HIIII. ^.^ So, this is a sequel to my last story Eyes Wide Open, which was a huge success! I had so much fun writing it; in fact, I loved it so much, I decided to make this sequel. Now, to my new readers, I think you will be able to understand this one without reading my last fic, but it will make soooo much more sense if you read EWO first. Most YamixYugi fics start off with the main couple—this one doesn't. That's why I'm suggesting you read it so this makes more sense. I promise you'll like it!

Also, a special shoutout to AnimeHannah, who suggested the title for this sequel. I was totally at a loss, and when she came up with the name I was like, "Oh, duhhhhh."

Anyway, be sure to leave me a review and tell me what you think, especially my old readers who encouraged this story. You guys rock!

-Mystie

Chapter 1:

Joey Wheeler stuffed his hands deep within his jean pockets as the autumn wind bit through his thin jacket. It was awfully cool for an early-September Sunday afternoon. Ordinarily, he would be out enjoying his final evening of summer vacation, as school started up again the following day; however, he hadn't felt like doing much of anything for the past three or so months. Moreover, he hadn't seen his partner-in-crime Tristan since late May before school had let out for the summer. In fact, the last night he had seen Tristan had been the night he had started feeling like this—a bit down, alone, and indifferent. He was certainly no stranger to trouble or mischief; he and Tristan had well over thirty run-ins with the police between them, and he himself had spent a year in a juvenile detention center for one of his many petty offenses. Ordinarily, he would be using the freedom of summer vacation to add to his rap sheet, but he simply couldn't find the motivation to do so. The night he had last seen Tristan, the two of them had been out pedaling on their bikes around the far outskirts of Domino looking for trouble. After a few hours of shattering old windows and taunting cops, they had found themselves bored—that is, until they found exactly what they were looking for to give life to their dull night:

"Yo, Joey, look over there," Tristan said, pointing towards the first signs of life they had seen in quite some time.

They both stopped pedaling. Joey squinted his eyes to get a better look in the dark at what his friend gestured at. "Looks like a buildin' or somethin'. Let's check it out." They rode towards the area quickly, coming to a halt when they came to a path slightly blocked off by bright yellow caution tape. They exchanged knowing glances and smirks.

"Never stopped us before," the brunette said with a laugh. They pedaled through the tape with matching chuckles. They stopped again when they realized just how tall and dilapidated the building was. It was even missing a wall five or so stories up. There were various old construction vehicles all around them, rusted and tarnished and missing parts. They both let their bikes fall to the ground as they decided to explore. They looked upwards as they walked, Joey leading the way. Oh, this was going to be too good. So much to break and destroy and no witnesses in sight. They paid no attention to where they walked—minds racing with possibilities—until Joey nearly fell flat on his face as he tripped on something solid.

"Shit!" he called, regaining his balance at the last second. "What the hell is that?"

The brunette approached the hindrance slowly, his face darkening. "Dude, is that a body?"

Joey advanced and looked down. "Oh, shit, it is!" he yelped, though his expression showed his excitement. He bent down and nudged the corpse's arm. It was icy cold. The poor guy had been decapitated, his head lying to the side with a wide, one eye staring blankly towards the sky. The whole body looked as if it had been badly burned. "I don't think it's been here long either, Tristan."

"Dude, we gotta call the cops," Tristan said steadily, already reaching for his phone in his back pocket. "Ugh, stop that, man! That's disgusting!"

Joey had picked up the severed head, tossing it lightly in the air as if it were a football. He smiled at Tristan's horrified expression. "Quit being such a baby, bro. It ain't gonna bite 'cha," he said with a laugh. "And we ain't callin' no one. Them cops've been waitin' on some dirt on us to throw us into the big house. Whaddya think they're gonna do when they see us out here alone with a dead body, genius?"

Tristan hesitated, then slid his phone back into his pocket. "Then what the hell are we supposed to do? Just leave him here?"

"Well, first, let's have some fun!" Joey said, tossing the head to Tristan. Out of reflex, he caught it with disgust, and lobbed it back to Joey with a girlish squeal. Joey caught it again, sniggering at Tristan's antics. "You're such a baby!"

"Screw you, man!" Tristan shouted, wringing his hands as if he had just touched something poisonous. "What the hell are you doin! Put it down! Let's get the hell outta here!" Joey was holding the head in front of his face, acting as if it was his own skull. He paraded around, drawing closer to the repulsed Tristan. He laughed deeply, fully amused. He stopped when Tristan tripped over his own feet trying to escape, barely able to keep from crying.

