Author's Rant: Well, it's time to get back on schedule. I'm glad to be home and thanks to everyone who welcomed me back. Enjoy the next chapter!

~Side Note: Corrections Made~

Connection

The sudden thirst for learning something new about his brother was overwhelming. Yugi managed to keep his jaw hinged shut and his lips sown tight, though his large eyes revealed the rapidly growing desperation to know. Yami said it himself that he would explain their relationship and see if the rest was worth telling.

Everything Yugi had to hold onto about Heba's was at best; mostly childhood memories of goodness and mystery. The man before him held the key to unlocking more secrets and hidden riddles shrouding Heba and his past. At this point, Yugi was at Yami's mercy.

The teen's lips parted to moisten his dry lips with an even dryer tongue. His was mind surging. He was vaguely aware of Yami's intense stare, awaiting for when Yugi would give permission for him to continue. However, did Yugi really want to learn the obviously blemished details about Heba's past? There had to have been something deep going on between Heba, Yami and Atem; well, especially for Yami.

"You said that it'd be a discussion for another time," Yugi mumbled, fingers tapping against the tabletop. He peered up at Yami through his eyelashes. "Why now? What made you decide to talk about this sooner rather than later?"

"I thought I already answered why," Yami answered.

"To right a wrong, I know, but it's just, I dunno." Yugi sighed, fully lifting his head to look directly in Yami's cool gaze. "I wanna know everything about my brother. God, it'd be great to have more to remember him. But if he didn't want anyone knowing about a part of his life, especially Grandpa, it had to be for a reason. I feel as if I'm invading his privacy. Would it be fair for you to tell me about what happened between you and him just to ease your conscience?"

"Ease my conscience?" Yami represented those three words, slowly as if the taste of each letter lingered in his mouth. "Perhaps, it would soothe some of the burden I've carried in my life. Sharing this with someone else may indeed put my conscience, as you say, at ease." Yami braided his fingers under his chin and cut his eyes away from Yugi to stare out at the gathering sunlight beaming a pool of shine. "His memory has been a mental struggle to keep buried alone."

"So telling me what happened between you two would be a stress reliever?"

"No," Yami said with an air of precision and sharpness. "It's more of a release. I cherished him the way a child would its first friend." His eyes were still focused on the world outside as he spoke and yet, Yugi could imagine Yami transporting himself to those cherished times. "Wouldn't you want to know a piece of your brother's life? If just to lessen the regret of not knowing?"

"Yes," Yugi softly replied. "I would love to know everything about him. I just wish I didn't feel like I was shedding light on anything dark."

"You're his brother. If anyone, more than myself, deserves to know everything about Heba, it's you Yugi."

At the sound of his name, Yugi relocked his eyes with Yami's. The defense around those wine colored eyes was incredibly dense, foreshadowing a thin layer of softness. It was small, very tiny, but Yugi knew he could see it there, a manifesting emotion specifically reserved for Heba.

"Were you two close?" Yugi found himself needing to know.

Yami arched an eyebrow, but immediately responded. "Yes, we were. Perhaps, the relationship was more one-sided than an equal exchange of feelings."

'So, it really was a romantic relationship.' Yugi figured as much, though he couldn't say he was thrilled to hear about it for some reason. Heba hadn't ever portrayed himself as being interested in the same sex. He kept everything a secret. There were hardly any friends, lovers, associates, nothing. The only time Yugi could recall ever seeing Heba around anyone was during his after school practices.

Something Yami said though had the teen thinking. Yugi tilted in his head in thought, and a worrying depression formed on his brow. "You don't think Heba loved you?"

"You're quick to believe I was the receiver instead of the deliverer."

"Because I know my brother; he doesn't wear his emotions on his sleeves. Not like me anyway. It takes forever for Heba to visibly offer a sign that he cares about anyone, but you'll know through his actions. I love you's, I care for you, and you're special." Yugi shook his head at the alien phases. "Heba wasn't the type to say any of that."

The layer of softness expanded, Yugi noticed. Yami probably couldn't tell, the more they talked about his past lover, the more open and honest his eyes became.

"I know it had to be from your side, Yami. I know you couldn't have been this cold and cruel your whole life." Yugi pressed further, upper torso leaning forward. "There had to have been more to you. Something—something amazingly profound that my brother couldn't resist getting to know you better. Otherwise, Heba would've never taken an interest. If you owe me something, tell me that."

