Chapter 27: Send three monsters to the graveyard
Malik set the page down and looked up, his brows knit together. "What does this mean?"
Across from him, Ryou shrugged and brought his cigarette to his lips. From the page, his own handwritten words gazed up at him. He read a sentence upside down.
- lord and the god, the -east
Outside the window, the night was deep black ink, heavy with quiet. The whole city was subdued at these hours, the cars few and far between. Malik had left work scarcely ten minutes ago, and now he was sitting at Ryou's kitchen table, tired but alert. He tapped a finger on the page. "Bakura doesn't know, either?"
Ryou shook his head no and flicked some ash off his cigarette.
Malik hummed. "Can I send this to Ishizu?"
"Be my guest," Ryou replied, and Malik took out his phone to take a picture of Ryou's notes. "You think Atem will recognize it?"
It was Malik's turn to shrug. "We could show it to him, but if Bakura couldn't read it, then..." He trailed off.
In the silence that followed, Ryou took another deep inhale of smoke. Then another. "He agreed to meet Atem, you know. Bakura."
Malik's eyebrows shot so high upwards they hid under his blond bangs. "Really? He did? Yesterday he didn't even wanna hear it."
"Yeah, well," Ryou said simply. To his surprise, Malik smiled.
"I knew he'd agree to it if you asked him."
Ryou avoided his eyes. He took his time putting out his cigarette, twisting it against the bottom of the ashtray. "So. When should we have them meet?"
"Tomorrow?"
Ryou hesitated. "I think I'd be better if I met with Bakura tomorrow, to work on the Spellbook. While this thing's still fresh."
"Sunday, then."
"Alright. I'll call Yuugi to let him know, first thing in the morning."
"Cool." Malik rose and stretched, yawning deeply. "I should head home. Mariku's been alone for at least—" he checked his phone, "eight hours. Shit."
"He'll probably be sleeping."
"Yeah. Maybe." Malik put on his jacket, yawning again and rubbing his eyes. The eyeliner on his right eye smudged, turning into a black blur that still, somehow, suited him. Malik could really pull off anything. "I'll take a better look at it tomorrow morning," he said. He was at the door when he turned around to look at Ryou again. "You should get some sleep, too. It's past three, you know."
Ryou let out a short, quiet laugh. "I doubt I'll get much sleep tonight."
"You really should, though. Don't you have work in the morning?"
But Ryou was already lighting another cigarette and pulling the page towards him. He sat back onto his chair with the page in his hands; the cigarette, balanced on his lips, was sending up a thin, meandering ribbon of smoke.
Bakura was lying on his bed. The only light in the room was that of his phone screen, and what little illumination managed to creep in through his window. His eyes were so focused on the picture in his phone that everything beyond it and around him was a deep, solid black.
Ryou's handwriting glowed up at him through the screen. He had read the thing so many times he could recite it by heart.
The void - the -ness beyond
-thing above, and everything be(low?)
Ryou's hair curling against the nape of his neck. Brown eyes looking almost black in the light of his living room. Lips pale, slightly parched, closing around his cigarette, pink on white.
Bakura huffed and let his phone drop; it landed on his chest, face-down, its light abruptly hidden. He blinked in the sudden darkness until the furniture in his room took shape again.
He could make no sense of them, but the words seemed distantly familiar. Not in a concrete, definable way, but more like a small twinge in the back of his mind, like a memory that had once existed but had since faded.
When he went to sleep, the words followed him, echoing dimly through his dream. At least, that was what he thought. He wasn't sure. They were not words in clear Japanese, like Ryou's notes. Instead, they were a hum, every now and then turning into a chant, whenever the wind happened to carry the sound to him. And the chant was... Shadows swirling. Nothing a human tongue could produce. But then how could Bakura hear it?
He woke up, sweating, at 6:30 am. On his bed stand, a bottle held a couple last mouthfuls of vodka. He downed them without much thought, turned on his other side and went back to sleep.
In the morning, Ryou made an extra strong cup of coffee and dug up a concealer from the depths of a drawer. It was an old thing Malik had once bought him, as a gift, and which Ryou had only used it once or twice. He suspected it was way past its expiration date, but his eyes looked so ghastly he didn't care. He couldn't show up at work like this. The skin under his eyes had the color of a fresh, nasty bruise; his eyelids dragged like sandpaper.
