I'm angry right now, so I have to write this out.

Anger. Some would call it a useless and ugly emotion: It destroys someone's perception of another who would be considered "perfect." Your eyebrows furrow deeply, your breath quickens, a glare to everything and everyone standing in your way. You yell, you cry, you want to punch and lash at a person or a wall, even if it means hurting yourself—it doesn't matter.

Anger. No one wants to witness you screaming with rage, no one wants to accept that such a side exists in a person. When it arises, people don't know what to do. They tell you to calm down, they tell you it's going to be all right, when you know it's not. You were taught since a toddler that it's not acceptable to scream in someone's face or argue back. You've been taught to bottle up your feelings in the public eye, your heart and soul being weighed down, and your teeth clenching occasionally in seething until the right time. And what of the people that never get the right time?

I watch you now in your current state, Yuugi. You've just come home from school. I welcome you home with a warm smile, and you don't return so much as a glance in my direction. Your lips are curved down into an uncharacteristic frown. The whole trip to your room, you're staring coolly at the carpeted floor, the floors groaning under your pounding feet. Finally, as you near the door, you reach out to grab the knob and nearly body-slam yourself against the wood. I listen as you slam it shut behind you.

Now, if it were anyone else, they might've crept down the hall and knocked on your door to ask if you were okay. The question holds a sort of irony to me, and I snort at the thought. Are you okay? Oh, of course. Just storming down halls and banging against everything I can to the point of pain 'cause it's fun.

For a long moment, I stand there in the living room with my arms crossed and wait it out, gazing calmly in the direction of your room. Next thing I know, I hear something banging against the other side of your door. I hear grunts and yelling the millisecond before each bang, and I know you're throwing something. I'm just glad you're careful in not taking up any glass. It sounds, rather, like your backpack—so heavy and full of your textbooks and things.

When I no longer hear the bangs and judge that it's safe for me to approach you, I walk casually down the hall. First I knock gently on the door, waiting for a few seconds. I hear no reply. But I know that means you want me to come in. I know you, Aibou.

So I do. I turn the knob ever so gently and open the door, peeking in. Nothing is out of the ordinary, besides your backpack which now lies in an unhappy manner against the door. And then I see you. Your back is turned to me. Your hands are up and in a death grip against the windowsill. I emerge into the room more fully and watch you some more, just observing, my hands digging into my pockets. There's no movement for a long several moments, and then suddenly your head jerks over to meet my crimsons with your cold amethyst stare. Your teeth are visibly clenched together, and those eyes… so full of rage.

"What?!" You bark. I almost flinch at the negative energy coming off of you in waves, exuding so strongly.

"Just checking in on you." I reply softly, with a shrug. You look away and return to glaring at the world beyond the window. I hesitate, then say: "Do you want to talk about something, Aibou?" I make sure to keep my voice as calm and soothing as possible. I observe you more as you think over your answer. It was amazing what a difference posture made when indirectly expressing anger. You're hunched over, and your hands suddenly ball into fists.

"God fucking damnit…" I hear you whisper, though it comes out more like a hiss. You lean your head against the glass of the window, then raise one of your fists to bang against it. Of course, that surprised me. You—Yuugi Mutou—swearing? It was a once in a lifetime thing, to be perfectly honest. Whatever happened must have been bad.

But, I don't push you into it. I could never push you into anything. Not anything, even if I wanted to. But I could never want to. Slowly and cautiously, I cross the room and approach you. As I near you, I take in more of your current, rare state. Your breathing quickly, and you're almost constantly sighing to keep back the tears prickling your eyes. I refrain myself from touching you, though. Some people don't like it. I've only seen you angry a few times before, but not to this extent—a situation this delicate had to be taken with diligence. Even with you, someone who most would consider an angel. Those people are fools, though. That doesn't mean you're incapable of holding back a physical strike, though you know it's not the ideal route.

Of course, my first immediate instinct was to hold you close in my arms and comfort you as best as I could. But persistence in making you feel better may just irritate you more. Plausible. Instead, I lean against the window frame as well and look out the window with you. It's a bright, sunny, warm afternoon. I bite my lip and force back a chuckle at how opposite you are right now.

You don't say anything, and for a moment I wonder if you've turned into a statue. Your body is rigid, and I know you're still clenching your teeth behind those pursed lips. When I realize that you still have yet to take out some anger, an idea rushes to me.

"Look," I murmur, turning to look at you with grinning eyes, and a small smile upon my lips. "I don't know what's happened, and I don't mind if you don't want to tell me. But I feel like it has to do with some person at school, no?"

You look away. Silence. Ah, I was correct. I chuckle.

