Hm. Where to begin? …Alright. I'd like to thank everyone who voted. I'm truly awed at the number of you who responded; I didn't think I'd get five. That said, you will not see the fruits of your labor this chapter. What I had intended to write and what you get are, in this instance, two entirely different things. Please bear with me.
Second…I have just started a new semester at college. I'm taking a Spanish class, two 4000 level Lit classes (for those of you who may not know, those are the advanced ones for juniors and seniors) with lots of reading and papers, and an articles and essays writing class which is proving (in the one day I've had it) to be far more annoying than my fiction class last semester. What that rather long spiel means is that I probably won't have a lot of time to indulge myself. I have absolutely no idea when they next update might be. This, incidentally, is why I promised myself before I started writing Yu-Gi-Oh that I wouldn't post any works-in-progress. Best laid plans gone to waste.
Still, it's fairly long, at 18 pages. I hope that makes up some for the long delay. Ideas, funny thoughts, quirks, likes, dislikes…share with me. I foresee very little joy this semester. And the more you review, the more obligated I feel to update. I'm basically telling you to guilt-trip me, and a little nudge now and then, when the wait gets long, never hurts.
Now, sit back and marvel at how very bad this chapter is.
(Oh! And Happy New Year, everyone!)
Chapter 5
Yugi frowned as his last Pac-Man contacted a red monster and spun in place before it, the monsters, and maze were wiped from the screen, leaving it black. Bold red letters proclaiming GAME OVER flashed twice before his eyes and then the high scores scrolled up the screen and the youth sighed. His hand slipped from the joystick. Kaiba would have a field day with this, if he could see it.
The familiar KAI identifying the young CEO stared at him from the top of the list, a spot short of number one; but it wasn't those letters which drew his gaze, nor those which hurt. It was the ones above it, the ones that held that top spot: YYM. Yugi and Yami Mutou. How long ago was it they worked their way through all the games in the Arcade together? It seemed like forever ago.
The short teenager stepped back from the game console and looked around—for his friends, he told himself, but it was Yami he wanted to see, to find out if he remembered, too—if it seemed just as long ago to him.
Probably. Anzu wasn't around for that.
It had been shortly after Duelist Kingdom—after Rebecca came seeking the fourth Blue Eyes and Duke challenged him to a game of Dungeon Dice Monsters—but before Battle City. They hadn't been truly aware of each other long, hadn't had the opportunity to talk much yet—and Yami had been so quiet, so worried and withdrawn, though he hadn't wanted his other to know, had tried to hide it and pretend. . . .
Joey had suggested—had practically dragged him to the Arcade before telling him why, and when he had . . . Yugi had balked. Kaiba was the one who obsessed about being the best at everything, and as far as he had been concerned it could remain that way, with the only thing he had taken away the Duel Monsters title. But the challenge (and it had been a challenge) of knocking the pretentious millionaire from his high-horse had piqued the spirit's interest, games and Kaiba being the only two sure things to do so—and here, combined. So he agreed, the chance to pull his darker half away from his brooding silence to tempting to ignore even at the risk of the Kaiba's wrath.
But with a stipulation: namely, that they would do it together and that both of their names would appear on the scoreboards. He had been adamant, and Yami had acquiesced easily with an "as you wish, Aibou"—but Yugi thought he had been pleased by the gesture, the inclusion. He wondered if the darkling still was, or if their harrowing adventures had erased the quiet battle with nothing but pride and fun on the line. As he recalled, that had been the last time in the past three years that they had actually played without dire consequences hinging on the outcome. He'd really like to do it again. . . .
Perhaps they could. All he would have to do was ask. The worst he could do was say no, right? He could even ask him, just as soon as he found him—and who knew? Maybe it would help with . . . whatever was wrong with them. It had helped last time, or he thought it had. Talking with Anzu might have helped more, but maybe. . . .
Yugi stopped dead as he finally glimpsed his tanned look-alike through the throng of students who warmed the building; he was near Anzu, watching her, a small smirk on his lips. He should have known he would find them at DDR. Anzu didn't really have any interest in playing computer games (she could, if she wanted), after all, but she love to dance. And she was good. Yugi had known that without ever needed to see her perform.
