So here is the start of my fourth multi-part Yu-Gi-Oh! DM GX fanfiction. I am quite excited, as I have high hopes for this piece. With eight chapters in total, it will be the second longest story I have written as well as the longest Spiritshipping!story. While I am excited, I am also wary of how it will be received. The premise is strange at best (though when are they ever strong for me?), and there will be an OC playing a major role later on.

A few people know what will happen because I have talked about this with them. One person in particular has endured it at length, and for that I am truly grateful. You know who you are, I am sure. : )

So anyway, please take this piece for what it is, and keep an open mind to the sketchy aspects. My greatest wish is that you may enjoy what you read— that you will not have wasted your time clicking and reading.

And one last note to the reader: I supplicate you to pay attention to detail, because not everything is as it seems.

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! DM GX.

In time Johan Andersen had learned a dear lesson over and over: appreciate what you have and when you have for not only is that time limited, but it is better to have no regrets so that only sweet and precious memories are left when that particular thing is gone. This held especially true of a certain place and person which he held dear to him even now as he lay in a cradle of his efforts at the roof of the world. These days he was a successful pro duellist jetting around the world from duel to duel, from place to place, living his life in stretches and breathes between duels, all the while spreading his message of the importance of the bond between deck and duellist. Though in the past few months he had been focussing more on tournaments rather than individual duels, he still was quite busy. Usually he would spend a week in a city, as tournaments tended to last about six days, and there was one extra day for personal time, autograph sessions, and public appearances with eminent people. Then it would be time for him to set off to meet with the next round of opponents and people. He now was with people always, a people person. There was nothing wrong with this lifestyle per se, but it was detrimental to the soul, even to someone as sure and vivacious as Johan.

So when his manager told him that he had a week off while he worked out a certain deal with a certain person, Johan was more than relieved. Johan decided that he would return home to Norway, and his manager (Travis Webber), much to his relief, had no problem with this, even encouraged him to take the time to himself.

The thing about his home was that no matter how tired, distressed, or broken he was, he was immediately refreshed and renewed upon seeing the setting of his younger year, even if he had been away for years. It was peculiar how soothing home could be to a weary soul, but he found it to be just a natural part of the cycle, the cycle of creation as an artist. He went out in the world and with his words and actions painted on the great global canvas, painted with his own unique and exhilarating colour until his hands, soul, mind, and heart were exhausted. He would then return and rest where he had learned and mastered the art of his humanity and his message, and then he would emerge, cleansed and invigorated, ready to create again.

His cabbie stopped and pulled up to the sidewalk at half past eleven. Johan paid his fare ("You keep the change"), gathered his luggage (a red valise bag and suitcase), and stood on the cobbled sidewalk to watch the car disappear behind an opaque veil of darkness until it was utterly gone, around a corner and never to return. He then tilted his head upwards and watched images of celestial bodies hurtle towards him at the speed of light. Gravity kept him still and earthbound, but he could fall and fall forever. All he had to do was imagine...And he shook his head and, collecting his bags, moved towards the courtyard.

He passed through an archway and into a common courtyard shared with the other five honeycombed homes in the building. Off in a corner was a sputtering fountain inviting him to catch up with the private lives of his neighbours through tinkling gossip which only a disregarded fountain could know. In the water floated several water lilies opened to catch the cascading moonlight. An L-shaped patch of grass surrounded the fountain, from which clusters of mushrooms probed into a strange world with heads belying the size of the subterranean bodies which dwelt in the safety of the loam. If they had just kept their curiosity under control the creatures that prowled in the world of lightness and darkness would have never known—never minded—their existence, and would not eradicate them in the looming morning.

Johan took a few steps towards his door before stopping, acutely aware of how obtrusive he was in this silent world. His suitcase clattered over the pathway and echoed off the four walls in such a way that there could have been as many as ten of him dragging suitcases across a shattered plane of linoleum. So he picked his suitcase up and, with it secured under one arm, proceeded the rest of the way to his door. Taking one last look at the pristine sky that shimmered with hundreds of unfamiliar stars because there was less miasma of human filth in the air here, Johan set down his bags, dug out his key, and opened his door. He was meet by a silent, musty darkness, and he knew then that he truly was home.

It did not take him a long time to prepare for bed. In his pyjamas, Johan set about unsealing the second level of his home, removing insulation covers from the windows and wrenching a few panes of glass open despite their obstinance. And after all of the protests and struggles, he closed them back up again. He was weary after the fifth window but he was smiling nonetheless when he finally sat down on his bed and turned off his lamp. Ruby appeared on his shoulder and rubbed against the side of his face, too insubstantial to stir his soft locks but substantial enough to him to leave his heart warmed. Johan turned his head and smiled at her, then looked out his window at the sleeping world. All was barely illuminated in the swallow and silver starlight, and faintly terrestrial.

