I love books written to no one—the books that actually tell you not to read them, to put them down and walk away. I will respect an author who writes to no one far beyond an author who appeals to massive crowds. I love the obscure groups no one's heard of. I love the imported music that's seemed to play in the background of my life. I am quite content to be alone, and I find I am happiest on my own, and I don't care what people think of me, even when I feel desperately lonely—let them stare, let them gawk, and judge me, and tell me I'm wrong, and tell me I should be more like them—well you know what, I don't care, I don't want your life, because it sucks, because it's not my life. I am happy with who I am and what I stand for and the work I create, and even if it smells like shit to you, you can hold your nose as you pass by, because it's MINE.
.
.
.
The playground in the park was Yugi's newest fixation, and he therefore found no end of excuses to visit. Each outing there awarded him several new friends, none of whose names he remembered, and few of whom he ever encountered again. This time it was JacobandAshley, next time it might be SimonandLaura—it made little difference. In the world of children, friends are friends whether they're lifelong confidants, or boon companions from daycare. Yugi had a lot of friends.
"Yours is the one on the slide?"
Yami was not entirely interested in small talk with the other parents—all mothers in their early thirties with whom he shared no common interest. The only reason he'd come along was for Yugi's protection and safe escort home.
"I can see the family resemblance."
Begrudgingly, Yami entertained the woman with a thin smile. "Is it that noticeable," he asked softly, at which she laughed with a voice of amber sunlight and honey like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Overworked housewife looking to indulge herself in somewhat greener grass.
"Mine's the blonde—Ashley."
"She's beautiful," Yami commented absently.
"Oh, thank you." The woman was beaming proudly. "This is her favorite playground. We come every Tuesday after violin lesson and before ballet. And you?"
Yami shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Homemaker. Homeschooler. Future soccer mom with a house and 2.5 children and a golden retriever and SUV. She could never dream of relating to him. "He likes the swing set," he explained reluctantly.
Sensing some reservation in his answer, the woman fell silent for a moment, observing the play of their children. At length, she asked, "He's not a normal boy, is he?"
Yami froze. What could this woman possibly know? Maybe she only thought she understood. Maybe she'd recognized Yugi's too-old-for-playground proportions, and the somewhat abandoned expression in his eyes, and assumed he was slow, or had Down syndrome or something of the sort.
"You can tell at that age," she continued, as if the topic were perfectly appropriate, "those who think differently from the others...like my Ashley. I can tell your boy is very bright. Gifted. The parents can always tell."
Just great. This woman obviously thought she'd given birth to a female Mozart, and all she wanted in conversation was to glorify herself and place her daughter on a pedestal. It was very difficult for Yami to keep the cynicism from his voice. "Oh yes. My boy is very bright." And it wasn't a lie. "You are quite observant."
The woman smiled, then some puzzlement came into her voice, "Although," she said, "you don't seem quite the proper age to be his father."
Yami said nothing, set his jaw.
"How old is your son?"
He looked her directly in the eye, only once, and smiled in faint amusement. Seeming at first to be avoiding the question, he stood from the bench, at the last moment directing over his shoulder to her, "He's fifteen."
Whatever reaction she had to this, he did not see, for he called firmly to his boy, in a soft and sure voice not possibly loud enough to cut through the general noise but yet, sure enough, Yugi directed his attention at once to his father—as if the communication had been received telepathically—and obeyed Yami's command of, "Say goodbye to your friends, it's time to go home."
.
"Daddy, where do Joey and Tristan and Bakura and Tea—and Serenity—go all day?"
"Eat your Cheerios, honey," Yami chuckled.
"But where do they go?"
"They go to school—you know that."
The boy silently poked his spoon around in the mush at the bottom of his bowl. "But what do they do there," he asked.
"Well...they learn things like math, and history—and things about literature. And they take tests to see how many of their lessons they remember—Now your Cheerios are soggy. Yugi—we can't keep throwing away food you hardly touch."
He mumbled something in apology and tried to choke down a spoonful of the cereal.
"Nevermind, sweetheart, just don't pour so much next time."
Yugi was silent for a while. "Why can't I got to school," he asked.
Yami considered it a valid point. "Do you want to go to school?"