He watched her now and could easily see why Yami hadn't taken his eyes off her slender, flowing body. She held such grace and power within her limbs, so delicate, the kind Yugi could only dream of. She was poised and elegant and carefree—her heard held high, shoulders thrown back, straight and curved, rolling with the music, spinning and perfect, with a light sheen of sweat setting her skin aglow, her cheeks flushed from exertion, a beautiful smile on her face and her crystal blue eyes sparkling with joy; she had never looked more beautiful. It was no wonder so many of the attentive crowd were male. They followed her every move, but she had eyes only for Yami and wrapped her arms around him the moment the dance was over, herself the victor.
Yugi watched his other wrap his arms around her and press a kiss to her temple. His smirk held a possessive edge that dared another to mess with her. None took up the challenge. And Yugi had to look away as he pulled her into another, deeper celebratory kiss.
He turned around and walked in the opposite direction. Happy as he was his friends had found each other, he couldn't bear to see them together. Something in his gut twisted sharply, painfully, at every intimate gesture they exchanged. He thought he knew why—but he had always known Anzu would never be his, crush or no, so why should this bother him?
Because they looked so much alike, him and Yami? But no, he knew Anzu wasn't that shallow. He knew from personal experience that there was a lot more to like about Yami than just his looks. She was lucky to have him, so strong and confident and brilliant, and she would be good for him. He just knew it.
Biting his bottom lip against the tears that had inexplicably stung his eyes, Yugi hurried past Joey and Tristan obliviously playing Street Fighter, standing side-by-side, moving quickly to he back where the restrooms were. His throat burned with the effort of holding back his sobs. His breath came in jerky gasps, all but choking on them as they tried to pass his throat. What was wrong with him? What was wrong. . . ?
What's wrong with me? This is the third time in two days!
No answers came to him as he finally reached his destination and shoved through the wooden door which closed behind him. He stumbled against one of the sinks and held onto the sides with desperate strength; his legs trembled beneath him, threatened to give way, and a few tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. He stared down into the white ceramic sink, down into the drain that disappeared into shadow. . . .
Hand shaking, he pried it from the ledge to twist on the cold water. It gushed out in a staticky flood, whitish clear, and he watched it vanish after whirling around the dark hole that lead beyond his sight, a never-ending stream into a black void. He struggled to bring his breathing back to some semblance of normalcy. The cold water helped; once he was confident enough his legs weren't going to collapse the second he released his death grip on the sink and cupped his hands beneath the flow.
It was cold, shocking, and he gasped as the liquid hit his heated cheeks. The crushing pressure building in his chest lessened, loosened, and he splashed his face until the skin was numb and it practically streamed from his nose and chin. His mind was clear as he reopened his eyes, the drain still their focus; he almost felt normal—if that jittery panic—or whatever it was he had felt, didn't still jangle in his legs and hands, trying to tremble him to the ground.
"Yugi?"
He whirled at the sound of the soft, accented voice, eyes wide, face rigid, his wet bangs swinging around and pasting themselves to the sides of his face. "R-ryou?" he gasped.
"Are you alright?" the gentle albino pressed further, moving fully into the bathroom so the door could close behind him. "What happened?"
The other couldn't find his voice so he shook his head. Ryou frowned at him, and he closed his eyes then slowly slid to the floor, pulling his knees close to his chest the moment he was no longer falling. He stared at the far wall, view interrupted by a urinal but he didn't care. He wasn't really looking at the wall, either.
Ryou stared at him. "Did anyone hurt you?" Again, the other shook his head. This time, the albino grabbed some paper towels and sat down in front of him. He held them out. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Yugi shook his head and took one, shredding it instead of drying his face. "There's nothing to talk about," he croaked. "I don't know what happened. I just . . . just lost it. I don't know why."
"Would you like me to go get Yami?" Ryou asked after a moment, at a loss.
Another headshake answered him. Yugi kept his eyes on the small brownish tiles that made up the floor. "There's no need to bother him about this."
"I suspect he might disagree."
The spike-haired duelist smiled a little, the expression sad. "I don't want him to see me like this," he whispered. "He'd just worry and there's nothing he can do. I'm just being silly. And I'm better now, anyway. I'm okay."
"Are you sure?" Deep brown eyes studied him closely.
"Yeah. Yea, I'm sure. But I think I'd like to go home now."
Ryou nodded, but Yugi had known him long enough to know he wasn't convinced. "Would you like me to go with you? I don't mind."