Yami's gaze widened a margin before quickly narrowing. He leaned away, holding the young man's eyes, and firming his gaze when Yugi determinately remained as he was, round eyes focused and deeply concentrated with hills of concern. Which inwardly baffled Yami to a certain extent. He couldn't understand this boy. Here Yami was, the very man who'd shot him, and still, he is worried for Yami's emotional state.

"What made you this way, Yami?" Yugi tried again, staring into Yami's face as though he thought Yami had forgotten the question.

Yami sighed and looked out the window. Worlds, years, ages of misery flooded Yami's features so suddenly Yugi was taken aback by the desire to, to—his hand reached out to grasp one of the ones folded neatly under Yami's chin before he realized it. Yugi couldn't have predicted doing something so dangerous as to touch the Red Eyes leader without warning, but he just felt the urge to give Yami the comfort.

Yami didn't deny him the chance to give it either. He languidly let his hand be taken and massaged between Yugi's smaller and equally calloused fingers.

"If it's too hard to talk about—"

"Not hard, just frustrating," Yami quietly interrupted, gaze still preferring the transparent glass to Yugi's candid eyes. "The details of my past are shrouded in malevolent despair. I've done horrible things back then, but I would gladly repeat them to feel that same relief of freedom."

Yugi blinked at the hand between his, so much larger and wore through years of gripping a gun, battered to the bone through survival and urgency to fight and plowing blows into flesh. There were scars, faded and discoloring, on Yami's skin. His fingertips rubbed over Yami's hand, the small gashes, the paper-thin ones and those that made Yugi wonder how they'd got there.

On the inside, though his exterior was portraying an entirely different person, Yugi was cursing him for being so weak. He was bashing his own fragile propensity for actually giving a damn about his near-killer's feelings. He was stupid, very much so. This little sparse of stupidity would just be added to his already growing list of idiotic gestures done in a moment of weakness.

"Heba was the first to bring me a second sense of freedom years ago. I hadn't known it was him until we met again." Yami softly confessed.

Yugi gave a fleeting smile. "When did you two meet?"

Yami's lips pulled on the side. "June 4, 1995."

Yugi straightened up and examined Yami closely. "My birthday?"

"Yes, the same hospital you were born in is the same one I was admitted in.

"What were you there for?"

Yami closed his eyes. "For experiencing my taste first freedom after my parents were killed. . ."

"How is he?"

"Physically, he's stable. The boy escaped with first degree burns to his upper torso and right hand, but he'll heal. The skin grafts will prevent scarring. Mentally, however, the scanners read erratic brain waves, unpredictable and imbalanced. Traumatization is presumed based on the levels of brain activity escalating from time to time, but we can't fully diagnosis his condition without further testing.

"When can we expect the appointments to be made for testing, Doctor?"

"Just as soon as he heals from these wounds first; he hasn't spoken a word since he was checked in. No doubt he's constantly thinking about how close he came to being lost in the fire."

"I can imagine," the slender, brunette nurse whispered outside door two-forty-five. "The poor thing doesn't have relatives we can contact?"

"Unfortunately, no. All possible points of contact are limited to a few close friends. We called several possible relatives but none of them even knew he existed. His mother and father weren't close with either of their families. The boy's grandfather died a year prior to illness."

"Oh, dear." The nurse's fingers clasped in front of her indigo scrubs as she cast a mourning gaze at the closed door. "What will we do with him?"

The doctor sighed, tucking away the child's record files. "He'll stay here for now. I'll call Child Protection in the morning. Perhaps they'll have better luck placing the child in more appropriate caring environment than those damned parents of his tried to provide."

"He was abused?"

"Immensely so. Have a look." The doctor passed his assistant nurse the charts, displaying an extensive history of Yami Sennen's health examination from surrounding health clinics and this very hospital.

The nurse was stunned. At only six, nearing his seventh birthday, this child has experienced terror that not even she could even begin to fathom. Since Yami was two, clinics have marked and recorded findings of cigarette burns, cutting scars on his ankles, and arms, bruises and whelps slashed across his back and worse of all, raw moisture on his penis and anal tearing.

She flipped through the clips of pictures and found it harder and harder to look at the large hand prints indented on this child's skin. On closer inspection, she saw the empty blankness of a child who didn't know a world beyond the behavior bestowed upon him. This was a life Yami was accustomed to. He knew nothing outside of this viciousness. Those handsome red eyes should have been alight with glee and cheer, not submerged in such hollow anguish. The nurse thought about her own two boys at home and was blessed to be married with a wonderful husband who wouldn't dream of doing horrible things to their children.

