Chapter 13: A helping hand
Atem was sitting in the bathtub, warm water reaching up to his chest.
Steam was filling the bath like fog, washing everything out in milky hues. Atem enjoyed that, even though he knew Yuugi would freak out when he saw he'd once more turned his bath into a hammam.
He slid lower until his shoulders were fully submerged.
He watched his hand as he raked the water surface. The water slipped between his fingers, soft and smooth like silk. He remembered doing the same with a different hand; a darker-skinned one. The memory was accompanied by scents: myrrh and lotus flowers; essential oils of cedar wood and papyri seeds; jasmine; pine resin.
Yuugi's bubble bath smelled like peach. At least, that's what it said on the bottle, even though it smelled nothing like the actual fruit.
The foam had long since dissolved into pearly rivulets floating on the water's surface. Atem combed his fingers through them, watching them thoughtfully.
He remembered many more things. He remembered how, after his morning bath, the servants would lather his body with oils and creams. After that, they would paint his eyes. His skin would gleam bronze in the sun.
His current fingers were nearly as pale as the foam. He wondered if he should coax Yuugi into going for a walk at the park, to let the sun see them.
Yuugi would probably say they'd better get on with the party preparations. Not to mention the infinitely more daunting task of talking to Kaiba—a task they should carry through with as soon as possible. Before lunch, preferably.
Atem sighed. He rose carefully and water splashed and sloshed, too loud in the quiet of the bath. He emptied the tub but the smell of peaches lingered.
He grabbed the towel and started drying his body. He hesitated for a heartbeat before going any lower than his bellybutton, then huffed and decided to keep his gaze elsewhere as he went lower.
It felt a bit stupid, but blatantly looking also felt a bit wrong, even though no one was around. He wasn't sure if he had the right to... stare. It was still Yuugi's body. Sort of.
Not that this was anything new, it was just... complicated.
He wiped the steam off the mirror with his forearm. The reflection of his eyes was a brilliant crimson, striking among the paled colors of his surroundings.
He wasn't sure if he looked exactly like Yuugi. He wasn't sure what the others saw when they looked at him. All he knew was that he did not look as tired as his partner: the skin under his eyes did not sag as much, and there were no more spots nor as many crinkles.
They looked different. He wasn't sure if they looked different enough.
Atem blinked at his reflection and his mind wandered again.
At this time of the day, a servant would come to comb his hair, while his manicurist would file his fingernails. Atem even remembered the latter: a stout, cheerful man with skilled fingers and a warm voice. He had been in his service ever since Atem had been a child. What had been his name...?
...Nakhtmin. His name had been Nakhtmin.
Atem smiled and filed the memory away, along with the rest.
He put on the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd borrowed from Yuugi's drawer and wrapped his hair in the towel. Then he carefully cracked the door open and listened for any sounds.
The house was silent. Yuugi had apparently decided to sleep in.
Atem rubbed the towel into his scalp as he made his way to Yuugi's bedroom. The door was ajar, as usual. Atem pushed it open with his hip as quietly as he could and walked inside.
Yuugi was breathing deeply, tangled in his blanket as if it were a cocoon.
Atem approached the bed and sat on its edge. "Aibou," he whispered.
Yuugi did not stir.
Atem tried poking his shoulder. "Aibou," repeated, a bit louder.
Yuugi hummed and mumbled something.
The memories of Egypt gave their place to those of a typical Domino morning: Yuugi murmuring Just five more minutes, Grandpa, dear old Sugoroku sauntering back downstairs to prepare breakfast, Yuugi snoozing up until Atem started pestering him to get up. Atem's presence was the main reason Yuugi had made it to school on time each morning; ignoring the pharaoh living in your head was not as easy as turning off an alarm clock.
He chuckled softly. Carefully, he brushed a strand of hair out of Yuugi's half-open mouth and tucked it behind his ear. "Aibou. Wake up."
"Mmmm?" Yuugi finally stirred. He turned his head towards the direction of the voice and his ear bumped against Atem's hand. "M'tem?" He blinked languidly; blurry violet peeked from under his eyelashes.
Atem smoothed out the hair behind Yuugi's ear, feeling like he was petting a sleepy cat. "Good morning, aibou."
Yuugi smiled. "Mmhey, 'tem." He took a moment to examine Atem, his gaze travelling from his face to the towel draped over his shoulder, his wet hair, the t-shirt and sweats. Once he seemed satisfied with his inspection, his sleepy haziness turned into something happy that lit up his eyes. "Good morning."
He was the perfect image of morning bliss, smiling in his comfy covers, disheveled and puffy-cheeked from a good night's sleep. Atem hated to be the one to ruin it for him, but it was his duty as pharaoh and his friend's long-standing alarm clock.
He lowered his hand to Yuugi's shoulder and gave him a small pat. "Come on, aibou. Get up. We have a lot to do."
"Mkay," Yuugi hummed and closed his eyes again. "Just five more minutes."
Atem resisted the urge to chuckle at the familiarity of the scene. "It's already late. Come on."
Yuugi groaned and tried to fold his pillow around his head. "It's Sunday," he said, voice half-muffled. "I can sleep in. I'm an adult."
Atem arched an eyebrow, because at the moment Yuugi resembled anything but. "And I am three thousand years old," he countered. "I win. Penalty game: you have to get up."
"You are sixteen. Okay, maybe eighteen, I... guess. Or... nineteen-?"
Atem contemplated it for a while. "If we count the years I spent with you after you solved the Puzzle, I guess that makes... nineteen."
"Yeeeah..." Yuugi mumbled, his brain falling asleep again.
Atem poked him in the ribs, effectively causing him to jump with a startled gasp. "Come on, sleepyhead. Get up. I'm going to make you some coffee."
Yuugi's eyes widened in alarm. "No, wait, I-" He groaned loudly and threw the covers off of him. "Okay, okay, I'm up. Just don't touch the coffee machine."
Atem gave him his most innocent grin.
It was true that he had managed to break the pot and almost destroy the coffee machine the last time he'd tried to use them, but if it made Yuugi get up, then he could call it a win.
He followed him to the kitchen, where Yuugi, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes, started running the coffee machine. The bean grinder was loud, but the smell of freshly ground coffee seemed to do the trick: Yuugi inhaled deeply and perked up. After a large portion of scrambled eggs with toast and two cups of coffee, he finally seemed fully functional and ready to confront Kaiba.
As ready as one could be, anyway. Atem himself was feeling more than a little apprehensive at the prospect.
It wasn't that he was intimidated by Kaiba. He simply had no idea what to expect. Nothing had been easy so far. Everybody else might have faith in him, because he was Atem—and, apparently, that was enough reassurance for them—but Atem himself had his doubts. He might be an ever-confident king in the eyes of others, but on the inside he felt like nothing more than a nervous teenager.
Nineteen years old, Yuugi had said. Atem hadn't thought about it like this.
He remembered Egypt again. They might have treated him like a god, but he had only been sixteen. Even his friends had been older than him.
By Ra. He really had died young. Too young. Everybody else had gotten to grow and learn, while he'd been suspended in a void.
He had no memory of the afterlife, but he knew his friends had been there: Mahaado, Mana; Seto, Isis, Karim and Shimon. Had he found them changed, too? How different had they been, after living long and full lives?
...Had Atem been as out of place in the afterlife as he was here? The thought was-
Disturbing.
"Oh, stop looking at it like that, Atem. It's a phone, not a bomb."
Atem huffed.
"I guess I'm nervous," he admitted.
He expected a bit of teasing for that, but none came. The lines in Yuugi's face were soft with understanding.
"It's just... Kaiba," he said. "I know he is intimidating sometimes, but he's the same as ever."
"None of you is the same," Atem said before he could think about it twice.
Yuugi faltered.
"Umm... Sorry, aibou, I meant-"
"No, I know," Yuugi said. He smiled, but it came out way too sad. "I can imagine how things look from your perspective. I mean- not exactly, but... I get it." He sighed. "We have changed. And yet we haven't... You know?" He tried to smile again.
Atem looked at Yuugi's black hair; it was sticking out in all directions again. His eyes were sad but as kind as ever.
"I know," he replied quietly. He tried not to look at the golden ring around Yuugi's finger. He turned to the phone instead. "But I find it hard to believe that Kaiba is still... not over... whatever has happened, like you said."
Yuugi's hand on his was unexpected. Atem stiffened a little at first, but then squeezed Yuugi's hand back.
Yuugi's eyes seemed softer than before. "None of us was really over it," he said gently. "We all held on to it... For one reason or another. None of us really let go."
Atem wondered if he was imagining the bitterness in Yuugi's voice. This time his gaze was instinctively drawn to the wedding ring.
That was another matter he ought to attend to. Sometime soon.
He guessed Yuugi had meant it as a consolation, but his words weren't all that reassuring. If the years that had passed had treated Kaiba half as bad as they had Yuugi—or even that poor Ryou Bakura—then Ra help him.
Atem sighed. He nodded towards the phone.
"Let's do this."
"Okay. Don't worry. Everything will be fine," Yuugi said. He searched for Kaiba's number, set it to speaker and held the phone between the two of them.
Atem gazed at the green phone icon with uneasiness.
It only rang once before Kaiba picked up; his voice issued from the speaker, loud and sharp.
"Yuugi. You have ten seconds to tell me what you want and I sincerely hope it's a strictly business matter or I'm hanging up. Go."
Yuugi, surprisingly, smiled and leaned towards the phone. "Hello to you too, Seto. How have you been?"
"Is this a friendship thing again?" Kaiba asked with evident suspicion. "I'm warning you, if that's what this is, I'm hanging up right n-"
"No, it's... Well, kinda. I have news."
"I advise you to hurry, your ten seconds are almost up."
"Yeah, umm... It's kinda crazy to explain, but..." Yuugi brought the phone closer to Atem and shot him a prompting look.
Atem straightened and looked at the small device as if it were, indeed, a bomb. He took a deep breath.
"Hello, Kaiba."
His greeting was met with silence. Atem waited for a while before shooting a questioning glance at Yuugi. All Yuugi did was shrug.
They held their breaths. Seconds ticked away.
Atem had started wondering whether the line had gone dead when Kaiba spoke again.
"Say that again, Yuugi," he emphasized the name with an almost challenging tone.
Atem cleared his throat once.
"Kaiba. It's me. It's... Atem."
Another long silence. Atem glanced at Yuugi and grew even more anxious when he saw him biting his lip. This was not going well at all.
An angry stream of hissing erupted from the phone.
"Yuugi, if this is your idea of a prank-"
"It's not a prank!" Yuugi said. "It's true, it's Atem!"
"Alright, look, I don't know who the fuck thought this was funny, but I swear to my Blue Eyes that your laughing will turn sour unless you tell me right now-"
"Kaiba," Atem said in his most serious tone and the line fell silent again. "It really is me. I'm back. And I..." He glanced at Yuugi again, who encouraged him with a nod. "I need your help. I have a favor to ask."
There was no reply to that. The silence was so absolute Atem was sure he'd be able to hear it if a pin dropped over on Kaiba's side of the line.
He frowned at the silent phone.
"...Kaiba?"
"Stay right where you are," came his curt reply.
The green phone icon turned red and the line was disconnected. Atem waited for the thing to ring again, but the screen went dark and remained that way.
He looked at Yuugi with a bewildered frown. "What was that for?"
Yuugi shrugged again. "Umm... Perhaps he was busy and he'll call us back?"
"Do you think he thought this was just a prank?"
"It sounded so."
They looked at each other in silence.
"Should we try calling again?" Atem asked.
"Ugh, no. He hates that. If Seto hangs up on you, the wise thing to do is to take the message and leave him alone." Yuugi bit at his lip again. He followed Atem's example and eyed his phone as if he was expecting it to blow up. "We could try... Sending him a video? With both of us in it? That way he'll see it's not a prank."
"I guess it's worth a shot."
They spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out the exact words that would convince Kaiba that the pharaoh in the video message was not a hologram—because they were both sure that Kaiba would present that argument—and then finding the optimal spot to prop up the phone.
They had just settled in front of the camera when Yuugi paused with his hand hovering over the 'record' button.
"Do you hear something?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.
Atem stretched his ears. Ιt took him a few seconds, but he did make out a noise: a distant rumbling, at odds with the ordinary city sounds. It seemed to be getting louder by the second.