He thought about it, then shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah." He grabbed the rest of the paper towels and dried his face to prove it. Grabbing blindly at the sink behind and above his head, he hauled himself to his feet. His friend rose with him, half-hovering in case he fell. But Yugi regained his balance easily and smiled at the other. "Thanks, Ryou."
"No problem, Yugi," he said. "I'm glad to help. You're sure you're okay, though?"
"Yes!" Yugi exclaimed with a more genuine smile. "You worry too much, Ryou!"
Said boy just smiled, a hint of sorrow behind his soft brown eyes, and Yugi thought he knew what his friend would have said if he'd let himself. He smiled back without comment and threw the paper towels away before they left the bathroom together. Bakura was waiting just outside the door.
"Well?"
"Yugi's not feeling well," Ryou answered for his friend, "so he's just gonna go home."
Dark, discerning eyes studied the violet-eyed boy, earning a grunt. "Get the hell outta here, then."
The two boys watched as the thief turned and stalked away without waiting for a response. Yugi cocked his head after him. "That was weird."
"Very," Ryou agreed. "I wish I knew what was up."
"Me, too." Yugi sighed. "See you later, Ryou." He took a few small steps toward the door.
"Be careful, Yugi. I'll tell the other's where you went."
"Thanks." He nodded and smiled at his friend gratefully, then wove his way through the crowd to the exit. A flash of familiar-looking black hair made him stop before he reached it; but whoever it had been was gone by the time he turned to look. Brushing it aside with a shrug, he slipped through the door and began walking home. A walk that promised to be just as silent as the one here before him, only he wouldn't have to watch Yami and Anzu cling to each other the second their eyes met after he arrived.
He frowned. Why does this bug me so much? I wanted them together. I was the one who set up their first date, for Pete's sake! I got what I want!
The discontent that wound through him put the lie to his words, but the voice he was half expecting to speak up out of nowhere never materialized to contradict him. Probably because there was nothing to contradict. He had wanted them happy and together. So why wasn't he happy?
Because Yami's not happy. And he won't tell me what's bothering him.
Yugi sighed, agitated by the repetition of his own thoughts. I hate walking in circles. He looked up at the clear cloudless blue sky, idly trying to decide what shade he saw to distract himself, and noted darkly that it should be raining.
o/o/o/o/o
The Game Shop door was a beacon as he crossed the street to his home. It was no shining light or precious jewel, just a simple piece of wood painted green, but Yugi felt some of his tension ease as he approached it—for once content in the knowledge that he was the only one home.
He twisted the key in the lock before turning to the mailbox beside the door and parking inside, going up on his tiptoes a little to accomplish it; he snaked his hand to grab the envelopes he found then retrieved his key, opened the door and stepped inside. The little bell in the top left-hand corner jingled happily as he closed it again and locked it. He didn't bother turning on any of the lights as he crossed to the back of the shop, glancing around to ensure everything was in place more from habit than any real interest.
He plodded up the short stair to the house with deliberate steps, eyes focused on each as he ascended. When he reached the top, he moved immediately to the kitchen. He hung his keys on the hook just inside the doorway then leaned against the counter to flip through the envelopes still clutched in his hand. Junk . . . bill . . . bill . . . junk . . . junk. . . .
The boy frowned and spread the envelopes so he could see the names on the front and rolled his eyes at the name he found on the junk mail. A quick glance at the remaining three envelopes revealed two of them to be more junk mail—specifically, credit card offers, for him. Only just eighteen and already they want to get me into debt. He snorted.
The bills he set aside on the counter for Grandpa to find when he got home. The would-be credit cards he carried upstairs and dropped on his desk to be shredded later. Then he flopped down on his bed, belly up, arms spread wide, and stared at the ceiling. Unfortunately, white popcorn wasn't all that interesting to look at.
The bumps couldn't be counted—there were too many too randomly spread to have any hope of keeping one's place. There were no discernible patters. He supposed it could be treated like star-gazing, but the plaster lumps weren't as pretty to look at and no "constellations" jumped out at him. It was a task (finding pictures in ceilings) that required at least a little interest and concentration, and Yugi currently held too little claim to the former to keep his thoughts from drifting back to the Arcade, to Yami and Anzu and . . . him.
