Chapter 13: Soul

"So. My room or yours?" Yori asked.

For some reason, Yami's heart flipped at the question.

She raised an eyebrow. "You wanted to talk privately, right?"

"Yes," he said. "Mine. Is fine. Or yours."

He suddenly had a hard time swallowing. It had never been a hard action for him in the past, but the more he thought about it, the more he found himself incapable.

Yori didn't seem to notice. She led the way to his room, him trying to remember how to swallow all the way there and then trying to remember which way his key card scanned to let them in.

When the door slid closed behind them, his ears rang in the silence.

Yori stood next to the bed. Eyes on him. Waiting.

And in addition to forgetting how to swallow, he forgot how to talk.

"It really is about the fate of the world, isn't it?" she said after too much silence. She slid her hands into her pockets, thumbs out and palms turned to show she was teasing. She'd done that so many times while they talked in the game shop; he'd never seen her do it around anyone else.

That was enough.

He crossed the room to her, stood so close he could feel her heat. She blinked but didn't pull back, so he reached for her hands, gently eased them from her pockets. His fingers tingled where they overlapped with hers.

And she didn't pull back then either.

"After the lightning," he said quietly, "I had this . . . vision."

She nodded. Waited.

"Trapped in a maze. Saw a god. It's a long story." He tried for a smile and breathed through it in a way that was almost a laugh. "But he showed me something from my past."

Her eyes widened. Her irises were darker around the edges, almost a second color. Did every girl have eyes like that or just her? He'd never cared to look.

"That's big," she whispered.

"It was small, actually." His smile softened. He looked down at their hands. "Barely a moment."

Before heading to the finals, he'd stood on the roof of a skyscraper and looked out over Domino, wondering if he'd ever stood and looked out at Egypt the same way. Now he knew he had. He'd probably done so countless times after becoming pharaoh, but in the moment Osiris had shown him, he hadn't been a pharaoh yet. Instead, he'd stood next to one—his father.

His father was tall. Yami couldn't tell if it was objective truth or simply his perspective as a child, but it didn't matter. His father was tall. And his gentle, weathered smile beamed from the palace balcony to the crowds below the same way the sun beamed down from the sky, showing for a frozen moment how he truly embodied the power of Ra.

That was it. If he concentrated, there were other details—colors, edges. But everything that mattered most he'd gained in the instant of living it. Regardless of who Yami may have been as pharaoh, he'd respected and admired the pharaoh who came before him. His father. He'd loved him. And even though that one moment of family connection was barely a drop of honey to fill an empty hive, it did fill something, some small hole.

"It was addicting," he admitted, meeting Yori's eyes once more. "Seeing my father made me wish to see my mother; seeing one moment made me wish to see them all. Osiris was already gone when it ended, but I would have tried to call him back, tried anything to see more."

Yori frowned. "You didn't?"

He shook his head. Squeezed her hands. "Because I heard you calling me to come back."

Her face pinked, and she didn't deny it, which set his heart racing. Part of him had thought he might have imagined her voice.

"I thought maybe the lightning . . ." She swallowed. "Maybe you were gone forever. And I couldn't . . ."

"I'm glad," he whispered.

During Yori's first duel in Battle City, her opponent had mistaken the two of them for a couple, and Yori had been quick to correct the boy that they were just friends. It was true, so Yami hadn't been able to understand why the interaction had twisted his stomach in knots or why it had gnawed at him long after he walked away. Now he did.

Maybe what they had was just friendship.

But he wanted more.

He closed the breath of distance between them, tilted his head, brought his lips to hers. And in that bare instant, he was terrified—terrified she'd stop him short, tell him he'd made a mistake, tell him . . .

But she didn't. She slid her arms around his neck and let him hold her.

And she kissed him back.

She was music in the park and ice cream on his tongue; she was all the secrets of living he'd never known. She was the vibrancy of it. The reason in it. She meant more to him than his lost past; she was the horizon of his future—one he might never realize and possibly didn't deserve but one he would sacrifice everything for nonetheless.

So he kissed her until she was his air and sound and all he could see with his eyes closed. He kissed her until she filled his every sense and all his senses were gone. He kissed her until he was certain she was all he'd been missing and all he never wanted to miss again.

And with all of that raw, aching life in his heart, he kissed her again.

"Don't tell her what to do" was the theme for Anzu in her home. According to her parents, she'd been harder to raise than both boys because as soon as she had begun to understand language, she'd made it her personal quest to do everything she was told not to do, whether that was climbing the bookcase or sticking her hand on something hot—she had a small scar on her thumb to prove the latter.