"Uh-huh."
"Then I'll make some calls, okay? We'll see. And in the meantime, please clear your dishes from the table."
.
Solomon had helped him locate the phone numbers he'd need—and the superintendent or principal or whoever he was took some convincing, but Yugi would be allowed back into the system after taking a placement test. He tested out at the third grade level—not exactly six year-old material—perhaps he was making progress, but Yami pinned no hopes on it.
School seemed to be going well, and after several weeks of Yami walking him home, Yugi asked if he could please make the trip on his own from now on. Yami's first response was a stern, "Never," considering his fear of a repetition of the events of Yugi's last walk home. Solomon talked to him gently—it was a tender subject for both—but the grade school campus was considerably closer to the house than the high school, and the elder Mutou insisted that Yugi craving freedom was a good thing.
"I don't like it, Solomon," Yami had argued. "I just can't have faith in the common man anymore. I will not trust traffic to stop at the crossings or strangers to mind their distances."
"It's two blocks away," the old man had reasoned. He finally won the disagreement, as was his usual tendency, after much deliberation on Yami's part. He couldn't help feeling the whole thing was just an invitation for something to go terribly wrong...
.
"Hold still." Tea was giggling.
It was the weekend—a break for all from the dogged expectations of school and homework—and the whole gang had decided to visit their friend, who had many new stories to share with them concerning recess and teachers, and the cruel antics of the fourth grade bullies. They were all very delighted to hear, and eventually settled into rotations of play, and watching television, and half-hearted studying.
Joey had broken away some time ago to help in the shop alongside Solomon, who insisted he return to his friends, but the young man would have none of it. Now Tea also managed to not only break away from the others, but also bring Yami with her. She had claimed he needed to "take a rest from playing mom," but once she had him alone, she realized to her shock that her more subconscious self had intentions of its own. Somehow, still unbelieving, she'd found herself joking with Yami, laughing with him—and actually making him laugh, too—when something had possessed her to exclaim, "You know, I'll bet you look great with eyeliner."
Now, it is generally every girl's fantasy to have her crush entirely at her mercy, which is where she inexplicably found Yami—slave to her immediate will. She was still unsure of how she'd talked him into allowing her to apply eyeliner to his lower lids, but there she was, gratefully not trembling as she held his chin in one hand and traced the line just under his lashes with the liner pencil in her other hand.
"Hold still," she repeated, thrilled by the amused laughter in the back of his throat. "No, keep your eyes open—like that." His lashes were so dark and full, and suddenly staring directly into his impossibly purple orbs like liquid flowers became too much for her, and she blushed, hoping he wouldn't notice. "There," she said finally, though her hand for some reason stayed upon the line of his jaw, his eyes suddenly darker and more urgent from the newly applied makeup, and was it only the makeup that made it appear so, or had his expression turned as serious as hers?
"You look...really good," she remarked distantly, aware she'd begun to shiver. "Wow."
His eyes searched hers, something in them she couldn't quite read—had he intended this? She felt a hand on her waist—a tentative touch—and to her horror she found it was pushing her away. Gently, so small a motion it was barely perceptible, so as not to embarrass her while at the same time, make his message unmistakably clear.
Stupid. She scolded herself and stepped away, flashing him a big smile to play off her disappointment. "You should wear it more often."
He grinned his response, and they fell silent, the pause between them not so much uncomfortable as it was guarded. Some things were going to be said, and the two were mature enough to accept this.
"Hey, listen," Tea began, unsure of herself but tired of putting it off. "Yami...I've always really liked you," she said, feeling obvious like some pig-tailed middle-schooler. "And I know that you deal with a great amount of stress. I can't imagine what that's like, to live your life for someone else—you're the most selfless person I've ever known, and I really admire you. And I don't want to offer to be...you know, what takes the edge off for you, but...I don't know." She tucked her hair behind her ear, ashamed that she couldn't seem to explain exactly what she meant. "All I'm saying," she continued, "is that you're a really nice guy, and I see you do so much for Yugi, and I just thought—you know, if you ever want to be...selfish...sometime, then maybe we could go out for dinner or something. Just an offer."