He blinked twice.

Satisfied and sure that his pupils had dilated, he took Ruby from his shoulder and placed her on his lap. She responded with a cry and then lifted her tail in the air. He looked at it and, through the orb's vivid red colouration, saw with an icy clarity the firmament for what it really was—still stars, still planets, tips of light which had yet to reach the earth, swirls and ribbons, the solar winds without their atmospheric colouration, instead a uniform red as they quivered around earth as they passed on their unplanned journey..

After gazing at the heavens for some fifteen minutes, Johan laid down and Ruby climbed onto his head. He got under the covers. There was a musty scent heavy in the layers of linen, and he was warm. He closed his eyes and a gentle black vapour curled around him, and he felt himself moving, and then he was gone away from himself and into a wide sleep.

--

Borne upon a wave, he floated through an opaque world. It was unfurling—the wave—and rose and fell not like a wave should but instead as it willed. Though he thought about trying to control it, the wave remained unresponsive to the will of its passenger. At the very least, he was comforted and lulled by the undeniable inkling that he would not drown.

As he road he was brought to a place where the water became shadow and the shadow became light. From the light sluiced a great glare that blinded him so that all he saw was shadow. When the shadows finally resolved—his retinas no longer burning—he was in the same place, but the light was tame and dull—gray, dun, muddled—the world was mild to him now.

—What is it that I'm trying to see?

He—he actually could think!— turned onto what he believed was his back. The wave was gone but he was still floating, or so he thought because the light all around him seemed so far away. There was a great expanse, he realised, and it was all his because he was the only one there. If he were to cry, sneeze, cough, shout, whisper, murmur, or breathe it would continue on forever, never resounding, for there was nothing to echo against.

All of this was his and he wanted none of it because all of it was nothing (and it was nothing of what he wanted). The light was playing tricks, making the void seem like something, trying to entice him with hollow promises thinner than an exquisite layer of dew.

This nothingness was not what he wanted. He would give this tranquil infinity up just for a thrice with the only thing that he truly wanted.

--

In the morning he woke to find Ruby and Amethyst Cat curled up at his feet, and Emerald Turtle sat withdrawn in its shell to his immediate left. So big was the turtle that Johan could see it in his peripheral vision when his eyes were glued to the ceiling. Instead of immediately moving, he spent some time lying still and searching for patterns in the static texture of the ceiling. Several times he saw a face, a few times he saw animals, and most of the time he saw copious amounts of nothing.

It was Ruby who first broke the calm. Upon waking up she darted up the bed, disturbing Amethyst Cat, startling Johan, and ultimately settling in the hollow of Johan's neck. Amethyst Cat stirred and sat up. She took a moment to stretch languidly before prowling further up the bed and making eye contact with Johan. Emerald Turtle remained inside his shell, seemingly asleep.

"Good morning, Johan. It's been such a long time since you've slept so soundly," Amethyst Cat greeted as she curled up again.

"Yeah, huh? I haven't felt this rested for a while. Home does that to you," Johan responded with an air that suggested he was a sage in such matters.

"Perhaps, but I think it is more complicated than that."

"Oh, really?" Johan asked, his eyes lightened by something akin to amusement. "Pray tell, what else could hinder a good night's sleep?"

"Well, one thing is your cell phone is shut off. Second, the air is much clearer here. It doesn't take half your energy to breath," she stated deftly.

"And you have chosen your sheets," came Emerald Turtle's addition to the conversation from within the recess of his shell. He did not come out.

"What has that got to do with it?" Amethyst asked.

"Why, everything," Emerald Turtle replied. All three waited for an elaboration, but were given only silence.

Shrugging, Johan brought a hand to his shoulder to hold Ruby in her place as he sat up. "I see your point...points, that is, huh? Anyway, you're both right. In any case, I hope everyone else got a good night's rest." From the recesses of his mind and soul sluiced an uplifting warmth in response. "I'm glad." He smiled warmly as he got out of bed and stretched. Then, he made his way to the stairs.

When Johan got to the first floor he turned left and walked towards the kitchen, noting how cold the wood floor was against his feet despite his socks. Here, Amethyst Cat, who had followed him from his bedroom and opted not to make any comments, disappeared. Johan then realized that there could be no food in his kitchen as no one had been here for several years. He was halfway through his livingroom and faced with a stomach ready to rebel.