He did his best with the concealer, even though he was under the impression it didn't make him look any better. Then he took his phone out. It was 8:00 a.m. Yuugi should be awake at this hour; he might even be on his way to work. Ryou gave him a call.
Yuugi was indeed on his way to work; when he answered, he sounded bad-tempered, almost angry. When Ryou asked him, he said everything was alright, so Ryou didn't press further.
"Bakura agreed to meet you," he said. "All of you. Atem, too."
"Oh." Yuugi was clearly taken aback. "That was... Faster than I thought. He didn't give you any trouble, did he?"
"No. So, do you want us to come over tomorrow?"
"Uh—No. No, not tomorrow. I can't, I've got a business... thing. You know what? Let me check in with Atem and... We'll see. I'll text you once I... Yeah. I'll let you know."
Yuugi could text Atem and inform him about Bakura. He could even call him. He did neither. He decided to tell Atem once he saw him that night; it would serve as a good conversation starter. With a bit of luck, he might get Atem to talk to him for more than thirty seconds.
That morning, Atem had left for the bookstore with hardly a glance to Yuugi, and Yuugi was going crazy. He could not understand what he had done wrong. And, even more frustratingly, Atem refused to acknowledge that something was wrong.
Yuugi ate no lunch. The mere idea of food made him nauseous. His stomach, his gut, lungs, and all his internal organs felt upside down.
He wanted to call Atem. He wanted it more than anything. Or, no—scratch that. He wanted to walk out of his office and call a cab and go to the bookstore, grab Atem, drag him outside and shout, or even punch him, grab his shoulders and shake him, scream, anything. Anything. Hug him, and breach that distance. Squeeze until Atem's cold façade cracked. Yuugi couldn't—
He couldn't think of anything else. His thoughts were a train going along the same tracks, again, again, again. Atem, Anzu, Atem, the dinner, Atem, the divorce, Atem, his mother, Atem. Atem, Atem, Atem. How could the same person cause him so much joy and so much anguish at once?
After work, Yuugi walked to the dry cleaner's to pick up his good suit. When the man handed it to him, Yuugi looked at the grey fabric in a daze. It was his suit, but it didn't feel right. Such a thing couldn't be his. A grey suit. Virgin wool, handstitched details, tailored to fit him like a glove. This wasn't right. It wasn't him.
He paid for it with his credit card—Yuugi Mutou, bank account overflowing with yen, world-renowned King of Games, lies lies lies. Not him. This couldn't be it.
He walked back home in a daze. He didn't think of taking a cab, despite the cold. He walked in the elevator in a daze. Unlocked his door in a daze. It took him a moment to realize the apartment was dark, empty. Atem was not there. But he should have gotten off work hours ago. He should be there.
Yuugi turned on the lights. He left his suit on the leather couch, grey on black. His kitchen felt too white and shiny, all clear-cut surfaces, straight lines and angles and reflections. He saw himself looking back at him in a polished cabinet panel. His blonde and black hair seemed out of place. His violet eyes belonged to another person, a person who lived in a bedroom above a games' shop: a room with a slanted roof and popping colors, with games bursting out of of every shelf.
He looked around. He couldn't recognize that place, and he couldn't recognize the person that stood in the middle of it all, wearing his shoes and his face. It was all wrong.
He needed to leave. A small voice inside him reminded him that he had to rest, to get ready for tomorrow's exceedingly important dinner, but he could barely recall why it was important. Maybe it was important to the guy with the grey suit and the leather couch and the polished kitchen. It wasn't important to the kid in the room with the slanted roof.
He had to go. He didn't know where. Just go.
He turned on his heel and walked out, right back in the elevator. As he glided down the seven floors, he took his phone out of his coat pocket. Jounouchi might help.
The moment he was out in the street, he tapped the call button. He was walking fast, the sidewalk tiles slipping by quickly, pools of light coming and going. The steady beep of the phone in his ear was almost as lough as his breathing until, abruptly, the little device came alive with Jounouchi's voice. "Hey, Yuug."