It wasn't that Anzu meant to be a rebel or that she didn't trust her parents. In fact, she couldn't explain what drove her to chase the forbidden. When she'd lied about her age and taken on a part-time job before she was allowed to, she'd told Yuugi it was to save up money for an after-school dance program. In truth, her parents would have paid for the program if she'd just asked. When she'd taken a failing grade in her PE class rather than participate in track exercises, she'd told the coach she was standing up for all the kids who were forced to participate and then made fun of for being out of shape. In truth, the action didn't affect anyone but herself. Anzu wanted to move to America after high school to dance on Broadway, but that hadn't been her goal until another girl in class told her she couldn't.

Anzu had big dreams, dreams about being noticed, dreams about making a difference, and whenever someone put up a fence that said "do not cross," no matter how small or insignificant the fence was, she had to jump it—because maybe on the other side, she would find what she was looking for.

So she knocked on Marik's door, the now-familiar action more determined than ever after her conversation with Yori. And when the door slid aside, she ducked into his room without a thought, just as she'd done before.

He closed the door this time; ironic that he only did so after she'd decided to stop hiding.

"We need to get some things straight," she started.

She didn't finish.

Because she finally looked at him. Really looked.

Marik stared back at her with a smirk that seemed to crack his cheeks. He had one elbow braced on the closed door, the rod in his hand, gold eye glowing on his forehead. He'd traded his loose, hooded shirt for a sleeveless black number so tight it was either an undershirt or the top half of a dance leotard. His eyes were open just a bit too wide to be natural, and they were so bloodshot he may have burst a vessel.

Anzu tensed. "Are you okay?"

"Funny." He bared his teeth as he spoke. "With poor Odion down, I thought there was no one left who cared."

His voice was ragged, sandpapered at the edges, and when he shouldered away from the door, his weight sagged into his left side.

Anzu's first instinct was to reach for him. Her second was to run. Since she felt both at the same time, she didn't move.

"Odion was unreachable," he murmured. "People, people. But there's just so much energy. You can't imagine. You can't understand."

He smiled.

Normally, his smile was his most endearing feature.

But this smile was empty of Marik.

Anzu darted behind the table just as he attacked. He rammed into the metal chair; it only made him grin. She ran for the door, but he lunged forward and caught her wrist.

"Come now, let's play a game!" He cackled.

With the table in the way, Anzu couldn't kick him, and her free hand was almost useless in the brace.

"Let me go!" It might have sounded more commanding if her voice didn't break.

He lifted the rod to his mouth, bit the shaft with his teeth. It pulled free like a sheath, and the exposed under-layer of the item was flat and sharpened. A needled blade.

Anzu screamed—

—and Marik grunted like she'd managed to kick him after all. He spat the end of the rod out. It glanced off the table, hit the floor. Half of his face screwed up in a grimace; the other half widened in panic.

He looked inhuman.

He looked possessed.

"Run," he panted.

Then he swung the rod.

Anzu flinched away, but he wasn't aiming for her. The blade slashed across his own forearm, just below his elbow. He released her and stumbled back, howling in pain.

Anzu ran. She slammed the door-release button and shoved herself through the opening before it was even wide enough, scraping her arms and chest. She didn't stop running.

Fading behind her came Marik's piercing cackle.

Sitting at a bar of any kind was never comfortable for Joey. It didn't matter if it was something so innocent as an ice cream bar; he just hated the name and all the sour associations. But the tables in the lounge were being cleaned, so he sat at the bar.

Of course, he could have just taken a table and moved if needed. He didn't know which ones had already been cleaned—maybe he wouldn't have needed to move at all. The problem was not so much the tables being cleaned as it was the maid cleaning them: the same maid who'd given him his Battle City shirt. The same one who'd already seen him make a fool of himself. One embarrassment was enough for the night, especially with a girl who looked like she should have been walking a runway instead of wiping a table.

So he sat at the bar and gave Dice-boy side eyes while he and Serenity flipped through songs on the karaoke machine. Tristan sat next to Joey and gave him side eyes, glancing a few times at the maid.

"You struck out that hard?" he asked with a stupid smirk.

"Excuse me, mister"—Joey ignored the blockhead at his side and spoke to the bartender—"got any lucky drinks for finalists? I'm duelin' next. I can feel it in my bones."

The bartender smiled. "How about a Ramune? If you swallow the marble, you'll lose the match."