"What's wrong with me?" Yugi asked the room at large. Perhaps, by some miracle, voicing the question would prompt one of his many inanimate objects to answer his question. None did. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow. The plush fabric blocked out the light, squished his nose, and muffled the aggravated, wordless yell he loosed into its depths. Then he fell still and silent. And after a moment he lifted his head. Crossing his arms beneath the cushion, he propped his chin on top, now staring at the wall beyond his headboard.
It was also even less interesting to look at than the ceiling, though it was at least a different color than white. He was close enough to see the odd wave-like ripples that textured the wall, but he wasn't looking at them; the little swells blurred before his eyes and fell away, unimportant.
Instead, he saw the look Yami gave him when they left: would-be neutral, crimson eyes dark and soft, a slight crease between his eyes in an almost-frown. And something else . . . some sorrow that could only be seen through the eyes, and only if one looked deep enough. Yugi had thought nothing of it when it happened; but now he wondered. What had his darkness been thinking when he looked at him like that? Had he felt guilty? Regretful? And why had he not said anything? It wasn't like there hadn't been any time. And yet. . . .
But he was tired of making the first move, of instigating conversations when he was told the same lie, over and over. Why couldn't Yami talk to him?
He saw Anzu wrap her arms around his other's neck, full lips forming words and curving into a bright smile at the response; saw her welcomed into Yami's arms; saw a kiss shared between them, lingering and sweet; saw Yami's arms wrapped casually around her waist as they walked; saw her all but sitting in his lap while they ate—seven crammed into a booth built for four at Burger Palooza; saw their fingers laced as they lead each other around the Arcade.
Each image seemed to drill a hole in his heart.
Had Yami told Anzu? He was at ease with here. Did she know? Or had she not asked, that tension never introduced to their relationship, never forced to endure what he did now? He scowled at the thought, not quite sure which part displeased him.
What is so bad you feel you must hide it from me, my dark?
A sound reached his ears then, and Yugi quickly pushed himself up, braced by his hands, half twisted toward the door. He froze just as suddenly as he'd moved, head cocked to listen. Had he imagined it, that soft thud? There was no one else in the house; had someone broken in?
A minute ticked by. When the sound did not repeat and no others reached his ears, he relaxed, settling back down on one elbow, twisted onto his side. He dismissed it as one of the random noises older houses something made. It wasn't the first, after all, he just wasn't used to hearing them during the day when other noises where around to obscure them. His eyes landed on his dresser.
What it I just let it go? Pretend nothing's wrong? Would it get better then? Would he eventually tell me? Yugi couldn't figure an answer, his mind and heart pulling him in different directions—Would I be able to wait? But asking hasn't helped. What else is there to do?
The wrought iron handles on his dresser didn't answer, simply stared back at him impassively. He huffed, unimpressed, and then flopped back onto his back. The ceiling greeted him, staring down at him in bland cheer.
Yugi frowned. "You're not all that much help, you know," he told it bitterly.
"Yugi?"
Said boy suddenly shot up, eyes wide. "Yami!"
The Egyptian stood in the doorway, one hand gripping the door frame while he leaned his shoulder against it, his body outside but his head poked in. The position struck him as off, somehow, but the thought was dismissed as soon as it formed, the greater part of his attention caught by the soft look of concern that darkened blood red orbs, similar to the one he had seen earlier but deeper.
"Are you alright, Aibou?"
Yugi stared. He barely heard the nickname he had longed for two nights previously, his jaw slack and his eyes wide; his mind had shut down, unable to comprehend how Yami was here when he should have been at the Arcade with Anzu.
Yami frowned and his eyes darkened further. "Yugi?" he repeated.
The boy started, jaw snapping closed with an audible click. "Wha—fine. Fine, Yami. I'm fine. What are you doing here?" A frown wrinkled his brow.
The elder teenager had taken a couple steps into the room when his partner didn't answer, but now he retreated again, leaning his back against the wooden jamb. "I—Ryou said you left. That you didn't feel well."
Yugi blinked. "You didn't have to leave just because I did."
"I wanted to make sure you were alright."
"You could have called," he pointed out.
Yami glanced swiftly down the hallway and shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I don't . . . like . . . the telephone." Then crimson eyes snapped to violet, intent and penetrating. It made Yugi feel like he was suddenly stripped bare of skin, his entire being bared before his other half. "You're sure you're well?"
"Sure." He cursed silently when the declaration didn't sound as confident as he had intended. "I'm just a little tired, is all," he added, to make it more believable. But he got the feeling Yami didn't believe him.