"I think it's- approaching." Yuugi got to his feet and went to the window. He squinted at the horizon for a couple of seconds, then shouted, "Oh, you've got to be kidding!"
Atem jumped to his feet and ran to his partner's side.
"What is it, aib-?"
He stopped mid-sentence because his question was answered with a glance towards the sky.
High above the tops of the buildings, gliding smoothly through the air, was a black helicopter; Atem didn't even have to squint to make out the KaibaCorp logo emblazoned on its side. Dangling from the helicopter and swaying in the air was a ladder with what was unmistakably a man clinging on its end.
"Is that... Kaiba?" Atem breathed.
"Who else?"
Kaiba's black coat was billowing around him as he flew over a nearby building block.
"Is he coming... here?" Atem asked, hearing the edge of hysteria in his voice but being unable to do something about it.
Yuugi gave him a look that was both patronizing and pitying. "I won't say I told you so... but I told you so."
He walked to the balcony door and opened it wide. Cold immediately seeped into the well-heated apartment, along with the thundering of the helicopter's engine.
It was approaching so quickly that soon Atem could discern Kaiba, clad in a grey three-piece suit and holding on the ladder as if this was his typical Sunday morning means of transportation. Once he was close enough for his face to obtain defined characteristics, it became evident that he had already spotted Atem through the great glass front of Yuugi's house and had fixed his gaze on him. His face was set and determined, by all means looking ready to challenge even the gods within an inch of their life and refuse to take no for an answer.
This could not bode well for Atem.
Kaiba's pilots were either very competent or alarmingly used to dropping their boss off on various people's balconies, because they steered the helicopter as close as needed to allow Kaiba to hop off and land without breaking his legs or smashing his face on the glass.
They had time to see a graceful flurry of black cashmere before Seto Kaiba straightened up, looking relatively unruffled by his flight through Domino's cold airspace. He made a curt gesture with his hand, at which the helicopter rose in the air. There followed an overhead thud that made the glass rattle, and Atem belatedly realized that it had proceeded to park right above their heads, on Yuugi's roof. The engines were finally switched off and the noise died out.
Seto Kaiba brushed his coat once to return it to its natural, impeccable state, then fixed his cutting blue eyes on Atem.
"You."
Atem wasn't sure what to do. He waved weakly. "Kaiba," he said, hoping he hadn't sounded as uneasy as he felt.
"So it is true," Kaiba went on, approaching with slow steps, not once taking his eyes off Atem. "You are back."
From the expression on his face, Atem wasn't sure if Kaiba wanted to hug him or murder him. It could be either, or both.
"Yes, I am-"
"How did it happen? Was it magic again? A Ouija board session gone wrong, or did you solve an ancient Rubik's Cube or something? You know what," Kaiba said before anyone had time to answer, "I don't care. Get your deck."
Atem blinked. "My-?"
"Don't stall, I don't have all day." Kaiba lifted his wrist to his mouth and brought his watch close to his lips. "How are things going up there?"
"Almost done, Mr Kaiba," a tinny voice replied through the watch.
"What- hey!" Yuugi said, throwing alarmed glances from Kaiba to Atem and to his ceiling. "What do you-?" The unmistakable sound of a drill drowned out his sentence. "What are they doing to my roof?"
"Installing a temporary arena. I'm not doing this standing around like a pleb."
"You are not doing what?"
"Dueling," Kaiba replied, unfazed. He turned to Atem again. "Get your deck, Yuugi. It's time to settle this once and for all."
It took Atem a few seconds to realize he was referring to him.
"Kaiba, that's not my name and you know-"
"I don't care what you call yourself, get your deck!"
Atem stared at him in disbelief.
Well— he should have known that if there was one person that would brush aside the fact of a person's resurrection for the sake of a card game, that would be Seto Kaiba. Yuugi had really not been kidding.
He glanced towards his partner, expecting some guidance, but Yuugi was simply staring at his ceiling, horrified. Overhead, somebody started hammering.
Atem sighed and lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "Kaiba," he said, very calmly and slowly, "I did not call you here for a duel."
Kaiba scoffed. "If you wanted tea and hugging, you should've known better than calling me. Come on, get moving. I've waited too long for this."
"Kaiba," Atem said again, a bit more sternly, "we called you here for a reason. We need to talk to you."
"We can talk after the match."
"This is important. We need your help."
"And I need a rematch. I've been adjusting my deck for years, Yuugi; it will take me less than five minutes to beat you, so get your ass on the roof and let's-"
"Kaiba!" Atem cut him off; the sharpness in his voice miraculously made Kaiba fall silent and look at him. "I am not dueling you right now!"
Atem got to marvel first-hand at how little Seto Kaiba had changed: he had the same fierce glare, the same furious set of mouth, the same tilt in his jaw that put the whole world beneath him. One look was enough to know that his stubbornness could bend a god's will.
But Atem was never one to back down, either. He crossed his arms across his chest and matched him glare for glare.
Kaiba's cheek twitched. Atem narrowed his eyes into slits.
It was a small but highly satisfying victory when Kaiba budged first.
"Alright, fine," he hissed. He brought his wrist to his mouth again. "Operation Ultimate Duel on hold until further notice."
"Yes, Mr Kaiba, sir."
The drilling and hammering overhead ceased.
Kaiba looked from Atem to Yuugi, huffing in obvious irritation. "Alright. Tell me what this is about so we can get this over with."
Yuugi, evidently relieved, rubbed the back of his head and gave him an awkward smile. "It's a long story. We'd better sit."
Atem supposed that Seto Kaiba had indeed missed him in his own, peculiar way; he couldn't imagine him sitting still and actually listening to them for any other reason.
After sipping some tea, almost spitting it out, and then going on a tirade about how anything less than a Gyokuro did not deserve his palate, Seto deigned to shut up and let Yuugi talk. Halfway through the narration he took out his phone and started typing ceaselessly, but part of his attention seemed to be still on Yuugi.
"So, the Other Yuugi came back because of the Book?" he asked at some point.
Atem glowered at him, but he concluded that arguing about his name right now would really be counter-productive. "We don't know," he said. "We were hoping you could help us unravel this mystery."
"Lucky for you, I'm already on it," Seto replied, shaking his phone. "It seems that I have done business with Blackwood in the past. I don't remember him, but Mokuba might. I just texted him. As for the rest of it... A quick hacking attempt yielded no results. They are hiding their research files well."
Atem blinked. "That was... fast."
"I'm not used to fooling around."
Yuugi's face scrunched up in a thoughtful frown. "You said he is hiding his files? Isn't that suspicious?"
"Not necessarily. It's not uncommon when you are a world-famous millionaire. Everybody wants to steal even your most trivial secrets." Seto huffed and put the phone back in his pocket. "I'll need to take a more thorough look at his security. It will take a few days, at worst."
"Wow," Atem murmured, impressed. "This is amazing. Thank you, Kaiba."
Seto cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not doing it for free. You will duel me."
Atem smiled. If Seto kept true to his promise, a duel would be the least he could do to repay him. "I promise I will. Just... don't organize a tournament again."
Seto got to his feet and took his coat from where he'd draped it over the couch's back. "I won't. I'll beat you privately. Consider it a welcoming gift."
"Hey, speaking of welcoming," Yuugi said brightly, jumping to his feet and trailing behind Seto, "we are having a party on Thursday, to welcome Atem back and celebrate Malik's birthday. It'd be great if you and Mokuba joined us."
Seto rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for stupid parties, Yuugi."
"But you have time for impromptu duels on people's roofs?" Yuugi asked with a smirk.
"Yes. I save my time for the important stuff."
"Mokuba will want to come."
Seto twisted his nose. "If he wants to waste his time like that, he's perfectly free to. However, I whole-heartedly hope that I raised him better than this." He brought his wrist to his mouth. "We are leaving."
"Yes, Mr Kaiba."
They heard the roar of an engine coming to life overhead.
"Well," Seto said as he put on his coat, "for the sake of pleasantries, let's say this was delightful." He fixed his acute gaze on Atem. "I will hold you to your promise."
"You won't have to. I'll keep true to it by myself."
A ladder dropped from the heavens as Seto walked out on the balcony. He climbed on its bottom rung and gestured at the helicopter's pilot.
"See you on Thursday, Seto!" Yuugi yelled.
"I'm not coming!" Seto shouted back as the helicopter rose into the air.
Once he'd left and the noise of the engines was a distant hum, Yuugi closed the balcony door and turned to Atem with a grin. "He will come."
Atem wasn't sure where his partner's certainty came from, but— well. Yuugi had also been sure convincing Seto would be a piece of cake, and he hadn't been wrong about that. It hadn't been easy per se—the drill holes on Yuugi's roof would stand as proof for that—but it had worked. Not only that, but Seto had already taken action. In a few days, they might have answers, or clues to work with.
"That went... unexpectedly well," he said.
"Told you," Yuugi smiled. "I told you you didn't have to worry. And he was thrilled to see you."
Atem raised an eyebrow. "He seemed thrilled to beat my ass back to the afterlife."
"Coming from Seto, that's a sign of affection."
Atem chuckled, but the sound was drowned out quickly.
He could see that a weight had been lifted from Yuugi; he could read it in his shoulders. He even heard him humming to himself as he took the tea pot and Seto's cup to the kitchen.
Atem shared part of this relief. Of course he did; they had just taken a big step forward. It was a big deal. And he was grateful for Seto's help.
And he was even more grateful that Seto had accepted his return as something natural. He'd acted almost as if he had been waiting for Atem to return. As if his rightful place was here, in Domino, with them, playing card games like not a single day had passed.
Atem was grateful, and at the same time he wasn't. He almost wished facing Kaiba had been harder. He almost wished his return wouldn't have been so easily accepted; that it'd be seen as unnatural, or even wrong. That he wouldn't feel so much at home.
Feeling at home was a luxury Atem did not have, because he was not naive. He knew how these things worked.
He knew that magic did not come without consequences. There was no forever without paying a heavy price first.
So. He was either going to have to pay, or... this wasn't forever. This was just another mission. His time would be up the moment he was no longer needed—if he was lucky enough to finish the job without disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared.
Atem watched the back of Yuugi's head as he washed the teacups, gazed at the dull hair and the hunch in his back.
Yuugi had already been in enough pain. He did not deserve more. He had never deserved any; Atem had known this from the first time he felt his conscience nudged by Yuugi's noble nature. His first instinct after three thousand years of darkness had been to protect Yuugi, and that had not changed. He guessed that would never change, not even if another three thousand years came to pass.
Yuugi had told him he wanted Atem to stay. He'd said he'd do everything in his power to make it happen.
It had been a glorious thought. It had been as sweet as a dream, but just as improbable.
Atem did not question Yuugi's determination, nor could he blame him for wanting to try. He just hoped he wouldn't get his hopes up like this, because the letdown would hurt twice as much.
That night Atem did not manage to sleep. He jerked awake twice, expecting to find himself under a white sun, in a field of green and gold, surrounded by long-dead relatives.
The third time it happened, he rose and cracked his door open. The soft sound of Yuugi's breathing drifted in from the next room.
Atem lied back down on his bed and let the sound soothe him. He did not fall asleep again.
After three more nights like this, Atem's eyes started looking looking almost as tired as Yuugi's had on the night of his return. On the upside, Yuugi himself was looking a lot better. He admitted that his sleep had improved, which made Atem both glad and secretly aching: he couldn't help but wonder if the sleepless nights would return once he was gone.
And that was how things went in Atem's head on a constant basis.
It was hard to enjoy anything when his mind refused to stop going in circles. Every second of his day was accompanied by the grim reminder that none of this would last. Even when he was having fun, when he was playing video games with Yuugi or going for walks around Domino, it was there, like an ink stain in the back of his thoughts that he could not rid before it leaked black on everything it touched.
He did not talk about it. Yuugi wouldn't like it. Yuugi would argue. He would tell him not to think like this, to have faith. He would make more promises.
Atem did not want to waste what time he had squabbling over this. He didn't want to see Yuugi's smile disappear earlier than it was due.
Yuugi of course noticed, but deflecting was easy. Atem said he was tired. He said he hadn't yet grown accustomed to his new body. The excuses were endless.
He felt a twinge of guilt deep inside every time he lied. He hadn't forgotten that he had promised Yuugi he would hide nothing, but... This was for Yuugi's own good. It was the only thing Atem could actually do to protect him.