Her lips thinned, disgusted. "Why hasn't anything been done to prevent this?"

"Poor judicial system. The neighborhood he lives in is notorious for criminal activity. The judges don't see a future for a child raised in such a harsh environment. Why would they waste their time trying to save a future convict?"

The nurse hardly qualified that as a legit excuse to forfeit a child's life. Her grip on the clipboard matched welded metal. Casting one last look at the door, she nodded her leave and left with her supervisor.

The child inside, Yami Sennen, heard every word spoken about him. He understood everything they said and could comprehend it in a way no six-year-old should've been able to. That world he escaped from, was everything that nurse woman said. His world was filtered with darkness and turmoil; a torturous nightmare he had to endure every single day.

Yami saw things the kids at school never heard of. He heard things that terrified his teachers, because how could a six-year-old know the gauge size of a syringe. How did he know where exactly to prick it in the arm and how to find a roaming vein? Sometimes when he came to school, he chose to stand in the back of the class because no one could explain to him why it was hard to sit down after his special time with his mother's friends.

Whenever the teachers asked why he was bleeding or had bruises, he'd recite the same speeches his mother imbedded in his brain.

"I fell on the ground."

"I got into a fight."

"I was being bad."

"I hit my head on the dresser."

"I dropped some glass on the floor."

They never questioned him after the excuses were given. Of course, why would they even care? The teachers had their pick of students they wanted to pass to the next level and Yami wasn't one of them. He was smaller than the other students and with frailer bones. His stench from days without a bath, repelled children and often made him the subject of attack. Parents would come to school and sneer at his outer appearance as if he were a contagious illness that could make their children the same way.

The skin of a six-year-old should've been soft and smooth to the touch, untouched by needles and the edge of blades. Most six-year-olds were just experiencing their first scrapes and bruises from roughhousing with friends and siblings. Yami would receive his from his overly cheerful mother or his passively quiet father.

That was especially why Yami disliked being handed things because it always came with a price. New toys meant long bouts with his mother's friends. New clothes meant helping his father with a new drug addiction. In addition to his apprehension of being given things, Yami hated the nighttime. Bad things often happened when the sun went down. The doorknob would creak open and a new face would come in with his mother. Sometimes they were big, ugly burley men. Other times they were slender, elegant women with scores of clumpy make-up and screechy voices. Regardless of their race, their shape or size, they always wanted the same thing when they came into his bedroom.

Yami stopped trying to fight it when he turned four. He stopped listening to his father's empty promises to go to the park and play football. If Yami stuck him in the arm one last time or if Yami could help him tie an elastic tourniquet around his upper arm, they'd go to the park or play outside.

"Daddy, why you keep hurting yourself?"

"'Cause it makes me feel good. Don't worry about grown folk's business, son. Go play outside."

"But you promised you'd go with me, Daddy. I'm tired of goin' outside by myself. No one wants to play with me."

Artimus Sennen's head lolled to the side like it was barely attached to his neck. His red eyes were so glossy they looked ready to pour out of his sockets. Yami had helped his father in the tub of cold water with his socks, shirt, and boxers still on, but that'd been two hours ago.

Artimus's lips were firm and wound up hard against his teeth as he carefully gazed at his only son. "I told'cha I'd play with you later."

Yami's bottom lip poked out and the tiny hands around the plastic football clenched. "Please, Daddy, just for this many minutes." Yami held up five fingers. "I won't ask anymore, I promise."

Artimus's head flipped back, parting away his sable brown hair to show his ash-pale face. "Later, son. I'll take you to the park after a nap. Go to your room before I get the belt on ya."

The drugs were taking effect, dousing Artimus's voice in a rough acidic drawl. He sunk further lower in the tub and let out a weary, content sigh. Yami helplessly looked on as if the sight of his pitiful state would be the trigger to get his father out of the bathroom.

Yami sat by the bathroom door for hours waiting for when his father's later would come.

By the time his father did wake up, Yami's mother had walked through the door. She wasn't alone either. A surge of fear rippled through Yami when she called his name. Jumping to his feet, the little boy hurriedly ran down the hall to his bedroom. There was no doorknob to lock the door. She'd done away with it long ago when Yami learned it could barricade her from getting in. Yami could only rely on the rare chance his mother would use her own body to satisfy her customers instead of him.

However, those chances were extremely rare.

