Okay, first: must apologize for delay. Would say this chappie was extra-long to make up for it but it's really me indulging myself. I hope you don't mind too terribly much. Bear with me on the time thing, please. Second: I'd like to thank all my reviewers for taking the time to review, with an especially big thanks for Serena the Hikari of Love, dragonlady222, Master Elora Dannan, and Mjus for having reviewed all 3 chapters. Love ya!

There was something else. . . . Nope, it's gone. Wait—I remembered! American names won out, sorry Hikari Skysong: if there's something you'd like to see, tell me and I'll see what I can do. Now, on to the real reason you're here.

o/o/o/o/o

A low rumbling sounded throughout the room, nothing more than a hint of pressure against the mind, then a hum that bounced teeth, a deep purr that rose—grew—to vibrate the walls and ceiling, dislodging rushes of sand from the ancient, weathered stone to fall upon their heads. For one panicked, terror-filled moment, he thought the whole chamber was coming down on their heads. Then he noticed the light.

"Hey, guys! Look!"

He was turning against his will, before Joey's words registered in his mind, before he even knew what the blond wished them to see, where he wanted them to look; he knew without knowing, drawn to the light. It shone from the hieroglyphs tracing the Door's edges, and from the Eye of Ra, bleeding from the Scales and the trace scorpion which stood in place of the handle.

He was reminded of the Puzzle, that light, how it used to glow, and could not look away. Even when it intensified, became blinding.

"The Door!" Anzu cried suddenly, shock and fear trembling her voice, fear of the unknown. "It's opening!" She was the first to realize, to understand. The others gasped, their surprise swallowed by the rolling thunder. He just stopped breathing.

The light grew, pouring from the sides, ever widening, cutting harsh, sharp shadows, deepening them, then rushing forth to bleed them away, engulfing the room in brilliance fit to rival the sun, burning their eyes, forcing them to shield them, to close them, strengthening, overwhelming, blinding—a sea of light, unassailable, untouchable, pure and terrible and strong, a living thing, consuming them whole—

And then it was gone, swallowed by the gaping maw that released it, and darkness rushed forth in its place. More slowly, the brilliance left their eyes, let them become reacquainted with the dark, and they could see. Then they could see the Door was gone, vanished, but they had forgotten the Door. None of their attention could be spared for it.

Two figures had taken its place. Two tanned, lithe, simply dressed utterly familiar figures that were neither one so grand as the Door they replaced but infinitely more precious to the ones who occupied the chamber, for the were beings those present had never thought to see again.

Eyes of fiery crimson and stolid brown stared at them. And they stared right back.

o/o/o/o/o

Something partially jolted Yugi from his slumber, stirring his mind to greater awareness as it sought the culprit, running through a list of possibilities that didn't exist, or if they did, he wasn't aware of. He shifted lightly, frowning in the darkness as he sought an answer, unwilling to move from the comfortable darkness to find it.

When a soft thud sounded, close and familiar though he could not place it, he stirred again, more strongly, slowly, haltingly pushing himself to a sitting position, his arms braced against the firm-soft material he had been laying against, and struggled to open his eyes.

They resisted, fluttering closed against all his attempts to the contrary, the darkness that had cradled him unwilling to release its hold, its intangible hand settled firmly in his mind, pulling it back down to warm oblivion; but he just frowned and tried harder, determined to know what he had heard and why it had woken him. A faint yet high and sharp tinkling gave further impetus to the struggle, and he finally managed to pry open his eyes.

He glanced around, highly disoriented when he didn't see his desk against the wall, nor any of his posters or anything else he knew belonged in his room in sight. Brief, panicked seconds dragged by until he recognized his surroundings and remembered, however vaguely, falling asleep on the couch watching movies. He glimpsed his TV dinner plate turned upside down on the floor. He'd pick it up later.

Wondering what time it was, Yugi shifted further back to claim a seat on his butt instead of his legs and felt more balanced as he attempted to rub sleep from his eyes, a yawn escaping perforce.