So Atem kept his mouth shut and was grateful he made no noise when he snapped awake at nights.
Keeping himself busy helped. He displayed overt enthusiasm for Yuugi's plans for the party, thus fanning the fire and sweeping both of them in a preparatory fever.
He soon found out that occupying himself with tasks such as cooking was unexpectedly soothing. Cooking in particular was something Atem had never done before, and he was really, really bad at it, which meant he had to put in extra effort so as not to burn everything down. The results of his efforts were questionable at best, but the process was satisfying.
After three failed attempts at making edible and presentable canapés, Yuugi was wise enough to hire a caterer for the party. He went the extra mile and found one who specialized in Egyptian cuisine and arranged it so they would prepare a couple of Malik's favorite dishes. Despite that, they decided to make Malik's birthday cake themselves, agreeing that a homemade cake would be more personal. Atem was inwardly pleased with this, because it translated into several attempts at baking, as well as several trips to the grocery store.
He really liked going to the store. The sheer amount of products and labels made a pleasant buzz in his mind that drowned out all other background noises. After Yuugi realized that Atem wanted to to touch and examine and try and smell every single product on every single shelf, and after hearing him exclaim 'What is this? What does this do?' over a hundred times, he resorted to sending him to the store alone with a list of groceries and a pocket full of cash.
Atem did not mind. He had a blast taking his time to read the colorful tiny letters and compare the nutritional values of anything edible within reach. After all, he had a body now. He was supposed to care about things like nutritional values, right? Even if he didn't know for how long he would get to stay in this body, he could at least try to instill healthier habits in Yuugi.
One more positive outcome was that he no longer had to use the bubble bath that smell like artificial peach. Atem dedicated one hour to sniffing at every one of the bath products and picked for him a shower gel that smelled like pine. Then he proceeded to buy all kinds of hair products, just to test the effect they would have. He was particularly curious about the Magic Curlz Cream - Extra Strong Hold! one.
The one thing he refused to buy was clothes. Shower gels and conditioners were one thing, but clothes were too permanent. He couldn't bear to think of leaving behind a wardrobe for Yuugi to rid of... afterwards. It would make it too hard for no reason. And they did not need more hard. He had to make sure he would make this as easy on Yuugi as possible.
So he knocked himself out with consumable products, making sure he would leave behind as few traces as possible. He made his bed the moment he rose. He washed the clothes he borrowed from Yuugi after wearing them only once. He cleaned his room every day.
Preparing for his 'death' became a habit, and wasn't that what pharaohs did, anyway? Building mausoleums from the day they were born? Only this time, Atem's mausoleum would be the ultimate lack of one, because this time the point was to enable others to go on.
That was why, after everything, the Welcome Home Atem! banner Yuugi procured felt like a punch in the gut.
At least he convinced him to hang the Happy Birthday Malik! one at a more prominent spot. And Malik's cake took at least three tries and two trips to the store to come out perfect, which also counted as a positive development.
Thursday finally came, clear and crisply cold. Atem got ready for the party early on, wearing one of Yuugi's soft black sweaters and a pair of jeans his aibou had worn once and never again because he'd deemed they were too tight. He looked around for jewelry but he found none, so he resorted to wrapping a thin black belt around his wrist like a bracelet.
Around four in the afternoon, Atem let the caterer in and helped her and her two assistants carry everything inside. After he managed to convince them that he needed no further help, he saw them out and spent the rest of his afternoon arranging the several dishes on a table and stacking paper cups.
The sun was setting by the time Yuugi came back from work. He burst in the apartment, almost out of breath and with a huge smile on his face.
"Everybody will be here in an hour! Is everything ready? Food? Drinks? Do we have enough ice? What about-?"
"Everything is ready, aibou," Atem reassured him with a chuckle. "You can go get ready."
"Oh. Good!" Yuugi pinched the edge of his work suit and twisted his face in a way that suggested he wanted to get out of these clothes as soon as possible. Then he padded towards the bathroom like an excited kid.
Atem smiled and went to make some coffee; thankfully, he'd practiced enough to no longer run the risk of blowing everything up.
The sound of running water came from down the hallway, along with Yuugi's voice.
"Hey, 'Tem? What is this Magic Curlz Cream? Is it any good?"
"Oh, shit," Atem breathed and poked his head around the kitchen corner. "Don't try it, aibou! That thing is a disaster!"
"'Kay." A pause. "What about this No-Frizz Bliss?"
Atem pondered it for a moment. "That one's okay."
"Cool!"
Yuugi emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, dressed in jeans and a purple shirt and rubbing a towel into his scalp. "Why do you have so many hair products, anyway?"
"For experimentation," Atem shrugged. "Coffee, aibou?"
"Sure!" Yuugi replied brightly and reached out to take his cup. "Thanks!"
He waved a hand and poured a cup for himself, topping it with sugar and cream.
"Hey, you've gotten pretty good at this," Yuugi said after a hearty sip. Atem gave a satisfied smile and sat on the kitchen table across from him. "Anyway," Yuugi went on, "our bathroom looks like aisle C of our convenience store. I'm surprised you know how to use half of these things."
"You shouldn't be surprised, aibou. We had all sorts of toiletries back in Egypt."
"Really?"
"Of course. We had perfumes, make up, deodorant, toothpaste-"
"You had toothpaste?"
"Yes," Atem said, smiling at the look on Yuugi's face. "It was made out of salt, mint and iris flowers. Tasted nothing like the modern thing, though."
"Wow. What about the hair products?"
"Oh, we didn't have any of that. Most people shaved their heads."
"Not you, though. Right?"
Atem chuckled.
"No, not me. My hair was so... unusual, they considered it a gift from the gods. Or something like that." He shrugged in a sort of tired acceptance.
Yuugi laughed and twirled a strand of his own hair on his finger. Then he looked at it thoughtfully. "You know what? Dyeing it all black is so... tiring. You think I should let the blond grow back out?"
Atem couldn't help but smile. "I think it'd be a great idea."
"Then perhaps I will! I'll ask An-"
He cut his sentence so abruptly that Atem tensed and glanced around, expecting to find something amiss. Then he noticed that Yuugi's smile was gone and his eyes had taken a dull and distant look. Atem knew exactly what this look was about: he was thinking about Anzu. He'd almost slipped and said her name, just there.
He felt his stomach freeze for a second. His brain practically screeched at him to stop this, fix this, to do anything to make this look go.
Yuugi shook his head. "Nah..." he said quietly, looking at his cup. "I'd better leave it to a hairdresser." All previous cheerfulness had bled from his voice.
Atem swallowed. "I think it would be wise," he agreed, just to say something. He would swear the temperature had dropped a few degrees. "Umm... do you think we have time for a round of Smash Bros?" he blurted out, a lot less smoothly than he would have liked.
There was a little pinch of relief when he saw Yuugi chuckle and the haunted look slip from his face.
"Oh, I dunno... Perhaps... Yeah. Okay."
They took their coffee cups to the living room and huddled on the couch, close to each other, each one with Wii remote.
"Kirby again?" Atem huffed when he saw the fighter Yuugi chose.
"Shut up, I like him."
Atem scoffed and chose Link.
The doorbell rang during their third brawl, cutting it short. They stored the remotes away, Yuugi saying it was just as well because he was winning anyway and Atem rolling his eyes.
Jounouchi was the first to arrive, carrying a present for Malik and a six-pack of beer.
"First one here? Neat!" he said once he got in and took a look around. "Let's get this party started!"
He fumbled with Yuugi's stereo system for a bit, until the speakers came alive with a loud and steady beat of music. He straightened up with a huge smile and rubbed his hands. Then he burst into giggles at Atem's horrified look.
"What's up, buddy? Not your type of music?"
"Is that supposed to be music?" Atem scrunched his nose.
"Oh, come on! You sound like an old man!"
"He is an old man," Yuugi said, stuffing his own giggles behind his hand.
"We established that, technically, I'm younger than you," Atem said.
"Exactly how young are you supposed to be?" Jounouchi said, eyes gleaming with playfulness. "I mean, can you legally drink, or should I keep this beer to myself?" He eyed a can of beer in mock contemplation.
Atem chuckled. "I can drink. I just don't want to."
"He doesn't like beer," Yuugi said.
Jounouchi's brows shot up. "Really? What do you like?"
"Err..." Atem hesitated. Back in Egypt, beer had been nearly as popular as water, but he had never acquired a taste for it. Sometimes he'd drink beer during feasts and rituals, sometimes he'd drink wine, but it was mostly a question of following the norm than his tastes. "I guess I'm not one for alcohol," he said at last.
Jounouchi waved a hand. "Wait 'till you try my special fruit punch. Hey, Yuug! You have fruit, right?" And he ran to the kitchen to rummage in the fridge. "By the way, Mai's not coming!" he shouted as he dropped an armful of oranges on Yuugi's kitchen counter. "She's in Switzerland for a tournament, but she said to tell Atem hi!"
It was a miracle when the heard the bell buzz under all the ruckus of loud music and Jounouchi working the blender.
"It's Honda and Shizuka!" Yuugi cried.
"Good! Bring him in, he'll help me with the punch!" Jounouchi yelled back.
When Honda and Shizuka appeared in the threshold, they went through a round of loud greeting and enthusiastic hugging and shaking Atem's hand. Atem greeted Shizuka back, inwardly wondering if she'd ever met him back in the days of Battle City; he was sure she hadn't known the truth about him, but for the life of him he couldn't remember if they'd even exchanged a word. Still, she must have heard a lot about him from Jounouchi and Honda, because she hugged him tightly and said, "It's great to have you back!"
"Hey, where's our best girl?" Yuugi asked, looking around.
"We found a babysitter," Honda said and his face fell. Shizuka grabbed him by the arm and laughed.
"He's fussing so much, he's already called her twice! I tell him to just relax, but he won't listen," she said, squeezing Honda's arm.
Honda pouted. "Well, my princess is with a stranger, how could I not-?"
"Hey, jerk face! Come an help me!" Jounouchi yelled, poking his head over the kitchen counter.
Honda left his sentence half-finished and rushed to the kitchen.
The next to arrive was Ryuji Otogi—who, somehow, had managed to look even more eccentric than he had in the past, featuring an undercut and several tattoos on his arms and neck.
"Hey, pharaoh!" he said, fervently shaking Atem's hand. "Welcome back!"
He immediately went on to fill him in all the details of the game he was currently designing—which sounded suspiciously like Dungeons and Dragons, but with an inexplicably large amount of dice involved. Atem had to hear all about how Otogi designed the fifty-three different kinds of dice necessary for his game and how each one was an innovation in an of itself, until Yuugi decided to save him with the pretense of needing him in the kitchen.
"Thanks, aibou," Atem whispered in Yuugi's ear once safely away from Otogi.
Yuugi giggled. "We once tried making a game together, you know," he whispered back. "It didn't go that well."
"Let me guess. Too many dice?"
Yuugi laughed, bumping his elbow to Atem's and leaning closer in a conspiratorial way; Atem caught a whiff of peach bubble bath. He noticed that the corners of Yuugi's eyes crinkled every time he laughed. It was... charming.
"Punch is ready!" Jounouchi shouted, emerging from the kitchen with a huge bowl full of something thick and orange. He placed it on the table, along with the rest of the food and drinks. "Now all that's missing is the birthday boy!"
It did not take long for Malik to arrive. The moment he walked in, he was assaulted by a barrage of hugging and a general chorus of 'Happy birthday!' that left him stunned. He stood in the hallway, smiling widely and looking around like he couldn't believe his eyes.
"You guys... A banner? Are you serious?" he laughed.
"You've seen nothing yet!" Jounouchi yelled and dragged him inside.
Malik blinked at the small pile of presents that waited for him on the coffee table, then straight up gaped at the table laden with food. "Is that koshary?" he exclaimed, going closer to inspect it. Then he turned to look at all of them with a huge smile plastered on his face. "Guys, this is... wow," he said and then proceeded to hug everyone.
Ryou arrived shortly after, looking a bit haggard but smiling.
"Heeey!" Malik shouted and ran to hug him.
"Hey, you precious dork," Ryou laughed. He gave Malik a very small box, tied with a ribbon. "Happy birthday!"
Malik took the present with eyes that practically gleamed with excitement. "Wow, thanks!"
Ryou smiled, content, and went to greet the rest. "I just finished my shift," he explained, accepting a cup of soda from Yuugi. "My legs are killing me."