"Hey, Jou." Yuugi realized in that moment that he had no idea why he had called him. He only felt a vague desire to see him, or Honda, or even Ryou. Someone from before—from the before that was realer than the now.
The silence probably went on for too long, because Jounouchi asked, "What's up?"
"Can I come over?" Yuugi blurted out, breathless, still walking fast with no idea where he was going.
"Uhh... I'm not at home. I'm out—with Seto."
"Oh." Part of Yuugi had hoped that Atem would be with Jounouchi. He hadn't realized it fully up until that moment, when he felt disappointment settle heavy against his ribs. Where the hell was Atem, if not with Jou? He hadn't even left a note. "Have you—have you talked to Atem?" he said, his voice sounding weirdly shrill. His thoughts churned around the name.
"No. Why?"
"No reason."
"Hey, Yuug... Is everything alright? You don't sound so—"
"Yeah. No, it's fine. I just—I was wondering if you felt up for some company. But since that's settled, then—" He didn't even know what he was saying. Words fell out of his mouth while his mind was elsewhere.
"Yeah, um—Wanna...Wanna come over?"
The hesitation in his voice would have made Yuugi say no. In any other given moment, he would have taken the hint. But not now.
"Where are you?"
It turned out Jounouchi and Kaiba were in one of those fancy, exclusive restaurants that only guys like Kaiba could afford. Or like Yuugi. He would be in a very similar restaurant in less than twenty-four hours, with Anzu next to him pretending to be his loving wife, and another rich couple sitting across from them. Wine glasses glinting on the table between them. Silver forks clattering.
Yuugi stood outside, looking at the sign above the door. The doorman was looking at him with polite expectancy.
Walking in right now sounded worse than being alone. He took his phone out again.
To: Jou, 20:06
Hey, I changed my mind. I'm going home. Thanks for the invite, have fun
He walked for hours. No destination. He walked until his legs burned and his awful, expensive shoes dug into the skin of his heels. He kept checking his phone, waiting for a text that never came. Minutes passed and fell around him, like the plucked petals of daisy. Should I call him? Should I not call him?
He didn't call him. He wasn't stupid. He could tell Atem didn't want to see him, so Yuugi wouldn't force him to see or talk to him.
The city was harsh, colors upon colors, everything glaringly intense. At least the city was real. Some streets had changed, but some were the same he had walked in his youth. The same buildings still stood. The neighborhood corners knew him. He had sat on those stairs with Jounouchi and Honda after school. He had gone for walks in that park with Anzu. He had played a card game in this street during Battle City. Had waited for hours outside this shop for a rare card.
Somehow, he reached his old school. He saw the tall white walls rise in front of him, its windows dark, reflecting the light like tens of blind eyes. The parking lot yawned, empty.
Yuugi laid a hand on one of the bars of the fence, feeling its cold bite into his palm. He still felt so tiny, standing in front of the entrance. Those walls held so much inside. Wonders. Secrets. Atem whispering comments in Yuugi's mind during history class. The Millennium Puzzle clacking against the desk as Yuugi rose to give his homework to the teacher. Jounouchi running to the cafeteria.
This was him. The boy in the room with the slanted roof, in the tiny school uniform. In the leather vest. In the dueling glove. Gods. Back then, he couldn't wait to walk out of the walls of this school, into the vast world beyond. He remembered standing on the rooftop, seeing the horizon stretch without end in all directions, beyond the buildings, the city, the country, all roads leading to adventure. Now, he would give anything to be back inside those walls. The world outside felt narrow, meager, less sparkling with wonders; less capable to sink into his skin.
He wanted himself back. He had gotten Atem back. So maybe... Maybe he could get this back, too. Yuugi. Not The Yuugi Mutou. Just Yuugi.
What would it take to get him back? What was the sacrifice he had to make? Send three monsters to the graveyard. He smiled at nothing, gripping the railing harder. If only it was as simple as sacrificing three monsters, he would do it in a heartbeat. This, at least, he knew how to do.
He lifted his head. Above, clouds swirled low. The familiar angle of the school rooftop jutted into the sky. He pictured the kid that had walked out of these doors, day after day, years ago. He tried to picture himself as that kid. What would he do?
He would go back home. Get some sleep. Tackle tomorrow like a duel. After that was over, everything would be easier.