Yami heard the footsteps approaching, heavy and spaced out. It was a man this time. The baritone chuckles raced like spider legs through Yami's body. He whimpered, red eyes darting for a hiding place, maybe a new one where his mother wouldn't find him. He hid in the closet enough times for her to search there first. Behind the door was an option but too close. She'd catch him there. His mother had already found him hiding in his toy crest a lot too. He would hid under his bed, but his mother had taken the wooden support after being unable to reach her son during the times she chased him underneath it. Now it was just a flat mattress.

"Yami, sweetie?"

Yami's bones locked up at the arousing, candy sweet tone of his mother. Her pedicured nails slid along the peeling wallpaper, scratching the bare wood. Her companion's chuckles matched her provocative giggles. Yami shuddered violently and dove for the blankets on his mattress. He pulled the thickest one on and went quiet. He was so scared. All he could think of was how much he wished his father would save him, even once from this overbearing torture and how much he absolutely loathed his mother.

The door opened.

Yami inhaled, quaking and shivering and closed his eyes.

"Oh sweetie, don't be like that," Angelina purred, sashaying over to the dingy grey cushion tucked in the corner.

"Where's the meat?" Her customer grunted from the doorway, adjusting the zipper on his pants. "I paid you for some ass."

"Keep your shirt on, he's here." Angelina flipped an intertwined lock of blond and red hair over her shoulder, mouth winding around a stick of gum. Bending at the waist, the older woman reached out to caress the highest lump on the bed and smiled. Her prize possession hid beneath these sheets, as ripe as a bowl of washed cherries. Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday, her baby boy fetched the highest bids at the local pub, just by word of mouth alone. The customers would come up requesting a pleasant evening with her body or a small sample of Yami's. After she showed a picture, they'd pay a hefty prize just to have him alone for a few minutes. She had more than enough money to satisfy her rapacious spending habits.

If only her little baby wasn't so stubborn. "Yami, sweetheart, mommy's here. Don't you wanna gimme a kiss?"

The lump whined, sinking flat to the mattress. Angelina pouted and grasped the covers. She lifted it up to reveal Yami's grief stricken face, covered in tear streaks and dirt.

"Aww, there's my baby boy."

Yami hiccupped. "Mama, can y-you stay? Please?"

"Oh no, sweetheart, that simply won't do." Angel reached inside her bronze Gucci purse for a napkin and wiped his face clean. "There is that gorgeous face. So beautiful and perfect." She rose to her feet, dusting at the lint caught from the bed. "Now, be a good boy and do what Mr. Sam says. Mommy has to go to the store for a while."

Yami ducked inside the sheets. "Mama, can I go with you?"

"No baby, you stay here. Keep Mr. Sam happy for a few minutes and I'll take you to get some ice cream." Angel tossed a wink over her shoulder. She glared at the man named Sam. "Damage the merchandise and you'll have me to answer with."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get outta here." The man shoved her out, shutting the door.

Yami gulped, new tears leaking from his eyes. He curled into himself, wishing the sun would rise. No one ever came when the sun was up. No one. Why wouldn't it rise now? Hadn't it been nighttime long enough?

Thuds, large and pounding, started coming forward, getting louder. Powerful sobs forced themselves through Yami's chest as he called out to his only savior. "Daddy?" he called.

"I can be whoever you want me to be, kid."

The sheets were snatched off. Yami closed his eyes. The metallic slap of a buckle hitting the floor was always the loudest sound before the cold would envelop his skin. Then his screams would come just as loud, maybe louder.

They got what they deserved. His worthless, bitch of a mother and that poor excuse for a father, they both deserved the agony of hell's fires burning them to death.

"Why are you crying?"

Yami grimaced and immediately hid his eyes behind his blond bangs. Crying was a weakness. He was done shedding them. He turned furious eyes at the person who asked and glared.

"I wasn't crying!" he nearly shouted.

There was a boy there with short brown hair, very dark brown hair and maroon eyes, wearing a grey Nike Elite shirt, a black, white and grey plaid hoodie, and blue jeans with black and grey Retro Jordan shoes. A fitted baseball cap with Dodgers etched across the top hung so low over his eyes, they were barely visible. He had a bottle of water in his hand and a yellow toy bear.

"Pfft, I hope not," the boy snorted. "Boys aren't supposed to cry. That crap's for girls."

Yami roughly rubbed his wrist across his nose and continued glaring. "Why are you in my room?"

The boy looked Yami up and down. "You can lose the attitude, kid. I thought this was my mom's room."

"Don't call me kid!" Yami shouted loudly. "I hate being called kid!"

The boy rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He closed the door behind himself and walked in, ignoring the astonished look on Yami's face. "Ugh, why me?"

"Didn't I say to get out?"

