Summary: They were nothing more than migraines, or so Joey thought. It was easy to blame them on the stress of his home life, school, the 'Kaiba factor'. But as Joey steadily begins to fall ill, he finds his fate darkening drastically. Possible eventual S/J.
The Black Ribbon
There is something surreal about this place, although Joey cannot quite pinpoint exactly what makes the isolated beach so abnormal. The waves that are crashing indiscriminately on the pale sand offer a sense of reassuring familiarity, although if he tries hard enough, he can almost hear strains of a warning in their continuous white noise.
He can't remember why he is here. He isn't sure he ever knew, in the first place.
"It's beautiful at this time of evening, isn't it?" As much as he would like to, Joey finds he can't turn to see who is speaking at his side, and although the voice is one he feels he should know, he can't quite pinpoint it. "The way the setting sun is highlighting the hues of the water, the sea breeze. I think I would have lost my sanity if I hadn't had this place to retreat to."
He pushes away his confusion for a moment, simply allowing himself to take in the view that is being offered to him. The beach certainly is beautiful, and part of him feels as though he could spend the rest of his life here, simply sitting on the beach as though he was merely another grain of sand, as opposed to a human with responsibilities and flaws.
"Remember this place, Joey. I think that you are perhaps going to need it as much as I did." The voice is suddenly sad, and a trace of guilt lingers in those words. "I always hoped that you wouldn't, but it seems that there are some things that can't be escaped, by either of us." The quiet voice fades away, and Joey knows that the owner of the said voice has gone as well. He doesn't move, however, content to stay in the gentle contentment that his beach offers.
Sunlight filtered randomly into the room, fighting the hazardously closed blinds to gain entrance. Stretches of light highlighted the powder blue walls that the sun had greeted since they had been painted that colour during the pastel preferred 80's and hadn't been updated on since, the tattered desk that managed to define the word 'clutter' while still have a strange sense of order to it. The beige carpet took on a distinct and slightly wild striped effect: now yellow, now grey, now an almost orange, before fading back to grey as the awakening sun abandoned it to the clothes and junk in favour of the single bed that was pressed up tightly against the far wall, in a rather spectacular failed attempt to make the small room appear to be bigger than it actually was.
"Wake-up" the sunlight seemed to whisper as it bypassed instantly the dulled red colours for the sleeping head poking out the end. "Wake-up," it called, tenderly pulling at blond strands of golden hair, weaving playfully between each thread. "Wake-up," it sang softly, caressing a slightly bruised cheek sadly.
"Don't wanna," the blond mess growled, before dragging the covers over his head in protest. "Bed is good. Sleep is good. Darkness is good." The sunlight didn't take the hint, and instead somehow managed to force open the blinds a creak wider, and bathe the entire bed in it's warmth, much to the now non-sleeping boy's annoyance. His resistance in the end only lasted several more minutes, before all attempt at regaining his previous state of sleep was abandoned entirely, and, with much muttering, he forced himself out of the comfort of his bed.
"Stupid mornings. Stupid school. Stupid sun." It was his mantra as he pulled on his school uniform and stuffed his books into his bag, before wearily heading for the kitchen, leaving behind the sunlight that had so rudely awoken him as he headed for the slightly darker and less well lit area of the apartment.
It seemed silly to hold his breath as he pushed open the door to the kitchen, yet he did. He simply did not know what to expect.
Joey let out his breath as the sweet smell of pancakes and the rustle of a newspaper met him as his father put the paper he was reading down and welcomed his son with a smile.
"Morning Joey. I made pancakes."
Joey echoed the greeting before sitting down across from his father, making occasional comments on how nice the pancakes were, or questioning about who had won the football last night. The conversation was devoid of any depth or real commitment, and Joey never met his father's eyes, even though he could almost feel his father silently pleading him to. He kept his gaze fixated on his pancakes as his father rose from his seat and settled in the one beside Joey, before gently placing a couple of fingers beneath his son's chin and tilting the blond head back slowly.
"Joey, I …" The older man said softly, his voice wavering slightly as he lightly trailed a finger over the blue bruise on Joey's cheek. "I'm – "
"I know, dad." He didn't let his father finish, somehow it hurt more when his father apologised. "I know." He tried to smile reassuringly, but he couldn't quite convince his lips to co-operate, and the pain that seemed to forever stain his father's eyes only deepened. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours; his father gently cupping the side of his face, haunted eyes begging for a forgiveness that had either been given a long time ago or would never be granted, Joey had never really been able to figure out which.
"I had that dream again last night," it was said to break the moment, and Joey was flooded with relief when his father backs off slightly, sitting back in his chair and dropping his hands to the table.
"Really, the one with the beach and the strange person?"