"That's okay. You don't have to tell me who, specifically." Now I face my body toward you, taking a step back, and spread my arms out to my sides, still smiling invitingly. "So. Hit me."

"Wh-what?" You stammer out. I grin; at least I've got your attention now. You look at me with your frown, but a hint of pure appall by the suggestion. "No, Yami. I'm not going to hit you." You say.

"Yuugi, I want you to hit me. I want you to give me all you got. If you really want to punch someone, then let it be me. You will feel much better afterwards." I watch as you shake your head almost vigorously, and my eyes soften generously. It just shows how much you care. But, that's not what I want. "I want you not to care about my wellbeing for just this moment. Here," I stride to the bed and grab the pillow on top, then hold it in place against my chest. "If it's any consolation, I'll have this against me. Come on, Aibou." I coax, my voice steadily rising the more you shake your head. "You can't be afraid to show your anger! Are you afraid of me?"

Yet again, you shake your head, but more gently this time. "Are you afraid of expressing yourself? Afraid of being judged?"

Suddenly, your face contorts and you raise your eyes to mine again, angrily. "I don't want to hurt you, Yami! I know you think this is a good idea, but it's not!"

"You couldn't hurt me if you wanted to, Aibou." I smirk. You flinch. These words seem to have hit a nerve. I feel the negativity in the room make a swift return, and I smoothly continue: "You're weak. You're powerless. You can't fend for yourself, and you're afraid. I'm disappointed, Aibou, quite disappointed. You are, in fact, nothing—"

"Fuck you!" You scream, then dart for me and strike repeatedly at the pillow. My eyes widen a little at the force of your blows, and I'm always having to reclaim the pillow edges before it slips.

"Don't be afraid, Yuugi! Hit me as hard as you can!" I holler, almost commandingly. Next thing I know, I'm struggling to stand up straight from the exertion of your fists. You punch the pillow wildly; your eyes are squeezed shut. You give out a cry before letting loose a stream of words. "Don't tell me that! Don't tell me I'm weak, I'm not weak! I'm more powerful than you can even imagine. I'm not fucking nothing!"

We're both panting a bit now, and I grin down at you. You truly are strong, and I take in your words with swelling pride. You really are my partner. My wonderful, strong partner.

Slowly as your anger fades, your blows become slower and gentle until they eventually stop, and tears are running down your cheeks. The second that you finish, I toss the pillow aside and gather you up into a warm and tight embrace; you welcome it wholeheartedly. "Very well done, Aibou." I whisper, resting my cheek against your head with the widest smile. A small sniffle escapes from you in response, and you rest your forehead against my chest.

"Thank you, Mou Hitori no Boku…"

I clench you against me for several seconds more, then loosen my grip and pull away just enough to watch you. My hand comes up to stroke away the tear tracks with my thumb. "You feel better?"

"Mm…" You nod, smiling shyly and swiping the remaining tear tracks yourself. A broken chuckle escapes that causes my heart to overflow with open fondness. "I hope you know that… none of what I said this entire time was… directed at you." A sigh, and you look up at me with unworthy sadness. "I just… some guys at school basically told me those exact words today, and…" you furrow your eyebrows. "I couldn't bear it. I thought that not expressing my anger towards them was the wisest thing to do. I thought it was the stronger thing to do." You sigh. "But… I see that it wasn't. I didn't feel any strength from keeping my feelings to myself…"

"No, Yuugi," I chuckle, holding you against me again. "You're right, it is the more wiser thing in some cases to hold yourself back so that you don't get in trouble for fighting at school." I give a small hum in thought, then continue: "But… what you did just now was perfect. True strength comes from expressing your emotions in healthy ways like what you did with me. For future reference, keep in mind that I will always be here for you when you need an outlet for your anger, and I think a person is strong when they're not afraid to show that they are angry. Sure, you're wonderful and kind to anyone and everyone for the most part, in fact far too much for your own good, in my opinion. But that doesn't mean you're perfect—no matter how much others and I may think otherwise," I grin. "But Aibou, you're only human. You get hurt from insulting words. You feel anger. It's okay." I smile, nuzzling our foreheads together. I hold your cheeks in the palms of my hands and press my lips to your forehead. "And Yuugi, I'm so proud of you, as a general statement. I'm so proud of how strong you've become. You are strong. You're wonderful. You're your own, unique person, and don't let anyone sway you otherwise."

I watch your cheeks become a soft pink at my little speech, and our hold around each other slackens, but I don't let go of your hand simply out of pure stubbornness and affection. "Come. I made you an early dinner. You can tell me all about the good things that happened for you today."

There we go. I feel better now!