The gaze never wavered, though the Egyptian's expression seemed to settle, to harden. His tone, when he spoke, was unreadable, the cadence casual, almost offhand. Except Yugi knew better.
"Bakura said you looked upset."
The boy wasn't sure what to be more off-put by—the fact Bakura had actually spoken the truth to Yami in regards to him (so far as he knew, it was a first), or the fact that Yami was also apparently perfectly prepared to believe him. He blinked, frowning uncomfortably, and shifted further back on his bed. "You listen to Bakura?"
"He has been known to speak the truth, on occasion," Yami answered, his eyes sliding away to gaze distantly through his wall . . . remembering? Yugi wished he dared ask what.
"Well, what makes you think this occasion is one of those?"
The crimson orbs refocused on his face. "It would be a painful truth," the darkling answered slowly. "And you have not denied it."
Yugi grimaced. No he hadn't, but he knew as well as Yami did that he couldn't lie to save his life so denying it wouldn't have done any good—not that this tactic had proved fruitful. He kept his eyes focused on the comforter beneath him. "It was nothing. Just me being silly. I don't even know what upset me, and I'm better now. I'm alright."
He looked up and smiled when Yami didn't respond. "I'm okay. Really. You can go back to the Arcade, now. I know Anzu's missing you."
For a long minute Yami's expression didn't change, his crimson eyes opaque and expressionless as he gazed at the other, arms crossed before his chest. Then he sighed and dropped his arms to his side, shifted away from the wall, and stared at Yugi's dresser. "I don't want to leave you alone, Yugi."
That thought that something was off about Yami resurfaced in his mind, but he pushed it aside and shook his head. "You don't need to worry about me, Yami," he said. "I'm perfectly. I've been on my own before and I can take care of myself."
"Yes. I know."
Yugi cocked his head at the short response. He had expected some quip—a tease or taunt or wry observation. Something other than a flat agreement. And he couldn't see his other's eyes. A slight frown pinched his brow. "Is something wrong?"
Yami opened and closed his mouth three times but no words made it past his lips. That worried Yugi, for he could count the instances the Pharaoh had been rendered speechless on one hand and still have fingers enough to do any number things. He scooted off the bed and stood before it, hands twining restlessly before him.
"Yami?"
"I—No, noth—I mean. You're sure you are well?"
"Yes," Yugi replied. "Are you well?"
"I . . . no. No," he repeated, shaking his head and leaning back against the wall. "I'm not." His eyes, when they refocused, settled on the wall above Yugi's desk—or rather, settled on the Dark Magician poster that hung there.
It showed the mage in the midst of an attack, staff thrust forward and dominant in the image, colors polarized to an odd, almost florescent hue. Only the sharp, judging aquamarine eyes were untouched, and they immediately drew the eye, like they were staring into one's soul. When Grandpa had seen it, he had named it a distraction; Joey had proclaimed it "trippy." Yugi had always been calmed by the sure gaze of his favorite Duel Monster—Yami had never offered an opinion one way or the other.
And his expression gave away none now. Yugi took two quick steps forward before catching himself. "What's wrong?" he asked, rather startled that the former spirit had admitted to ailment; he had expected a declaration of "fine" and the discussion to close.
"I . . ." Yami started and glanced fleetingly in Yugi's direction. "It's nothing," he amended, straightening as if from a dream; his eyes darted everywhere except the boy's own. "I'll just . . . leave you to your peace. . . ." The former spirit peeked over his shoulder at his partner before leaving and froze in the doorway.
Yugi just stared at him. His mind churned with shock and hurt and betrayal and aggravation and more—he wasn't sure which made it upon his face, but he made no effort to change it, demanded, "Do you think so little of me?"
"Yugi. . . ."
"You said we were friends. You said we would always be friends, no matter what—that that hadn't changed just because you got a body of your own. But friends talk to each other, Yami." He swallowed against the tears that tried to resurface, frowning a little at the effort. They still choked his voice when he continued. "—They tell each other what troubles them instead of lying and pretending it's nothing!"
He glared at his other, but the darkling stared at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. The fight drained from him as quickly as it had come and he slithered to the floor, shoulders drooping. His voice was a bare whisper. "You don't have to pretend with me, Yami. Why do you lie?"