He collapsed on the couch with a sigh. Yuugi and Malik exchanged a look and decided to combine their powers and fill a plate with food, which they placed under Ryou's nose with the instruction to eat.
Atem made sure to swerve past Otogi, who was talking Honda's ears off, and approached the buffet. He sniffed at the fruit punch and decided to try some, even though there was definitely alcohol in it.
"Hey, buddy!" Jounouchi popped up next to him and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Are you having fun?"
"Yes," Atem smiled. "It's good to see everyone again."
Jounouchi gave him an examining look. "How've you been holding up? Yuugi said you've been a bit bored lately."
Atem gave a single shoulder shrug. "I wouldn't say I was bored. I just... had a lot of alone time."
"Oh, man," Jounouchi winced. "Sorry I wasn't around more."
"Do not apologize, it is... understandable. You all have busy lives now, it's..." He trailed off. His immediate thought was, It's not easy to fit me in your schedules, but he didn't want to risk sounding bitter or ungrateful.
Jounouchi seemed to get it, though. "No, man, we should have kept you some company. It was just... I guess it was too sudden."
"I know," Atem said with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. This is more than enough."
Jounouchi's look turned curious. "Yuugi told me you'd say that."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He told me you wouldn't say anything that'd make us feel guilty."
Atem's brow scrunched up. "Of course not. Why would I want to do that?"
"Because, dude." Jounouchi gave him a short laugh and squeezed his shoulder. "Sometimes you gotta let us know how you feel."
Atem shook his head. "I don't want to be a bother. I know my return was unexpected-"
"You know..." Jounouchi leaned closer. He lowered his voice. "Yuugi's been worried you've been holding too much inside. Now I can see why."
Atem frowned. He looked around for his partner; he spotted him sitting on the couch's armrest, laughing along with Ryou at something Malik was saying. The happy crinkles were back around his eyes.
For a couple of seconds, all he did was watch him laugh.
"Aibou has had too much on his head lately," he heard himself say. "I did not wish to add more burdens."
For whatever reason, Jounouchi burst out laughing. "Man, are you crazy?" When Atem frowned at him, Jounouchi gestured back towards the group on the couch. "Look at him! He looks better than I've seen him in months! You are no burden to him, Atem. You could never be."
Atem instinctively thought of Anzu, and of her telling Yuugi to give a second chance to their marriage. He thought of disappearing again, of leaving behind nothing but pine-scented creases on his bed-sheets.
...How would Yuugi look when that happened?
He swallowed. "He does look better," he agreed in a quiet voice.
"Now all you and I gotta do is convince him to get rid of that depressing black hair. Though, to be fair, it's not the worst thing he's put his hair through."
It took Atem a while to understand what Jounouchi was on about. He frowned. "What?"
"Oh, yeah," Jounouchi said with a nod. "Yuug's been through several hair phases. Wait... He hasn't shown you any pictures?"
"No."
Yuugi had shown him only a handful of pictures, most of which were of his Grandpa or places he'd been to. He opened his mouth to say that, but he was beaten to it by Jounouchi's wince.
"Oh, man, I forgot. Of course he hasn't shown you."
Jounouchi took a few seconds to look all sheepish and uncomfortable, until Atem ran out of patience and asked, "You forgot what?"
Jounouchi sighed. "After Anzu, he- well, he deleted almost every picture that included her. Either that, or he plain just refused to look at them."
Atem tried to keep the mixture of worry, guilt—and, curiously, anger—from showing on his face. "Oh."
"Yeah..." Jounouchi said slowly. Then his eyes lit up again. "But! Not to worry, because I have kept all evidence intact!" He took out his phone with a flourish.
Atem thought of protesting because, if Yuugi didn't want him to see these photos, then maybe he should respect that. On the other hand... he was curious.
Jounouchi was smiling in a way that made it obvious he was up to no good. "Oh, this is gonna be epic," he breathed as he searched his phone's files.
He shoved the screen under Atem's nose with a giggle. The picture on display showed a young Yuugi—his Yuugi, Atem thought impulsively—looking just the way Atem remembered leaving him, down to the black choker. Except for the bangs. The bangs were dyed green.
"This was on the first year of college," Jounouchi said happily.
Atem stared at the picture, trying to take it in. Yuugi was laughing, one arm wrapped around Honda's shoulders and one around Anzu's. "Wow."
Jounouchi took the phone back. "You've seen nothing yet. Here," he gave the phone back to Atem. In this picture, both Yuugi's bangs and the tips of his hair were bright blue. Then Jounouchi showed him a photo where the blond bangs were back but the rest of Yuugi's hair was a deep violet, very similar to the shade of his eyes.
"This one looked okay for about a week," Jounouchi explained, "but then he ended up with what we call the Pink Disaster."
He swiped the screen. In the next photo Yuugi was pouting at the camera, his hair in various shades of hideous pink, while Honda was roaring with laughter somewhere in the background.
Atem chuckled. "I can't blame him for not wanting to show me this."
The next photo looked fairly okay: Yuugi had his trademark blond bangs intact, but the rest of his hair was short and a bit spiky. He wasn't smiling in this one.
The last photo showed Yuugi sitting on a couch with Honda and Malik, with a controller in his hands and looking intently at what Atem presumed was a screen. In this photo all of Yuugi's hair was black except for the tips, which were red. He looked remarkably older; the pale light of the screen made the bags under his eyes stand out.
"This one was taken a couple of months ago," Jounouchi said, somewhat less cheerful. "Right before he dyed it all black."
Atem pushed the phone away. He felt the need to wash that last image off his mind, so he looked for the actual Yuugi again. He was still on the couch, talking excitedly; when he caught Atem's eye, he beamed at him.
Atem smiled back and a surge of protectiveness burned its way up his chest.
He waited until Yuugi looked away first. "Jounouchi," he said then, taking his most serious tone. "I know what happened between them. Anzu and Yuugi, I mean. I know what she told him."
Jounouchi frowned at first, then he grimaced. "Yeah..." he murmured. "It was harsh, huh?"
"Do you think she really meant it?"
Jounouchi huffed with an expression that suggested that he really did not want to tread these grounds. "I dunno, man... I mean... On one hand, I'm thinking I should've seen this coming, but on the other hand... You should have seen them. They were so good together."
Atem nodded. "I'm sure they were."
Well... He hoped they were. Because, if they had been happy together, truly happy... Then there was still a chance this could be salvaged.
Atem would feel much better about leaving if he knew he was leaving a happy Yuugi behind. And if this whole Anzu deal was a big misunderstanding, it would be taken care of a lot more effectively if Atem was there to make things clear.
He could do that. He should do that, and soon, because he had no idea how much time he had left.
"Jounouchi... Where is Anzu now?"
"Huh?" Jounouchi started. He examined Atem's face. "Oh no, man, I don't like that look. Why are you asking?"
"Please, tell me."
"Why? What are you thinking?"
"I want to know more about... what happened, and I don't want to press Yuugi into answering more questions."
Jounouchi shook his head. "I dunno, man, I don't think talking to Anzu is a good idea. She's in America right now, anyway," he added with a shrug, "so forget about it. Here, have some punch." He filled a plastic cup and thrust it in Atem's hands.
Atem took the cup but did not drink. He simply frowned. "In America?" he repeated. "She made it after all?"
Jounouchi paused and gave him an almost pitying look. "Damn... He really didn't tell you a thing."
Atem kept staring, bewildered but steadfast.
Jounouchi sighed. "Yeah, she went to America to be a dancer. She's been living there for the past seven years."
"Seven...?" Atem echoed. "What about Yuug-?"
"Long-distance relationship. Wasn't easy. Perhaps that's why things went the way they did."
Atem's lips tightened. "Then why..." he asked, his voice darkening, "did she ask him to get back together? If she knows this doesn't work, why-?"
"Oh, yeah, you see..." Jounouchi rubbed the back of his head. "She's coming back to Domino. Permanently. That's why. But hey!" he said before Atem could process this, waving a warning finger. "Don't go getting any ideas!"
Atem lowered his gaze to his cup. His mind was already racing.
If Anzu was coming back to Domino, then yes, perhaps getting back with Yuugi would work. If distance was their main problem, when this distance would eventually be eliminated...
He swallowed. Yuugi had told him clearly. Anzu's words had been, 'You are nothing like him.'
Atem couldn't help but inwardly agree with Jounouchi: they should have seen this coming. It had always been like this.
Atem could recall Anzu putting her life in danger in order to catch his attention. He remembered her being desolate when he was about to leave. And he remembered Yuugi back in Duelist Kingdom, hurt but trying to hide it, telling her that he'd call Atem because he was the one she wanted to talk to. He remembered her replying that it was okay, because they were both Yuugi.
But that was the point, wasn't it? They weren't both Yuugi. Even now, they might look alike, but Yuugi was not him and he was not Yuugi.
That had been the point all along.
So yes; Anzu would be back to Domino and closer to Yuugi, but she'd also be closer to Atem. His presence alone could sabotage his partner's chance with her.
Jounouchi was right. Atem might want nothing more than to help, but seeing Anzu could make everything worse. Even her learning that Atem was back might just... rekindle everything, just when she'd changed her mind about her marriage.
"She doesn't know I'm back, does she?"
Jounouchi shook his head. "None of us has told her, but..."
"But, what?"
Jounouchi gestured around, at the party and the people that filled Yuugi's living room. "We're no longer the only ones that know you're back. And anyway, we wouldn't be able to hide it forever."
Atem froze. Jounouchi was right once more, of course; and the more Atem thought about it, the worse his position seemed.
Was this party a mistake? Should he have kept his return a secret?
He could feel his mind buzzing. He looked around, anxious about who was seeing him, and caught Yuugi's eye again. He was watching him with his forehead scrunched up in concern, evidently having understood that something was wrong.
Atem tried to give him his best reassuring smile, but he was too troubled to do it convincingly.
Yuugi's brows raised in silent question.
Atem shook his head, trying to signal that all was alright, that there was no reason to worry about him. Then he finally drank some of the punch, because the idea of alcohol did not sound so bad after all.
He would... figure this out. He would find the right thing to do.
A sudden surge in the noise caught his attention. Everybody was moving towards the door and shouting with excitement; it took Atem too long to realize that there was somebody on the threshold.
"Hey, it's Seto!" Jounouchi exclaimed and dashed towards the door.
Seto Kaiba was standing in the hallway, carrying a briefcase on one hand and typing on his phone with the other, displaying an infinitely larger interest to whatever was on its screen than the small crowd around him. Next to him stood another young man, one that Atem did not recognize right away: he had Seto's slender figure and almost the same, clear-cut features, albeit with a softer quality about them. His short black hair was brushed to the side in a relaxed manner, framing gray eyes glinting with warmth.
"...Mokuba?" Atem gasped, approaching.
"Hey, pharaoh!" Mokuba Kaiba said, breaking through the small crowd to greet him. He smiled widely as he shook Atem's hand. "Welcome back! It's so good to see you!"
"Mokuba," Atem repeated, still a bit dazzled. "I can't believe this. You've grown so much!"
Mokuba chuckled. "Yeah, it's good to no longer be the short Kaiba."
"You are not the tall one," Seto grunted from the hallway.
"He's also not the asshole Kaiba," Jounouchi butted in with a grin.
Seto finally lifted his eyes from the screen of his phone and narrowed them at Jounouchi.
"I dare you to say that again."
"Oh, I will! Come on, you jerk! Stop standing in the hallway and come inside. I made punch!" he yelled and flung his arm around Seto's shoulders in what Atem thought was an overtly risky gesture. The look on Seto' eyes promised murder.
Yuugi approached them, laughing with obvious disregard for his life. "Hey, Seto! I knew you'd come!"
Seto directed his death stare to Yuugi who, remarkably, did not flinch. "Thank Mokuba. He practically dragged me here."
"Yeah, sure," Mokuba said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, bro! Are you forgetting something?"
Seto stared at Mokuba as if he had just committed high treason. Then he sighed and reached to the inner pocket of his suit.
He pulled out a plain white envelope, which he extended to Atem with a huff and a look that clearly said he would prefer to be doing anything but this. "Here. Welcome back, etcetera. Don't lose them."
Atem took the envelope with a frown and an uncertain, "Thanks."
He wasn't sure if he should open it then and there, so he glanced around; both Mokuba and Yuugi urged him on.