Sounds of movement, of another being in the house apart from him, drew his attention, and he listened to the quiet noises coming from the kitchen for a minute more before remembering why he had fallen asleep on the couch. "Yami?" he called sleepily, a yawn stretching and distorting the finally syllable. The sounds stopped.

A figure appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Yugi?" the familiar voice asked, shock and disbelief playing through the deep tone, lilting it. "What are you still doing up?"

He yawned again, and was still too much asleep to filter petulance from his voice or to even think of lying. "Was waiting for you."

"I—" the other started, changed his mind. "Forgive me, Yugi. I didn't think you'd. . . ." Yami trailed off, second-guessing his words again, half-gestured with his hand towards something, something apparently even Yami couldn't grasp, for he just shook his head and flipped off the kitchen light. "Let's just go to bed, shall we?"

Yugi nodded and struggled to get off the couch, making very little headway until Yami came over and grasped his arm, saving him from a fall and pulling him to his feet. Once there, he looked at the clock over the mantle, scowling as he yawned again, but was thwarted by the lack of light. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Late," Yami answered.

Yugi frowned again but was too tired to press the issue, simply yawning again and letting himself be lead. His eyes sank mostly closed as they crossed the living room and couldn't quite be revived when they reached the stairs, doubtless aided in their mutiny by the soul-deep knowledge that Yami would never let him fall. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd say Yami's hand on his arm was putting him to sleep.

He barely noticed as he was helped into bed, the darkness already renewing its claim on his mind, and he fell into the warmth of his bed with a smile, pulling the covers closer when they fell atop him. "G'night, Yami," he murmured.

"Sweet dreams, little one," floated to him as if from a great distance. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed for the last time was three glowing green numbers on his alarm clock.

2:10.

o/o/o/o/o

After Yugi woke just before seven that morning, he couldn't figure out how he ended up in his bed when the last thing he remembered was watching Bourne Supremacy in the living room waiting for Yami to come home. He glanced at the elder teen's closed door as he entered the bathroom but didn't go to it. The other was probably sleeping, especially if he got home late, and the last thing Yugi wanted to do was wake him. He had learned the hard way that Yami was a really light sleeper.

He closed the door softly behind him and turned on the water, stripping quickly while he waited for it to warm. For a moment, he studied himself in the mirror, noting his pale skin, his thin arms, his slender chest and shoulders; his fingers, nimble from years of playing with cards and general gaming, traced his bottom ribs, just visible beneath his flesh, and pulled at the baby fat that still lingered about his stomach.

Most of it had disappeared after the five-inch growth spurt he had last summer; his grandfather had said it was a wonder he was anything but skin and bones after growing so much in so short a time, but he was still almost an inch shorter than Yami. He could not help but compare himself to the Pharaoh and find himself lacking. He may have gotten taller but he still looked hopelessly young, with no muscle definition to speak of and impossible wide violet eyes.

I'm an eighteen-year old in a thirteen-year old's body, he noted to himself. No wonder, really, that Anzu would choose Yami over me. He doesn't look like her kid brother.

Not to mention he looked hot in tight leather.

Yugi frowned at his reflection a moment longer before turning away and climbing into the shower, hissing when the liquid proved hotter than he was expecting. Clenching his teeth, he willed his body to get used to it and just closed his eyes, letting the water flow through his hair and down his chest, his back, silently begging it to wash everything—dirt and troublesome thoughts included—down the drain.

The dirt went with little fuss, especially after soap was thrown into the mix, pulled screaming into the black hole with all the shiny suds, nevermore to be seen. Now, if only he could open his head and let the hot water scour his brain, he would be set. But he couldn't, and he wasn't.

The teen leaned against the tiled wall and let the water fall, let it pound between his shoulder blades, slip in tickly fingers down his chest, his eyes closed. He wanted to relax, wanted to enjoy the feel of the water, wanted it to wash away the tension in his neck and shoulders, but the moment he dropped his guard, his mind traitorously returned to its favorite subject: Yami.

