Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! However, I am claiming OCs I might have. I only accept constructive criticism.

Metempiricism

Chapter 1

Can I Come In?

Knock. Knock.

She held her breath. Why? Because the knock meant someone was at her home too late for specific reason she feared. Perhaps she was being too dramatic. Her eyes blinked slowly as if there was a delayed computation taking place in her highly wired mind. Then again that's what four cups of black tea could do to one's mind; leave it spinning, twisting and humming for hours on end with no end in sight. Knock. Knock. There it was again. She wrapped her blanket more tightly around her as if a wind had whistled through her drawn drapes. The reading glasses she only donned when her eyes were particularly strained slid someway down her nose; resting now on the fringes of her face. Much how her toes tickled along the trimmings of the office chair she sat folded up in. Her knees balanced a document where her hair had slid across the deep black ink, mixing with the tips of her hair.

Knock. Knock. It was still there.

Gently she stood and bumped her mug, watching it shake against the wood—the filling sloshing. Luckily it didn't splash showing just how much of the contents she had downed. She swallowed the moisture that had collected in her mouth and narrowed her eyes towards the slightly ajar office door. Should she go out? What if—Knock. This time however it sounded as if a hand had slid down the wood in defeat. This sound she knew. This sound she tied with one face, one person she had the hardest time denying. Removing her glasses and frowning at what she was about to do, she held more tightly to the throw around her shoulders and walked forward. She finally left the safety of her office and came into the hall. The hall seemed longer than usual and she counted each step. Even going as far as spacing her feet perfectly from one another. The carpet soon turned to wood and she listened as that familiar creak echoed through the loft apartment. This squeak had footsteps returning to the door and she realized her mistake even more so.

She stood fully before the door and stared at it, wondering if the occupant on the other side was doing the same. Swallowing yet again she undid the first lock and heard a breath heave from the visitor. The second lock had the footsteps correcting themselves as if to align them perfectly with the door. Finally the third was undone and she cursed the excessiveness of the security yet again before twisting the knob. Her teeth clenched and her eyes visibly hardened. "It's late." It was always late.

"I know." He always knew. The baritone was like velvet wrapped splinters; jagged, loose and strange. "Isis, I know."

"Then what is it Atem?"

"The same?" Deep crimson eyes lifted to meet rich turquoise and she watched his body noticeably relax. "The same." He nodded. It was as if he found this answer in her, in Isis Ishtar Yami found this answer.

"I do not know what to say..." She trailed off and reluctantly stepped aside. The man lethargically moved into the apartment and headed straight for the bar-seating the kitchen area offered. A known stool cushioned his bottom and Isis maneuvered around to where her once hot water sat. She quickly went to reheating the liquid just so she had something to do with her hands but more importantly her mind. "I never know what to say."

"Yes." The word was a command and she instinctively looked his way. "Yes, you do." His eyes looked glossed and his hair ruffled. Said hair that was down to his shoulders these days was pulled back. A few stray bangs escaped the tie and framed his face paying homage to his distress further. Blonde mingled with his long ashen lashes and he blinked the bothersome hair away. "I'm sorry..."

"No. Don't be." She bit her bottom lip and once more put her back to the man. Eyeing the clock in her kitchen the digital read out spoke of moments after midnight. It was late but not too late, right? She was debating with herself again and she knew if this was coming into play, whatever was going on didn't need to happen. Grabbing a small mug she poured the warmed chamomile in hopes calming him as well as her own nerves. She then added a few extra ingredients to boost the flavor.

"You were working."

"Yes. More documents."

"Hm."

She turned around to find his eyes already staring in her direction. She moved slightly to the left and the lids re-wiped the lustrous ruby before they flickered with a precision she'd only seen on mad men. And Isis Ishtar knew a thing or two about mad men. Now she was worried. "Atem..."