"Sometimes I do not understand myself," Yami answered after a minute, still facing away, his voice soft, uninflected—the intended meaning behind the statement unclear. "Forgive me. I do not mean to hurt you."
"There's nothing to forgive."
The other chuckled mirthlessly. "Now who lies?" He shook his head and spoke again before Yugi could answer: "You are angry with me."
"I'm not."
"I can see it in your eyes."
"I'm not angry with you, Yami," Yugi repeated, closing his eyes tiredly. "Frustrated, maybe, but not angry."
"Semantics," he dismissed with a careless wave of his left hand. When he turned his eyes were dark, sorrowful. "You are too kind, little one, to wish to spare me your wrath. You offer an escape which frees me and leaves your will unsatisfied, and I am selfish enough to accept. I cannot bear for you to be angry at me."
"Yami—"
"I seek only to protect you."
"From what?" Yugi asked. "The Shadow Games were locked away, the power of the Millennium Items broken. The Puzzle is just a harmless trinket. The world is safe and none are after us. What do I need protection from?"
Yami stare at him, then knelt before him, head bowed. "From the one thing I can never truly protect you against."
It took Yugi longer than he would like to admit to puzzle what the former spirit meant; and even after he knew, he was still left confused. "Why would I need protection from you? I don't understand."
"No," his other sighed. "You do not. I do not want you to."
"Why?"
"I. . . . Maybe one day I will be able to tell you."
"Why not now?"
"Yugi, please. . . ."
The boy frowned at the soft plea, the tone so strange from the normally assertive teen. Slowly, he nodded. "Alright. I won't ask."
Yami sighed, the breath equal parts relief and sorrow. "Thank you, my light." But Yugi felt wretched. Crimson eyes studied him. "Are you hungry, Yugi?"
"Hungry?"
"You threw away your breakfast this morning after little more than a bite and you barely touched your hamburger. Don't think I didn't notice."
But he had; he had figured Yami was too wrapped up in Anzu to notice much of anything that happened around him, as testified by the fact that he didn't see Joey slip salt in his soda under the guise of grabbing the ketchup. But Yami had noticed him; it was a strange, bubbly warmth in his stomach that greeted this realization, and he smiled shyly, ducking his head.
"Would you like me to fix you something?"
His head shot up. "You don't have to do that!" he cried. "Anzu—"
"Understands," Yami interrupted firmly. "I told her I might not be back. We'll get together again later. So?" An elegant eyebrow lifted in question.
Yugi lips slowly twisted into a smile which became wry. "It's pointless to argue with a Pharaoh, isn't it."
"Quite." The darkling smirked.
"Alright, then. I'd like something to eat."
The Egyptian pulled him easily to his feet, and Yugi giggled. The dusky hand was warm around his own, firm, and it felt . . . good. "Any requests?"
"Ah," he hedged, startled, eyes flying up from their joined hands. "No. No, anything's fine."
"Very well," Yami agreed. Yugi wondered if he imagined the strange look his other gave him. The darkling maintained his grip on his hand and pulled him from the room, stopping abruptly just outside the door. Yugi's eyes widened as the darkling suddenly invaded his personal space, a finger waved less than an inch from his nose. "But on one condition."
"What's that?" he asked, leaning back to gain some space.
"If I fix it, you have to eat it all—no excuses."
Yugi couldn't help it: he laughed.
o/o/o/o/o
The hours of dawn and dusk were when Egypt really came alive, before the sun turned the white sands into a furnace and after it had turned to the horizon so much of the heat had bled into the night. It was an exacting balance, performing the necessities of life between the extremes of the desert clime—burning at one end and freezing at the other.
It had always been so; and though modern technology had eased the harsh bite, it could not render the terrible beauty of those far-reaching lands impotent. It was still deadly to the foolish and unwary, to the arrogant who thought themselves more powerful than the exacting desert.
Sometimes, Atemu mused, the desert can be as treacherous as the sea. Men's lives are claimed by both, and even the most experienced traveler is not safe from Nature, so unpredictable in her fury. His thoughts were on Maako Tsunami as his crimson eyes followed a pair of foreigners down the hard-packed dirt street.
Both were male. Both were dressed as explorers were a bad American movie. He hadn't seen many, but he had seen enough to note the resemblance—though it was the inappropriateness of the clothing that had struck him first. Cowboy hats, leather vests, boots, black and dark brown with a khaki-ish colored shirt . . . two pistols strapped to their hips. He couldn't see any but they were sure to have a knife or two as well.