"Aw man, I'm just foolin' around. Chill out," he said with a giggle. He held the head back up, turning it so that its eyes faced his own. "This dude must've pissed someone off somethin' fierce. They damn near burned his face off."

"Just put it down, man. It gives me the creeps."

Joey was about to reply with a snarky comment, when he noticed the one open eye begin to glow. He stood in shock before being enveloped in a dark light. The power sent him backwards, and he landed with a cry. Tristan had seen enough. Joey was his friend, but this was just too much. He took off in the opposite direction towards his bike like a bat out of hell, and pedaled towards town fiercely. Joey groaned as the light diminished, bringing his hand to his head. He opened his eyes slowly, his vision unclear.

"What…the hell?" he stuttered, taking in his surroundings.

As he had awakened, he was surprised to not find Tristan there with him anymore. Sure, he had known that Tristan had been creeped out by the dead body and severed head, but they had been through a lot together. There was no need to leave him alone like that. Hell, he could have been dead. In his defense, Tristan had tried calling him later that night to check on him; in fact, he had attempted all summer to get in contact with Joey and apologize, but Joey ignored him. Not only was he a bit pissed for him leaving him out there alone and vulnerable in an unfamiliar part of town (not that he couldn't take care of himself or anything), but ever since the moment when he had been knocked on his ass by that freaky head, he had felt…different. He was starting to get terrible migraines at least three times a day, and any light made him cringe. Throughout the entire summer, he had been holed up in his room with the lights off and blinds shut tight. He had started blacking out, often waking up in alleys or near the park with no memory of the entire day or how he had gotten there in the first place. Once or twice, he had woken up with the coppery-salty taste of blood on his tongue and teeth. More disturbing was the fact that he had awakened in the same location well over twenty times. It was almost always near this little yellow game shop with a green roof near the city, almost as if he was being drawn to it by some sort of intangible force. He had no idea of its significance, only that he was starting to dream about it.

Moreover, Joey was starting to think that he was going insane. The blackouts and memory loss he could blame on stress or his own absentmindedness, but on what could he blame the voices he was starting to hear? It was deep and menacing, and he was beginning to be afraid. He had gone to the library—a place that certainly felt alien to him—and done a bit of research on his condition. Mental illness? Schizophrenia? He was relieved to find that he wasn't alone, that obviously enough people had been experiencing these voices for it to be well-documented; nonetheless, it didn't help that the people usually associated with this illness weren't exactly…the most highly thought of. Furthermore, according to his research, the most common cause of schizophrenia was supposedly genetics, and he was sure that no one in his immediate family had ever been hospitalized for this. Sure, his pops was an alcoholic asshole, but when he was sober, he was an all-around good guy. While he didn't know too much about his mom due to his parents' divorce, he was pretty sure she was mentally stable. Why did he suddenly get the crazy genes? What's more, whatever was happening to him seemed to stem from that freaky head he had messed with. He had a feeling that what he was hearing was real.

Only he had nowhere to turn.

What could he say? "Pops, I'm starting to hear stuff in my head"? "Yo, Tristan, every now and again I wake up with the taste of blood in my mouth"? He would be locked up in a hospital high off his ass from medications being pumped in his veins. Besides…the owner of the voice in his head had done him no harm…at least not yet. He had tried resisting the impending blackout one night, trying with all his might to keep control; yet, it was as if he was growing weaker and the voice was getting stronger. It was common for him to be conscious for no more than a quarter of the day now. It was terrifying, but he always woke up in one piece without a scratch. If he had to coexist with some weird voice in his head, at least the guy was courteous.

Now, he was on his way back home after working up the nerve to check out the little game shop he kept being led to and dreaming about. He had decided to take the bull by the horns, and when he began the familiar path towards the shop, he felt a pang of excitement in his chest that he knew was not his. Something about this place or the people in it made the owner of the voice stir eagerly. Upon arrival, he couldn't see why. The Kame Game Shop was much tinier than all the other shops he'd been to in Domino, and while they had quite a bit of customers for a Sunday afternoon, it wasn't all that impressive. There were kids scurrying about, dragging frustrated mothers along with them, and a few guys he recognized from his own school. It was nothing spectacular or special. When his eyes landed on a short, old man with spiky gray hair under a yellow bandana, Joey again felt the stitch in his chest, as if the owner of the voice knew him. It was faint, but there. But when he continued his survey of the shop, he spotted two teens that he think he recognized from school. The smaller kid…his name was Yumi, Yuri…something like that. He was an outcast at school. Joey even remembered picking on him every once in a while for his outlandish hair. He felt his heart start to pound against his chest like a drum upon seeing the kid, and he knew that this Yuri kid had something to do with why he continued to be drawn to the shop. He was sitting in a window nook casually playing some card game with a taller lookalike. The taller kid was much more intimidating looking, with sharp red eyes that definitely freaked Joey out. Even in his own relaxed position before the smaller kid, Joey knew that he was definitely not someone to mess with. Nevertheless, he had no control over the wave of sheer elation that overcame him when he saw him. The voice knew him for sure. There was something about this eerie teenager.