"Don't." He shifted on the stool and pushed the sleeves of his black thermal up with his ringed fingers. His hands were always a fascination since he adorned a ring on every appendage. A few of the fingers even had two rings rather than just the one. One in particular that she was very familiar with rested on his ring finger by its lonesome; her heart hiccupped. He caught her eyes and glanced away for the moment before casually turning his eyes back to hers. "I wear it well?"

"Na'am. Very well." This time his eyes flickered with intentions she couldn't pinpoint before they returned to a shade of dulled red. Reaching into the cabinet— she was grateful to have her back to him —she grabbed the closest and cleanest mug. She mixed the tea she had been brewing over. "Here." She set the cup before him and he lifted it, eyeing the logo on the side. It was then she spotted the mug she had indeed grabbed. "I'm—"

His hand rose. Gently he lifted it— hiding his disdain poorly —and sipped the contents in a manner that spoke of finishing school. Only Yami could make a gaudy Kaiba Corporation mug appear as some handmade incalculable China tea set. Isis watched this action for a while before he caught her gaze and gently set the mug down. "I was doing it again?"

She gave a genuine smile. "Yes."

He returned the smile and his eyes caught a glow that wasn't created by any of the lighting in the room, "Oh. I suppose old habits die hard goes the saying."

"But certain habits are okay to keep." She daintily lifted her own mug, pinky out, and sipped her own tea. This left a happy smile to spread across his lips and she returned it. "How is it?" She nodded to the mug.

"I believe the most exquisite tea in all of Domino City."

"Atem..."

"I tell no lies this moment Isis."

"This moment?" Now his eyes were darkening and she visibly took a step back. "I supposed honesty was always something you exercised."

"Aibou claims I can be a bit, um, wordy, as he so nicely put it. I took that as I have a habit of being overly compliant in giving extra unneeded detail." Isis chuckled at this and Yami gave her a pointed look. "You have been on the receiving end of such statements?"

"Indeed. You live your life honestly Atem. I could never doubt that."

"I could," he mumbled more to himself than his current company. His face pinched at the lips as if something bitter was tingeing his tongue. He took a few more sips as to wash that taste away all while Isis tried to forget what she had seen and heard. "How has work been?"

"Tiresome. I've been up for a few days now attempting to translate this contract. This particular business man prefers his documentation to be written in quite pointed English thus making my translations even more meticulous than usual. I suppose these moments are simply poignant reminders of my career choice." Why was she feeling so wordy about her duties? Scrolling through her mind she realized no one had really asked her how she had been lately. A desire for melancholy reaction came into play but she pushed it down with another mouthful of tea.

"Hm, that does sound tiresome. Perhaps I could be of some assistance?" His head rose and he tucked a blonde bang behind his ear; a habit that had been developed over time. A habit Isis had tied to whenever Yami asked for help or offered it. It was a genuine gesture.

"I could never ask an overburdened college student for help Atem. It's simply not fair. Tell me, how go your studies?"

"Kwayis."

"What is amiss?"

"My ambitions." He sat straighter and his eyes followed lazy patterns created from the granite countertop flecks. "I seem to be losing my inspiration. I—hm."

"Yes?" She moved from around the counter and took purchase on a stool next to him. "You can tell me Atem."

"I do not wish to." The tone spoke of a gentle finality.

"AarD." She took a small sip and adjusted the throw around her shoulders. Shifting a little she looked next to her and found Yami staring at her. His elbows rested on the countertop with his hands clasped together, creating a quiet nick of metallic. His chin rested on this bed of knuckle covered rings and a small smile formed against his mouth. "Yes?"

"Mafeesha Haga." He blinked soundly before once more taking a regal gulp of the tea. "Please, tell me more of your work." He rested the mug back on the counter, "Has it been too hard on you? I'd hate to see you working too hard."

"I'm fine." Immediately she watched as his eyes hardened. "But I am. I assure you Atem."

"It seems work ethics have changed for you." Was that bitterness laced in his words?

"Not quite. I keep my wits about me but I have become more flexible when it comes to doing a successful job."