Inscrutable red eyes stared at him from the darkness ahead, unreachable. And he could no more discern what troubled him from those eyes, than his opponents could determine where he had hidden the Dark Magician or if his last card was a bluff. They were remote, half-lidded, nonchalant, and completely confidant. They went with his dueling pose, legs braced, arms loosely crossed, the straight slouch that somehow mixed casual comfort with unflappable poise, and the little smirk that finished everything off, the one that said he owned the world and nothing could take it from him.

Yugi had never been able to manage such confidence for himself, had never been able to claim that certainty which would enable him to face anything without flinching. Yami had always been able to summon it with ease, whether he felt it or not. But it was an image, an image he had long associated with the Spirit of the Puzzle, that had long since been absent from his dearest friend.

It returned, untarnished, whenever their friends were near, but it melted, acquired a sorrow he had never seen before, almost as soon as they were gone, as if his customary arrogance was too difficult to maintain for long.

The two separate images stood side-by-side, two incongruous aspects of the same individual, who suddenly slid together in his mind, the old confidence taking precedence in his stance, the new sorrow standing forth in his eyes. He knew something was wrong, had always been able to tell when Yami was troubled. But with the link, he had also been able to glean a fair idea of what the trouble was, had known what to do; but now. . . .

Why won't he tell me? We always told each other everything.

He had thought they would be able to talk when Yami got home from his date with Anzu, but he wasn't even sure the former Spirit had come home. It was possible (however the thought tore at his soul) that Yami had chosen to stay with her, perhaps suspecting Yugi would wish to talk and unwilling to do so; it was the kind of direct problem solving the Pharaoh was famous for. The thought opened a hole in hiss heart, piercing it like a knife through his chest.

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. No. Yami wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't do that to me no matter how badly he wished to avoid something. He wouldn't. . . .

A wisp of memory swirled before his eyes as if in confirmation of the thought. There was a silhouette, an impression of a hand gripping his arm, guiding him, helping him, the certain knowledge that this Yami, and then nothing. His mind wanted to insist it was from last night, that Yami had come home and helped him to his bed, but uncertainty kept him from belief. What if he was wrong? It would crush him, he felt it.

He would come home.

Then why won't he say what's bothering him? Why does he hide?

He's just not ready to talk. He needs time.

. . . Unless. . . . Unless it had something to do with him, with Yugi? He had asked, yes, and Yami had told him that he hadn't done anything wrong . . . but that wasn't what he had asked, not exactly. Whatever else had changed between them, he still believed Yami wouldn't lie to him, but would he avoid the truth? He felt he would, in the name of trying to protect him. But what did that mean? Where did that leave him?

Had he done something, if not wrong, then not quite right? Had he failed to do something? Was it something Yami had expected him to do? Or something Yami had done and he hadn't reacted the right way? But what could it be? Which was the right one and how was he to find out?

How was he to find out what troubled his best friend and former other self? It was a puzzle he couldn't even begin to fathom how to solve. If Yami wouldn't talk to him. . . .

. . . maybe he would talk to Anzu? She had always been a good listener, always had good advice. And she had helped before, maybe not in the way he had thought she would, but Yami had told him he was glad he had gotten to spend that time with her, that it had helped him.

But maybe that wasn't for the reason he had thought it was. He had known for a long time that Anzu had a crush on Yami; maybe he had realized he had a crush on her, too, and that was how that had helped. He doubted it, but they were going out now.

Yugi pushed away from the wall, physically recoiling from the thought, and flailed as he flinched away from the hot water that splashed into his face, body tingling as he almost fell. His hand clenched around the towel rack at the back, the other finding the wall. He shivered despite the heat and turned off the water. His shower had lost its appeal; he needed something to do, something that would distract him, would keep him from thinking.

They hadn't made any plans today. The two of them could just stay home, not go anywhere, maybe find something to do amid the mountains of toys in his room, and talk. About anything. And everything would be fine.

He clung to that determination as dried off quickly and haphazardly and all but fled the bathroom. Dressing consisted of throwing on the first things that met his hands when he reached into his drawers, resulting in a shirt three sizes too big that had started its life a vibrant red and a pair of jeans that would probably fall off him completely with a good tug. They made him look even more like a ragamuffin child, and he almost took them off, objecting to Yami even possibly seeing him dressed like a runaway.

