"…I'd lie."
Summary: Puzzleshipping. Yami and Yuugi have always been best friends. But if you asked him if that was all there was to it…?
Author's note: This poor, languishing story has been lost on my hard drive for an age or two. It was inspired by a Taylor Swift song. I do try to avoid mainstream teen fads, with their corniness, fan drama, and such, especially now that I'm no longer a teen.
But I also learned long ago to not give a damn if people think my likes or dislikes are stupid. I love Yuugiou, in spite of the giggles and heads shook in disbelief of various friends, family, and strangers. (Granted, I do not love Taylor Swift, just this song.)
This is based on "I'd lie". I know, "Huh? What? We've never heard THAT song played a million times on the radio!" Ok, it's a lot like "you belong with me" (most of her songs are about some obsession with some guy if you haven't noticed yet) but I haven't been forced to listen to it seventy bazillion times.
I am not putting the lyrics of the song in this story. So, this deviates from my usual song-fic format of "How you remind me" (I'm amazed some readers are still reviewing that very old work, I'm honored you still appreciate it. I cringe whenever I look back on it, myself, but thank you.)
This story follows the lyrics, though, so you may or may not want to google for them / the song before, after, or during this story. It really doesn't matter if you do or not. xD
Also, to the fans of "Gods' enigma," I'd like to apologize for the horrific delay. For a long time, I was a medical student and classes were, to put it bluntly, hell. A couple months ago, I graduated, passed my state NCLEX, and am now a charge nurse at a facility in my town, but I work the graveyard shift and it kinda screws with my social life, so I'm trying to get use to all the changes.
Mind you, it's not that I've forgotten or lost my love of writing. Quite the contrary, I miss it terribly. I still try from time to time. But even when I -do- get to sit down a while and our dear bishonen come calling, _several_ plot bunnies start vying for my attention. I have yet to even -name- all of them, nor can I seem to stabilize any of their plots…
Well, I've taken up enough of our time. Please enjoy this brief one-shot, which may, if fate grows kind, turn into a chapter fic.
.
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It's all so familiar to me, but it still feels better than it should. I feel happy, excited, anxious, and nervous just walking up to the side of his car and waiting for him to unlock it so I can sit next to him. It's always the same. I always know exactly how it's going to be. And yet, my heart won't slow down when he invites me in.
"Hey, Yugi." He greets me warmly when I open the door, same as ever. His eyes meet mine in that same friendly way and they shine just a little brighter. He's happy to see me, to get some time alone…because he wants to be with his 'best friend' after a long day. Nothing more. But then, nothing less. "Hop in."
He has some music on, but as usual, it's playing low and I don't even notice the words at all as I listen to him ask me how I am. I tell him I'm 'fine,' like I normally do, and I make my voice work well enough to calmly ask him how he is. He begins a long explanation of his day, night, and sadly, his most recent date.
They almost never go well. And I always try to sound sympathetic and sorry, I really do want him to be happy no matter what, but by that time, I'm nearly always too lost in his eyes to respond very much, much less intelligently.
So I just listen to the sound of his incredibly soothing voice and try to pay attention to the conversation as best as I can.
…I do, barely. He's that distracting to me. I can't help myself. I've tried so many times.
He never minds how feeble my attempts are, or my silence. But that's because he never notices at all. Whenever he tells me about her, it should hurt, and it does, but by that time, I've already started counting their colors. 'One, two, three…' His eyes are so amazing.
If you asked anyone but me, they would probably tell you his eyes are brown. Or reddish-brown, if they knew him. But everyone else is wrong. Anyone could just look at him and assume they know what color his eyes are. But I've seen Yami's eyes.
I know what they really look like.
I know what they look like when he's sad, when he's happy, when he's angry, excited, embarrassed, depressed, bored, confused…I know how they look when he finds a new girlfriend, I know how they look when things don't go well, I know what color they are when he says that he's fine when he's not and feels guilty for lying to me.
Yami's eyes definitely aren't brown. They aren't red, either. No, they're colored with a million different emotions, thoughts, and pieces of who he is. They could show you the depths of his very soul—if you knew how to look. And I do. And I'm glad I'm the only one. I know him better than her, better than them, better than anyone else.