A grandfather clocked chimed, announcing eight forty-five.

"Well, that's no good, eh, Ruby? Haha, what to do, what to do...Maybe I should go next door and ask for something to eat. I can pay them of course, but they'd probably insist on giving it to me for free. But then I'll have to join them for breakfast." Johan made a face. "And since I haven't even showered, will there be time to clean up and get there before it's all gone...?"

Ruby looked blankly at Johan.

"Haha, I'm in quite a fix! Maybe I should just go out and buy something. But by that time it would be very close to noon. So I should skip breakfast altogether, then?" he breathed.

Taking a moment to think, Johan cupped his chin in his hand. His brow furrowed. Then he looked at Ruby and a firecracker went off in his mind, an idea that should have been so clear to him "Say, you could go and borrow some food from the neighbours. Then when I pay them back, I can do it in my own time."

"Ruu."

"Right. How would I know how much to pay them? And they would wonder why I was paying them. Bad idea. I'll just go and get ready and...get lunch," Johan finally reasoned, finally coming to a conclusion through his addled speech. So he turned on his heel and set out to climb his stairs.

By the time he was ready (showered, shaved, and clothed) his stomach was trying in vain to digest itself. Several times it growled at him, and he imagined that maybe his stomach did have it's own mind, as well as a separate soul and (very powerful) will. Briefly, he wondered why his hunger was not a more furtive beast.

Johan set out for the grocery store at ten, parting from the foodless house with an eager vigour. While passing through the courtyard he noted that the white mushrooms were gone, and that the fountain seemed much more quiet and displaced, for the water lilies had lost their luster and were now tiny white buds studding green circular leaves, and the whisper of the water not longer carried to his ears. The four beige walls had a soft luminosity to them in the sunlight, and two children chased after a ball as a third child sat on a threshold ticking off a score with a stick of charcoal on a crumpled piece of paper. He wondered if maybe these children played Duel Monsters, and was answered by the sight of a Watapon floating behind the score-keeping child's arm. Johan smiled to himself as he turned out onto the sidewalk and, with his face and body warmed by the pale yellow sun, started towards the local grocery store.

He decided that of this trip he would make a mini journey. Everyone he passed had a story, six thousand stories in total in this town. By the time he arrived home with he would know at least two of them. With such as his goal, he smiled brilliantly at the people who, upon recognising him, greeted him as he passed. He struck up conversation with many people, learning so much of what had happened when he was gone, learning so much of what people thought of him and how much they admired him, but learning so little of their personal lives. The closest he got to breaking beneath the social surface and encountering a naked soul was when a woman informed him that her grandfather, the oldest fisherman of the town, had passed away a few weeks ago. Johan offered his condolences, and the woman accepted them with a noncommital nod and thanks. Apparently she had become so jaded to superficial sympathy that she had lost the ability to appreciate that which was sincere. Several meeting and equivocal greetings ("Hey, Rainbow boy!") later, he was finally within a block of his destination.

A smell assaulted him then, for the blue sea was only a half of a mile away. The docks that were now empty would be filled upon nightfall, when the fishermen returned with their day's catch. Upon their arrival they would unload their catch—mountains of iridescent fish that stared at the fishermen with lifeless eyes that held a vast emptiness encapsulating the secret regrets they had silently tried to share as they died— effectively bringing with them a formidable stench that got to even the most hardened of them.

To Johan, like to so many others who hardly knew better, the sea looked harmless, rolling gently and coruscating in the morning sun. Hard to believe that such a thing could produce such smells and effluence.

When he passed the first of the large windows of the grocery store, Johan stopped for a moment and turned to look at his smooth, mirrored image. He brought a hand to his chest and held his breath. If he squinted hard enough—blurred the colours and contours and truths—he might have seen someone else (and secretly revelled in the fact that it could have been someone else). With such an inconsequential effort, he could see that person...

And when he realized that he was being watched surreptitiously by a curious boy from inside the store, Johan fumbled around in his pockets for a cell phone he had purposefully left at home. Huffing, he ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. He affected exasperation and said "Forgot the damned thing at home! Figures!"

A passing woman gave him a wary glance.

He gulped, had not meant for the language to be heard by anyone but the boy, slightly embarrassed but not really that bothered. Things like that happen, after all. When the woman had disappeared around the corner he hustled into the store before anything else befell him, or his stomach succeeded in digesting itself.

(Or before he tried to create another private optical illusion.)