The impulse faded before he could act on it, pushed away by an uncharacteristic bitterness (who was he trying to impress, anyway? Yami hardly spared him a glance lately, preferring to hide in his room), and he walked quickly out of his room.

He stopped, however, when he reached the other's room, some of his musings from the bathroom swirling back into his thoughts. Frustrated though he was, he still worried, and he had to know that the once-Spirit had made it home okay last night. He would never be able to forgive himself if the other had gotten hurt and he didn't know, was too busy being angry and hurt to notice. Fear clenched his heart as he pushed open the door slowly, just enough to see inside.

It disappeared quicker than it had come upon finding Yami sound asleep in his bed, sprawled across his covers in the same outfit he had left the shop in yesterday afternoon, his breathing easy and slow. The half-memory of Yami helping him to bed flashed again through his mind, and some of the tension that had coiled within him eased.

A small smile curled his lips as he very carefully closed the Pharaoh's door, taking great care not to make a sound. Yami wasn't as prone to fits of temper as Bakura was, but there were no guarantees when his sleep was interrupted, especially if he was tired. He padded downstairs to the living room.

o/o/o/o/o

Atemu tenderly brushed some of Yugi's bangs from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then he pulled back and just watched him for a moment, reaffirming the peace he had observed earlier on the young face. Too long had the little one's rest been broken by terror for him to easily forget Yugi's distress, especially since he knew part of it was because of him. He brushed the bangs back again, though there was no need, and quietly left the room.

The roof called his wandering feet, the stars called his heart, as they had the last three nights once he was certain Yugi would sleep peacefully through the morning light. He could not ask for a better vantage throughout the whole of the city. The sandstone hotel was the tallest building far as the naked eye could see, commanding a wide view of the deserts that had once been his home.

It was a truly breathtaking sight, but one he was sure to enjoy alone due to the lateness of the hour and the chill of the Egyptian night. And he preferred it that way, had taken great pains to ensure it might be so, for only alone was he granted the freedom to deal with his troubles, his fears, and the opportunity to rebuild the control he needed to navigate the day. The night that had been his bane, his enforced existence, had since become his haven.

The last five thousand millennia had apparently done little to dull the gods' sense of humor. He had been willing to swear, once, that they loved making his life difficult.

"Atemu?"

He closed his eyes. The definition of alone, he noted dryly, has apparently changed since I was reborn. He almost grimaced at how awkward his name sounded rolling off the girl's tongue, like she had to consciously remind herself not to call himself something else and almost failed even after she had done so.

When he opened his eyes, the mask of the Pharaoh was back in place. "Anzu," he acknowledged calmly. "Should you not be sleeping?"

He could hear a smile in her reply. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

There was an invitation in that, to bare his soul and reveal the thoughts that drove him to seek such bleak solitude, to brave the icy winds of the desert night. It was a tempting offer, but one he knew belonged to another before this girl.

He didn't turn, though he felt her gentle eyes on his back. He spoke to the night. "I've always enjoyed watching the stars."

"They're beautiful," Anzu agreed as she stepped forward to stand at his elbow; he could see her profile out of the corner of his eye. He thought he heard another word in her tone, one she would have preferred. Romantic.

He did not deign to answer, occupying himself instead with the landscape that stretched endlessly around them, curtailed only by the limits of their physical selves. His imagination and memory filled in many of the blanks. He wondered, idly, how different some of the places he remembered were.

She turned to look at him, blue eyes bright, concerned. "Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do to help? We're your friends too, remember." He felt her hand on his arm and was not immune to its comfort.

"Nothing's wrong," he answered, reasoning with his heart that he did not lie. He chose to overlook that it was the same sort of not-lie he had on occasion chastised Yugi for. In an effort to make his statement more believable he added, "Some habits are simply not so easy to break as we might wish."

And others, he continued silently, are not so simple to revive as one might hope. He wondered, if he were still Pharaoh, if he would have avoided the declaration his heart so desired to make. His memories suggested no, but though the man who had commanded armies was the same as himself, he could not recapture the confidence to simply declare his desires. Because he was Pharaoh no longer, and none of the beings around him were his subjects, bound to obey him.

