’d never been able to do the things he wanted with the people he wanted.
Freedom mattered surprisingly little to Malik now. It was as much a mirage as the ones in the deserts beyond.
The same deserts to which he was now headed.
It was the faint sound of birds outside that had finally caught his attention an hour before. The chirping led him to his window, his eyes dilating as they were exposed to the mid-afternoon sun. He’d tasted the spray of the Nile pouring across the horizon. He’d felt the heat radiating off his balcony and onto his exposed body. He’d smelt the light aroma of—
“Jasmine.”
It had barely been a whisper, yet the combination of scent and sight had caused something to click in his head. He didn’t have to spend this time alone…and he knew one place that, ironically, would have someone who’d understand.
So, leaving the confines of his too-big apartment, he had grabbed some of the sweet flowers, geared up in his helmet and gloves, revved Lady Death, and made a break for the sand dunes in the distance.
Now, with the sun gently setting behind him, he’d reached his destination. Whether because of what this day meant or because he hadn’t returned here in such a long time, Malik felt a sense of unease as he dismounted and walked over to the wooden door in the ground. He clutched the flowers in his hand and, instead, veered off to the side, towards an open patch of sand. He knelt and bowed his head, letting his first words all week fall from his mouth.
“Hi…Ommi.”
Malik hoped he’d found the right location for the final resting place of his mother. The bastard who could barely be called a father had only given a vague notion to his children of where their departed mother laid. But Malik somehow sensed he'd found the correct spot.
Especially when he set the jasmine flowers down and felt a calm breeze blow against his sleeveless jacket, tousling his hair. It was enough of a comfort to relinquish his last walls, enough to make him speak in his mother tongue for the first time in years.
“I hate that I hate this day. It’s not just the ritual and the pain, but knowing…” Malik faltered as he choked on his words. “It’s knowing that I was born from your death. You suffered to give me life. I’m sure you suffered in life, and I…I’ve got so little to show for your sacrifice. You and I never even met, yet we’re connected by pain. And I know I should have done this long ago, and I know I’m being selfish in visiting you today of all days, but—”
“It never gets easier.”
Malik whipped his head around to find a familiar scarred face staring him down, more solemn than usual.
“Bakhure?”
“Losing a mother. Losing your childhood.” Bakhure knelt beside Malik, his body heat sending a jolt through Malik’s system. Twining their fingers together, he gently guided Malik’s hands to spread the jasmine flowers across the meagre grave. “Ever since the gods saw fit to spit me back here in this body, I thought it’d be a new start. But sometimes…you have to remember what made you you.”
Bakhure gestured to the sands around them, the timeless remnants of a life lived 3,000 years before. Malik knew all about the infamous Thief King, having spent time with him since his return, yet to see him so exposed and affected by his past…
Malik looked away from Bakhure’s face to hide his blush and his tears. But he couldn’t help the overwhelming emotions welling up inside when he saw the jasmine laid out in respect for his mother. Bakhure made to stand and leave, when—
“Wait.” Still kneeling, Malik grabbed Bakhure’s hand as another soothing wind caressed both men’s skin. Just as gently, Malik sighed. “Spend tonight with me?”
Bakhure half-smirked, half-smiled in response. And that was enough for Malik to lead him to his bike so they could make their way back into town.
The twinkling stars glimmered in the night sky by the time they reached Malik’s apartment. Bakhure had been here before, though usually on matters relating to the museum, with Isis and Rishid close by. But Malik barely had a moment to consider all that before a small parcel was shoved into his hands. Bakhure, suddenly sheepish, spun away and mumbled.
“I saw it in the market and figured I’d leave it at your door because it’d be funny and—”
“Bakhure…” Malik gaped as he unwrapped the paper, revealing a small bottle. “You bought me jasmine oil?”
“Stole.” Bakhure corrected, harsh. Then, much softer, he looked at Malik and traced the cut underneath his own eye. “It always helped me with my scars.”
The idea that Bakhure had given such a thoughtful gift amused Malik beyond belief. And then as he thought of how the Thief King must have used such an ointment on his own, to heal himself, to wallow in his pain with no one there as a comfort…
“Want to see if it works for me?”
Like before, Bakhure didn’t speak. He simply followed Malik into his bedroom and watched as Malik undressed and laid face-down on the bed. Within seconds, the cool oil and fragrant odor hit Malik’s system. His whole body vibrated as Bakhure worked the salve into his skin. Every scar, every nerve felt alive.
When Malik’s moans grew in confidence as Bakhure trailed lower, neither man minded much when more clothes found themselves on the floor, when tongues traced equally-brown skin, when fingers caressed flesh both seen and unseen, when hours passed but all that mattered was the way they cried out in rapture or wept in joy or finally lay in a tangled, sweaty mess.
“Why’d you think it’d be funny?”
“Hm?” Bakhure broke from his reverie, confused, before realising that Malik was referring to the jasmine oil. “Well, it’s Egyptian, but not Egyptian. It’s part of this culture, but separate. Like…you.”
Despite their intense intimacy the whole night, Malik blushed hard.
“Plus, it only blooms at night…” Now Bakhure turned all the way to lock eyes with Malik and lean in for a kiss. Their lips explored and teased for several moments, until Bakhure suddenly averted his gaze upwards. “Though, it’s tomorrow already.”
Malik turned over in disbelief, yet the first rays of sun didn’t lie. It was his birthday, and he hadn’t even noticed.
It wasn’t just due to the jasmine oil or the last several hours with Bakhure. Rather, he knew it was because he’d finally allowed himself a level of vulnerability, the chance to feel accepted for who he was, who he had been and who he could be.
Safe and secure in Bakhure’s arms, with his scarred back against the thief’s scarred chest, Malik drifted into sleep.
“Thank you.”
In response, Bakhure kissed his neck and whispered in his ear with all the love and openness that Malik had ever desired.
“You deserve this.”
For once, Malik agreed.