He ripped at the edges or the envelope and opened it. Inside was a small stack of papers and something that looked like... a card? Atem shuffled through them and saw his name on most of them—or, more accurately, the name Atem Mutou. There were all kinds of papers in there, from birth certificate to school evaluations. Atem picked the small card to examine it and realized it was an ID card.
He gaped up at Seto.
Yuugi peeked over Atem's shoulder at the papers he was holding. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "Is this what I think it is?" He took the ID card from Atem's fingers and everybody gathered around him to take a better look.
Atem kept staring at Seto, trying to make his brain come up with something to say.
"Kaiba, this is..."
"Yeah, save it," Seto replied curtly. "Just don't forget our duel."
He straightened his suit, gripped at his briefcase and walked away from the small, loud group. Perfectly ignoring everything and everyone else, he planted himself on the couch, pulled a laptop out of his briefcase, set it on his knees and started typing away.
Atem blinked, mind still numb.
An ID card. And papers. All his.
Seto had provided him with everything a person needed to legally exist. Thanks to that little envelope, Atem could go on and live a normal life in Domino.
His stomach clenched. A part of him was already picturing this life, but another part of him squirmed with unease. So far, he had been careful to leave behind as little trace of his existence as possible, and this-
This made everything more complicated.
"Hey, asshole!" Jounouchi yelled to Seto. "Couldn't you give him better grades?"
"They are better than yours," Seto replied without lifting his gaze from his laptop.
"Fuck off," Jounouchi grumbled. Atem was under the impression he heard a chuckle from Seto's direction.
They spent the next twenty minutes passing Atem's papers around and remarking on them, until Yuugi finally decided to put them back in their envelope and store them in a safe drawer. Then he took Malik's birthday cake out of the fridge and, thankfully, all other matters were dropped.
"Hey, guys! Gather around!" Jounouchi shouted, gesturing towards the coffee table.
They all huddled around it. Malik knelt at the centre of the small group, looking timid but smiling wider than Atem had ever seen him. His eyes widened when Yuugi placed his birthday cake in front of him, complete with wishes written with icing and candles shaped like a twenty-nine.
They all sang Happy Birthday—except for Seto because, apparently, he was not programmed to do fun things such as sing.
Malik gazed at the little flames with a faraway look in his eyes, but he livened up again when the time to blow the candles came. He pretended to take an intense look of concentration as he made his wish and cheered along with the others once the candles were out.
"Twenty-nine, you guys! I can't believe it," he said, laughing in Ryou's tight hug.
"This time next year we're all gonna be a bunch of thirty-year-olds," Yuugi said.
"Oh, come on, dude!" Jounouchi whined. "You don't have to remind us!"
"You don't have to worry, Jounouchi," Seto said. "You'll always have the mind of a five-year-old."
"Why, you-!"
Yuugi handed Jounouchi a piece of cake, so the banter was cut short.
Atem watched everyone try the cake, admittedly being a little nervous about his baking skills, but their reactions showed that he had done a good job after all. He have a sidelong glance to Yuugi, who responded with a thumbs up.
As opposed to his brother, Mokuba cracked jokes with everyone and even suggested a round of party games. Atem decided to stand them out and watch from the sidelines as Malik and Otogi faced off in a game involving cups and dice. Otogi, who thought it a disgrace to lose to any game that included dice, put in extra effort and soon the room descended into a cheering chaos.
Atem was so caught up with the game that he didn't realize someone had approached him, until he felt a slight pressure against his side and heard a voice in his ear.
"Having fun, Atem?"
He turned his head and came eye to eye with a smiling Yuugi. Without him noticing, he had come close enough for Atem to count each and every happy crinkle around his eyes.
"Yes, aibou. You?"
Yuugi's smile widened and it became very hard for Atem to not look directly into his eyes.
"It's great," Yuugi said. "It's been a while since we all gathered together, like this. It's all I could ask for."
Atem could smell peaches again. And fruit punch, maybe.
"I'm glad."
Yuugi's face was glowing with happiness. Atem thought how nice it would be if he could capture this radiance in a picture; forget all the other ones, with the crazy hair and the tired skin and Anzu. If he could keep only one picture, this would be it.
He brushed a stray tuft away from Yuugi's eyes and imagined what it would be like to freeze this moment. All of it. If he could just...
"Yo! Yuugi One and Yuugi Two!"
Atem jumped.
Jounouchi was yelling at them with a smirk that could be called nothing short of impish. "We're playing Mario Party. You in?" he asked, shaking a controller.
Atem glanced around. Malik and Otogi's game was over and, if his little celebratory dance was anything to go by, Malik had won.
"Umm... No thanks, I'll pass," he said hastily.
Jounouchi arched an eyebrow at Atem's flustered reaction and his grin widened. "What about you, Yuug?"
"Yeah, sure, I'm in!" He gave Atem's shoulder a quick pat and left to join the others on the couch.
Atem rubbed the back of his neck and huffed. His face felt hot. Maybe he should drink no more punch.
He set his cup down and joined the rest of his friends.
The games kept the spirits high for a while, until it started getting late and the fatigue of the day caught up with them. The music was turned down to a lower volume and they all gathered on the couch to talk in more dignified decibels. The conversation jumped around from manga to movies and, of course, Atem and his sensational return from the dead—a subject the pharaoh really felt they had exhausted.
Seto kept to himself, typing on his laptop or answering the occasional phone call, until Jounouchi smacked him on the back of his head and said, "Hey, rich boy! Stop giving us the cold shoulder! What's this for, anyway?" He nodded towards the laptop.
"I know this might come as a shock to you, Jounouchi, but some of us are working."
"Yeah, but this is a party! Come on, leave that thing aside for five minutes and-"
"I believe it is in your best interests if I don't, since it's you who I'm working for," Seto replied, arching his eyebrow to the group on the couch.
"Who, us?"
Seto's gaze returned to the screen of his laptop. "I've been trying to hack into Blackwood's system. I've managed to break though the Council of Antiquities' security and take a look around, but Blackwood and his research group seem to keep no records there. They're either storing all records in a separate, private server, or they have no digital archives at all and work off physical records—which, by the way, I find terribly unlikely."
His words were followed by silence. Everyone glanced at one another, looking confused and a little impressed, until Yuugi said, slowly, "Wait, you mean... That's what you've been doing all evening?"
"Yes—keep up, Mutou."
"Okay," Jounouchi said, frowning. "Would you mind explaining that again, slowly?"
Seto gave a world-weary sigh. Mokuba took over.
"He's been trying to remotely access Blackwood's files. This will likely give us a clue as to what they've got so far and what they're doing—or planning to do—with their findings."
"Is that slow enough for you, Jounouchi?" Seto sneered.
Jounouchi ignored the insult. "You mean you can really do that?" Jounouchi said, glancing from Mokuba to Seto.
"Mokuba has been able to do that since he was ten. As for me, apart from being one of the richest people alive, I'm also one of the best hackers in the world. So tell me—you really think I can't do this?"
"A yes would've sufficed," Yuugi murmured.
"So you can just... look at any computer's files?" Jounouchi asked again.
Seto smirked. "Yes. But you don't have to worry. I've already looked at yours and found nothing interesting."
Jounouchi turned bright red. "H-Hey!"
"Guys, focus!" Malik said, leaning forward, all sobered up and serious. He looked straight at Seto. "So they keep nothing on the Council's servers?"
"No. It's all on a private one, behind a firewall that I dare say is expertly made. Whoever made it had really wanted to hide whatever's behind it."
"So you haven't managed to hack into it?"
Seto's expression darkened. "No," he grumbled. "But I will. I'll put my team into it, if I have to."
They all glanced at each other again.
"You think there's any chance there are no files to be found?" Malik asked. "Just as you said..."
"I said there is a chance they won't have digitized anything yet, but it's a very small one. We no longer live in the Dark Ages—they can't have relied on pen and paper for such a research."
Malik's brow furrowed. "It would be safer, though."
"It would," Seto agreed. "But I doubt anyone would install a firewall like that just to hide nothing."
"Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt-" Otogi said, "but... What are you talking about?"
"Oh, umm..." Yuugi stammered. He looked at Atem and then at Malik, a little lost.
Malik jumped in to help. "There's this guy we think might be responsible for Atem's return."
"Oh," Otogi said. "Can I do something to help?"
"The only one who can help right now is me," Seto said, typing so fast his fingers seemed to fly over the keyboard.
"I hope you won't get yourselves into any trouble," Shizuka said, fixing both Honda and Jounouchi with a stern look.
"Hey, don't look at me like that, I barely know what's going on!" Honda protested.
"Yeah, don't worry, sis," Jounouchi said. "You know us. We are never looking for trouble."
Yuugi snorted. "Not actively, anyway..."
With the conversation inevitably taking a turn towards Blackwood and the Spellbook, Atem found himself withdrawing. His thoughts were already stumbling on one another. All he wanted was a break.
He rose and slithered away as discreetly as possible. The balcony seemed dark and blissfully quiet, so he grabbed a jacket and headed outside.
The moment he stepped out, he realized the place was not as deserted as he'd thought. Somebody was already there, leaning against the railing, looking out towards the city. In the dark Atem made out a mane of white hair, surrounded by smoke.
Atem hesitated for a second. He'd never been alone with Ryou Bakura before. He considered turning around and walking back inside, but it was ridiculous; there was no reason to avoid Ryou. Plus, for him to be out here, it meant he wanted the same thing as Atem: some peace and quiet.
Atem cleared his throat to announce his presence and approached him.
Ryou Bakura turned his head towards him and gave him a small smile. "Hey, pharaoh."
Atem leaned with his elbows against the railing. "Hey."
He let his gaze roam over the city. The cold was intense, burrowing under his jacket and snapping at his exposed fingers, but the view was worth it. During the night, Domino was breathtaking in a way it never was during the day.
He gazed at the multicolored lights and sighed; his breath formed a pearly cloud which dissolved rapidly.
Ryou chuckled. "Needed some quiet, too?" Atem nodded slowly, even though he knew the gesture was likely to be lost in the dark. "Yeah, I know," Ryou murmured and turned back towards the view. He brought a cigarette to his lips.
Atem glanced at weak red glow illuminate his features, then at the smoke that swirled and danced in the air.
"I had no idea you smoked," he remarked, trying not to sound judgmental.
Ryou waved his hand. "I had quit for a couple of years, but... Y'know. Things've been... stressful lately." He shrugged and took another drag.
Atem watched him in silence for a while. Stressful seemed to be an understatement. Ryou seemed like a ghost, so pale he almost glowed in the night.
Atem felt as if he were looking at the sixteen year old Ryou Bakura: a person that was barely there, sad and distant, with a deep-seated exhaustion in his face. He couldn't even begin to guess how he must be feeling.
Sympathy clenched his stomach. "I am so sorry, Ryou," he said quietly.
Ryou turned towards him with a perplexed frown. "For what?"
"For what you're going through," Atem replied. He felt it unwise to mention his yami, so he simply said, "For all of this."
Ryou blinked at him, taken aback, then let out a mirthless chuckle. "It's not your fault that he's back." He lowered his gaze to the cigarette in his hand. The cold air ruffled his white bangs.
"I know," Atem said. "It's just... You shouldn't have to go through this."
Ryou raised his head and looked at him wonderingly. "No..." he said after a while. "I shouldn't. But I don't get to choose, do I?"
"None of us got to."
Ryou chuckled again. It was weird for the sound to be accompanied by such a sad expression. "Do you think this... was fate?"
Atem looked back towards the lights of the city. "I don't know," he admitted. "I have no idea what any of this is for."
They both remained silent for long. Ryou finished his cigarette and flicked the stub off the rail; they watched it drop and disappear in the dark.
"He always came back, you know," Ryou said at last, in a voice as low and quiet as the night breeze. "No matter how many times you beat him... No matter how many times I thought he was gone... He always came back." He kept his gaze downwards, to the street far below. "Perhaps that's my fate... To never rid of him."
Atem shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't think that's all there is for you."
Ryou laughed; the sound was harsh and bitter.
"Get back inside, pharaoh. It's your party. Your friends will be looking for you."
Atem did not recoil, despite the hostility in Ryou's tone. He fixed his pale profile with a steady look.
"You are my friend, too, Ryou. You have been my friend ever since our first encounter. That never changed, despite... everything."