He wondered, idly, if they were still in Ancient Egypt, if he would have cared whether or not the one he loved felt the same, or if he were compelled to do so because of his station. He suspected the answer was not. Would he even have bothered to fall in love?

But he knew the answer to that one, and he wished he did not. It cast a new shadow of doubt upon his intentions and made him wish (not for the first time) that he had never rediscovered his past. Then he could have pursued his intentions as the man he had become instead of with the constant weight of the man he had been holding him back. Now, he simply could not escape the suspicion that the one he loved deserved someone better than him.

Anzu's hand squeezed his arm, drawing him from the distance landscape and the ever wider range of his memories. Involuntarily, he looked at her. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he replied, a soft smile easing his countenance. "Now seek you rest, Anzu. It is late, and tomorrow will bring Ra back to the sky too early for your liking."

o/o/o/o/o

Yugi tried to brush his hair out of his face, but the blond strands stubbornly flopped back down. He had tried tucking them behind his ears, even, but that hadn't worked either. They had simply worked themselves free when he moved and dangled tauntingly before his face.

Balanced on his hands and his knees, with a sponge clenched in his right hand, he scrubbed hard at the yellow and brown stain left by last night's dinner. He had been working on it for more than thirty minutes and was frustrated that he hadn't seen much change. His knees hurt, his hand was cramped, his shoulder (the one his weight was balanced upon while he scrubbed) felt compressed, and his back ached. And still the stain wouldn't come up!

It was settled—he was never eating a TV dinner again. Ever. If the stuff clung this tenaciously to the caret, what did it do to his insides?

He scowled, the expression not nearly as menacing on him as he would have wished, and attacked the carpet once more, scrubbing furiously, sharply, back and forth, for several moments until his strength gave out; the boy slumping against the couch and throwing up his arms in exasperation. And still the stain stood there, mocking.

He glowered at it where he sat, elbow braced atop the couch seat and head braced against his hand. The plate was already in the garbage, the tray washed (rinsed, really) and put away; the TV was off, the movies once again stacked and neatly put away. Everything was good, clean, as-it-should-be—except for this lousy stain of cheese sauce and meat sauce. Maybe he just simply hadn't taken strong enough action? He jumped to his feet.

Brrriiiiiiiinnnggg.

Yugi had jumped onto the couch even before the sound registered in his mind and had made the leap to go over the back before the sound stopped, his footing and balance unchecked; thus, the cushion slipped, propelled partially off the couch to tip to the floor, and he didn't get the height he expected—needed—to clear the back. His feet caught and he fell headfirst towards the floor. One hand snatched desperately for the couch, catching, and the other swung forth to protect his head. His feet, however, swung down with the full force of his momentum. He hissed in pain, released the couch, and half fell, half crawled to the phone.

Reaching it, he snatched it from its cradle just as it eeped out the beginning of the second ring and put it to his ear, his relief at having gotten to it before (hopefully) it could wake Yami not quite strong enough to erase the pain in his foot from its abrupt meeting with the floor. He held his breath against the curses that wished to fly out, and forced an almost normal "Hello? Mutou residence" past clenched teeth.

"Eh, Yug'?" was the uncertain answer. He supposed he didn't sound quite like himself. But—

"Joey?" he asked, scarcely believing his ears. His eyes darted instinctively to the clock, what he knew about the time and what he knew about Joey disturbing his reality. But while the clock hands indicated it was slightly later than he thought (9:44), it wasn't sufficiently late enough, to his mind and experience, to be hearing from Joey on a no-school no-work no-previous-plan day. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you okay?" He pushed himself to his feet, using the wall as a brace.

"Heh, what? 'Course I'm okay! I can take care o' myself, ya know!"

"I know, Joey," he assured quickly, making a placating gesture despite the fact there was no one there to see it.

"Eh, right, I knew dat. So anyway, was thinking, you know, 'bout everything that's happened, and it kinda occurred to me that it's been a while since we've done anything together. Just the gang, ya know?"