Watching them walk, with a swagger and bounce found only in the young and brash, boasting to any who would listen, and constantly readjusting the belts that held the guns, he was willing to bet neither truly knew how to use them . . . and every low-life and thief for a mile around probably knew it. As he recalled, news like that traveled quickly, much like gossip in a high school; and of all the things that had changed over the millennia, he doubted that was one of them.
A thief would probably be doing them a favor in relieving them of their goods and valuables, he noted dryly as they disappeared into a cantina. Then he looked around. Where did Bakura disappear to?
Ryou was with Yugi, the pair quietly looking at an impressive selected of hand-beaded jewelry; why, he wasn't quite sure, but they were happy so he was content to leave them in peace. Joey was a couple stalls over, arguing with a merchant over some fruit—how he could possibly still be hungry barely an hour after the "all-you-can-eat" breakfast buffet at the hotel would forever be a mystery to him. Tristan was just past him across the street, frowning as he studied a pair of what looked like necklaces, tooled metal though instead of bead. He realized Anzu was nowhere in sight a bare moment before her voice sounded behind him.
"Atemu?"
The Egyptian closed his eyes and took a deep breath to gather his patience before turning to her with a small smile. "Anzu," he greeted calmly. A quick glance at her bright blue eyes let him know what was on her mind, and it was only years of training instilled in him as a child that kept him from frowning at her. By Ra, there were times he devoutly wished the girl was not so perceptive; none of the others had noticed anything amiss.
The danced flashed a brighter smile as she stepped next to him. She fidgeted with a bracelet on her left wrist while she looked around, making a point of looking everywhere around the fairly crowded market and street except at him. He followed her gaze when she looked towards the still-rising sun, guessing it to be a little before ten.
Then she cleared her throat nervously. "Wow, it's getting hot," he observed; it was an old observation, made many times in the week they had been in Egypt. "It never gets this warm in Domino."
"No," Atemu agreed, though he was pretty sure it had been hotter than this just last summer. After all, the temperature hadn't climbed to a hundred yet.
She glanced at him, then followed his gaze to Yugi and Ryou, both now laughing with the merchant over something or other. "You aren't going to buy something?"
"What for?" he replied. He wondered how long it would take her to bring up the subject she really wanted to talk about, the one he had so far avoided like a plague.
"Well, to have a memento of your journey. You know, a keepsake, so you'll always remember it."
"I suspect this trip will be difficult to forget, worthless token or no." He almost grimaced as she abandoned her pretense of studying their surroundings to focus her full attention on him.
Her expression was earnest, almost shining. "The value isn't in the gift," she told him. "That lies in the memories it represents and has nothing to do with the value of the thing you buy." Blue eyes flickered over his impassive face. "Though I would have thought you'd find more value in your people's crafts. Don't you want to take a piece of your home back with you? You don't know when you'll ever get to see it again, after all."
Atemu looked away from her, down the street opposite where their friends shopped for some such trinket. Yugi had asked almost the same question yesterday when he had refused the boy's money. He sighed. "Have you always lived in the same house, Anzu?"
She blinked, confused by the question but answered anyway after a beat. "No. We moved when I was seven."
"Do you miss your old house?"
"I guess . . . I haven't—I don't really remember it."
The other nodded. "So your new home has replaced your old house."
"Well, I guess that—"
"Because all the things you care about are there."
She understood; he could see that in her wide-eyed stare, but she wasn't convinced. "But," she began, "but this is different. You grew up here. It wasn't just a few years. Your whole life was here. That has to mean something. It has to mean more."
"Because it does," he asked, "or because you think it should?"
Anzu stared at him, her mouth working without sound. He shook his head. "Anzu. Imagine you spent your entire life in your house. You grew up in it; all your memories are there. Then you move away. Another family moves in. They paint it, redecorate, change the furniture. They make their own memories. And even though you may remember the old house, you, too, make memories in your new one.
"Now imagine ten years has passed, or twenty, and one day you decide to go back, just to visit, to remember your childhood. But life has not stood still in your absence. It has changed. It doesn't look the same. The insides are different, the people who had made it home long gone. The shell remains, but the reason you loved it isn't there anymore."