Ryou stiffened; even his breath seemed to freeze in him. He slowly turned to look at Atem with a pinched expression. He seemed heart-broken all of a sudden, and Atem couldn't understand if he'd said something wrong.
He tried to dispel that look with a warm smile. "Besides," he added, "it's your best friend's birthday, too."
Ryou stared at him.
Gradually, both his body and expression relaxed. When he chuckled, for the first time there was genuine amusement in the sound. "Alright," he said softly. "Okay. Let's both go back inside, then."
Atem folded his hands over the railing and let his gaze roam the dark skyline. They didn't move right away; they stood there until the cold turned their noses numb. When they did go back inside, Ryou made them tea.
"Diabound! You're on in five!"
Bakura gave an acknowledging nod and kept jumping on the spot to keep the blood flowing in his muscles. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck. Inhaled. Exhaled slowly through his nose. His wrists were already secure in his red hand wraps, his hair up in a ponytail at Aaron's insistence.
Behind the door, the roar of the crowd had died out and the beat of the music had taken over. He knew what that meant: a short break, just long enough for the cleaning staff to mop the sweat and blood off the ring's floor.
He did not know who he was paired with tonight. He did not care. It was all the same to him.
The music faded out and a voice boomed through the speakers. That was Bakura's cue.
He put on the silicon mouth-guard, spent a few seconds being all uncomfortable and annoyed at it, and then sucked it up like the mature 3000-year-old spirit that he was and stopped mumbling curses at it.
He cracked the door open and listened.
"You know him—even if you haven't seen him, you've heard of him! He appeared out of nowhere and made heads turn and bodies drop! Beware; he may not look like it, but he is fierce! He is cunning! He is the White Devil... Diabouuuuuuuund!"
Bakura rolled his eyes at the commentary and walked outside. The spotlights were blinding, but it made it easier to block out the crowd. The noise was just a meaningless mess.
Someone clapped his shoulder twice. He did not turn to look. He focused on breathing deeply through his nose.
The cage stood waiting for him with its door open. He scoffed back at it before walking inside.
"And now, from the slums of Domino... Hardened by the sea and trained under the infamous Hata... With no lost matches in the past four months and a temperament as wild as his fighting style... Make some noise for Udaiiiiiiiiii!"
Some guy walked in the ring. Buzzed head. Muscles tight like ropes. Calculating eyes.
Bakura gave him an unimpressed look.
The door closed. The bell rang.
It was quite different from the last time. Bakura was somewhat fitter—or, at least, he was no longer the human equivalent of a toothpick. He spent a few seconds dancing around his opponent and this time he heard no jeers coming from the crowd. He guessed word about his last fight had spread, and they were expecting to see him follow the same tactic: evade until finding the perfect opportunity to strike.
His opponent must have heard about his last match, too; he did not move around much nor attack. He kept his eyes on Bakura and his guard up.
It was pretty straightforward. The other guy played it safe for the most part: tight guard, few openings. He retaliated every time Bakura attacked, but only to keep him at a distance. Bakura dodged and feinted, and he noted with satisfaction that his lungs stood up to the challenge. So far.
He wouldn't achieve much like this, though. His opponent was not a fan of taking risks, and that wasn't good news for the yami; he did not have the strength needed to break through such a defense.
Well. There was this trick he'd found handy as a scrawny little thief.
His opponent was keeping his hands close to his face and his elbows to his ribs, but his feet were free. Bakura fell low; he dove in headfirst and hooked both arms around his opponent's front knee. He knew he was risking getting himself in a headlock, but he could avoid it if he played this right. He pulled the guy's leg, held it tight, and rammed his shoulder in the guy's stomach, pushing forward. The man teetered backwards on one leg and tried to grab Bakura, but he ultimately lost his balance. They both went crashing down on the ring's floor.
Bakura climbed on top of his opponent in the blink of an eye. He even managed to get a few good hits in before all went to shit.
His brain did not even catch what exactly happened. There were hands on him, a tug and a sudden loss of contact with the floor, and then his back slammed down hard. This second of disorientation was all it took for his opponent to straddle him and lock his knees around Bakura's ribs.
The man lifted his fist. In the next heartbeat it became clear to Bakura that the floor was the anvil, the fist above him was the hammer, and his head was the very unlucky thing caught in the middle.
Knuckles came down hard on his face. It felt almost as if his skull exploded.
Panic seized him and he tried to squirm away. Then his skull exploded again. And again.
The pain was a bright light behind his eyelids. He tried to cover his face, but the blows slipped past his slack guard.
All he wanted to do was hide. Crawl away. He writhed a bit more before he paused. The cold part of his brain—the one he suspected was tempered by Zorc rather than his own thieving years—forced him to open his eyes.
Look, it told him. Pull yourself away from the pain and look.
Something was dripping into his left eye, but he didn't blink. He looked.
He watched a fist coming down towards his brow. He took it unflinching and felt the impact travel through his bones to the floorboards underneath.
Think, his mind hissed again. Breathe. Think.
He brought his hands to his face, pretending to guard it.
To an onlooker, it might seem like he was on the verge of giving up but, under the cover of his hands, his eyes were focused and unblinking. He brought his right wrist close to his mouth. His teeth found the edge of his hand wrap and pulled; the velcro pad that held it in place ripped off with a crackling sound that got lost in the general clamor. The wrap came loose.
Aaron had told him it was against the rules to take out someone's eye or to hook his fingers into someone's mouth. He thought he'd also mentioned biting pieces off. He'd given no other restrictions.
So.
Bakura grabbed the loose end of the cotton wrap in his other hand and held on tight.
He had to move fast.
He planted his feet to the ground and braced; he locked muscles in legs, core and back, and thrust his hips upwards. His opponent was lifted off the ground. His next hit missed Bakura's head, smashing the floor instead.
From there, the easy thing to do would be to switch places and slam his opponent's back to the floor, just as he'd done to Bakura earlier. That wasn't Bakura's plan.
The yami slithered from under his opponent, hooked a leg around his waist and climbed on his back. The cotton tape unfurled in the air. He flew it over his opponent's head like a noose, gripped it tightly, and pulled.
He felt the cotton into his opponent's throat.
A deafening noise rose from the crowd.
Bakura yanked harder. The guy squirmed and tried to toss Bakura off his back, but Bakura clung on, securing the grip of his legs around the man's waist. The more his opponent moved, the worse he made it for him: every sudden movement made the wrap cut into his windpipe.
The commentator was shouting something, but Bakura couldn't tell what it was. He didn't care. He focused on holding on.
He glanced towards the door of the cage: no one was fumbling with it. No one was coming to stop him. He was still good.
The roar of the crowd was massive.
His opponent stopped trying to fight Bakura off and tried to dig his fingers under the tape, but all he achieved was to scratch at his own neck. Bakura could see one side of his face. His eyes had gone wide. He could feel him heaving.
He leaned his mouth close to the guy's ear and tried to speak past his mouth-guard and through his own panting.
"Give it up."
The guy kept squirming. His face was turning red.
The roar in Bakura's head was as loud as the one echoing in the underground hall.
The guy struggled and grunted. He went for Bakura's hands instead, but they were too far back, beyond his reach. He was growing weaker by the second. His squirming was turning erratic.
Bakura grit his teeth. He unhooked one leg and used it as leverage to slam the guy down face-first.
"Give it up," he hissed again, stressing his words with a violent tug.
His grip on the tape was relentless. He wasn't planning to let go; surely the other guy wouldn't be stupid enough to give his life for a match. He would give up. Any second now. The back of his ears was turning purple.
One of his opponent's hands stopped trying to claw at the tape. It twitched a few inches above the floor. Then tapped down. One. Two. Three times.
Bakura released him. He let the tape go and crawled backwards and away.
Noises were bouncing in his skull. There were so many voices.
He crawled until his back hit the wall of the cage. He reached with shaking fingers, took out his mouth-guard and threw it away. He took large gulps of air. Everything was spinning.
Across from him, his opponent heaved with breaths that shook his whole body.
The world was blurring in and out. Noises were fading in and out, in waves.
Bakura breathed. Someone was unlocking the door of the cage.
Why was everyone shouting this much.
The tape, still half-wrapped around his right wrist, lay unfurled on the floor of the cage like a red snake. His opponent was on his hands and knees, still trying to breathe. Coughing, perhaps; Bakura couldn't hear. Some figure knelt over the guy and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Bakura wondered if he should go help, too, but decided against it. His legs were trembling. Something was still dripping into his left eye.
The figure approached Bakura. His lips moved. Was that Aaron?
Bakura blinked, breathed. The lips moved again.
"Can you get up?"
Bakura nodded and everything blurred again. He hooked his fingers on the chain-link walls of the cage to haul himself up. Staggered. Another person was helping his opponent on his feet.
Bakura focused on staying steady and upright as he was declared the winner. Somebody lifted his arm. Then somebody else—Aaron—grabbed him and led him outside the cage.
He tried to tell the noises apart. There were whistles and shouts and cheers. A few were shouting Diabound. Perhaps.
He followed Aaron's grip.
It was a relief when the door of the locker room closed behind them. He could tell it was quiet in there, but a shrill ringing was making his skull vibrate. He stumbled, and Aaron led him to a bench.
Somehow, he heard him say, "That was dirty, son," as he helped him sit. His voice was serious. Not angry, but definitely unimpressed.
Bakura tried to look at him.
"'s not against the rules," he slurred.
He thought he could smell blood. He wiped at his left brow and his hand came out red.
Aaron huffed. "The rules, he says! Rules or not, that was dirty as fuck!"
Bakura kept prodding at his brow. There seemed to be a cut there.
"Shoulda stopped me if you didn't like it," he murmured.
"Son, what I like is a good show. And that shit out there?" Aaron stuck a thumb towards the door. "That was one hell of a show. But in the end of the day, that's all it is. There's no need to go overboard. Don't get me wrong; I liked it and the crowd liked it, but do you think Udai is gonna take kindly to it? Hell, if I were you, I'd look behind my shoulder when walking down dark alleys!"
Bakura winced. That was too many words.
"Fine," he grumbled, just because he had no strength to argue, and lied down on the bench. The ceiling was moving.
Aaron materialized a water bottle out of nowhere. "Drink."
Bakura shook his head and the room swam before his eyes. "Dizzy," he slurred. "Ears... Noisy." After a while, he added, "Nauseous."
"Mild concussion, probably," Aaron said with a wave of his hand. "No big deal."
Bakura's mouth curled downwards. Of course. Why would it be a big deal?
He laid on the bench until the rest of the fights were over and the noise behind the door died out. Then he staggered to the shower, where he washed off more blood than he'd expected. He realized the cotton tape had cut into his fingers where he'd gripped it. His head throbbed.
He really wasn't getting paid enough for this.
When he got out of the shower, he found Aaron still there.
"Speed it up," he told him, throwing him a towel. "Ishido wants to talk to you."
Bakura frowned. What could Ishido want? He'd done his part; he wanted to be left the fuck alone, to smoke a cigarette and listen to no one and nothing for at least twenty-four hours.
He got dressed as fast as he could manage without toppling over. Aaron gave him a small packet with some kind of weird cold gel in it—because apparently regular ice was way too banal for this day and age—and Bakura held it over his left eye. It improved the throbbing but not the dizziness. The cuts in his fingers stung.
He made to walk towards the door, but Aaron pushed him back towards the bench. "No need to go out. He's coming here." He walked to the door and opened it. "Sir, he's ready."
"Ah, lovely," Ishido's voice responded, and then the man himself walked in the changing room, followed by two bodyguards.
Bakura gazed up with one dazed eye, the other hidden under the ice pack. "Visiting me in my dressing room? What an honor," he drawled.
Ishido came to stand before him with something like a small smile on his lips. "Aaron," he said loudly, "you won't be needed. Thank you."
Aaron bent his plump body into a hasty bow and walked outside, making sure to close the door behind him. When he saw him leave, something inside Bakura thought shit, shit, shit, but he kept his expression schooled into perfect dispassion.
Ishido clapped his hands once and made his mouth shape something like a pleased smile. "First off, I think congratulations are due. That was quite a fight, Mr Bakura. And that finale! Unconventional move, but so inspired."
Bakura stared at him, expression unchanging. "Thanks."