No. That was what the grownup Yuugi would do, not the kid in the tiny school uniform and the leather vest. The kid would run. Not run away; just run, to new horizons, new streets, new challenges. Grab his friends and run. Grab Atem and run—grab him by the wrist and tug until his king's stoicism cracked and he burst out laughing.
Then again, the kid wouldn't know why he ought not to run. That was the thing about being a kid: the word responsibility was still blurry, and not as heavy.
So, for better or for worse, adult Yuugi knew what he had to do. He had to go home, rest, and tackle tomorrow like a duel. Then, maybe, everything would be easier.
When he walked in his dark apartment for the second time in the same evening, something was different. Atem's shoes were on the shoe rack; his coat was hanging by the door. The rest of the apartment looked the same. Dark, foreign. Quiet.
Yuugi tiptoed along the corridor that led to the bedrooms. Atem's door was closed. Yuugi pressed his ear against the door, holding his breath.
No sounds. Atem was probably asleep already.
Yuugi waited there for a minute or so; after a while he forgot to even listen in. He simply stood, leaning against the door, barely daring to breathe. Then some higher force convinced him to stop being an idiot and go to bed, so he pushed himself off Atem's door and went to his room.
Ryou spent most of his day at work thinking about the spell—he had come to refer to it as spell in his head, because what else could it be? Its lines flitted in and out of focus as he folded shirts and hung pants, until the whole thing became an incessant background hum. When break time came, he ran upstairs to the staff room and fished his notepad out of his bag. He sat down on the bench, not registering the coworker that greeted him, and started scribbling hastily on a page.
It was insane but, for the first time, he could not wait to see Bakura. He had to show his 'theory' to him, see what the yami would have to say about it.
After clocking out, Ryou practically ran home. Puddles from last day's rain persisted on the streets, gleaming like melting copper under the setting sun. When Ryou arrived at his street, huffing and panting and with a sharp pain throbbing like a stab under his ribs, he saw a familiar white head waiting at the entrance of his apartment building. Clad in black, as usual, with a thin cloud of smoke about him, Bakura was sitting on the front step, a shadow among the shadows of dusk.
The yami noticed him at once and got to his feet. To save face, as Ryou approached he made an effort to breathe more evenly—or, at the very least, to stop wheezing so pathetically. He didn't achieve much, but Bakura did not comment on it. All he said was a quiet, nearly timid, "Hey."
"Hey," Ryou replied, amid barely held-back gasps for air. He took out his keys to unlock the door.
"Take a moment to catch your breath. No need to hurry," Bakura said.
Ryou avoided looking at him. "I'm fine." He put the right key in the lock and turned it determinedly.
Once upstairs—via the stairwell, sadly, since the elevator was still out of service—Ryou made a beeline for the kitchen. "Want something to drink?"
"Coffee's fine," Bakura said.
Ryou put some water in the kettle and a couple of spoonfuls of instant coffee in a mug. Then he reached a short glass for him and took the vodka out of the freezer. Two inches of vodka for him, boiled water and sugar in the mug for Bakura. Ryou took both the glass and the mug to the living room, where the yami was already sitting in his usual spot. He pushed the mug towards Bakura, took a seat on the carpet, and reached for his cigarettes.
Bakura made no move to take his mug. He was looking at Ryou, red eyes like dim rubies under the shadow of his brows.
Ryou lit his cigarette and took a drag. The smoke hissed out of his mouth as he returned Bakura's look. "What?"
"Isn't it a bit early for drinking?" Bakura said.
Ryou looked away. A number of replies flicked through his head, but in the end he said, "That's none of your business." After all, it was six in the afternoon. That wasn't too early.
Balancing his cigarette between his lips, Ryou reached for his bag and took out his notes. Before Bakura had the chance to say anything else, Ryou said, "I wanna show you something." He put the page with the fragmented spell under the yami's nose and pointed at the second line. "Look. This line looks a lot like this one," he pointed at the sixth line. "The first one says: -thing above, and everything be-, and it's kinda safe to assume that the last word was below, I think. Sounded a lot like it. And then, the other line says: Everything a- -low. I think they're the same line. The same thing, repeated."
Bakura took the page in his hands. "You mean...?"
