Title : Lotus [Formerly 'On the Dance Floor']
Rating : PG
Warnings : Slight angsting, my crappy Yuugi-kun narration (if that counts as a warning), hints of Pharaoh x Aishizu and possibly, if you squint, Yami x Yuugi, and those hints are one-sided…
Spoilers : Yami no Yuugi is a Pharaoh, if you didn't know that and you haven't read the Ancient Egypt saga of the manga… yes, there are spoilers.
~
Gasps of light filter through tinted windows, shadows creeping over unspent limbs. A figure reclines on a sofa, dreaming deeply of a color filled land. He is tangled in his thoughts, and an afghan, crying silently and his tears are like an ocean. I think he dreams of a past emblazoned in the desert, silk on skin, and of himself, a powerful god among men. I think he sees the stone pyramids rising from the rolling, changing hills as he basks in the glorious heat of the sun's almighty light, reflected tenfold on the sand, as if it were glass. I know he remembers, or thinks that he does, a day when all of Egypt stood still in the scorching heat and proclaimed he was king.
His eyelids flutter, but the pharaoh does not awaken. He still remains steeped in his dreamswept horizon. A rainbow of light and memory floods my senses, taking me many years back, into a past long forgotten, the cloudy scent of spices and rich perfumes permeating the air. Oil spread over deeply tanned skin, strong for one so young as he is. He is the pharaoh, he is a god to all those who live in his land. A fist grasps folds of silk and all around him know that the almighty one is troubled. From within his most trusted advisors, a traitor has arisen, making a claim at his immortal throne.
In the present, I am jerked from my reverie when my pharaoh cries out in his sleep, he recalls the bitter pang of betrayal, and he regrets what he did next. But he remembers. He remembers his actions, cold steel compared to a feather-soft touch. A once powerful pharaoh sheds a tear, and he continues to dream, dragging me with him. I willingly follow, even as he is torn from placidity and an uneven scream rents the cool water of his mind. A traitor is among them, he hears from the lips of the one who has forever left his side, his high priest whispers a name.
Through torch lit halls, the god of all Egypt thunders, incensed at the thought of one he trusted turning astray. His cape, the clouds and nighttime sky, flow behind him. His face is the mask of a million raindrops. His voice tears through the darkness, an accusation present upon royal lips. No one dares to defy him. He is god of all Egypt. The traitor will die. No begging for mercy, it is useless to try. The Morning and Evening Star does as he wishes, his will directs the flow of the Nile, and he can surely snuff out one tiny life.
Even in its innocence. Sobs wrack his heart, thoroughly covering the walls of his psyche. He knows now what he sacrificed for a false accusation, he regrets ever calling himself a king. He forgets all the things that made him a man, and focuses only on his most poignant sin. A misjudgment by god? How could the son of Re be wrong? He wasn't. He was human. Now I hold him close to me as he slumbers, forgetting, if slowly, the nightmares he has. I never forget. I will hear in my mind the last scream of the innocent, never forgetting the cruel laugh of the guilty.
I will never erase from my mind the sight of my strength crumbling to his knees, tears and kohl mixing on his cheeks. Blood on his hands, and horror in his heart. I will never quit that image from the depths of my soul. Of our soul. However, blessedly, he will forget, as he has forgotten forever. Immortal and never-ending, the truth of his existence would overwhelm him. So I watch as the sun rises again, spilling over the curves of his face, highlighting the tracks of his dream shed tears. I wish I could wipe them away forever. Magically make it all perfect again. It isn't within my power, so I settle for holding him close.
Forgive me, my pharaoh. Forgive me, my darkness. I take advantage of you when you are like this, breathing in your scent as you sleep. I love you beyond love, for you are me and our memory is one. A bond closer than brothers, there is no room for betrayal between us. So you trust me. I would never let you down, I think to myself as I smooth the blanket around you, putting you in a more peaceable position. Sleep, king of the sand and the water. River-god and ruler of all Egypt. Sleep and forget. Forget the pain of yesterday, as it washes away with the purest water.
Forget to fear your past for it cannot haunt you now. I will protect you, my partner. It is my duty to forever be by your side, aiding you in the recovery of all of the memories you would wish you could forget again… if you could only remember. So, while I promise with my mouth to help you remember, I promise with my heart to help you heal. Those scars that might have been hellishly sketched on the doorframe of your heart are no more. Do not worry about them… time has allowed them to fade for a reason.