Ishido waved a hand. "When you first came here, you said you knew how to fight. I had my doubts at first, as you very well know, but you stood up to your claim. Which is wonderful. Honesty and self-awareness are qualities I value in my colleagues."
Bakura said nothing. He was not sure where this was going.
Ishido crossed his hands behind his back and started pacing. "If I remember correctly, you had claimed to have quite the extensive skillset. I believe you also mentioned being good at purloining property and, ah- let's say, arbitrarily depriving one of their life."
Oh. That was where this was going.
He lowered the ice pack. Freezing droplets dripped down his fingers.
"Yes," he replied slowly.
"Good, good. Then I am sure you will be glad to hear I have a job for you. Or, should I say... A favor to ask?" Ishido smiled sweetly; the expression reminded Bakura of a viper about to swallow its dinner.
A favor.
Shit.
He should have expected that asking him for Malik's number would come back to bite him in the ass.
He swallowed. "What's the job?"
"Ah," Ishido waved a nonchalant hand, "it is but a small thing, easily manageable for someone with the prowess you displayed tonight. I am sure it will be child's play to you."
"What is it?"
Ishido's eyes glinted. "A certain person owes me quite a great sum of money. Unfortunately, he refuses to cooperate, and I have my reasons to suspect that he will try and leave the city in order to avoid settling his debt."
"And you want me to- what?" Bakura said carefully. "Find him before he leaves, or-?"
"Do not be hasty, Mr Bakura." Ishido resumed his casual strolling across Bakura's bench. "Tomorrow, a party will head to said person's house in an attempt to collect that which I am owed. We are, however, one person short." He turned towards Bakura with that same snake-like smile on his lips. "I believe you will be most suitable to fill that spot."
Bakura stared at him.
Okay. Okay, that sounded... doable. Going to some guy's house to collect some money. Perhaps beat the crap out of them, too.
It could be worse. Bakura wouldn't even be alone in this: there'd be a whole squad of Ishido's goons.
It was simple enough. Straight-forward. Child's play, as Ishido had said. And if Bakura were to be honest, that was exactly the kind of job he'd expected Ishido to give him when he'd first set foot there.
Then again, answering to this buffoon's orders was a bit disgraceful, but. Money was money.
"How much will I get payed for it?"
Ishido laughed lightly.
"I was under the impression you already owe me one, Mr Bakura. A favor for a favor—is it not how this goes? Or did you not find the information I procured for you a few days ago accurate and up-to-date?"
Of course. Of-fucking-course.
Bakura fought with the words for a while.
"...I did."
A hint of satisfaction painted the curl of Ishido's lips. "Then I think you will find this a fair exchange."
Bakura's mouth twisted. Getting paid to fight was one thing; doing Ishido's dirty job for no reward at all was something entirely different. And no, he did not think a fucking phone number and an address was a fair exchange.
It was clear that Ishido was expecting a reply. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly; Bakura might have thought it was a trick of the poor lighting and his beat-up head, but he knew better by now. There was only one correct answer to give.
"Okay," he ground out.
Ishido's eyes gleamed. "Good. I am glad we have reached such a level of understanding. Ah—something tells me you will soon be an invaluable member of my team, Mr Bakura! Keep being this willing to cooperate and, I assure you, the rewards will be more than satisfying."
Bakura held back a scoff.
Satisfying.
Ishido had no idea who he was talking to. Bakura had raided royal tombs and wrapped himself in more gold than what these ignorant idiots had seen in all of their miserable lives put together. Ishido's rewards were nothing more than crumbs.
"That's great," he growled.
"Excellent! Then we are done here, I think. Get some rest, Mr Bakura. Tomorrow will be a big day; you'd better be on top form."
Bakura spat out a laugh and gripped at the gel pack. "I doubt that." Damn, his head was throbbing.
Ishido had already turned to leave, but he paused to look at Bakura over his shoulder. "Try," he said sweetly.
He left, his two bodyguards following in tow. Bakura was left alone in the changing room.
A light bulb flickered in the corner. Bakura let his head drop with a huff and closed his eyes. His body seemed to be finally catching up: pain was blooming in several different spots. One of his ears was still ringing.
He groaned. He'd barely have time to recover until tomorrow. Well. That should teach him to think twice before asking for favors.
He dragged his feet to the mirror. His face was a mess. By tomorrow that would be so badly bruised he'd have no hope of going unnoticed.
He had no idea exactly what they'd ask of him tomorrow. It could be as simple as having him be a lookout. Or it could be that they'd ask him to straight up murder someone.
Bakura faltered. He looked at his reflection in the eyes and his fingers gripped the sink.
If they asked him to kill... Would he be able to do it? He had told Ishido he could. He had done it before. So many, many times. But that had been in another lifetime. Literally.
He did not doubt his abilities. He just hoped he wouldn't have to find out if the person looking at him through the mirror was still capable of murdering someone in cold blood.
He'd told Malik he was different. He felt different.
He'd like to keep it that way.
He groaned again and rubbed his eyes. That was stupid thinking. He'd do what he had to—nothing more, nothing less. Just like today. He did not think twice before wrapping that tape around his opponent's throat, and he won. It was that simple.
"Fuck," he whispered.
The light bulb was still flickering overhead.
He needed to get out of there.
Malik was riding his bike through Domino. It was well past midnight and the streets were almost empty, but he was in no hurry. He was taking his time, enjoying the quiet and the lights. The rumble of his bike's engine was the only thing disturbing the aura of the sleeping city. In a plastic bag, swinging from the handle of his bike, was what birthday cake had remained—or, more accurately, what had managed to escape Jounouchi's jaws.
He looked at the city with fondness, then let his gaze wander upwards, towards the night sky. No stars were visible, but it did not matter. All that mattered was that he was here, doing this.
Who would've thought? Twenty-nine-year-old Malik Ishtar, riding his very own bike, with a backpack full of presents and carrying leftover cake that his friends had made for him. Who would have thought...?
Not his ten-year-old self, for sure. That Malik Ishtar would have never believed this.
Poor kid. But that was long ago.
That kid was happy now. That kid could celebrate his birthday. That kid was on his very own bike, under the clear sky, with the roads of an entire city stretching before him. No—the entire world.
He wondered if the other part of that kid was wandering these streets, too. He wondered if he celebrated tonight. He wondered if he even knew it was his—no, their birthday.
He gripped the handlebars and revved the bike's engine.
Thinking like this was pointless. There was no reason to ruin a perfect night. His birthday wasn't over yet; he had still many roads to cross and more than enough gas.
He thought of taking his helmet off to let the cold hit his skin and ruffle his hair. He'd slowed down in order to do just that when his phone buzzed.
He frowned. It was way too late for anyone to call. All of his friends should be asleep by now; even Ryou, whom he'd dropped off home a little while ago.
...It could be an emergency. Something gone wrong. Or it could be that Ryou had gone home to find his yami hiding behind a flowerpot or something.
Malik brought his bike to a halt at the side of the road and searched his pockets for his phone. When he found it, he saw that the screen simply read Unknown Caller.
He arched an eyebrow. He had an idea or two about who this could be.
He took off his helmet to free his ear and picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey. It's me."
Malik faltered. For a couple of seconds, he couldn't really place that voice; it was way too rough and cracked to belong to anyone he knew. However, he thought there was something familiar about it, so he tested, uncertainly, "...Bakura?"
"Bingo."
It was obvious that the yami had made an effort to sound sneering, but it had simply come off as exhausted.
Malik pressed the phone against his ear, frowning. "Hey, hi. Umm... are you okay?"
"'m fine," came the curt reply.
Malik pressed his lips together. The breathing on the other side of the line was unmistakably labored. He was sure he wasn't imagining it.
He had just opened his mouth to ask again if Bakura was okay and this time insist for an actual answer, when the yami spoke again.
"I did not wake you up, did I?"
This display of concern was so out-of-character that Malik considered all his suspicions confirmed. Something was definitely wrong.
"No..." he replied slowly. "Actually, I'm on my way home."
"You weren't at the bar."
Malik blinked. "Did you come looking for me?"
"I might 've."
Malik had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. This man and his pride was a love story for the ages.
"I took tonight off," he explained. "It's my birthday. The guys threw me a party over at Yuugi's place."
"Oh." There came a long pause from Bakura's side of the line. Then, rather hesitantly, "Happy birthday."
Malik was so surprised he felt his brows shoot upwards.
"Oh, hey. Thanks. Umm-"
A birthday wish from Bakura was something he'd never ever expect to receive—and, sure, it was a pleasant surprise, but it was weird. It made his stomach clench. He gripped the phone tighter.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Are you deaf, Tomb Keeper? I told you I'm fine!"
Malik's face fell again. Aggression was a clear sign of Bakura getting defensive; not to mention using Malik's old title to distance himself. So yeah. No matter what he said, he was not fine.
If he wanted to avoid having his head bitten off, Malik would have to be gentle with this. Whatever this was. "Okay," he said in a placating tone, to test Bakura's reaction. "No need to get angry."
"I just called to ask if you have any news. About... you know."
"No, nothing new."
"Oh." There was another pause from Bakura. "Okay." Another silence.
Malik waited.
Bakura didn't hang up. He huffed a couple of times into the phone, but did not speak. The silence stretched on.
It was a wild thought, and at any other given moment Malik might think himself crazy for believing it, but he was willing to bet that all Bakura wanted was someone to talk to. He just didn't know how to ask for it. Or was too proud to. Or—most probably—both.
Malik would have to be gentle and smart about this.
He sighed. "Bakura?"
"Yes?"
"Do you want to come over? I have some leftover cake."
Bakura scoffed into the line. "Cake? Seriously, Tomb Keeper?"
Malik shrugged, even though Bakura could not see him. "Why not? It's my birthday. And I don't feel like going to sleep yet. I could use a bit of company."
"And you want me to come over?" He'd tried to sound sneering again.
"Well, you're the one I'm talking to right now. As far as I know, we're the only ones awake at this hour."
"I doubt that."
There was silence again, and Bakura was still not hanging up.
"So," Malik said, trying not to smirk. "Are you coming over?"
The exasperated huff from Bakura's side would have fooled no one. "Fine."
Malik grinned. "Cool. I'm on two-five-th-"
"I know where you live."
This time Malik rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."
"See you in a bit."
With that, the line finally went dead.
Malik chuckled to himself, but sobered up quickly. He had no idea what he had just signed himself into, but he guessed it would not be pleasant if it'd made Bakura so upset. Then he made a mental note not to call Bakura upset to his face, because this was something you simply did not do unless you had some sort of fervent death wish.
He put his helmet back on. He'd better not make Bakura wait outside—or, even worse, give him the time needed to break in.
He found a figure sitting on the front steps of his building, huddled in a corner where no light could reach him. Malik could not make out the face, but he recognized the mess of wild hair, unmistakably white despite the shadows. Thankfully, all locks and latches seemed to be in place; he was not sure if he should be glad or take this as another sign that something was wrong.
He turned off the engine and took his helmet off.
"Hey," the dark figure said when Malik rode off his bike.
"Hey," Malik greeted back. "How did you arrive here so fast?"
The figure shrugged.
Malik chuckled. "Okay, mystery man. Thanks for not breaking in, by the way." He reached into his pocket for his keys.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bakura getting to his feet and stepping to the side, presumably to give him the space needed to approach and unlock the door. The moment he stepped away from the threshold, the light of a streetlamp hit his face.
Malik glanced once, absent-mindedly at first. Then he did a double take and froze.
The kindest thing he could say was that Bakura was a mess. The left side of his face was red and swollen to the point where one of his eyes was barely visible; there was a nasty cut above his brow, where blood seemed to have just clotted over, and a multitude of smaller cuts on his nose and lips.
"Shit," Malik hissed.
Bakura looked away, but that just exposed more of his bruises.
Someone had beat him up. Someone had beat him up badly.
"What the- What?" Malik breathed, turning to better face Bakura.
By the look of annoyance on his face—as much of it as Malik could make out, anyway—he'd say the yami did not appreciate the attention. He kept his gaze decidedly away and buried his hands in his pockets.
"Just open the damn door, will you? There's no need to do this out in the cold," he snapped, and Malik saw that he hadn't imagined the hoarseness in his voice.
"What the fuck, Bakura," he breathed, but complied. He unlocked the door and held it open for the yami, unable to stop staring at his face.
Damn, those bruises were bad.