He smiled at his friend, twisting his fingers idly in the phone cord. "Yeah, I know," he said. "Ryou said the same thing yesterday." Just before Bakura stormed out and Yami told me he had a date with Anzu. His eyes went to the stairs against his will, yet he still half wished Yami would suddenly appear at the bottom of them. He turned his back to them as Joey started speaking again.

"Yeah, well, I sorta ran into him and Bakura yesterday. Sorta what reminded me we hadn't seen everyone in awhile. So I did some callin'. You and Yami up for meeting us at the arcade 'bout noon? We'll all have lunch together and hang out, just like old times. Whadaya say, huh buddy?"

"Well—"

"Can I count on ya? Please?"

"Well, I—"

"Say yes. Come on, Yug'! Say yes!"

"Easy, Joey!" he called, laughing and grimacing at the same time, his heart sinking as he uttered his doom. "I'll come. I don't know about Yami, though. He was out late last night and might not be up to it." Or he might've made more plans he forgot to tell me about. He grimaced at the thought.

"Great! I'll see ya den, a'right?"

"Alright, Joey. See you." He didn't feel nearly as happy as he thought he should as he hung up the phone, a day at the Arcade with his friends all he could have wished for a few short years ago. A sigh slipped his lips and violet eyes wandered to the clock.

Ten. That was late enough to start breakfast, right?

"What'd Joey want?"

Yugi whirled in surprise, a small cry escaping him at the unexpected voice. "Yami!"

Yami stood on the bottom step, half-braced against the rail, still wearing the leather ensemble he had glimpsed earlier. His crimson eyes were bleary beneath heavy lids, and his hair look like had had run his hands through it a couple times without noticing. The elder blinked at him sleepily and swayed on the spot, despite his grip on the banister.

A couple weeks ago—heck, even two days ago—Yugi would've darted to the other's side and wrapped his arm around his waist to help him to the couch. Now, though, he didn't quite dare. He shifted uncomfortably, uncertain what to do. "I'm sorry I woke you," he said.

But Yami shook his head, his eyes slipping closed, and he stepped down into the living room, wavering enough that Yugi feared he would fall. "You didn't," the elder assured as he stumbled (somehow gracefully) to the couch and dropped into it bonelessly, half-sprawling, his head tilted back. Then he went still. Yugi thought he had fallen asleep and wanted to get closer, would have leaned over the back of the couch near Yami's head, but his feet wouldn't move.

"So?"

"What?" Yugi started, his head snapping up. One crimson eye slitted open to peer at him.

"What did Joey want?"

"Oh! He, uh—" Yugi scratched the back of his head and grinned sheepishly. "He wanted to know if we wanted to go to the Arcade."

"Mmm," the Pharaoh responded. Yugi wasn't sure what that meant but the other didn't seem inclined to elucidate.

He shuffled closer to the kitchen, looked between it and the boy on the couch. Both Yami's eyes were firmly closed again; Yugi wondered if he had fallen back asleep.

"Um, how about I make breakfast?"

The only answer was another noncommittal grunt. This, he decided to take as a yes and faded back into the kitchen. He pulled the eggs and cheese from the refrigerator; then he got down a bowl. He busied himself with scrambling eggs and prepping the stove. He was peripherally aware of Yami watching him from the doorway as he poured the whipped egg yolks into the battered pan. They sizzled on contact.

Ignoring them for a moment, he took the bowl and fork to the sink, pulled out two plates and set them down near the stove, then picked up two peaches. He put two pieces of bread in the toaster before taking a minute to slice one of the peaches. He glanced at Yami as he returned attention to the eggs. The other still looked half asleep.

"Late night?" he asked.

Yami looked at him quickly then returned his gaze to the juncture of counter and floor past Yugi. He rubbed his face wearily. "Yes."

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

He saw Yami shrug. "Stuff."

Apparently, so complicated a response as multiple-word answers were beyond him this morning, though he had managed a three word question just a few minutes ago. "You can go back to bed if you're still tired," he offered, feeling compelled to do so, but the Pharaoh just shook his head, and walked fully into the kitchen as if to prove he wasn't, continuing all the way to the table on unstable legs.