He studied her face closely. "In your memories, it will always be your home, but now it is just another house. It is fun to look at, but it has nothing to offer . . . nothing that doesn't already reside inside your heart anyway."
"I . . . think I understand," she said. Then that familiar look entered her eyes.
"Anzu. . . ." he began, attempting to forestall her, but she spoke over him.
"What's wrong, then, if it's not homesickness?"
His eyes landed on Yugi and quickly darted away. "It's nothing."
Her look turned shrewd, almost harsh. "You don't actually expect anyone to believe you when you say that, do you?"
Atemu hissed irritably and ground his teeth lightly, eyes narrowing. "I'm coming to realize I will sorely miss the respect afforded me by my position as ruler of Khemet."
"What?" She blinked.
"Belief is not necessary to comply with my wishes," he clarified, crossing his arms across his chest. His stare was impassive as he resumed his scan of the marketplace. They stood just outside it; the merchants nearest them had wisely abandoned recruiting their patronage after a hard, red-eyed glare, so despite the bustle twelve or so feet away, they were afforded a remarkable amount of peace. The once-Pharaoh was beginning to regret it but he refused to abandon his chosen post. Yet.
Besides, Anzu was persistent and bull-headed (he had learned first-hand) so walking away wouldn't necessarily discourage her. He would just give her the opportunity to follow him and draw other (equally stubborn) persons into his business. Though, in all fairness, one of those he wished to keep ignorant deserved to know. He just hadn't yet found the courage or correct method to enlighten him.
"Does it have anything to do with why you returned from the Afterlife?"
Atemu froze. Damn perceptive child! He cursed silently. Why did his young partner have to have such dedicated and observant friends?
"Tell me," Anzu encourage softly into his silence. "It's not healthy to keep it all bottled up inside. And maybe I can help you find a solution." She smiled brightly, playfully. "I mean, if it worked once. . . ."
For long minutes, he stared into her eyes, clear and honest, her only desire to help. Then he looked away, seeking out the distant horizon as he battled within himself. He had to admit she had a point, and if anyone would be able to help, it would likely be her. She had been Yugi's friend the longest. . . .
He sighed and bowed his. "Alright. . . ."
o/o/o/o/o
Between one moment and the next, Yugi woke. He blinked his eyes in the darkened room, the only light the pale glow of the stars through his skylight window, which cast a strange shadow by his desk, one that looked suspiciously like a person with spiky, gravity-defying hair and a slim body curved forward over the desk. The shadow reminded him impossibly of Yami, a blessing as he otherwise probably would have screamed and woken the real Yami, which would have brought the elder Egyptian running to him in a panicky fury, which would be bad and embarrassing and. . . .
The boy continued to simply stare at it, blinking slowly, attempting to force his tired mind to distinguish the truth behind the image and return it to its constituent parts. Once he managed that, he would have to remember it; it would be funny to tell his other. . . .
It was only after three full minutes that his mind clicked on a startling fact, one he would later be highly embarrassed he hadn't realized sooner: that was Yami—the real living, breathing, spirit-turned-flesh-and-blood Yami.
He blinked at the dark figure, reminded faintly of the last time he had woken to find his other watching him. But Yami wasn't watching him, and that was actually more surprising to him than his presence. Instead, he sat with his knees under the desk and his feet hooked around the outside of the front chair legs; his elbows were propped on the tabletop, his hands cradling his head on either side of his face, staring down. It was a position Yugi often assumed to read for school, but no book was open before him and there wasn't enough light to read even if there was.
He wished he could see Yami's face. He wished he knew what his other was thinking.
Then Yami turned to look at him and their eyes met, dark crimson locking on sleep blurred violet. For a long minute, neither moved. It occurred to Yugi that he still didn't know why his other was there. At another time, he would have asked, but he was much too tired to bother with it now.
Wordlessly, he shifted back in the bed, making space. The darkling stared at him unblinking, not moving, and Yugi waited. Eventually, Yami stood and slid into the bed beside him, pulling the covers up under their chins. He smiled sleepily at the crimson eyes that still watched him as his own drifted closed, his mind slipping back into the darkness that had inexplicably relinquished its hold.
He smiled wider as he felt a soft pressure on his forehead, and wasn't sure if it was just a dream; his eyelids were too heavy to pry open so he just slipped away, strangely happy, into dreams he wouldn't remember come morning.