Joey blanched. "Wait, I thought it ain't possible to swallow the marble!"

Tristan smacked him on the back, laughing. "That's the joke, you idiot. I'll have a lychee."

The bartender's smile widened, but he was gracious enough not to laugh. Joey scowled and asked for grape. With a nod, the man disappeared into what must have been the kitchen.

Joey sneaked a glance at the maid. She brushed her fingers across the back of a chair as she stepped around it, and something about the movement was like she was gliding. The cloth in her hand traced circles and loops on the tabletop rather than scrubbing up and down. She made cleaning look elegant.

Joey's ears burned.

"Dude, just ask her," Tristan said.

"Ask her what?" Joey grumbled.

"Whatever it is you want to ask. Do you know her name yet?"

"I got a duel to focus on."

She worked at KaibaCorp; she was definitely older than him, even if she didn't look it, and a million spoons out of his league regardless.

The bartender returned, carrying a silver tray. With a flourish that was both over-the-top and awesome, he flipped the first Ramune bottle over the back of his hand and set it in front of Tristan. Tristan saluted. The bartender did the same flourish with Joey's drink and then used another flashy gesture to produce a maccha Kit Kat from his apron pocket, which he set beside Joey's bottle.

"Kitto katsu!" he said, clenching his fist in a victory pose. Surely win. It was something Joey said to himself in the mirror during rough patches and exams. But no one had ever said it to him before.

Joey grinned as his throat got a little tight. "Thanks, man. I will!"

"And I'll drink to that." Tristan popped the marble down, lifted his soda, and drained half of it.

Joey ripped the plastic topper and popped his own marble from the opening. But just as he took a swig, the maid stepped up to the bar beside him, graceful and silent as a ghost.

He immediately choked and whipped away, fighting to keep the liquid from bursting out of his mouth or worse. Eyes burning, he forced himself to swallow past the carbonation and then doubled over, coughing.

"Is he alright?" he heard her ask.

And then her hand was on his back. It had to be her hand because it was small and gentle; Tristan would have smacked him.

Joey jumped like a cat, nearly abandoning his own skin. He would have knocked over his barstool if it had been normal. Since it was bolted down, he tripped over it and barreled into Tristan, who only managed to keep them both upright by grabbing the edge of the bar.

After a moment to breathe, Tristan shoved him back into his seat, and Joey had no choice but to look right at her and say, "I'm fine" even while his eyes and nose were leaking and his face was hotter than a hibachi.

Her eyebrows drew down; her mouth puckered. He was probably the worst excuse for a person she'd ever seen. Then she shifted her apron aside and felt in the pocket of her uniform.

Maybe she was looking for mace.

Maybe she kept a special knife in her pocket just for stabbing idiots.

In the end, it wasn't either. It was a white handkerchief, and she held it out to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joey suddenly didn't know what century he was in. He felt a little like he was in a dream where he'd left his pants at home, only instead of pants, it was his suit of armor. But even while his brain was all twisted, his take-what-you're-handed reflex kicked in, and the handkerchief was in his palm before he realized it.

"I'm sorry I startled you, Joey," the maid said. She touched his shoulder gently, like she was steadying him in his seat, and then while he gaped like a fish on land, she handed her cleaning cloth over to the bartender, told him she was starting the next rotation, and left the lounge.

Joey looked down at the folded handkerchief in his hand. It was way too soft to ever wipe anything gross on. Probably expensive, too. And the fact that she carried one at all meant she was from a completely different world than him; he just wasn't sure if that was planet Past Century or planet Rich and Famous.

He had his suspicions, though.

"Duuude." Tristan shook his head, finishing his soda in a quick gulp. "Well, now I really am the last of the pack. The only lone wolf without a girl."

"She ain't—"

"She remembered your name and she gave you what is trademarked in the business as a Token of Affection."

Joey's stupid heart beat faster for no reason. "I never told her my name. It's probably just that employees gotta know the finalists. Good service and all."

He downed the rest of his soda even though his face was still burning. He slipped the Kit Kat into his pocket because he couldn't eat it until he won. That was the good luck part.

The handkerchief he didn't know what to do with, so he just stuffed it in his pocket, too.

"Excuse me, barkeep!" Tristan raised himself on his stool and shot a hand in the air like they were in class. "Do you know all the finalists' names?"

The bartender looked a bit sheepish. "Just Mr. Kaiba's, I'm afraid."

"Gee, darn." Tristan dropped back into his seat, looking pointedly at Joey.