"Shut up," the boy shot back. "I gotta stay 'cause you're crying. My mom says when you see somebody cryin' you're supposed to be nice. I'm trying to be nice."

"Your mama doesn't know what she's talkin' about," Yami spat. "I don't need anyone being nice to me. I hate people."

"Well, I'm not people. I'm Heba."

"I don't care who you are! Get out!"

"Give me why were you crying, then?"

Yami choked back the retort that would counter that question and tilted his head down to the space between his legs. "I wasn't cryin'," he said quietly this time. "I had something in my eye."

"If that ain't the weakest lie I've ever heard," Heba said, amused. He put his teddy bear and water on the room dress and crossed to the wooden chair positioned next to Yami's bed. He plopped himself right there, rocking his legs back and forth, humming a tune from the television.

Yami thought the kid had lost his mind. "Why are you still in here?"

"'Cause you're still crying. I'm about to call the nurse and say you're deaf too." Heba answered right away. "Just hurry up and stop crying so I can go see my baby brother."

"I'm not making you stay in here with me. See, look!" Yami fiercely swiped at his eyes. "See? No tears, now go away!"

"No."

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

"'Cause you're still—"

"I'm not crying anymore, stupid!"

Heba's entire demeanor changed. His lithe little body sat up straight and as slow as working off a jar top, he turned to face Yami.

"Oh yeah?"

Yami gasped. He was held captive under those mesmerizing eyes, as vivid as a reflective jewelry, which shunned a deep hypnotic spell on Yami. He hated it because he was trapped but he couldn't understand why. He understood with those other men, but with this kid, it didn't make sense.

A hand appeared out of thin air, coming for his face. Yami's short cry pierced his raspy throat. He flinched back, eyes squinted shut against the slap. But one never came. Yami swallowed back a harsh sob when the hand cupped under his chin. Red eyes melted on cue, his body recoiled, prepared for the moment of penetration. This too, never came.

The hand on his face wasn't strong enough to hold him there. It was smaller, weaker and much softer. Cotton rubbed under Yami's eyes, dabbing the corners and tapped his nostrils a bit. When he opened his eyes, Heba was flanked on his side, the bill of his hat occasionally brushing Yami's forehead. Heba maneuvered his balled up sleeve up and down around Yami's face until he was sure he got rid of every trance of sadness on his face.

"There, now you're not crying." Heba whispered playfully. "You look prettier without tears."

Yami touched his cheek. The texture was dry and lukewarm, not hot at all from the flush of tears. Red blended in with maroon for a while, one with a smile and one without a smile.

"You got some pretty eyes, ya know."

"So what," Yami retorted, sniffling. "They're just eyes. I hate 'em."

"Why?"

"Cause."

"Cause why?"

"Just cause ok?" Yami slinked away from the comforting hand on his face, and scrubbed away the lingering tingle. "Please, go away. I don't wanna talk to anyone."

Heba reluctantly eased back, mouth touted in a pout. "Fine," he grunted, slipping off the bed. "I'll leave. But you do have pretty eyes." He gathered his belongings, straightened his hand and went for the door.

"I hate my eyes."

"You gonna cry again?"

Yami blinked up. Heba was still at the doorway, eyebrow cocked up.

"If you do, I'm gonna stay."

Yami frowned and turned away. "I'm not gonna cry."

"Good, better not." The door softly clicked. Yami stared at it for a few minutes, almost expecting the kid to return.

He never did, but worrying that he would, Yami refused to cry anymore that entire day.

Yugi couldn't and wouldn't relax until he was absolutely sure Yami didn't breathe another word of his horrid past. His back was rigid and his bones were as stiff as if dipped in liquid nitrogen, and his eyes were weary for the image of a small boy's endless suffering. Yami's behavior, his animosity towards life, towards others, it explained things. Yugi could've guessed that this was the reason and he wasn't sure if it were wise to press for more information.

Yami sat so still, Yugi thought he could feel the older man's heartbeat through his palm.

"So, that day when Heba woke me up, it was the first time you met him?"

"Yes."

Yugi leaned away, a bright smile gradually pulling on his lips. "I never knew," he chuckled. "He was such a blunt kid, even back then."

Yami chortled lightly. "The encounter was brief, but it forced me to get through a few nights. I kept thinking that he would come back and get on my nerves, but he never showed."

"You've been through so much, Yami." Yugi's grip fastened tighter around Yami's palm. "I couldn't imagine surviving through so much pain." Yugi clenched his jaw and said nothing for a moment, but eased the squeezing hold on Yami's hand and patted it absentmindedly when he felt the squeeze returned.