Yami took a long look at the girl, his expression unreadable. Under any other circumstances, her humble good looks and kind spirit would have attracted him long before her intentions had been voiced. Things being as they were, however, he had not allowed himself any time or attention for such matters as romance—a fact he knew was unlikely to change. "Tea," he began gently to let her down, "you are a very nice girl."
She suddenly covered her mouth as if she'd heard herself utter something rather embarrassing, and wished now to take back her words. "Oh," she said, "I'm such a fool."
He moved as if to stop her from walking away. "No, please understand, my answer has nothing to do with your desirablility. You are a remarkable young woman, and any man should consider himself lucky to be in your favor, but as flattered as I am, I fear I cannot return your feelings." He paused. "That is not to say I do not want to. All of my time and affection is already spoken for—Yugi needs me, and I have made it a priority to be with him. You see, I cannot possibly share my heart with you—or any girl—when it wholly belongs to my son. To attempt to do so would be to divide my attention from him, and he doesn't deserve that. And neither do you," he explained softly. "You deserve someone who can give you his undivided affection, and I'm sorry, Tea, but I cannot be that man."
She was staring at him blankly, some small part of her life now over. Anyone who's been rejected will recognize the look—all your newest, most vivid hopes and desires freshly dashed by the one person you were convinced would never seek to harm you in any way. The end of those dreams you thought could come true. Her eyes fell to some fixed point on the floor. "But what about you, Yami," she asked finally. "Everything you do in Yugi's interest is well and good, but what about you? Are you not also entitled to happiness?"
It struck Yami like a bucket of cold ice. For a moment, he wondered, but then, "My happiness is in him. I find joy in his well-being, contentment in his laughter." He paused to gain his words, to place his meaning delicately. "That is not to say I don't sometimes...long...for a certain kind of companionship. And sometimes the desire for that companionship...wears strongly on my heart. But it is not a want I would ever ask Yugi to satisfy, and my seeking it elsewhere...would deprive Yugi of a measure of my attention that he well deserves."
Tea was lost for words for a long moment. At length, she nodded solemnly, in defeat. "That's why I like you," she said quietly. "You're so noble. Yugi's really lucky."
He gave her a small smile. "Thank you."
.
The rocking chair was in his room! Yugi had been told by his grandfather that if he cleaned up his room he would get a surprise. The boy had honestly expected some candy, not the pretty rocking chair from upstairs in the attic.
Yami was taken aback at the sight as well. "Solomon, how did you manage to get that thing down here," he asked.
The old man winked and replied mysteriously, "I found something of my former strength." Putting a hand to his lower back he added, "And I'll be paying for it for the next few weeks."
"Grampa," Yugi exclaimed, jumping up and down by the arm of the chair, "thank you so much!"
"You're most welcome, my boy. I'll have to replace the cushion in the seat, but it'll do for now," he replied. "Perhaps you'd like to give it a test run?"
Yugi found his father's eyes for approval, which he received there in fond abundance. Squealing with delight, he hopped into the chair, his feet just touching the floor. He began to swing his legs vigorously, but without coordination, earning the slightest of rocking motions.
Yami was beside himself—amused and delighted—that his boy could be so consumed with joy over the most insignificant thing.
Solomon caught the look, studied Yugi's childlike elation, his mind working out some scheme he'd been planning from the moment he hauled his late wife's rocking chair down from the attic. "Why don't you get your father to help you out?"
"Please, daddy?"
Those eyes...
Yami smiled, already unable to refuse. "All right. Just for a while, then you need to get ready for bed."
Yugi squirmed out of the chair, making way for his father, who sat feeling awkward—he'd never made use of a rocking chair before. The feeling of awkwardness increased as the boy climbed into his lap. Yami was, in reality, not much larger than Yugi himself, maybe a foot taller or so, but for whatever reason—whether the boy's childish mannerisms made him seem smaller, or whether he was naturally such size and had always tried to appear larger so as not to be picked on—when he was curled possessively against Yami's chest, the two fit together as if made for this exact moment.
The awkwardness eased, replaced by a warm, familiar comfort. This moment was perfect. Yami found himself instinctually flexing the correct muscles of his legs at the right time and with just enough momentum to push off with his toes and keep up a steady rocking motion.