"Hm."

Sipping once more she said in a more subdued manner, "If it means anything, I was promoted recently."

"SaHeeH?" An elegant black brow rose.

"'Aywa, by my own devices."

This time however his eyes softened and he lifted a warm bronze hand. It rested securely against the back of her palm, "Da SaHeeH shay' AaZeem. Mabrook!" He gently squeezed the hand before he slowly pulled his hand back; the fingertips of said hand grazing the back of her hand in a tingling custom.

"Shukran gazeelan." She took that hand from the counter and rested it back in her lap. Her eyes shifted downward taking in the clean tile of her kitchen and also a book she hadn't spotted before. "You come bearing gifts?" She motioned to the book and Yami nearly jumped off of the stool to collect it in his arms. "I tease Atem. You've been writing?"

Said black non-descript book was clutched against his chest by one arm and he nodded slowly, "Perhaps. My mind tends to linger in class."

"Do you care to share?"

"I have nothing new worth sharing."

"Are you sure?" Isis cocked her head to onside and for once, in a show of rare meekness a barely there blush came over Yami's cheeks. "Hm..."

"Why do you ambush me in such ways Isis?" Yami playfully groused as he opened his book and flipped through the neatly scripted thoughts. He toiled through the pages in a grace that belayed royalty before his thumb landed on a particular piece. "I suppose...?"

"WaSal." She climbed off the stool and motioned him away from the dim kitchen to the darkened living room. Clicking on a standing lamp she sat down on the couch and he came over, sheepishly taking a seat next to her. "Please, share."

"Isis..." It was a warning.

"Atem, please. Fill my living room with curious energy."

Giving a long sigh and look to follow Yami found Isis to be rather eager for him to share. "Fine." His eyes washed over the page a few times before he finally cleared his throat:

Midnight hums melancholy music

Sounds that cease to solidify my searching

Echoes of elevated extravagance

Lost in lunacy and lingering lives

Identities idealized by idols

Paganism in progressive parcels

Gander upon the genuine gallivant of a gentleman

Isis' eyes held an overly unadulterated comfort that couldn't be paralleled to anything in that moment and Yami found himself thirsting from it. Here he was drowning in blue but, thirsting for it all the while. He felt naked, bared. Stripped right down to the bone before Isis, as he usually did whenever he shared something he had written with her. Here he was marrow out and she dared to understand. To pity him in a way that spoke of past discernments—had she truly been there? His hand found its way up and the tips of his middle and ring finger pelted her chin in tiny shaky touches. Her chin leaned into this touch and his face followed. Eye to eye; nearly nose to nose. This wasn't the first time this had happened and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. Quickly he pulled away and closed the book.

"We are going over alliterations in one of my classes. I find them challenging and entertaining to put together. Much how Aibou enjoys puzzles I see them as such. Aibou..." He allowed the word to linger and shot his eyes to the wall clock. An occasion or so after one am. "I should go Isis. Yugi often worries himself sick over me." He gave a bitter smile but rose, not even entertaining her pained features. "Thank you for these moments."

"But Yugi does not stay with you?"

His back faced her and held rigidness, "I'll keep in touch." It wasn't like her to not walk him to the door but this night he left her slightly stunned on the couch. "I'll let myself out," he added as an afterthought. Opening the door he gently closed it and leaned against the frame. Letting out a long breath he headed back down the hallway and pressed the buttons on the elevator. The box took him down to the lobby and he headed out the way he came in.

The air outside was crisp and the parking lot of Isis' complex held less cars than he expected. He came over to his black Suzuki GSRX. The 600 had been his mode of transportation for some time. When Yugi had insisted he needed to not only learn how to drive but get his license, something about Tristan's street-bike intrigued him more than Mrs. Moto's sedan. Because of this combined with his adventurous nature he inquired Tristan to teach him along with Joey— another intrigued by Tristan's insistent rambling about sport-bike —and soon he was out on the streets of Domino. Tristan allowed them to practice on a 'fixer-upper' bike he happened to have and naturally Yami caught on to the gear shifts and weight distribution. But even more so the freedom one feels when whizzing through the streets, being a part of it all while being one driving force. It was a freedom he hadn't felt since riding horses through the desert.