"Seriously," Yami confides in me with a exasperated sigh as he runs his fingers through his hair "I have the absolute worst luck with dating. Every time I think I've found what I'm looking for, something goes wrong. If Cupid exists, he definitely has it in for me. I swear…I'll never fall in love. I'll just end up like one of those creepy cat ladies, doomed to spend the rest of my days alone, mumbling about nothing to my pets." And he laughs that amazing laugh, but it's not funny. Not to me.
I laugh with him, because I hope that's just a joke. I hope that that's all it will ever be. But if he keeps chasing after people who are so wrong for him, maybe his heart won't ever stop falling, or breaking. Doesn't he understand? 'Yami, please…you don't have to fall far. I'm right here. If you'd fall for me, I'd never hurt you. I'd never leave you.'
He's trying to make another joke now, to lighten the mood a bit more, so that we can just forget about his love life and hang out, as best friends. And because that's what he wants, I fake another smile to make him happy. I always do.
…But doesn't he know?
Can't anyone see it? I know Yami. From the biggest wound on his heart, to the smallest detail about his everyday life—like all his favorite songs, and what mood each one is for. I know everything about him because I want to know everything about this wonderful, amazing, beautiful person that I've fallen so hard for…
Anything about him, ask me. Not his parents, not his friends, not his dates—me.
Anything.
His favorite color's purple. He could win at any game, any debate, and he loves them, too, because he loves a challenge. He's an only child, with two cousins, one of which he can't stand. He was born August 17th, he inherited his alleged eye-color from his mother, and is allergic to daisies.
I know so much more than that.
If I really wanted to, I could write an entire novel about all the things I know about him. From his favorite brand of shampoo, favorite book, to his deepest secrets and childhood dreams.
People I know I understand him better than anyone, but I've never told them why.
And I probably never will.
And if they ask me…?
…
-scenechange-
He's looking around again. I can feel the heat creep into my cheeks and I force myself to look away. It's so hard not to let him catch me staring. But I can't help it. I chance just one more peek at his face, and meet his eyes. He smiles at me. That smile makes my knees want to buckle.
My cheeks turn scarlet. Yami waves at me in a friendly gesture and yells a friendly greeting from across the field. I just meekly wave back, offering him what is most definitely a very stupid looking smile. I'd yell back, but my mouth is dry and my voice fled once it realized what an idiot I'd make of myself if I attempted to use it right now.
He should've seen the color on my face. He's seen it so many times. Maybe he blames the heat, maybe he thinks it's something else, but he'll never ask. You'd think a light would go on, that he'd just figure me out, but Yami always seems to overlook every time I've blushed at seeing him in his uniform.
We're at one of his soccer games today. I've never missed a single one. I've cheered him on at every game, sometimes until I was hoarse the next day. And if I am again tomorrow, I know he'll scold me for it, playfully, and he'll drag me over to the café by our school to buy me my favorite flavor of hot tea and help my throat get better, like he always does.
He just scored a goal and I'm cheering again, and yelling his name, and he looks up and smiles at me, that big, beautiful smile… and I'm breathless, and it's not from screaming now. His eyes seem to sparkle with the pride, the triumph. And I feel myself falling again. Hard. 'Can't you see what you're doing to me?' …But he looks away as if it was nothing, because to everyone but me, it was, and so the game resumes and the world continues to turn. '…Of course not.'
They've won the game, and I run up to congratulate Yami, but he's already surrounded by teammates and his coach and cheering girls and a short guy like me isn't built for plowing through crowds, and I'd try to jump up so he can see me, but again… short. So I wait and I listen and I follow the crowd, biding my time so I can be at his side again.
-scenechange-
I was right.
It's not even the next day, it's only hours later, after the team has finished going out to celebrate their victory, and I'm hoarse again. It's just me and Yami now. He teases and scolds me, then dutifully walks over to the café, his hand in mine because he's 'dragging me over' because 'somebody' has to make sure I'm 'cared for.'
I find a table while he buys the drinks, and we sit down to talk for a while. Yami admits that, even though I shouldn't wreck my voice every single game, he's still grateful for the support.