Yugi sighed deeply against him, so close to being lulled to sleep by the nearness of his father—the warmth, the completeness, the peace. Only one detail was amiss. The silence. "Daddy, sing me a song?"
Yami glanced sharply at Solomon, who had chuckled and was now sitting on the edge of the nearby bed. "Honey, I don't know any songs," he explained, flustered under the impression the older Mutou had been planning this.
"Sing me anything," Yugi mumbled against Yami's shirt.
He searched his recollection—there were few songs he'd ever heard, how could he possibly remember any of them? "I don't know, baby," he said, and as the words fell from his mouth, they tripped some switch in his mind, recalled some vague little tune, and he began to sing. "Baby mine, don't you cry," he whispered, the slightest rumor of melody in his strong voice.
Yugi nuzzled even closer to him, if that were at all possible, unable to keep his eyes open for the lullaby of his father's voice resonating deeply in his chest.
Yami was all mush inside. "Baby mine, dry your eye," he sang softly. "Rest your head close to my heart. Never depart, baby of mine." To his own surprise, he found he could carry the tune quite effortlessly—he had never tried his voice at song before, and he admitted he was rather good. "Little one, when you play, pay no heed what they say. Let those eyes sparkle and shine. Never a tear, baby of mine."
Yugi was lost there in his arms and the tender softness of his familiar voice, the rest of the world having melted away. Against his ever-active nature, Yugi was falling asleep.
"All those same people who scold you," Yami sang on, his hands roving slowly and affectionately down Yugi's back, along his arms, "what they'd give just for the right to hold you. From your head down to your toes, you're not much goodness knows." The song suddenly became very difficult sing, and his voice faltered. He paused to collect himself, realizing there were tears in his eyes. "But you're so precious to me," he said, the tune somehow escaping him as only the words seemed important anymore, and the last line was uttered in a whisper almost too soft to decipher, as if meant only for the ears of his sleeping son. "Sweet as can be, baby of mine."
Long moments of silence filled in where Yami's voice had been before, and a hush fell over the room. Finally, Yami said, "Has he always been this..."
"Loveable? Endearing," Solomon offered. "Oh yes...since he was a baby."
Yami paused, a light switching on in his head. "Of course," he said. "You were there in the beginning. Through his childhood. You were very lucky..."
"No luckier than you," the old man explained. "Sure I was there when he was young...but you're here now. You get to share something very special with him, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little bit jealous...that he chose you."
"You must resent me terribly, Solomon."
The elder Mutou sighed. "No," he replied. "At first I was rather suspicious of you. I had no idea who you were or what you wanted—you just showed up in my grandson's life and began to change him. But I've gotten to know you...to trust you. I know your character now, and I'm not afraid of you taking advantage of him in any way. I trust you...with his life," he said. "You're a good person, Yami."
Another long pause while he struggled with some revelation. "I don't deserve this," Yami said at last.
"What's that?"
"Him. This," he demonstrated, hugging Yugi loosely so as not to wake him. "I don't deserve something so wonderful as his affection. I love him, Solomon." He faltered. "I am so taken with him. I am...smitten. I am undone," he admitted. "I'm in love."
"I know. It's so easy to love him, isn't it? But to earn his love in return...takes a very special person," Solomon explained. "Oh, and the way he loves you..."
"Really?"
"Oh yes," he chuckled. "He is so fond of you. He idolizes you in a way, you know...the way he wants to be everything that you are. I'm lucky to get two words out of him with the same kind of...unbridled admiration that he shows you."
"I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize," Solomon said. Then, in amusement, "You might say I am the poor player who has fretted his hour on the stage. This is the part when I bow out gracefully. I've had my time in his life, and the person he needs the most right now is you. I'm not sorry at all."
Yami mulled this over. "I don't want anything bad to happen to him," he said quietly. "I never did."
"Neither did I," he agreed with gentle finality. "But we'll survive. He's in good hands."
Yugi breathed deeply in his sleep, the joints of the old rocking chair creaked slightly in protest of their combined weight, and Yami whispered, "Solomon."
"Yes?"
"Thank you," he said. "For everything."
"No, my dear boy," the old man laughed "Thank you."