So after acquiring his motorcycle license he bought the moderate speed machine with the money he had saved over time—his first big purchase. He could still see the pale faced Mrs. Moto when she heard the engine purring into the driveway to find him seated upon it. He shook his head at the memory and picked up his backpack. He had so carelessly forgotten it in a rush to be at her door but she lived in a safe area; not to mention the parking lot was gated. He pulled the jacket from the bag and zipped the high-collared black and maroon motorcycle jacket Yugi had gotten him as a gift. A gift his mother had yet again paled at the sight of. Truly she saw Yami as a bigger, tanner version of Yugi since she worried about him in almost the same format as she did the smaller. He didn't mind since it only showed she cared.

He picked up his helmet and placed it on his head, the visor lifted. Placing the book in his backpack before putting it on, he quietly cursed himself for forgetting his whole backpack but not the book. He climbed atop of his treasure and started it up. It purred to life thanks to Tristan tuning the exhaust and he rode out of the parking lot. He put the code in at the visitor's gate that allowed him exit and took off through the gates. He rolled past the front of the building and as expected he spotted Isis looking down at him through her living room window. He pushed his visor down and focused back on the Domino streets. He blazed past neon and fluorescent; a cacophony of music, voices and the occasional fellow biker wrapping his world in complex modulation.

Yami stopped at a red-light and spotted a car full of people around his age. All of them were dressed up and preparing to go out to have a good time. Why wasn't he full of such a youthful carefree attitude? A part of his mind explained that his body was youthful but he himself, his very spirit was ages old. A reincarnate of something that should have been left forgotten; all of this was before and after his time. He found it hard relating in area's that Yugi complained about while at times his felt his weaknesses were pettier than that of a teen. A back and forth action that left his heart and mind whiplashed. Wrapped in casts—not enough to heal or reconstruct. The green light shown and he lay heavy on the throttle. Tristan had warned him shifting on the Suzuki wasn't the greatest and Yami had learned this luckily earlier on in deserted streets, but in this moment he put that knowledge and know how in the front of his mind.

He whizzed down the now highway and enjoyed the rush of adrenaline, stroke to his male-ego at the obnoxious bluster of the pipes, and over all freedom of wind rushing past him; his jacket fluttering against his body. Goosebumps rose all along his arms and legs and neck. The sensation was addicting and he wanted to push the bike harder, faster. Not out of impatience but out of sensation; the sensation of freedom. So he did. He pushed the bike to great speeds and dexterously through traffic, slowing down only when direly needed. The highway ride was indeed a high and he was almost reluctant to take his exit towards his home, but did anyway since he had to get up in some hours.

The bike rolled past the closing gates of the townhomes and he came almost to the back, where his usual parking spot was still open. He parked and set the bike on its kickstand. He removed his helmet and headed to the front door, running a hand through his hair. This successfully removed the hair-band and he placed it around his wrist while he unlocked the top and bottom locks. Entering inside, he set the helmet on the small table by the door and hung his jacket and backpack up. He left his boots by the door and pulled his hair back out of his face. He settled himself on the couch and turned the TV on just for noise. He always needed sound; silence left his mind to speculate and it usually landed on less than savory topics.

A random cooking show was on and he watched uninterested as the self-proclaimed "Spice Diva" talked about the usefulness of cinnamon. He leaned forward retrieving a sketchbook from the coffee table and flipped to an empty page and began sketching. Sketching was a hobby of his since Yugi had supported him after seeing a 'doodle' of an immaculately made sunset. Now he did it for therapeutic reasons and often when his mind was overrun with racing thoughts. He shifted the book from left to right and allowed his mind to create the picture that was haunting him through his fingertips. Occasionally he looked up at the TV more out of habit than need and continued on.