He calls me his 'good luck charm' and I blush. Then he makes a joke about how he could stand to have some of that luck rub off again for tomorrow's big exam and he runs a hand through my hair to emphasize the teasing, saying that maybe my hair will work like one of those Buddha statues. I laugh to hide the shiver it sends down my spine.
He adds, with a more serious look, that it's good to have a friend he can laugh with, who understands him as well as I do. I smile and echo the sentiment to him. He knows I have him memorized, he just doesn't know why. He doesn't see the admiration in my eyes.
His sense of justice, his strong convictions are things that I've always admired about him. They're similar to mine, but he's also brave enough to voice them, defend them, fight for them, and to win.
He's strong, too. Not just in the way that he's able to fight, (something my skinny, little body could never do,) but mentally. He's smart, quick with his wits, and his thoughts run deeper than most people I know, he's wise well beyond his years.
He's also strong emotionally and even though I've seen his heart break more times than I'd like to count, I always see him smile for me the next day. He never lets anyone see him cry, not even me…
And I'll never let anyone see me…wishing he was mine.
Minutes later and he's walking me home again. And my hand is in his again. It reminds me of when we were little kids. We've been friends that long, so it became a habit back then. It would almost feel strange now if we just suddenly stopped, yet ever since I found out my real feelings, and even to this day, it makes my heart skip a beat each time when his hand reaches out to mine.
We start to talk again, about little things, like what's going on in school and our other friends' crazy antics, and about the test tomorrow, and what we should do after school's over, like what games we haven't played in a while. We talk about me spending the night at his place to watch movies again. We talk about inviting Jounouchi and Honda-whether or not five whole pizzas would be enough with them around, how Honda will want to see a war movie, Jounouchi will want to watch a ninja or kung-fu movie, if Anzu came, how she'd make us watch a love story, and if Bakura was there, he'd bring his (disturbingly) vast collection of horror flicks.
After a while, we reach a few decisions and by the time that we do, we've also reached my house, and Yami walks with me up the dusty, gray stone side-walk to the porch like he usually does. I'd invite him in, but I already know he has somewhere else to be, and someone else to be with.
He thanks me again for cheering for him today and he smiles. He hasn't stopped holding my hand yet, he's just looking at me and this moment lingers, and it feels like the whole world just stopped. Like my breathing stopped. Like my heart stopped.
And then his hand his gone. His gaze is gone. Yami walks away, he says "good bye" over his shoulder, waves to me… and he's gone.
And I let him go.
And it kills me.
Every single time.
My last thought before sleep takes me, 'Why can't I SAY something, dammit…?'
-scenechange-
The next day
I yawn, and stretch, pushing aside my over-stuffed comforter and my eyes flutter open to greet Yami's picture on my nightstand. I love that picture of him. He's sitting in an old, worn-out, green chair that he loved as a kid, holding his dad's old guitar. He learned to play a few years ago, but it's not a talent he's really shared with anyone else but me.
He's my first thought every morning, his picture is the first thing I see every day. His face, his smile, his beautiful eyes. The only thing better would be waking up to the real thing. But that's a thought more suited to my dreams, since that's the only place it'll ever happen.
I drag myself out of bed and shed my pjs. A few minutes of locating clothing and ambling to the bathroom later, I look in the mirror as I finish buttoning up my school uniform shirt and put on the black choker Yami gave me a while back, when I told him I liked it.
Of course, I meant I liked it on him, but sometimes I still turn red, thinking back to when he presented it to me, then leaned close and his hands brushed my neck to help me put it on. He told me it suited me, and that I should keep it. How could I say no?
Besides, it still smells a little like him. It still feels like I have a piece of him with me when I wear it, knowing it was his.
I adjust my eternally untamable hair and wild blond bangs, making further attempts to look presentable. I even took to wearing a little black eyeliner a few months ago. It was Anzu's idea, and I thought I was crazy when I let her talk me into it…but Yami said it looked good, so I didn't care if I was crazy or not.
