Warnings: Slight angst-ness.
Disclaimer(s): Nor Yugioh, nor Poison belong to me. ((Yay for classisical structure!)) These two are the properties of their respective creators - the first belonging to a guy obsessed with cardgames whose name I can't spell, and the second belonging to someone else whose name I don't know, but DO know that the artists doing a cover of him/her are called "Groover Coverage." *nod* Yep, I is brilliant.
Pairing(s): The major pairing here is, believe it or not, REVOLUTIONshipping ((Yami no YuugixAnzu)) with a side serving of PEACHshipping ((YuugixAnzu)). Take it with a pinch of sugar - or salt, if that's your forte - and enjoy.

She was in the living room when I came home. Her hair was done up – sixth time this week, but who's counting? Slight blush smeared across her cheeks, and her eyes were alight with happiness.

"You're home!"

Yes, so I was. "Anzu, what are you doing here?" I was proud of my voice. It stayed steady even as I was shaking. Why are you here? was the question I wanted to ask. But I couldn't. The words were on my tongue, but I could not speak them.

She dimpled at me, smiling brightly. I remember when she used to smile at me that way. In the earlier times… Before he came along and changed everything.

"He's coming by to pick me up soon," Anzu reassured me. I think it was supposed to be reassuring. Her hands went to pet at her hair.

Manicured nails.

She was never so fancy when it was the two of us.

I wondered at the nature of this mysterious man of hers. She was always here before he came, always eagerly awaiting his arrival as if to rub salt into a wound.

Oh, Anzu, don't you know you hurt me?

My eyes closed. I didn't want to see her in her splendor any longer. The white dress was blinding me, accusing her. Once I had thought white meant purity. I suppose lace and flowers condemn purity, and pearls smudge perfection.

I don't recall replying to her, but perhaps I did. At any rate, her hands went to smoothing her dress. They made soft hissing sounds, passing over the fabric.

"He'll be here soon."

Why didn't he ever pick her up at her house? I didn't complain, though. I couldn't. Even if it hurt each time, to see her, it was another minute to spend in her presence.

"He'll be here soon," she repeated firmly.

I nodded.

I should have asked. What's his name? What does he look like? I don't know if she would have answered; she's been incredibly secretive about him. It would have felt nice to ask anyway.

I left her in the living room. I wanted to stay by her, wait for him, but I don't think I could have done it without hating him for kidnapping her interest. Hatred is uncomfortable. Just…not knowing is best.

My feet were heavy on the way up the stairs, moving slowly. One at a time, up the steep incline. I needed to be alone, away from her, even as I desperately wanted to be with her. It had been my own fault. I let her go.

Childhood vows meant nothing in the light of new freedoms. No matter that what we had was built over years; it is – and always has been – her decision. There is nothing I can do.

So why am I still questioning myself?

xxxxx

I'm in my room. I can hear Anzu downstairs, restless as she waits. I can't put my feelings into words, can't descend the stairs to speak with her. She's here…he'll be here to pick her up soon. She said so.

She's always right, even when she's wrong.

I'm tired. Tired of being awake, tired of knowing she's here, waiting for someone else when I had thought we had a forever before us. The bed looks welcomingly messed up. My body drops heavily onto it. Springs creak. The blankets fold.

So this is where I can safely retreat. Not even the recesses of my mind are safe…but this simple room, this bed…

I wonder if she's sleeping with him.

– no longer a refuge.

My hands cover my eyes. They feel wet, but I know I can't be crying. I can't cry over Anzu's happiness. What sort of friend would that make me?

I must be happy for her.

But…after I've slept. I'll work on a cheerful face once I've cried myself to sleep.

XXX

I'm dreaming. I know I'm dreaming. How else to explain Anzu with me here, arms wrapped delicately around my shoulders, holding onto me, a brilliant smile lighting her face? She's in white – a rose tucked into her hair, throat heavy with pearls. She's laughing…beaming.

I laugh too, and bow over her hand.

She flings herself into another dance, dragging me along. This one is wild and sensuous. Her head goes back and my fingers trace the line of her neck, going down past her collarbone, between the elegant curve of breasts –

As I catch myself, wondering what in hell's name I'm doing, she spins, pressing her body against mine. It drives all other considerations out of my head and I wonder at how real this dream is. I can taste the sweat in the air, and the music makes my eardrums pulse. Strobe lights come on, then, and her sharp moves break up in the shattered illumination.

The song lyrics scream along with her moves.

I wanna love you but I better not touch.

Her feet are apart as she leans into me, her hot breath on my face. She's so close.

I wanna hold you but my senses tell me to stop.

She's looking up at me now, kneeling before me. What are you doing?

I wanna kiss you but I want it too much –

Back to her feet, coyly slipping away into a crowd – I have to follow, trailing at her heels like a lost puppy. What is my dreaming mind inventing?

I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison.

Her arms drape around me. "Dance with me!" she orders playfully. Her movements are anything but playful. 'Sinful' is perhaps the most apt description.

My body moves with hers outside my control.

I have to tell myself I'm dreaming. She's with her mysterious 'he' and I'm –

"Yami, dance with me!"

…who?

XXX

I wake crying. My dream plays again through my mind…but it has the ring of memory, not dream. I bury my face in my hands…pull away an instant later. I smell like smoke and sweat.

Revolted I throw myself from my half-made bed, stumbling forward, pas my mirror…freeze.

Staring back at me is a wide-eyed teen boy – me – but changed somehow. Kohl rims my eyes, running down my face with my tears. The clothing I'm in isn't my own – leathers and buckles and belts …

What's wrong with me?

Footsteps on the stairs. I turn, running a hand hurriedly across my cheeks – a petty attempt at rectifying my face.

"Yami, I – " It's Anzu. "Oh." She stops, frowning slightly.

I recall the name from my not-quite-dream. Yami. The darkness. What darkness?

"Anzu." My voice is not my own. It's firmer, more confident.

She relaxes. I watch my hand lift up, feel it caress her cheek. "I thought –"

"He's watching." My hand taps my head as the voice keeps speaking. I realize I'm not in control of my body. "He can't do anything."

A smile stretches my face; I feel like crying.

"Will he be okay?" This is the Anzu I remember, even hidden under a revealing white dress drenched with sweat.

"He'll be fine." The voice is impatient. "Really, Anzu, you worry too much about him. There are other things to occupy your time."

I can feel him.

He's inside me.

With me.

Anzu pauses, indecisive for a moment, then smiles and I feel my heart break. Anzu, Anzu – this is what you wanted me to be?

He starts to touch her. I can't watch, though I must. I see through his eyes, feel with his skin. Hear her gasps with his ears, shudder and sweat, trapped in this body. With him.

xxxxx

It's midnight. I don't know how I know. It's not important. I raise my hand. My hand.

She's draped across the bed next to me, a sheet only partly covering her body. They're both away somewhere.

But I'm awake.

It's raining outside. The drops plink delicately against the roof. Plink-plink. Plink. Plink. Plinkplinkplink.

I scuttle quietly down the stairs, trying not to think too loudly. I don't want to wake him. I just want to get him away from her. His touch shouldn't be allowed to sully her beauty, corrupt her perfection.

Even if it's me, doing it.

My feet run through the puddles. I didn't change before – I'm soaked with his sweat and her scent, in leather that hugs too tightly.

I have an idea, wild and insane, but an idea.

I know where I'm going.

It has to end, even if it never really began.

He's awake now.

Too late.

Trains don't halt at inner darkness.