Silences
Disclaimer: YGO isn't mine. This is a work of fanfiction, part two of a mini triptych, sap, sappy, and sap-tastic all the way through.
Inspiration: Epice Marine by Hermes, Lay It All on Me by Rudimental featuring Ed Sheeran, and photos of tiny paper boats dotting rivers during the Bon Festival (which, according to the Internet, is a ceremony where lanterns are lit and floated down rivers in remembrance of the dead). Obviously none of these are mine.
...
There was a comfort to silence, Yugi thought as he cradled the game shop's only working phone. Of all the kinds of silences in the world- the awkward, the forced, and the uncomfortable- he preferred the unique experience that was silences with Anzu, which were none of those things. Silences with her were comfortable, like a warm cup of coffee on a chilly morning or a soft, well-worn leather dueling glove or a transatlantic mingling of breaths. Just the thought of Anzu on the other side of the line, probably with her hair askew and a giant mug of tea in one hand and a book in the other, made him smile. The clattering of car horns outside faded until all he could hear was the steady inhale and exhale of air echoing the beat of his heart.
They could have been talking, of course, but they didn't have to say anything. There wasn't a need, not with Anzu, to fill the empty space in between with meaningless platitudes about the weather and shared grievances about traffic. Silences with Anzu simply were in a way that belied their simplicity. No need to break, drown, fill, or stuff and stuff with words or phrases or meanings melting together like tanning jelly beans. With Anzu, there was simply a need to experience, to enjoy, to be in that moment.
Silences with Anzu were different from silences with strangers, which often devolved into viscous mudslides that slogged and squished as stilted conversations attempted and failed to patch up something that needed more than awkward coughs and strained smiles. They were different from silences with close friends, too, in ways that Yugi didn't quite have all the words to explain. It was just that Joey liked to crack various jokes: some funny, most not, all of which made Serenity and Mai groan. Duke liked to natter about the latest trends in technology and dungeon dice to Tristan, who preferred staring blankly into the distance over mock civility. Kaiba dispensed with that altogether and simply sat, arms folded, scowl deepening, as if a disapproving statue while Mokuba passed around snacks and hugs. Those silences were somehow familiar yet uncomfortable, like a chipped mug that only functioned sporadically, when then moon was blue or when it wasn't raining on the day of the Bon Festival.
Yet with Anzu, silence was just silence, all the time, a comfortable state of being where neither felt the need or urge to break their shared ruminations. Yugi supposed they fell into this shared state of being by accident. Or maybe by design. Or perhaps fate. Or, perchance, just the convenience of two hearts finding each other and never letting go. Yugi wasn't sure which of which but that didn't matter in the slightest. Once they had been three (well, two and half, seeing as how the exact status of ghost and spirit hybrids was up in the air), but now there were two with shared silences even more precious than before.
He had taken Anzu and only Anzu to light the first delicate white paper lanterns on festival day. It felt right to share that with her. Not it didn't feel right to share with the others; just that it felt more right, somehow, to go with Anzu first and watch the tiny little boat float reverently downstream before joining the others in lighting a bigger one. A shared remembrance, perhaps, of times past, perhaps eras or lifetimes ago, with someone they both loved with a somber kind of dedication. They had watched the light disappear into the horizon together, neither saying a word, and, somewhere in the dark, their hands found each other and never let go.
The following weeks were quiet, too, draped in a moody kind of silence that came from having too much to say and not enough to time to say all at once. Egypt had been illuminating for them both, if laced with similar feelings of loss and pain. Yugi had shared who he was with someone else for so long that it was hard to separate where he began and where Atem ended. Like sharing a soul-mate without the romance, or a sensei who lived many, many lives before this one trying to impart as much knowledge as possible on a chosen student before having to leave again for another lifetime of adventures.
In a way, Yugi had always known that Atem's presence was temporary, even before Egypt, yet none of his internal monologuing about the inevitability of Egypt made the trip or its aftermath any easier. It had been harder than Yugi admitted to everyone except Anzu to let go- whoever that termed it letting go was obviously not bereft at the time, because the feeling was more like ripping yourself open and hemorrhaging feelings over every available surface. Not at all like the peaceful acceptance that "letting go" implied, as if one were setting off doves into green pastures or children into the candy store. No. It was more like watching yourself bleed emotions you promised to keep inside but just couldn't. For minutes, perhaps even hours, Yugi considered not opening the little golden box emblazoned with the Eye of Horus- who would know that it wasn't Atem who was destined to win, anyways? And more importantly, who would care as long as Atem would get to stay a little while longer in something that wasn't a memory or a dream?
Anzu's silence convinced Yugi to open the box. She had cheered equally hard for them both that day, a little harder, perhaps, for Yugi, because he had spent much of the duel seemingly behind, but Yugi didn't mind her relative reticence because he had known how much she loved them both. Equally, perhaps, yet he knew just as Atem knew that no one would ever replace Atem. That didn't stop Anzu from cheering for Yugi, though. She always did the right thing, even if it meant hurting herself.
It wouldn't have been right for her to keep Atem here, however much she and Yugi both wanted to. Atem deserved better. A real home, with his people, one that had been denied to him for so long. He had sacrificed everything for them, and he deserved them as much as they deserved him. That was home for Atem, not that it made it any easier to say good-bye. That's why Anzu had been silent before the duel, because it was the right thing to let Atem go, not because she didn't desperately want to ask him to stay, but because there could only be one Yugi and one Atem, neither in the same plane, at least for a little while long...
Anzu had known, perhaps even before Yugi knew, that there would be a beauty to the silence that Atem left behind. Yugi's thoughts were all his now. No spirit guide to share with, no longer a world to save, either. All that remained was the comfort of being at peace with himself, at peace with all they accomplished together.
And so Yugi sat, cradling the tiny blue GameStop phone, sharing the silence with Anzu, and he felt her smile when he did. It didn't feel completely right just yet, to break the silence, but, one day it would, and when that day came, they would share it together like they did this and everything thereafter.
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