Title: Simple Dream
Author: Maelyn
Rating: PG
Summary: Yugi writes Atemu a letter about a dream he had.
Disclaimer: A man walks into a bar with a slab of asphalt under his arm and says: "A beer please, and one for the road."
Warnings: Tch. I haven't seen the end of the series, so take anything with a grain of salt. Everyone should know his name by now, though. So...and I put in the summary. You've been spoiled. Oops.
AN: I'm really disgusted by my lack of productivity. So I decided to post some of these drabbles I wrote for the Pharaoh's Hikari ML. And…I will finish Words Not Said, I promise I will. I just don't like it. And there are so many other stories I'd rather work on….
Challenge: Sickness
Word count: 500
o/o/o
Dearest Atemu,
I had a dream last night. It was nothing special, nothing really extraordinary. There were no mystical beasts or world-ending crises. The fate of the universe didn't rest on our shoulders. No, it was just you and me, one of those rare days when we could just be ourselves.
We didn't get very many of those, did we? Perhaps that's why this dream was so precious to me. I could almost believe you were still here. I half thought I would wake to find you beside me.
You were solid again, like you were at the end. Do you remember? How great it was to really feel your hand against my skin? And you had a place in this world. Grandpa had been teaching you, or just giving you ideas. That wasn't really clear. I was still going to school. I think I was in college, and you were helping Grandpa with the shop when I got home. Can you picture yourself wearing overalls, my darkness? Maybe with a red and gray stripped shirt underneath?
No, that's not what you were wearing. You were wearing tight black leather pants and a slinky three-quarter length black shirt that molded flawlessly to your every curve. The Puzzle hung from your neck, twin belts from your hips, and you wore the gold bands Isis returned to you on your fingers, four on your left hand, two on your right. You smirked at me when I walked in. Do you know what that smirk did to me, my Pharaoh?
You always listened to me when I talked about my day. I know it must have been so boring, day after day, but you never complained—never gave me less than your full attention. I couldn't help but love you for that. And that was how I knew something was wrong in my dream. Your attention kept wandering. And you looked tired, your brilliant eyes dull. And when I touched your skin, it was hot, almost burning. Did you ever get sick when you were Pharaoh, my love? You never got to tell me. I never got to ask.
You put up a fight when I tried to give you medicine. You knew how horrible the liquid tasted, didn't you? From my memories? I laughed when you pushed my hand away, saying "I don't want to!" when I told you you needed to drink it. I bribed you with a kiss. I wonder if you knew I would have given you one anyway. And when the medicine was gone we just laid on my bed, holding each other, and I stroked my fingers through your hair. It had always made me feel better when you did that to me. You sighed and pulled me closer, whispered "I love you, aibou," in my ear, just like you did the first time, before we said good-bye. It made me smile.
It's silly, I know. But I wonder . . . do you dream of me?