Ryou took an excited drag of his cigarette. "Combine the two. The result is: Everything above and everything below. It fits. And it makes plenty of sense, honestly. Sounds like something that would belong in a spell."
Bakura was staring at the page as if it was the most troubling thing he had ever seen. "Yeah..." he said, slowly. "How did you come up with that?"
"I was thinking about it all day. At some point it just clicked. After I'd been repeating it in my head for hours."
"Hm."
Ryou, his cigarette perched between his lips, pointed even more excitedly at a line further down. "And—look at that!" Line eighteen read, Everything above, and -ing below. "See? It's the same line! It has to be!"
"Everything above and everything below," Bakura recited in a murmur. "But... Repeated three times? Why?"
"Repeated lines are common in spells and invocations. Repeat strengthens the power of the words."
Bakura looked at Ryou, plainly impressed. His yami dazzled gaze made Ryou shift in his seat. He reached for his glass and took a steadying sip of vodka.
"Keeping that logic in mind," Ryou went on, "it's safe to assume that more lines are repeated. And the best candidates are the lines just before the ones we just deciphered. Look." He pointed at lines one, five, and seventeen. "They're pretty fragmented, but if you combine the words we have—"
"The void I am, and the darkness beyond," Bakura read, his voice hushed. This time, when he looked at Ryou, there was such pure astonishment on the yami's face that Ryou couldn't help but return the look straight on. "That's it."
They looked at each other for a motionless, suspended moment. Bakura's eyes looked like liquid blood, the light from the overhead lamp shimmering on their surface. Then he moved with startling swiftness, grabbing the Spellbook pages off the coffee table and flipping through them until he found the page they had been working on: page seven.
"Look," he said, pointing at the symbol on the top of the page.
Ryou recognized it at once. "Zorc's symbol."
"Remember what I'd told you? This means Zorc, yes, but it also means void, and—"
"—Darkness, and everything in between. I remember," Ryou said. He peered at the page. He thought he knew where his yami was going with that. Sure enough, just a few swirls and blots of ink further, the symbol was repeated; it was easy to make it out after all the time he had spent picking it apart from the rest. "It is repeated."
"The void I am and the darkness beyond. Basically, that's just a fancy way of saying I am Zorc," Bakura said. "The words fit with the symbols on the page. They match."
"So, this is the translation. The translation of this page. We have it." Ryou couldn't believe the words even as he said them. He felt lightheaded with the shock of realization.
Silence fell. They both stared at the page, which quavered in Bakura's hand.
"Holy shit," Bakura murmured.
Ryou agreed wholeheartedly. He reached for his vodka glass again and drank, the alcohol filling his mouth with pinpricks.
Bakura outstretched a hand. "Give me a sip."
Ryou arched an eyebrow, taking his time to swallow. "Oh, so it's not too early for drinking?" The yami glowered at him, but there was no real animosity behind the look. Ryou handed him the glass. "Keep it. I'll pour another one." Of course he would; he was not going to share a glass with Bakura, for fuck's sake. He had said it time and time again: they were not Yuugi and Atem.
Ryou poured himself a new glass of vodka and returned to the living room. For a while nobody spoke. Bakura rolled a cigarette; Ryou lit another one.
"So."
"So."
"We have the translation, huh?"
"Part of it. Yes."
"Should we worry about how this translation got into my head—and yours?"
Ryou remember hearing whispers, and a child crying, and Bakura's breathing over and under it all. He remembered that moment out of time, where Bakura had felt like the only gravitational spot in the whole universe, pulling Ryou towards him, making the whispers louder, louder. His pulse turning quick, then frantic, then Bakura collapsing on the floor—and Ryou wasn't sure which had come first. His heart hadn't seem to calm down for hours afterwards.
He shrugged. "I've had weirder things happen to me."
Bakura couldn't help grinning. "Like hosting the spirit of the Dark Lord?"
"Yeah. Among other things," Ryou said. He found that there was no malice in his voice. "Let's keep working."
It was mostly guesswork, and following hunches. 'This word looks like it would logically follow that one', and 'this is probably a repeat of this', and lots of cigarettes. By the time midnight rolled around, the ashtrays in Ryou's living room were overflowing, and the piece of paper between him and Bakura read:
The void I am, and the darkness beyond
Everything above, and everything below
(I?) blind -all-seeing, I shackle the -
I silence the ruler, - discard
The void I am, and the darkness beyond
Everything above, and everything below
The one (that is) hatred, the one that (is) (brief?)