Joey shoved him in the arm. Tristan shoved back.

"Just go talk to her, man."

Joey scowled. "Why're you so hung up on this? I'm here to duel, not—"

"Because I should have talked to Serenity." Tristan's voice lowered, and he swallowed, glancing at the karaoke stage where Serenity and Duke were off-key harmonizing to any English song they found. "You're my best friend, Joey. That's why I thought I'd just sit back, let you guys have the tournament before I got involved, but . . . I really liked her. So I should've said something."

He tilted his empty soda bottle back and forth, letting the marble roll in its track from one edge to the other.

For Joey's part, he tried to be considerate and not explode with his first response, which was that he wanted all men everywhere to stop looking at his sister.

In the end, he sighed. "I'da preferred if it was you."

Tristan gave a faint laugh. "Yeah?"

"But I'da more preferred if it was no one."

Wincing, Tristan slapped a hand to his heart, but he was smiling, too.

Joey had really lucked out with his friends. He was grateful for it every day.

Just as he had the thought, Ryou arrived in the lounge, a bit flushed but apparently out of his creepy mood. He took a seat at the bar with them and asked for food, which the bartender happily delivered. Serenity apparently wanted a better chance to meet him, so she dragged Duke over, and it wasn't long before the three of them were talking about best tabletop games, with Duke and Ryou doing most of the talking and Serenity saying she wanted to try absolutely everything.

"Not that one!" Joey's eyes widened as Ryou suggested an occult RPG that required a Ouija board to play.

Ryou's ears turned red. "It's not for everyone," he hurried to say.

Serenity giggled. "So you like horror?"

Which got Ryou going again. He barely got any food eaten with all the talking, but he didn't seem to mind.

Tristan and Joey both asked for another round of sodas, and after the second bottles were empty and the tabletop talk had gone on for quite a while, Joey lowered his voice and said, "Look, I get another chance, I'll ask for her name, okay?"

Tristan grinned. "You'll have to return her handkerchief, too."

"What?" Joey frowned. "Then what was the point of givin' it to me?"

"You're supposed to use it, wash it, and give it back. That's how it works. Trust me, I'm an expert on—"

"No." Joey jabbed a finger at him. "Don't say the 'expert on women' thing. Last time I trusted the 'expert on women' thing, we cleaned locker gum for a week. I ain't riskin' any bad luck at this tournament."

Tristan held up his hands, leaning back.

Joey dug the super-soft handkerchief out of his pocket and looked at it. "KvS" had been sewn in the corner with light green thread. Mint. Like her eyes.

"Use it, wash it, give it back. You're sure?"

Tristan nodded sagely. "I would never steer you wrong, my friend. I am an expert on women."

Joey didn't have a chance to respond because just then, Anzu came bursting into the room. He would have been happy to see her except she looked terrified. He and Tristan were on their feet immediately and at her side almost as fast.

"What happened?" Joey demanded, shoving the handkerchief back in his pocket.

Tristan had his eyes on the entrance. "Who do I punch?"

Anzu just shook her head. She swiped at her eyes, glancing over her shoulder. There was no one chasing her, and she didn't seem to be hurt, so after a few seconds, everyone relaxed a bit. Joey led her to the bar stool next to Ryou, and he stood next to Serenity.

"What happened?" he asked again.

"N-nothing." She kept shaking her head. "I don't—let me think."

Tristan scowled. "How do you have to think to know what happened? You came running in here like there was a chainsaw guy on your heels, and this isn't a corn maze."

"Give her some air," Serenity urged, tugging on Joey's arm. He took a reluctant step back, joined by Tristan.

After the silence had stretched, Joey couldn't stand it any longer. "It's Marik, ain't it?"

With the other Ghoul down for the count, Marik was the only baddie left. Not only that, but he'd really been the only baddie to begin with.

As soon as he said it, the look on her face told him he was right. He narrowed his eyes. "What did he do?"

"It wasn't Marik," Anzu said.

"Bull, Anzu. Your whole face went white."

"No, I know." She rubbed her hands against her cheeks and shook her head for at least the hundredth time. "What I mean is Marik wasn't Marik. I think . . . I think there's something with his item. You know, like what happens to . . . Ryou . . . sometimes."

She turned to look at the albino, wincing like she'd betrayed a personal secret.

Ryou's eyes widened, but he didn't seem betrayed. "You think his item has a spirit?"

Joey frowned. "Hang on a sec. Ain't that Yuugi's?"

"What are we talking about?" Serenity asked.

Duke shrugged. "Beats me."