Why did he keep going over to Isis' house? He knew he needed to stop but he couldn't help it. Yami had been on an emotional whirlwind for almost six months now—seven if you counted when it all started. All of his past information had been gathered and it had finally come down for him and Yugi to duel. Much to the surprise of himself, he had won. Thus, getting the grand prize of being able to stay in this time—a second chance to relive his life to the fullest. No longer was he governed by council or a great multitude of people waiting on his every request. No, he was now able to live the normal life of a young adult. A life he both loathed and cherished.

Now with this in hand it had taken Yami sometime to not only get used to his greatest achievement: his new body, but to adjust accordingly to this new world. A world that had changed during his restless sleep within the puzzle; a world he had been able to view through Yugi's eyes but not participate in. Now here he was, burdened by the need to live life to the fullest and he had no clue to how to go about doing it. At first he had continued on working in the shop. He enjoyed the work and the Kame Game Shop picked up in service, with the knowledge of who ran it taking over the Duel Monster's community. It was inspirational to inspire young duelists and kids just getting use to the idea of trap and magic cards. But that fulfilling feeling had started to linger and Yami knew it was time to couple it with another task.

Yugi had suggested college. He, Joey and Tristan were attending Domino Community College or DCC at the time in order to save money and get good grades, in hopes of entering a higher standing institution. Deciding it was a good idea as not only a young man but a noble— for no matter what era it was Yami would always be a noble —he had taken the idea into great consideration and ended up applying. He found the challenge of general courses fun and ended up finishing them within a year. After that year, Mrs. Moto made a suggestion for him to apply to Domino University. DU was a wonderful school and known for its excellent Liberal Arts programs that she believed Yami would take an interest in. The entrance exam had been tough but all of his studying for it had paid off and he was granted access to the academic excellence that is DU.

This is when Yami started to fall apart. Picking a major hadn't been hard since International Studies had been an obvious choice and staying true to his heart desires he minored in Creative Writing. He had been enjoying the first month of school but with his future paving so swiftly before him coupled with his true lack of adjusting, he had started to tear at the seams. Seeping out needed identity that he realized he didn't have. Who was he? Yugi had explained he was well, Yami. His dearest friend and brother he had always looked up to aspired to be. Sure this had warmed him beyond measure but it hadn't filled the hole he had growing wider within his soul, his very being. He was losing what he thought he had which were mere vapors whisked away, grasped by fingertips. It easily slipped away and he hadn't tried hard enough to keep hold. Who was Atem? Was he always meant to be a ghost in the shell?

He grunted at such a depressing thought. He was meant to live a fulfilling life. A wonderful life yet here he was wallowing about it. Guilt crept upon him and he gave a long heaving sigh. He was already anticipating a ride back over to Isis' house to consult her on the matter. He could remember their first encounter since he had received his body and had been slowly getting used to things. It had been one of the days he had walked out and about—nowhere to actually be but just enjoying the act of walking. The feel of his muscles screaming for him to sit and take a break had always been a good time. He rounded a corner and spotted her sitting on a veranda of a cafe. It appeared as if she was waiting for someone but had been stood up. The sad look she sported, he related to. Thus Yami approaching her and inviting himself to sit had felt natural. After speaking with her for some time, calling her didn't seem burdensome and a friendship formed. But the late night visits had only happened a few times. This night being the third—this couldn't be a habit.