They were back on comfortable ground, and spent the rest of breakfast talking over the series of dreams that Joey had found himself having. It was only as Joey got ready to leave that the conversation strayed back into slightly darker territory.
"I was thinking about going to the arcade tonight with the gang, I might be home late." Please let him say no, Joey begged subconsciously as he studied his father for any reaction. Please let him say he doesn't want me out late, especially on a school night. Please let him say-"
"That's fine." Joey let his eyes close briefly in pain before nodding quickly and heading for the door. "Joey, wait!" He slowly turned on his heels, hope making an unexpected visit before being dashed as his father dug into his pocket, pulling out four or five dollars in coins that Joey was certain were meant to be for his father's lunch. "Here, I know it's not much, but it should buy you a few games at that arcade of yours." His father's smile was slightly embarrassed, but became more like a smile when Joey took the coins from him and thanked him quietly. It wasn't until the door was shut behind him that Joey bit down forcefully on his bottom lip, attempting to use pain to drive away the threat of tears. The last thing he needed was to seem upset when he met up with Honda, who was overly protective as it was.
By the time he met up with Honda at their meeting spot his composure had been regained, but that did little to stop his best friend from giving him a stern glare - all the composure in the world could not hide the bruise on his cheek. But Honda didn't say anything, for which Joey was grateful. It had taken time for the pair to reach an equilibrium that they were both happy with, one that wouldn't damage their friendship and yet allowed things to be said even if words were not used. Honda had found out the hard way in the past that Joey's father came first, while Joey had come to rely on the silent support that was entwined with the anger and annoyance.
"Oh, Joey! What happened?" Yugi's concerned voice was the first thing that met them as they come in sight of their school, and his smaller friend bounced over, worry obvious in his voice.
"Lets just say it involved a bad movie, a very hard floor and the last slice of pizza," Honda covered with a vicious grin, causing Yugi to roll his eyes before smiling wryly at the pair. Yugi had no time to comment further, however, as the bell rung, causing all three to break into a run so as to hopefully get to class in time before detention became an option.
The cigarette smoke that still hung in the one Joey currently claimed as his own almost made him search out another bathroom. The chance however of being caught in the hallways when he should have been in class made such a thought mute, and with a wry grin he pushed himself up so that he was sitting on the bench that held the hand basins before carefully slipping two tablets out of his pocket.
Joey found it amusing that, if anyone was to walk in on him now, they would instantly think the two white pills in his hand were drugs. After all, who went to the bathrooms of sin, sex and cigs (open only during class periods) to down a couple of aspirin?
Or one and a half, he corrected mentally, as he snapped the second tablet in two. The tablets were not the cheapest things in the world, and he'd already upped his dosage from the usual 'one per every four hours' that had always been enough on the few occasions he'd come down with headaches in the past.
With a sigh, he turned the closest tap on, before cupping his hand beneath the running water. Bringing his hands up to his mouth quickly, he swallowed the leaking water and tablet and a half in one gulp, grimacing at the bitter taste that burned down his throat and stained his mouth.
The tablets weren't a miracle cure, something that Joey unfortunately was well aware of. The pain that was throbbing in his head and behind his eyes did not suddenly disappear, although he could almost convince himself that the harsh edge had faded. Almost. The faint smell of smoke certainly wasn't helping. The pain did lesson slightly when he closed his eyes, the deep heat settling somewhat behind them, the darkness close to comforting,
Stupid headaches. He'd never suffered from them on such a constant basis, before. Vaguely, he could remember his mother sometimes suffering from a killer migraine from time to time, but Joey's almost daily visits to the bathroom on the far side of the school were becoming a tad ridiculous.
"I've got to stop getting involved with all this 'saving the world' crap," he muttered half-heartedly. "The stress of duelling and school, work and home …" Hmpf. Stress might be the most likely cause of his headaches, but the thought of being beaten down by something he couldn't even see didn't sit well with Joey. And it wasn't as though he could exactly give any of them up – duelling he enjoyed to much, he needed to work for the money, and to keep his job he required a B average in school.
Besides. The tablets were starting to kick in now, and the edge had definitely been taken off of his headache. The lunch bell was sure to go soon, and while this particular bathroom was considered too far out of the way to be used by the general school population, it was just Joey's luck that someone would catch him lounging around in here.
He had agreed to meet Yugi and Tristan for lunch, anyway. The thought of food wasn't exactly enticing at the moment, but worrying Tristan in any way when his best friend was already on his best behaviour (barely) was never a good thing, and knowing Tristan, his friend would find someway to blame something as simple as a loss of appetite on Joey's father, just as he always did.