"Yuugi's Millennium Item houses a spirit," Ryou said. "So does mine."

It was a little startling; Ryou had never been one to talk about his item. Yuugi was the one for that. But at least that would explain the creepy multiple-me-ness. Apparently Ryou's spirit wasn't as friendly as the pharaoh.

Tristan offered a hollow smile to Duke and Serenity. "Welcome to our exclusive club. We believe in the supernatural, but we have no idea how it works. Except Yuugi. Sometimes. Just remember if you hear someone mention 'items' not to be surprised about anything that follows."

"He was a completely different person," Anzu said. "I'm sure of it. And then it was like he . . . fought himself. Like the good Marik was trying to break past the spirit."

Ryou grimaced. "I know that feeling."

"Hang on," Joey said, "you lost me at 'good Marik.'"

Before she could respond, the intercom called for all finalists to gather for the concluding lottery.

"I thought there were two duels left." Serenity frowned.

"But they only have to draw once," Duke said. "The last match will be between whoever's left."

Joey lightly slapped his cheeks back and forth, hoping it would stop the spiraling of his mind. If he faced Marik, he couldn't be freaking out about spirits and possession and stuff. He had to just fight like normal.

"Anzu," he said, "no matter who duels next, you stick with us. In fact, from here on out, everyone together, okay? I don't care if it's normal Marik or some kind of not-Marik; I don't trust the creep either way."

Anzu's expression tightened. He couldn't tell if she was a little relieved or even more worried, but either way, hopefully she'd be safe. That was what mattered.

Fuguta arrived, as did Kaiba and little Kaiba. Yuugi and Yori didn't, and neither did the mystery finalist who hadn't shown up for anything so far.

And neither did Marik.

The bingo machine started up and spit out the first white ping-pong ball. Fuguta took it, read the number to himself, and held it up. He smiled at Joey before he spoke, so Joey knew—

Finalist number three.

Joey's number.

Even with all the heaviness they'd just waded through, Joey whooped, punching a fist in the air.

During the second draw, his heart stuttered like the ping-pong balls clattering around in the glass case. When the second ball got spit out, he held his breath. Fuguta raised it, called it out.

Finalist number seven.

Not Marik.

The mystery finalist.

Joey blinked; how was he supposed to feel when he didn't have a clue who his opponent was or even what they looked like?

"The fifth and final match of the semi-finals will be between finalist number two and finalist number nine," Fuguta announced. "There will be no intermission between the fourth and fifth matches, so all four duelists must proceed immediately to the dueling ring. As a reminder, no deck changes are allowed now that the matches have been decided."

Yori would be dueling Marik. Joey breathed a sigh of relief at the thought—not because he couldn't have given the freak a beating to remember but because Yori would probably do an even better job of it. She'd look him fearlessly in the eye even if he had spirits coming out his ears.

Joey jumped to follow Fuguta, only checking to make sure his friends were behind him.

"Enjoy losing, Wheeler," Kaiba drawled as he walked past.

Joey shook the Kit Kat at him. "Me and Yori are gonna be the next two winners, Rich-boy. Mark my words."

"I believe half of that prediction—the half that doesn't involve you."

"Good luck, Joey," Mokuba called out quietly, which earned him a frown from his brother.

Joey grinned. He couldn't help it; the only bad thing about the littlest Kaiba was his strutting brother, and he could hardly be blamed for that. Not to mention the brave way he'd gone charging up during Rich-boy's duel to challenge his brother would stick with Joey forever. For half a second, it had almost made Kaiba seem relatable. Almost.

As Joey entered the hallway, Serenity jogged to catch him and hooked her arm around his, beaming.

"This is it," she said. "I get to see you duel!"

She gave a little squeal, and if Joey had been grinning before, it was nothing compared to how his face almost broke from happy in that moment.

"This is it," he agreed, squeezing her arm.

He would win his first duel with Serenity watching. Then Yori would put Marik in his place. The semi-finals would be over, and the finals would start.

And Joey Wheeler would be standing through all of it.

Yori's first kiss had been nothing special in the moment and more embarrassing with every remembrance. After she and Haku had been dating (and living together) for over a month, she'd told him Mehen was a better boyfriend than he was because at least Mehen reacted when she walked by. She could still remember the way his eyebrows slowly rose as he connected the dots behind her anger. Then he caught her by the waist, kissed her dispassionately, and drawled, "Happy now?"

