a/n: in any case, I really shouldn't be starting a new fic - chaptered, nonetheless, but it's been stuck in my head and wow whaddya know I have a keyboard. poor, abused keyboard.

I don't even like puppyshipping, what the hell am I doing? (okay no, I lied, it really grew on me. fuck.)

also, yes. I know the prologue is short. shut up.

Luftmensch
(n.) an impractical dreamer with no business sense; one with their head in the clouds.

"i do not need a bouquet
for someone to grieve for me."
- kalafina, "manten"

prologue - it is, in fact, a grave problem.

Jouunouchi had a problem.

It wasn't a great problem, nor was it a grave problem, but it was, in fact, still a problem. It wouldn't be that much of a problem if he had thought to think beforehand, but Jounouchi was not known for thinking. And in the odd situation where one of his problems did require him to think, Jounouchi usually had adrenaline pounding in his blood, and perhaps a few broken bones.

It was sad, now that he thought about it, that he only really thought when he was in the middle of getting beat up.

Actually, he didn't really see the difference in his situation here either, but there was something nearly the same there. The same being the metallic stench of blood and alcohol, the shortening of breath, the sickening crunch of bone. Nearly, being that in a real street fight, Jounouchi would be on his feet and thinking quite fast, and in this fight, his head only seemed to respond to one thing.

Fear.

Catching his breath, Jounouchi dared not to breathe as his heavy footfalls walked away from him and into the hallway. Soon after, a loud bang was heard, signaling that his father had finally dropped dead wasted on his bed, and probably wouldn't get up for another few hours. Or maybe even a day, if Jounouchi was lucky.

He wasn't lucky now. Now was the price for that luck.

Something in his chest cavity hurt like a bitch, but Jounouchi took shallow, deep breaths while he could - ignoring the brief flashes of pain flowering inside him. He prayed to god, prayed to his ancestors, prayed to fucking anyone that nothing was seriously broken or bleeding. His old man never dared to hit him that bad, but sometimes his control slipped. Jounouchi always thought of a time when his father's "control slipped" usually just meant a stern face and a scolding. Long gone was that man, buried in alcohol and misery.

His head was hurting too, except Jounouchi was pretty sure that was because he was thinking too much. It always hurt to think. He'd rather take things at face value than do that.

His side felt pretty tender, near his hip, and after running his fingers over the tender flesh he surmised that bruise had formed. There was a few more - one on his leg, one on his bicep - but nothing too serious as the one on his side. Luckily he wasn't limping, or had anything he couldn't hide. If needed, he could probably explain the bruise on his arm and leg as a little rough housing with his friends. Not his father. No, that'd be something else.

Jounouchi gave a little laugh and cough at the thought of telling his gym teacher straight out that his father beat him whenever the mood hit. Oh, how he'd like to see the man's expressive face bloat or redden. Sometimes Jounouchi thought he was fucked up for thinking stuff like that. Better to not think at all.

He spent an hour on the floor like that, feeling pathetic, feeling goddamn weak, and did nothing but breathe and keep in and out of consciousness. Eventually, he forced himself to get up, pushing the heels of his hands against the wooden floor and leaning on the wall for support until his back cracked in the effort to stand up straight. It felt good, but Jounouchi still grimaced. He'd have to take it easy for the next few days.

Padding quietly to the bathroom, he fumbled with the medicine cabinets as stars quickly flashed past his eyes. Groaning quietly, Jounouchi brought a hand to the side of his cheek, where he had been scraped - probably with glass from one of good 'ol dad's bottles - and smeared his cheek with blood. Fucker.

Jounouchi spent the next few minutes wrapping a few cuts, cleaning some, and then washing his face. Blond hair hung limply in his hazel-brown eyes, sometimes amber in the sunlight, sometimes rather boringly dark in the depths of his own miserliness.

He went to the kitchen and got an ice pack from their barely working fridge, pressing it down on his bruises to stop the swelling, and kept an easy hand on his chest to help him breathe. Certainly didn't feel like anything was broken.

Lazily, he looked at the time on their digital clock on the wall. 2:34 AM. School started at eight thirty tomorrow, and it took at least a half hour to get there. He still had homework to finish.

Well, Jounouchi thought tiredly, with the patience of one who'd done something like this many times before, I'll take what I can get.

What Jounouchi got was a bunch of homework crappily done, a massive headache, and an aching limbs. It was nearly three thirty, which meant he did most of his homework sloppily in an hour, and now he had nothing else to spend his time on. Most people would, in fact, take this time to sleep. Jounouchi was not one of these people.

But he needed sleep. He needed to get better, and even he, Jounouchi, dumbass extraordinaire, knew that when he was passed out cold his body took to using it's fast metabolism to patch itself up. By morning, he should at least be able to walk around, even though he would be greatly sore. Jounouchi rubbed his tired eyes, grunting quietly, before walking slowly to the bathroom once more.

He popped two sleeping pills from the cabinet and dry-swallowed, already making a plan to skip school tomorrow morning. He'd just go to work instead. Since his father was getting worse and worse from more and more alcohol, Jounouchi had been taking a lot of days off. Hopefully, he wouldn't be held back. Thank God for his doctor's easy signature.

Slightly flitty and feeling something unpleasant churn in his stomach, Jounouchi dropped rather abruptly on his bed, closing his eyes and letting himself go into a black haze.

/

Yugi Mouto was many things, but an idiot he was not.

Naive, maybe. Innocent(ly corrupt, cough). A bit of an airhead at times. But he wasn't stupid. And he certainly wasn't going to be stupid when it came to his best friend, Katsuya Jounouchi. After all, one only needed a passing look and a smile to be eased of fears. Yugi made sure that his fears never escaped his grasp, or else he wouldn't be so alert when it came to Jou.

He knew Jounouchi had problems. Knew that the other had a tough home situation, knew that he had been forced to do things and see things that a teenager - or child, if Yugi's suspicions were right - should never see. And no matter how hard Jounouchi tried to hide, Yugi always had a knack for seeing the unseen.

There was no proof, usually. Jounouchi's clothes usually covered his bruises, and whatever he had was usually a week or two old by the time they stripped down for PE. Anything could be explained by a fist fight or a sudden jump in the allies at home. Jounouchi didn't live in the nicest neighborhood, everyone knew that. The blond wasn't exactly quiet about it.

In fact, one would think that it wouldn't be hard to figure out Katsuya Jounouchi. He was an easy going person. Nice, hotheaded, loyal to a fault, all that happy stuff. But Yugi saw those lifeless eyes staring out into the distance sometimes, the stern line of his mouth in a grim frown that spoke more than it should. Spoke of a will shaped through blood and a talent for keeping secrets. People - including their own friends, for god's sake - thought Katsuya Jounouchi was an easy person to figure out.

Yugi knew better.

He never said anything, though, if Jou came in one morning with a limp or if he didn't have lunch to eat. He never did anything when Jounouchi seemed to be in pain while walking down the hallway, or flinched when someone touched him before smiling and pretending it never happened. Yugi didn't really know why. Maybe he was still confused. Maybe he was still unsure. Maybe he didn't want to believe that his best friend was going through his own personal hell. Yugi really, really hoped that wasn't the case.

His hopes were very much foiled when Jounouchi failed to show up that morning.

It could've been anything - oversleeping, skipping, simple laziness - but Yugi still felt bothered by it nonetheless. Still felt that prodding unease.

The teacher began talking, but Yugi slumped down on his seat and tried very much to focus when all he could see was the empty desk right next to his.