A very bad habit. He couldn't be so dependent on Isis. She was his friend and naturally confidant came with that but, there was only so much he could give her before it crossed boundaries; boundaries that couldn't be moved or pushed no matter what his desires or needs were. He leaned further back in the couch and swung his legs forward, resting the bottoms of his socked feet on the cushion. His shoulders slumped in submission to the arm's comfort and continued on sketching, occasionally shading in a few lines. His hand followed the shifting curves of his mind's eye and eventually the TV was nonexistent; only his creation and the ever present nagging thoughts of missing singularity. He detested his racing thoughts as well as his growing need to be closer to Isis. She was a standalone party that genuinely understood him. He was afraid of using his friendship to her as a crutch. Or better yet—

"Hm..." He let loose a low deep subdued growl. A sound a father makes to a mischievous toddler. His mind was wondering to dangerous levels much how a scooting babe finds waywardness. Letting out a long sigh Yami looked down at the clock on the entertainment center and found it was nearly three am. He eyed his sketch and gently colored in the long thick hair before lightly shading in the known blue eyes. His thumb traced the curve of the lined-woman's lips and a sense of longing came over him. He was grateful his keys were so far from him. "Off to bed," he murmured to himself. He set the book aside and turned the TV off. He moved to the back of the one-floor home and entered the bathroom.

He began the meticulous process of removing his jewelry and a smiled when he recalled the Moto's faces when he entered with his many ear adornments: three black hoops on his right upper lobe, one black hoop and industrial piercing in his left mid and upper lobe and black mini-gauges in his earlobes. They had all looked upon him with different flavors of emotion. Yugi was shocked, Mrs. Moto was slightly disapproving and Grandpa had simply been fascinated. Naturally Yugi had supported him in his sudden decisions and Grandpa had argued his case with the lady Moto, explaining how this was a part of his culture. Yami had been relieved of them accepting him and it was there he realized he had been fearful of being rejected; being rejected for being himself and catering his appearance to that. When Isis had seen them she had simply touched them gently and even purchased him a jewelry box for all of his rings, bracelets, armbands and earrings.

He placed his hands on the counter and leaned his weight upon them. She knew him very well. Maybe even more than he knew himself he dared to imagine. He closed his eyes and removed the hair-tye once more, allowing his hair the cascade down. He pulled his shirt over his head as well as the under shirt and shimmied out of his pants. He tossed them in the hamper of his bedroom and crawled under the sheets naked. He liked sleeping naked—it was another freeing experience that he had control over and another item paying homage to his past. However it hadn't been a wise option one night his fire-alarm went off and he ran outside half-asleep, really thinking something had gone wrong. He had given the middle-aged woman next door an eye-full which led to her bringing over food for about a month. He stared at the ceiling, chuckling to himself at the memory. New memories.

New fresh and vibrant pictures of his new past—he felt optimistic for the moment. Yet it was fleeting as he realized the one memory he would never get the chance to make: telling Isis—his mind didn't let him complete the thought. Instead it shut down for sleep.

PLEASE READ:

Welcome to The Token's Cafe Theater. Tonight's special is a wonderfully slow roasted drama seasoned in the finest grindings of angst. We have a breathtaking new whine (HA) selection, the most popular being the timid yet lovable Lady Ishtar white bouquet. And for dessert we offer deliciously burdened ex-Pharaoh wrapped in a mocha perfectly bronzed glaze. Bon appetit!

I'm taking my writing on a different route this time around and hopefully it'll pay homage to my chosen field of study in college: Professional Writing. I'm really excited about this story and can't wait for everyone's input. I'll probably update a little differently than I usually do since this is a story for my advancement as a writer.

This fic was brought to you by, well, YOU. Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. You all picked this genre. Enjoy!

Arabic will be spoken in this fic and translated at the end of each chapter.

ArabicWords:

Na'am – Yes (Formal)

Kwayis – Fine

AarD – Fair (Adj)

Mafeesha Haga – Nothing

SaHeeH – Really? (Doubt)

'Aywa – Yes (Informal)

Da SaHeeH shay' AaZeem – That's really great

Mabrook – Congratulations

Shukran gazeelan – Thank you very much

WaSal – Come

This was posted especially for:

All who voted! As well as my frequent reviewers; you know who you are!

StillStands: If I don't get one measly review, no new chapter, however if I do get one measly review, new chapter.

REVIEW!

Well I'm Out.