Bakura huffed and walked past him. Without waiting for an invitation, he started climbing the stairs. He seemed to know exactly to which floor and apartment door to go and Malik thought it better not to ask how. That was the least of his concerns right now.
He trailed behind Bakura, up the stairs to the first floor and to his door. He unlocked it, still unable to keep from glancing towards the yami's face, while Bakura simply stood, looking elsewhere and tapping his foot.
He opened the door and they both walked inside. The moment Malik turned on the lights, Bakura grimaced and covered his eyes.
Malik froze with his hand still on the switch. It was a weird thing to admit, but he was getting more worried by the second.
"Does the light bother you?" he asked.
Bakura lowered his hand. "It's the... It's..." He made a vague gesture around his head. "Can you turn it off? Or- I dunno. Dim it?"
"Sure," Malik mumbled. He turned off the main lights, but kept on the lamp in the corner. He left the backpack full of presents on the couch, to be sorted later, and gestured towards his apartment's small kitchen.
He placed the bag with the leftover cake on the kitchen table. After a second of contemplation, he turned on the light above the stove, just to break the darkness a bit.
Bakura slunk in behind him and dropped in a chair with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes, wincing a bit when he touched the bruises.
Malik watched him, taking in as much as he could in the feeble lighting.
Most of the damage was around Bakura's left eye; the brow and the cheekbone had taken the worst. This was not the result of single hit. Somebody had punched him repeatedly. And without holding back.
Damn. Just what had Bakura gotten his ass into? Had somebody assaulted him, or-?
He approached without thinking and tilted Bakura's chin up to better examine his face. The yami tried to jerk away, but the sudden movement seemed to be too much for him; a disoriented look glazed his eyes over and he immediately grabbed the table to stabilize himself.
Malik sighed. "Okay," he murmured to himself in a resigned sort of way.
He went to the freezer to look for ice. He did not have a pack, so he contemplated wrapping a few ice cubes in a towel. Then he noticed a bag of frozen peas in the back.
He handed it over to Bakura.
The yami eyed the peas first, then Malik.
"For your face," Malik explained in a tight voice. When Bakura did not move, he shook the bag. "Come on. Don't be a child."
Bakura scoffed but took the bag of peas.
The cut above his brow did not seem likely to open again, and Malik was not sure if he had a band-aid big enough for it, so he decided to let that pass for now. He leaned with his hip against the table, crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at Bakura, worrying the inside of his cheek.
"Okay," he repeated. "What is this?"
Bakura shrugged. "Concussion, I think."
Malik rolled his eyes. "That is not what I meant, but thanks." He huffed and took out his phone. A quick google search sent him to the cupboard to rummage around.
For the first time in his life, he was glad he was so prone to headaches: he had such a wide selection of painkillers it wasn't hard to find the right kind for Bakura's case. He placed a small box with pills on the table and proceeded to fill a glass with water.
"What-" Bakura started, but Malik cut across him.
"Drink it."
Bakura obeyed. He popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed it with a wince. The bag of peas was hiding the worst, but the rest of his face looked grisly in what little light could hit it. He was looking anywhere but Malik, shoulders curled inwards. The fingers of his free hand twitched and clawed at the table.
Malik sighed. It wasn't hard to see that Bakura was nervous. Probably ashamed, too, for accepting Malik's help—or company, or whatever. Even picking up the phone must not have been easy.
Bakura needed him to be kind. Not to freak out.
He sat down across from him and tried to tone down the look of concern on his face. "Okay," he said again, quietly. He kept his voice soothing, to show that he wouldn't press him to answer to anything he might not want to. "What happened?"
Bakura scoffed out a chuckle. "This?" he said, gesturing to his face and the bag of peas. "Just a normal day at work."
Malik tried to swallow down his apprehension.
What did he mean, work? Bakura had a job? And- what kind of job meant that it was normal to get beat up like this?
He opened his mouth, trying to figure out which question he wanted to make first. In the end, he just said, "What?"
Even with one eye visible, Bakura managed to give him a world-weary look. "My job, Tomb Keeper. Is this not what all of you humans do?"
"What- getting beaten up?"
"Working," Bakura growled.
"Yeah, but-" He paused. Regular jobs normally did not contain such a level—on any level—of violence. Unless he had an abusive boss, or-
Violent... clients.
This was getting worse the more Malik thought about it.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, feeling alarm pulsing in his throat.
Bakura sighed in a perfect display of boredom. "It's what I do now, Tomb Keeper. People pay me to fight. Earning a few hits is part of the deal."
"A few hits?" Malik echoed in disbelief. Then he shook his head. "What do you mean, fight? You beat people up to- why?"
"People place bets, I fight. It's that simple." Then Bakura smirked. "It's quite honest work, actually."
Malik blinked at him as he processed this. Gradually, a bit of his alarm abated and bewilderment took over.
Bets. Fighting.
No one but Bakura would have called something like that honest work. One the other hand, Malik guessed it was more honest than stealing, or being a hit man, or... whatever it was that Malik had initially expected. He wondered if that meant somebody had actually employed Bakura—although he had no idea where in Domino one could land such a job. Malik had not heard of such a place.
"So... You are talking about something like 'Fight Club' with bets?"
Bakura's one visible brow scrunched up. "What's a fightclub?"
"Never mind," Malik waved a hand. Trust Bakura to find the most obscure place of the city in less than a month. "Why would you even agree to that?"
Bakura shrugged. "It's a job."
Malik opened his mouth to ask if stealing wouldn't be simpler, but he stopped himself; did he really want to sound like he was condoning theft? Well. Compared to getting his face beaten up like this... Malik thought that yeah, he might prefer it if Bakura survived by stealing.
Oops. Maybe he wasn't as much of a neutral good as he'd thought.
And maybe Bakura couldn't really get by on stealing alone. Without the Ring, and without Zorc or shadow magic... Perhaps finding a job, any job, had been a necessity for him, King of Thieves or not.
Malik wondered if the money Bakura made from this were enough for him to make ends meet. He wondered if he had a decent place to stay. Hell, Malik would be willing to let him camp on his sofa if he needed to; perhaps even help him land a better job, or lend him some money. Bakura didn't have to keep doing this, he could-
"No," Bakura said sharply.
Malik blinked, perplexed.
Bakura breathed out hard, looking annoyed. "I can tell from your face what you're thinking, and stop it. I don't need help, I don't... I'm fine on my own."
Malik sighed. "Don't be stubborn. You don't have to do this, I can help-"
"No," Bakura said again, firmly. Then he huffed. He took the bag of peas off his face and glared at it; the sudden reveal of the bruises made Malik's stomach squirm. "Look, this was a bad idea," Bakura grunted, gesturing vaguely to the peas and the kitchen around him. "And- it's your birthday, I... I'd better get going."
He threw the bag on the table; the peas made a scrunching, grating sound, loud in the narrow space. He made to get up, but Malik stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Hey, don't, just- sit down. Please."
He met the yami's red glare. It was dark in the small kitchen—way too dark for Malik's taste—but the expression on Bakura's face was clear. He wasn't really annoyed; that was just a cover. He was unsure. He was disheartened. And he was definitely lonely. Malik couldn't bear to let him leave like this.
"Sit down," he said again, as gently as he could manage. "Let's- Let's eat some cake. Please. I promise I'll shut up."
Bakura glowered at him, but Malik did not let go of his arm.
Eventually, Bakura huffed and fell heavily back in his chair. For a couple of seconds he glared at nothing in particular. Then he grabbed the bag of peas and put it back on his face.
"This damn cake'd better be worth it," he growled.
Malik's lip curled. He took the box with the leftover birthday cake out of the bag and placed it between them. There wasn't much left, but it would be enough. He grabbed two spoons from the drawer next to him and slid one towards Bakura. "Here you go."
He cut a huge bite with the side of his spoon. Bakura mimicked him, sniffing at it before eating it.
"What is this?" he asked around his mouthful.
"Salted caramel."
"It's good."
Malik smiled and dug into the cake. "It sure is."
He decided against telling him that Yuugi and the pharaoh had made it. It'd be a shame to see him gag over such a nice dessert.
They munched in silence, Bakura rearranging the bag of peas on his face every now and then. Malik cringed every time he caught a glimpse of his injuries, but he refrained from saying more. He really didn't want to cause Bakura to bolt.
However, he couldn't help but worry. If it was up to him, he'd drive Bakura to a hospital right now, to check that concussion and all the other injuries that Bakura was undoubtedly hiding. He'd at least check if there was anything broken. Bandage him up properly.
He licked at his spoon, shaking his head to himself. He was fussing again. Ryou was right: he really was a mother hen.
...He wondered what Ryou would say if he knew about this.
Hell, scratch that—he wondered what Ryou would say if he saw Bakura right now. Surely he wouldn't be glad he'd gotten his face wrecked. He wasn't that vindictive—not really. He was the most compassionate person Malik knew. He was willing to bet that if he saw Bakura the way Malik saw him—if he saw his human side instead of the fucked-up Zorc version he'd gotten to know—then perhaps he would change his mind about him. At the very least, he would stop being so freaked out about having his yami back in the city.
He shook his head again. That would never happen. Ryou wouldn't even agree to be in the same room as Bakura, much less get to know his human side.
"The hell you're thinking about, Tomb Keeper?" Bakura asked. Malik blinked; the yami pointed his spoon at him, a chunk of cake still on it. "I can see you're thinking about something. Come on. Spit it out."
He'd leave Ryou out of this. Things were tense as it were.
"I'm just thinking that your face is a mess," Malik said.
Bakura shrugged and shoved his spoonful into his mouth. "Can't say you're wrong on that one."
"How did it happen?"
Bakura probably aimed for a nonchalant grimace, but it came out as a wince. "I was reckless. This guy mounted me and smashed my face in. Took a while before I managed to turn it around."
Malik set his spoon down, his stomach suddenly queasy. "The fuck..." he whispered, trying hard not to picture it.
Bakura shrugged again. "I won."
Malik shot him an incredulous look. "Your face looks like a raw steak and that's what you care about?"
Bakura scooped the last of the icing from the box and licked it off his spoon. "I've got a reputation to uphold."
"I'd worry about your brain being damaged from all that beating, but it seems you don't possess one," Malik grumbled. He gathered their dirty cutlery and threw it in the sink.
Bakura chuckled as he rummaged in his pockets. He set the bag of peas aside and started laying his smoking paraphernalia out in front of him.
Malik grimaced at the tobacco bag. Bakura noticed.
"Does this bother you?"
Malik would normally say yes, but having Bakura not only notice his disdain but also be polite about it was overkill. Plus, he couldn't deny him much when he looked like that.
"I'll just crack the window open," he said and stretched out to reach the latch; one good thing about living in such a small apartment meant everything was within reach almost at all times.
It was cold outside, and the kitchen turned chilly quickly, but Malik didn't care. He'd like to keep Bakura there as much as possible, mostly because he had no idea where he'd send him off to once the time came.
He watched the yami as he caught a filter tip between his lips and spread tobacco across a rolling paper. When he tried to roll it, he winced again. Malik squinted and noticed there was something like a gash running across the inside of the yami's fingers.
Α small hiss of pain escaped Bakura's lips; the thin paper crumpled and tobacco spilt outside. He took out a new piece of rolling paper.
Watching him struggle made Malik's chest feel strangely constricted.
"Are you still feeling dizzy?" he asked in a low voice.
Bakura shrugged.
"Do you want to stay here tonight?"
Bakura's hands paused for a second. Then he resumed his movements. He brought his newly rolled cigarette to his lips and licked across the paper to seal it.
He shook his head.
"Okay," Malik said quietly. "In any case... You can stay as much as you want."
Bakura lit his cigarette and took a drag. The tip glowed red for a long time.
"Thanks," he said gruffly.
Malik nodded. He rose to look in his cupboard for his bottle of whiskey. He poured a couple of inches for himself and sat back down.
The only thing that moved in his kitchen was the smoke from Bakura's cigarette, spectral in the half-light. Malik leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Sitting in a dark, cramped kitchen, keeping company to a badly-bruised yami wasn't what he'd expected of his twenty-ninth birthday. But hey. It wasn't so bad. Sharing the silence was nice. And he hadn't expected any of the things that had happened to him, but somehow... It had all worked out.
It wasn't bad at all.
"What the hell are you smirking at?" he heard Bakura growl.
Malik's grin widened. "Nothing."
.
.
.
.
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