"Uhm, hello? Can I help you with something?" the smaller kid asked. Without realizing it, he had advanced quite close to the pair and was now standing but a few feet from them. Staring. He jumped three feet out of his skin, especially when those narrowed red eyes were turned on him. He didn't speak, only observed him with silent regard, as if trying to read him. Joey felt the presence of the voice retreat immediately.

"I-I, no, my bad," Joey stuttered, beginning to back up. The smaller kid stood, tilting his head in question.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You're Joey, right? I remember you from school."

"Yeah, sorry. I gotta go." With that, he rushed out of the entrance to the game shop, not slowing down until he was but a block or so from home.

The apartment he and his dad shared was in view now, just as the sky was beginning to dark to a dark pink-orange, and he had only answered one of his questions. Why was he being drawn to that game shop? Obviously because those two kids from school intrigued the voice in his head. Joey snorted. He really was starting to sound crazy, but he suspected that if he could give this voice what it wanted, it would go away. Maybe…maybe he should try talking to it? He shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. A quest for another day. He stopped when he saw a familiar face pacing outside his building. Tristan looked up as if expecting him, straightening up and stuffing his own hands in his pockets awkwardly. Joey raised an amused eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"Whaddya doin' here, man?"

Tristan shifted his eyes to the ground. "I've been trying to call you, dude. Can we talk?"

"Talk."

"Somewhere not so…public, maybe?" Tristan replied curtly. He gestured to an alley beside the apartment building. Joey rolled his eyes, but gestured for Tristan to head into the alley. He followed close behind. He could feel himself starting to lose control…he was going to black out. He had to deal with Tristan quickly.

"What."

"First of all, where've you been, man? I've called you over a hundred times since…that night."

"That night?" Joey feigned poor memory, tapping his chin with his index finger. He snapped as if he suddenly remembered what Tristan meant. "Ohhhhh, you mean the night you left me for dead?"

"Don't you think you're overreacting, Joe? I mean, I told you I was freaked out."

"Screw you, Tristan. I thought we were friends, but I see that you ain't shit when the goin' gets tough." Joey spat to the side, feeling the edges of his vision starting to darken. He fought stubbornly to keep control. "As for where I've been, well, that ain't your concern. If I wanted to talk to ya', I would've."

Tristan snorted. "Me? There's been plenty of times you bailed on me, bro."

"I'm not your bro, you insignificant waste of flesh." Joey's eyes widened. Okay, that wasn't his voice dishing out that insult. He was losing this fight. He gripped the side of his throbbing head.

Tristan began to back away slightly. "Whoa…dude, what's wrong with your eyes? They're…they're turning black."

Joey turned away, closing his eyes to try to focus on retaining control of himself. It wasn't working. It was as if he was forcefully being dragged out of consciousness by a power significantly stronger than him. He groaned, falling to one knee. "Ugh, no, no, stop!" he shouted, shaking his head. He felt a timid hand touch his shoulder. Tristan was speaking to him worriedly, but he could only see his lips moving. Something snapped, and he was ripped from his own body. The last thing he saw before completely succumbing to unconsciousness was Tristan's blood painting the brick walls.

Slight disclaimer: I had/have no intention of offending anyone with the talk of schizophrenia in this chapter. I recognize that it is a documented mental illness backed by years of research and whatnot. Remember, that that was meant to be from Joey's POV, and he's not exactly a character to hold back, is he? He's more of a "say what you're thinking" kind of guy, and this is how I imagine he'd be thinking at the moment. No offense to anyone who may suffer or know someone who suffers from this illness.

Now, I really hope you guys enjoyed! Pleeeeeeease leave me reviews! They make me so happy!

-Mystie