(The one that) is malice, (the one) that is greed
(The?) lord and the god, the (?) -east
I am He, and so -
My scattered (remains) I summon (and) (call?)
(My) scattered remains (I)-
(Where?) -blood touched -shall (land?)
Where - touched light, - shall -
If flesh persists, itself -
Darkness - bear its -
The void I am, and the darkness beyond
Everything above, and everything below
(My) scattered (remains) I (summon) and (call?)
My (scattered) remains I hank- (fond?)
"Okay, I'm beat," Ryou said, setting his pencil down with finality. Bakura's eyes looked redder than usual, after having rubbed them again and again, and he seemed unable to open his eyelids all the way. For a while, they both sat back on their seats, their brains foggy with exhaustion. The couch was inviting; if Bakura wasn't already sitting there, Ryou would crawl to it, lie down and immediately go to sleep.
Bakura was looking at the couch cushions with longing, probably thinking the same thing. "I think I'll call a cab," he mumbled. "Don't wanna walk."
Ryou forced himself to sit up and shake the drowsiness off. "I talked to Yuugi about you meeting with Atem."
"Oh." That seemed to wake the yami up a bit. "And?"
"He said he'll let me know when they're available."
"Fine, I guess." Bakura got to his feet and stretched. His hoodie rode up on his belly, revealing a pale strip of toned muscles. Ryou looked away from the exposed skin, down to his own hands. He looked back up only when he deemed it was safe to do so—meaning, when Bakura said, "Same time tomorrow?"
"Um—" Ryou looked away again when he caught Bakura's gaze. "Sure. We are making progress, so..." He shrugged.
"Okay. Um... See you tomorrow."
As Bakura put on his leather jacket and boots, Ryou noticed him throwing glances his way, quick, hidden behind his bangs. Uncertainty was written all over his body stance. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but was thinking twice about it.
"What is it?" Ryou said.
"Huh?"
"I can see you want to say something. So say it."
"Oh. Um." Bakura stopped hunching over his boots and stood upright. He brushed his bangs away from his face, looking off to the side. "It's just—Um..." He put one hand in his jacket pocket, as if to pull out something. Ryou's body went taut. Was it a weapon? Was he about to attack him? Knock him unconscious and search his house at his leisure? Finish the job?
Bakura's eyes found Ryou's. For a few endless seconds, they looked at each other, standing taut and tense, feet rooted to the floor. Bakura's mouth was a tight, hesitant line. The fist in his pocket seemed to clench, but nothing else moved.
Ryou wasn't sure why, but for a second, a split second, he thought he saw Bakura's face take the expression he had when Ryou had found him in his room, reading his letters. That face. Stricken. Terrified. Pained, maybe. The expression flicked over Bakura's face, like a spasm, and was stifled almost immediately. Bakura licked his lips, and the expression was gone. The red eyes looked away.
"Nothing, just—Take some rest. See you tomorrow." With a vague wave of his hand, he turned around, opened the door, and left.
Yuugi had been this terrified only three times in his life. One, when Otogi's father had smashed the Puzzle and Yuugi had had to reassemble it while the building was on fire; when he had grabbed white hot piece after white hot piece with blistering fingers, thinking that he couldn't lose Atem like this; not like this. Two, back in Kaiba's Duel Tower, during the Battle City semifinals. Jounouchi had collapsed while dueling with Malik's yami and, for a horrible, horrible while, everyone had thought the worst. And three, right now, this day, today: this clear, chilly Sunday. The sun was shining, distant and crisp, the sky was a frigid blue, and Yuugi was terrified.
He woke up disoriented, wondering why his heart beat so fast, why his stomach was a tight ball of panic. It took him roughly three seconds to remember, and then dread hit him like a thundershock.
He checked his phone. 10:28. In less that nine hours, he would be sitting at a restaurant table with Anzu next to him.
He should have said no, back when his boss had asked him. He should have refused. He kept telling himself that, even though he was perfectly aware that he couldn't have done that; he had not really been given an option.