The toast popped up while he was divvying the eggs. He plucked them both from the slightly battered contraption and buttered them quickly and lightly before setting them on one of the plates. The cut peaches followed, and he carried the plate (and a fork) to Yami. "Would you like anything else?"

Again, the former Spirit just shook his head.

"Some milk or orange juice?" he persisted.

Red eyes darted briefly to Yugi's face. "Milk," Yami murmured after a beat. Briefly amused, Yugi suspected it was chosen because it was only one word and not two. He got the drink quickly.

It was another few minutes before Yugi had assembled his own breakfast and carried it to the table. In that time, the Pharaoh had worked his way through a single piece of toast and was nibbling half-heartedly on the second. Yugi eyed the untouched portions, then raised his eyes to the other's face. Judging by his expression, he half-suspected he could have danced naked through the kitchen without the elder noticing.

He bit into his own toast. "It's not poisoned, you know," he said.

"What?"

"The food." Yugi gestured to the plate and Yami's gaze followed. "It's safe to eat. I promise."

A wan smile answered him and the other obliged by taking a bite of egg. Almost immediately that distracted, distant look reappeared, as if he was watching a sad movie only he could see.

Yugi frowned. "Are you sure you had fun last night?"

"Huh?" Yami started, proving he had spent far too much time around Joey. His eyes focused briefly on violet, then shied away as if burned. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"What's wrong, then?" Yugi watched him push the egg around his plate.

The Pharaoh shook his head. "Nothing."

The shorter boy froze, watching as the other started eating determinedly, shoveling the food as quickly as he could without completely abandoning his dignity; it was the fastest he had ever seen Yami eat, and that included the Pharaoh's first meal after becoming human again. Yugi recognized it for what it was: a sign that the elder didn't want to talk any more.

He dropped his gaze as he felt tears prick his eyes, determined not to let them fall. He had hoped. . . . But apparently that wasn't enough. He pushed the contents of his plate around, then speared a strawberry to eat. It dropped back to the plate before it could reach his lips. He just wasn't hungry any more.

He stood. "Would you like some strawberries, Yami?" He didn't wait for the other's response before pushing the fruit onto his plate. He scraped the rest into the garbage and put the plate in the sink.

"Yugi?"

He froze again, a deer caught in the headlights, then turned with a smile, a bounce, pretending everything was as fine as Yami kept insisting. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

His smile widened at the question. "Of course. Um, so you never really answered if you wanted to go to the Arcade or not."

"I would," he answered, his gaze sharp, finally fully awake and aware. "Unless you'd like to do something else?"

Yugi felt his smile crack and shook his head quickly. "No. No, this'll be fun. Um, we're meeting the gang at noon, kay?" He barely registered Yami's acknowledgment. "So, I'm gonna go get ready, kay."

He darted out of the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs before his control broke and the first tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didn't cry. Within the safety of his locked room, he slid to the floor, his back braced against the wall. It wasn't fair; it just wasn't fair.

He'd lost track of time when he heard footsteps approach. They stopped right outside his door and he tensed, held his breath. Part of him wished Yami would just go away and leave him alone to wallow in his misery as chose. The other part hoped he would knock on the door, insist he be let in, and not leave him alone until they had worked everything out and things could go back to how they were.

But Yami didn't know, and he didn't insist. And after a moment, the footsteps retreated to the bathroom. The door closed and a minute later the water turned on. Yugi released the breath he'd been holding in a sigh. He was foolish to hope.

o/o/o/o

o

o/o/o/o

Okay, two questions. And I can't write the next chapter until you answer them. First one:

Do you want Seto to be at the arcade? With or without Mokuba?

Second:

Do you want Joey to be with Mai? Seto? Or Mai flirting with Seto (which isn't exactly what I mean, but you understand, right)? No guarantees this one'll go anywhere but I have to ask in case it comes up.

Quickly, quickly! The longer I have to worry over the Arcade, the more I might decide this isn't worth it. It's been ages since I last went to an arcade! Game ideas would be wonderful if there are any gamers out there. Favorite games, whatever. Bye now!