In your sleep you search for the source of the warmth your body knows is beside you, clinging to it as if it were a lifeline. As if you were the child and I were the once-leader of a great nation. How strange that now our roles should be reversed. I brush a strand of errant blonde hair from your face, watching as it falls to frame your cheek. If your eyes were open one would see dim portals of the deepest ruby-red, liked dried blood caked on stone many ages past. The deepest depths of fire and ash, mixing in a plethora of the finest crimson shade. Fading from fire to blood to silken lining, your eyes encompass who you are. Determined to be strong, persuaded to be righteous. Eager to please, expectant of domination. The eyes of a king.
Not to speak of the same hair which I only moments before brushed from crimson orbs. So silken and light. I can run my hands through the waters of many rivers, the surface of ten thousand trees, and most of all, the pure softness that is my darkness' hair. It seems such a trivial thing to obsess over, hair, but your hair is the most amazing thing… so soft, so vivid and striking in appearance. Like your eyes, your hair mirrors your soul. So dangerous to look at, so pleasant to touch. It fits you, my yami.
As does everything else about you. Your voice, which is so commanding, I can hear it spreading from over your throne. I can hear you proclaiming the end of a duel with your simple presence alone. But your voice adds to the effect, drawing out the opponent, making their defeat either unbearably agonizing or comfortably easy. You, a king, a master of cards, the almighty leader of duels. The Shadow Game. Yami no Geemu.
You are intriguing, I find myself thinking. I stand up, careful to keep you from stirring. Even with all my care, I still jolt your head. You blink, coming to awareness for the barest of seconds before slipping back into the land of your troubled dreams. In this dream, you are recalling the nights when you stood on the edge of a balcony, looking out over the land you called your own. Pure wonder enthralls you, calling to you, and filling my heart as you revel in your power and position. As I breathe in the scent of being a king.
You live for me, showing the past and the present, showing me yourself and nothing more. I want to be lost in your thoughts, deeply woven, falling back down from my earthly abode. I'd give all that I have to experience this feeling, but truly, that you are drowning in now. So luscious and sweet, rich and tangy. Your breath is heated as you place smooth hands over stone, smiling at the sight of the most powerful kingdom on earth. And all because of you.
The statues and pyramids raised tall by human hands shadow you, your palace a marvel no matter when you had lived. You reluctantly walk away from the window and sit down to recline by the pool. Tanned skin mirrors the light from the moon, reflecting over the water. You are pondering. Graceful hands, fingers, cross over one another as you contemplate. A small furrow appears between your eyes, the kingdom is in trouble. A vomiting mass of pure apprehension, so sheer and magnificent in its horror, spreads over your supple limbs.
What if I'm not good enough?
That's what you are thinking, my yami. In the past you worried about whether or not you could fulfill the expectations others had for you. A boy king, a young man thrust into power unawares. I feel like vomiting now. I want to run over to you, pull you close and comfort you. To run my fingers through your hair, protecting you from everything. How could they do this to you? I swear under my breath, my ghostly to-be-a-memory form moving through you, into you. I wish I could hold you.
Now you are crying, both on the inside and out. The memory weeps and you start to sob. Such expectation, so much pressure. Many nights before, many full moons past, you have brought a knife to your throat, wishing you could end your life.
Wishing to pass on to the judgment, praying you will be seen more fit there than here. But you hesitate. I do not fully know why, and I doubt you did either. Destiny. Destiny lays her cruel fingers on your heart, condemning you to me forever. Without me, without our unmistakable connection, you could have slit your throat any time you pleased. But I'm glad you didn't. I am glad you couldn't.
Because I still need you. I need your presence by my side. I need you to wipe away my tears whenever my nightmares become too frightening. I need you to stabilize me, to complete me. Because, no matter what we want, we are not complete without each other. And even if you feel differently, even if you hated me, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I feel myself being pulled from the dream, back to the real world, back to where you still recline so carelessly on my sofa. I reluctantly heed the call of my grandfather, leaving the room, and you, to go open the shop. And even as I go, your eyes begin to open; you've felt me leaving.
"Aibou? Are you going to open the shop already?" I nod and smile at you, untangling yourself from the afghan. "Wait. I'll help." I pout, directing my sad expression in your direction.
"You don't have to." I mold my pouting face into some semblance of a grin, leaving the room, and you will still follow, no matter what I say. My pharaoh. You still awaken every morning, greeting me as if I were not the bane of your very existence. As if we were close, as if I were special. As if you could love me.
I think you do love me and I do not know why. I love you too, my pharaoh.
L O T U S E N D E