Yami was staring at Yugi now, but when he tried to look away Yami tried to catch his eyes. The corner of his Yami's mouth twisted, nastily. "Don't pity me, Yugi. It's the last thing I'd ever ask anyone to feel for me."

"It's so hard not to," Yugi whispered and sniffled. "No child is responsible for warranting that kind of treatment from their parents. You had no one. You were so young—"

"I lived." Yami's hard voice penetrated Yugi's melancholy instantly. "Every single person who caused me pain—every last one of them," here Yami squeezed Yugi's fingers, "was punished, tenfold. I wasn't kind. I listened to every scream I wrung from their throats. I listened to every heartfelt plead to be let go and ignored them all. I disregarded the threats upon my life because it meant nothing to me. I was their assassin. I wanted them to know I was their killer."

Yugi slowly, very slowly leaned away. "You killed them all, even if they changed?"

"Years can alter anyone's appearance, but can never change the spirit within. I didn't care if they were married, got on the straight road of righteousness or attempted to do right with the world because I was still that little boy trapped with an eternity of nightmares and regret and sorrow."

Yugi shook his head. He felt almost drained, fatigued, sucked clean of the negative feelings he wanted to feel towards Yami's way of seeking revenge. He felt the way he did after a game lost; unsure as to whether he should congratulate the rival team for a job well done or to forget his sportsmanship and don't shake their hands.

"Does your opinion of me lessen now that you know the beast behind this face?"

Yugi snorted a humorless laugh and massaged his forehead with two fingers. "You know, honestly Yami, if knowing you murder, cheat and steal on a daily basis, doesn't already scare my testicles in my stomach, I can't say I'm not used to already looking at the beast." Nonetheless, his grip on Yami's hand wasn't any looser. The pressure was firm and strong. "You shot me, you practically kidnapped me, and I was nearly killed several times dealing with you and Atem. In all sanity rights, I should stay away from you, hell I want to. You have no idea how much I loathe the sight of you sometimes."

"Then why listen to my sad story?" Yami coldly taunted, drawing small circles on top of the hand caressing his. "Why continue to stay in my company?"

"Because," Yugi cupped his free hand over Yami's and together, they shared a solid fortress of fingers, sweat and warmth, "despite all that I know about you, that story told me one thing."

"And what's that?"

Yugi smiled. "You're still human."

And Yami found he didn't particularly care for this smile. It caused things to happen. He knew because he was graced with it before; from Heba and from Atem. That same smile made his heart miss a beat and contagiously urged him to smile back.

"You hurt, you bleed, you cry." Yugi continued, gazing down at the tangled mass of his and Yami's hands. "I think, regardless of the pain you've caused, you only reacted the way any sensible person would, who's been through what you've experienced." His voice trailed off into a whisper as soft as a breeze before the rain.

"My past doesn't define me as the man I am today," Yami said. "I've grown from that."

"You have, but as you said, anyone's appearance can change on the outside, but their spirits remain the same." There was that smile again, bright and radiant.

Yami sighed, chest inhaling deeply and exhaling it all in a weary sigh. He closed his eyes and opened them, finally, withdrawing his palms from Yugi's grasp. Yugi's fingers grappled at the emptiness left behind. The wet residue of cracked, sweaty palms was secretly missed.

"You should go," before I do or say anything else I regret, was the part Yami quietly kept confined.

Yugi clenched his hands. "I think I should too." He went quiet, then. "Thank you for sharing that with me."

Yami licked his lips. He held up his hand as if ready to announce something else. His hand lowered, his eyes half-lidded and he just . . . just calmly tilted his head and said, "My pleasure."

Yugi slid from the booth, stood by the table and bowed. When he rose, there was a faint blush on his cheeks. "Maybe, I, I mean we can, um."

"Another time?" Yami saved him from asking.

"If you're not busy . . ."

Yami chuckled. "I'll let you know."

Yugi turned and trekked toward the counter to make his orders for home. He kept glancing over his shoulder just to catch a glimpse at Yami's profile. By the time food was paid for, Yami was gone.

Yugi didn't mind though. Maybe he was stupid for considering this—this strange new connection with this man and maybe he was crazy for desiring another chance at rekindling that small moment they shared before. . . he just hoped he wouldn't regret it.

Was it really worth the risk?

TBC: ~Sighs~ I'm back home everyone ^_^. I really hope you enjoyed the chapter. Romance is gradually blooming.