Joey sighed as he slid of the bench, running long fingers through blond hair in slight frustration. Tristan didn't understand – couldn't understand. In Tristan's eyes, Joey's father was an abusive drunk who took out his hatred of the world on Joey. In Joey's, his father was a brilliant man who used alcohol occasionally as an escape from a world that had suddenly turned bitter. Tristan couldn't see the balance between the good and the bad, nor could he see that there was nothing constant or deliberate about the whole situation.
"I thought I might find you here." Speak of the devil. Sometimes, it was almost like Honda knew him too well. "Coming to check on your bruise?" Perhaps that was why he almost felt betrayed when Honda got it wrong,
"Na, just couldn't stand the thought of going to P.E today," Joey easily lied, smiling convincingly. "Don't tell me the lunch bell has already rung?"
"About ten minutes ago," Honda responded wryly. "Yugi's saving us a seat, so if you're done daydreaming…?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just let me grab my bag." He grabbed his forgotten bag from the sink he had carelessly slung it into, taking great pains to avoid looking in the mirror behind it. How Honda could actually believe that Joey would WANT to look at the bruise …
"You coming to the arcade later with us bud?" Honda asked conversationally as he threw an arm around Joey's shoulders as they left the bathroom. Joey smirked in response.
"Of course, you know I don't have a curfew are nothing to worry about."
Still though, it was past 8pm by the time he arrived home. This time, the gentle pushing open of the front door of the small apartment wasn't down with the same slowness of the kitchen door earlier, when hesitancy had marred the simple action, nor was his deliberate quietness out of worry or fear, but concern.
He didn't want to wake his father, if he was asleep.
As Joey practically tiptoed into the lounge, he found that his father was exactly that.
Joey flopped down on the floor next to the couch, placing his books in front of himself before turning slightly and slipping his father's work shoes off. It wasn't rare for his father to fall asleep on the couch after a long day at work, his slightly battered suit still on, and files scattered with casual randomness on the coffee table. The routine was familiar enough that Joey held no doubt over the fact there was sure to be a meal waiting for him in the kitchen, something decent that his father had taken the time to prepare before getting on to his work.
"I wish you didn't have to work so hard, dad." Joey quietly spoke to his sleeping father. "Maybe if you could find a decent job or a place with less hours …" But the job market was far from booming at the moment, and while his father's skills as an accountant where above average, there were far too many brilliant and better connected businessmen out there. Regardless, his father kept applying for new jobs, however, even though Joey knew how humiliated his father felt when those judging him would look down their noses at his second hand suit and mock his qualifications. "I'm thinking of perhaps picking up another run at work, to ease a bit of the cash problems." Not that his father would ever allow THAT. If there was one thing his father was determined that his son would have, it was the best education possible. Something about never having to wear his father's shoes – both literally and figuratively.
Joey stretched slightly before leaning against the coffee table. This too was routine. He didn't know how many one-sided conversations he'd had with his father like this: one sleeping, the other somehow managing to find both the words and the courage that deserted him during the day.
"It does actually hurt, you know," Joey casually continued, touching his bruised cheek slightly. The topic of conversation always changed abruptly during their 'talks'. "And I don't blame you, not really …" Not when there were so many other things Joey could possibly blame. Poverty. Society. Stuck-up snobs who didn't want anything to do with those who were less than the ideal. "But still, it hurts." The last part was whispered, and he wondered if his father, had he been awake, would realise that he was no longer talking about merely the physical. "I guess I was kind of surprised as well, you haven't hit me in weeks."
That was one of the many things that Honda couldn't quite comprehend about the whole situation. If someone ever hit their child, they did it repetitively and constantly, without any provocation or reason. If someone had an alcohol problem, they were drunk and violent every night, and were horrible people with no morals. They certainly didn't work 50-hour weeks and drink mainly on the weekends.
"I wonder what Honda would think if he saw you now, passed out from exhaustion as opposed to alcohol." Another change in topic, just as random as the last. "Would he be quite so quick to judge?" He laughed softly. "Of course he would, he's still Honda, after all. Anyway, school was ok, I got a B for my history exam …"
The rest of the conversation was packed with mundane material. School. Work. The arcade. All the things Joey would love to be able to talk to his father about, but never felt quite comfortable enough to. Having run out of things to say, he opened up his maths book and started to work on his homework, not moving from his position by his father's side. This was their 'quality' time together, after all.
If only it wasn't quite so one-sided.
With a sigh, he turned back to his maths book, rubbing his forehead gently before picking up his pencil. He still hadn't been able to shake the damn headache from earlier. Maybe he would go to bed early, for once.
"A storm is about to break," his companion says sadly, regret heavy in his/her voice. "I hope you're ready, Joey. I hope we all are."
In silence, they stand watching the sky gradually darken.
… to be continued.