She'd said yes because she'd wanted the answer to be yes. Truthfully, she'd never been happy with Haku. It was impossible to be happy in the same apartment with someone who set her heart on fire every day—to share meals and a bathroom and stand right outside his door for an hour at a time knowing he was fully aware but still uninviting. She'd fallen for Haku fast and hard, adored his confidence, his capability, his cunning, but he'd shown more physical affection for his venomous snake than he'd ever done for her. Their second kiss had been initiated by her, after which he'd immediately sighed and said, "Is this going to be a thing with you?"

So she'd convinced herself that the physical didn't matter, that it was, in fact, just fake love and that what she had with Haku was more real for the lack of it.

And there was the heart of her embarrassment: herself. The biggest reason she tried to forget everything from her time with Haku was because remembering the lies she'd told herself (and believed), made her feel fake, like she was a pile of ash someone had stamped a girl-shaped cookie cutter into, and at any moment, someone would touch her, and she would crumble because she'd never been real to begin with. After all, she couldn't be real. No real person would have as blind as she'd been. No real person would have been as stupid.

It was the reason she'd held back with Yami.

She'd liked Yami ever since their date, maybe even before that. And she never would have told him. She would have cut her own tongue out first. Because no matter how much she liked him, no matter how much he proved he was a good guy, there was no way she could survive a second round of humiliating risks. There was no way she would ever lock herself in a second iron maiden of loving someone who didn't love her in return.

And then he kissed her—really kissed her, kissed her in a way that made her soul tingle and turned the whole world pink.

It was unexpected. It was terrifying. It opened all the doors she'd welded shut. And before she could stop it, her cheeks were wet.

Yami pulled back, his beautiful violet eyes wide with alarm.

"Are you alright?" He touched her cheek gently, swiped a tear with his thumb.

"Not in any way," Yori said. She heaved in a deep breath, tried for a laugh, tried for an offhand tone. "I am a complete wreck. Why on Earth would you go for someone like me?"

He smiled. "I could ask the same of you; you kissed me back, and I am hardly a complete picture."

Of course she had. Fast and hard—it was the only path she knew.

"There's so much you don't know about me."

His smile softened. "I believe we've had this conversation. I seem to recall reminding you I know even less about myself."

Still.

She needed to tell him.

At least about Haku.

She needed to.

Would he regret kissing her if he knew?

Her heart cowered in its cage.

Before she could decide whether or not to speak, the overhead system came alive with static, announcing that the fourth match of the semi-finals would be between Joey and Ishizu. The fifth match, Yori's duel against Marik, would be directly after. The intermission was over; her window was gone. And she couldn't say it wasn't somewhat of a relief.

Yami's expression darkened at the announcement, and his arms tightened around her waist. She didn't know if he was upset at the interruption or at the idea of her facing Marik, but it stirred her heart either way. It was crazy; she was asking for rejection, but her insides knotted just the same, and she tilted her head up to kiss him again.

He didn't pull away. Didn't heave a sigh. Didn't say a thing. He kissed her back, and as he did, he lifted a hand to trace a path along her ear and down her jaw. She shivered, but she smiled, too.

"Shall we be late to the duel?" Yami pulled back enough to wink.

She gave a dramatic gasp. "The King of Games has betrayed his throne."

He chuckled.

Before she could do something unthinkable, like pour out her soul and make him regret the past few minutes, Yori stepped away.

"Gotta go," she said.

"Of course." Yami slipped his hand into hers, tangled their fingers.

Yori led the way, then stopped cold at the door. She gripped his hand.

"Why . . ." She swallowed, throat tight and painful. "Why choose me?"

He didn't answer immediately, just looked at her. Then his lips twitched. "Why did you save Yuugi from the warehouse fire?"

"I couldn't not."

He kissed the back of her hand and whispered, "Something like that."

It was crazy.

It was fearfully, breathtakingly crazy.

She pressed the button for the door.

Note: Happy Halloween! Obviously this chapter has a very special place in my heart, and I'm happy things lined up to release it on a holiday, even if it has nothing to do with said holiday, haha. For anyone curious, Yori and Yami's ship name is SoulShipping, hence the title of the chapter. I really hope you liked it.

Next update will be Thursday, November 7th.

PS: A few people asked if there would be anything special for Halloween besides the chapter, and I wanted to do something also, so I'm uploading an itty bitty Soul oneshot. I'm posting it as its own thing rather than as a chapter in this story because I like to keep my stories clean as much as possible. I hope you check it out and enjoy it! Seriously, thank you for your support. I have the best readers, and I love hearing from you.