Some days, when I go through this daily morning routine, I ask myself why on earth I bother anymore. But I know very well why. Yami's approval. Yami's attention. That's what I want. Not just as a friend. But…
I close my eyes and sigh. I can't help it. I'm praying again that, someday, Yami will see how I feel, accept my feelings, and tell me he feels the same. And later, I'll be kicking myself again, for making such a stupid wish. I should know better by now.
He's an incredible person, in every way, and of course I want more than this, but if Yami did feel that way, if he could feel that way I would've known that by now. I've tried so hard to make him see, but he can't. We're just not meant to be together.
We don't belong together.
And that's why.
That's why…
-scenechange-
"Oh, yeah. While I was in the hallway I heard some idiot say something about Yugi and Yami-like, he said they hang out so much because he thought that they're, like, secretly gay with each other or something." Honda snorted, amused, from his seat at the table in the cafeteria opposite Jounouchi. "And the chick that was with him was freakin' out about it, too."
"Hear that, Yugi?" Jounouchi asked, nudging his spaced-out, midget friend. He jabbed him at least a dozen times before Yugi turned to pay attention. "Someone thinks that Yami's your secret boyfriend."
"Huh?" Yugi's eyes bugged out when he actually comprehended the gossip and his face turned a dark shade of pink. "What?! Who thinks that?"
Jounouchi blinked, feeling slightly puzzled. It wasn't the first time someone had brought up the idea. It wasn't even that strange for him to make a joke about it with the twin-like joined-at-the-hip best friends, so why did the teenager look so stunned?
Come to think of it, Yugi had been acting stranger than usual. Yami, on the other hand, wasn't really around that much anymore with all the girls he had been unsuccessfully dating. "Just some guy, Yug'. No biggie, right? I mean, it's not as if it's true."
Yugi seemed to relax. Or, was that really released tension that made the shorter boy seem to shrink on the bench beside him? Was it just his imagination, or did Yugi almost seem just a little…disappointed? "Right." Yugi shrugged nonchalantly. "Of course not. Yami and I are best friends, that's all."
Now, maybe he wasn't always so great at reading people, sure, his instincts did suck on occasion, but Jounouchi had a feeling in his gut that didn't go away after lunch, or fourth period, or fifth, or even after school was over.
He just couldn't shake it, so upon spotting Yugi near their lockers, which were less than four feet apart, he jumped at the chance. "Hey, Yugi? I need to ask you something. This might sound kind of dumb, but—" Yugi glanced up at him quizzically. The expression was so innocent that Jounouchi had to force the next words out before he felt too stupid for asking. "You're not really…in love with Yami, are you?"
"Me? In love with Yami?" Yugi swallowed the painful truth before it could make his voice—and carefully played façade—crack. He stared at the blond boy incredulously, then expertly faked a laugh. "Come on, Jou. Are you kidding? Of course not!"
'If you asked me if I loved him…
…I'd lie.'
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I don't exactly feel like this is my best work and I did start this over 3 years ago, but I felt it deserved to be finished.
I realize the theme is simplistic…but true to life. My boyfriend was my best friend for a while. I started to like him pretty early on and I often discussed his girl troubles with him, advised him on what to do and tried to encourage him, reassure him when he felt insecure.
I was never going to tell him. He liked her. Admitting that I was starting to care as more than a friend would only complicate an already complicated situation… at least, I thought so. Our friends made jokes about us, and we laughed them off.
Then one day, someone got suspicious, and asked. At first, we laughed that off, too. And then, out of nowhere, I turned around and asked him if there was any truth to it. I'm not sure what possessed me to finally stop pretending it was funny. I guess I couldn't take it anymore.
And if someone on the outside saw something, maybe there was something there. Turns out he'd liked me back for a while, and things hadn't worked out with the other girl. I'd been there for him when he needed me, and he ended up liking me, and later falling for me in return.
We've been dating almost two years now, we've even talked about marriage seriously. It won't happen right now, but he loves me, and admits that there's no one else he wants to spend the rest of his life with more. I feel the same.
So here's to all the lovers who were and still are best friends, here's to all the loves that are, and were, and will be. And here's to all the loves that should've been. Don't let fear be the thing to stop you from following your heart.
And on that note, PLEASE REVIEW? Pretty please?