Words Not Said
By: Maelyn Rey
Summary: Yami visits Yugi in the middle of the night, but he won't tell him why.
Disclaimer: Neither Yugi nor Yami belong to me. More's the pity.
Warning: Possible shounen-ai, but not really; at least not yet.. I've finally been corrupted. But it's not my fault!
AN: see bottom.
o/o/o/o/o
He was sleeping, floating in a sea of warmth surrounded by darkness; yet this darkness held no fear, no danger. This darkness was comfortable, inviting. He didn't want to leave it, but he couldn't seem to immerse himself in it, either. Something was holding him back.
"Yugi?"
The voice startled him and he flinched lethargically in the dark. His thoughts flailed sluggishly for who had called him—why, though he knew immediately an answer was desired. "Mm?" he mumbled interrogatively until his mind broke free, recognized the voice, the silent presence—shadow—near his feet. "Yami? What are you doing?" he slurred.
He half expected the other to turn on the light and shift closer. But the room remained dark, and Yami stayed where he was, perched on the edge of the bed furthest from where he was. Space lay between them; a space he hadn't realized was there, a space greater than the distance between them, and one he couldn't figure out the reason why. It was a moment before Yami spoke: ". . . I couldn't sleep."
The mute voice surprised him, caused him to partially sit up. More aware, he tried to peer through the gloom to see the other's face, but though moonlight trickled through the window, none of it fell on the figure at the foot of his bed. He frowned as he was thwarted. "What's wrong?" he asked. And something was, he could tell.
Silence stretched over the room, but Yami didn't speak. He just sat there.
Yugi sat up the rest of the way, feeling his blankets pooling around his waist. "Yami, what's the matter?" he prompted.
The words seemed to call the other back from some great void; he stirred, moved further away. Yugi heard it. "Nothing, Yugi. Go back to sleep."
"Yami. What is it?" It pained him that Yami was troubled, that he was hiding whatever was bothering him from him. There had been a time, not that long ago, when they shared everything. "Tell me."
But he didn't. He stood, moved towards the door. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."
"Yami. . . ." He didn't know what to say, didn't know what he could say . . . didn't even know what was wrong. So he just stared into the darkness trying to will his friend to come back to him and talk about whatever it was. Was it something he did?
The shade did not return to the bed, but it did not pass through the door either. Yugi could see one of Yami's hands resting against the doorframe. He wished he could see his face. He wished he knew what to ask, what to say, to get the old Yami back, the one that would talk to him when he was troubled, even if what they were talking about wasn't what was really bothering him. He was still there, still letting Yugi in and, sometimes, he knew that in itself helped immensely, was enough. Enough to let Yami know he wasn't alone.
He tilted his head to the side sadly as he regarded the still figure yet in his doorway. He wondered what held Yami there; if he didn't really want to leave and felt he had to, or if he really did want to leave and wouldn't because he somehow still felt he needed to because Yugi wanted it.
Unexpected pain lanced through the youth at that thought, arcing through his heart and jolting him like lightning. He blinked back tears and made to get up before sinking, disheartened, back onto the bed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He wanted to help—needed to—but Yami had to come to him when he was like this. He remembered all to well how Yami reacted when he was pushed.
As a spirit trapped within the Millennium Puzzle, he had disappeared for days at a time, locking himself away within the item's many layers and refusing to answer the mind-link no matter what he said or how he begged. And he had. He shuddered to think that Yami might somehow managed to disappear so thoroughly now, when the Puzzle was no longer his home. He didn't think he could bear for the other to leave now. He half suspected he would never see him again if he did.
"Yami?" he called quietly. A hint of movement indicated the other's attention, like a head turning his way. "Stay with me?"
The words barely made it past the fear which clenched his throat, the fear that he would say no, fear that even if he agreed he wouldn't really want to, would resent. He tried to quiet the latter by telling himself Yami would never have come to him in the first place if he hadn't wanted to be near him; but the silent stillness that stretched after his plea did nothing to soothe his heart.
His heart breaking, he was about to say "never mind" and free his dear friend from any obligation when the elder said, "Alright."
Yugi's breath caught in his chest, but the shadowy form of Yami approaching kept him from doubting his ears. Barely pausing to consider what he was doing, he scooted as far back as he could, making a place for the other, pulled back the covers, and patted the now empty space. He saw the silhouette pause, then sighed in quiet relief as the other continued forward and gingerly climbed in.
His movements suggested he was walking on glass as he slid between the blankets, but Yugi pulled the covers back over the other as soon as he was settled, as if by doing so he could lock the elder in place. He smiled then as he lay on his side, despite the fact that he wasn't sure if Yami could see the expression. "Comfortable?" he asked.
"Yes," Yami said. But he did not sound comfortable. His body was stiffly rigid, and Yugi could tell by the space between them that he had settled on the very edge of the bed, as far away from Yugi as he could possibly be without falling off.
He resisted the urge to sigh as another stab of pain pierced his heart, worried that the sound might make his other feel like he was failing him or something. But as he stared at his friend's shadow blurred profile he felt compelled to ask softly, "Is it something I did, Yami?"
The elder looked at him quickly, but Yugi couldn't read his expression. "You haven't done anything wrong." Not exactly what he had asked.
"So you're not mad at me?"
A sigh ghosted the air between them. "I could never be mad at you, Yugi."
There had been a time, Yugi remembered, that Yami would have said more. There was a time when Yami would have called him aibou, partner, or at the least, friend. That he had done neither this entire time struck the youth deeply and the tears he had fought off earlier slipped soundlessly from his crystal eyes. He hoped Yami could not see him
He forced a smile, willed it to come through in his voice. "Good night, Yami."
"Good night, Yugi."
The tears fell faster.
o/o/o/o/o
AN: Alright. If you want me to continue, you have to review, and you have to give me some ideas on where to go with it. I hit a road-block though I have a vague idea of where it could go. Eh, let me know if it sucks, too, right?