And Atem. Dear god, Atem. Yuugi hadn't seen him in more than twenty-four hours—as if they weren't living in the same house.
The thought propelled Yuugi to his feet. Once he was out of his room, he halted. Atem's door was open. The room inside was empty, the bed already made.
Atem couldn't have left already. He didn't have to go to work today. And if Yuugi went another twenty-four hours without seeing him or exchanging a word with him, he would go crazy.
Clenching his jaw, Yuugi stomped down the hallway, ready to march outside in his socks and pyjamas, if need be, and look for Atem out in the streets. But there was no need. Atem was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug between his palms.
At the sight, Yuugi stopped as if struck. He stared, taking him in: the messy, glorious hair, the red gaze, the angles of his face. Atem looked up at him and, for a moment, dread stopped squeezing Yuugi's throat. Atem was there, in the kitchen, in the flesh. Not gone.
Then Yuugi noticed how closed off the yami's face was, how tightly set his mouth, how stiff his shoulders. "Good morning, Yuugi," Atem said, with no smile to soften the words.
The tight feeling returned to Yuugi's throat, his chest, his stomach. "Hey," he said. He walked to the coffee pot, which was, blessedly, half-full. "Thanks for making coffee."
"Don't mention it." Atem's tone was gentle, but there was a small gap at the end of his sentence, an emptiness that hovered in the air for a while—the space that, in better days, would have been filled by the word aibou.
Yuugi poured himself some coffee and sat down across from Atem. A second ticked by, then two, then ten. Nobody spoke, nobody drank their coffee. When he could take it no longer, Yuugi lifted his cup to his lips, took a sip and said with fake carelessness, "Hard day at work yesterday?"
Atem's brows drew together. "Why are you asking?"
Yuugi shrugged. "You weren't home until late. I assumed you had to work overtime."
"Oh. Um... Not really. I just went for a walk. After work."
"Huh."
Silence, again. Yuugi drank his coffee, trying to swallow down the urge to point out that Atem could have at least left a note, or sent a text, or even invited Yuugi along.
"Did you work overtime?" Atem asked. When Yuugi gave him a confused look, Atem said, "You weren't home until late, either."
"Uh. I also went for a walk. After work."
"Oh, good."
They both were looking away from each other: Atem off to the side, Yuugi at his cup. And Yuugi had no idea what was happening. Why the hell this was happening. He almost opened his mouth to ask, then realized he had no fortitude for such a conversation. He could see his grey suit on the couch, where he had left it the previous night, a constant presence on the edge of his vision.
He glanced at his naked ring finger. He would have to wear his wedding ring tonight, too. Good thing he hadn't left it back at the bar that night, the way he had been tempted to do.
"So," Yuugi said. "Tonight I'm gonna leave around six. I'm not sure when I'll be back."
"Oh, that's right. The dinner."
"Right."
Atem was not looking at him. He was tapping an absent rhythm on the sides of his mug, gazing at the general direction of the microwave. Yuugi was torn between wanting to scream and wanting to drag himself back to bed and sleep through this whole accursed day.
Then something shifted. Atem smiled, his fingers stilling around the mug. Slowly, as if uncertain, he turned to Yuugi. "Everything's gonna go great. I know it. I'm sure you'll make the best impression."
Yuugi gaped. He didn't know whether that was empty reassurance or not. "Um... Thanks. I'm not so certain myself, but—"
"You should be. You have a gift. People can't help but love you. So, I'm sure you're gonna blow them away."
In any other given moment, Yuugi's heart would have soared at having Atem tell him this, with this smile, and this soft gaze. But there was an undercurrent of something like dishonesty, or bitterness, or something. Something. Yuugi couldn't bring himself to smile back. "I'm not sure I can go there and pretend that everything's fine between Anzu and me," he said.
Atem hesitated. "Maybe you won't have to pretend."
"What do you mean?"
"If you think about it... You've been friends since forever. You still love each other, no matter what, right? Maybe you could—you could tap into that."
The weird undercurrent got stronger. Something about Atem's smile was off. Or maybe it was just Yuugi.
"Yeah... Maybe," Yuugi said. He drank his coffee. At least, Atem was talking to him. That was good. Not just good: it was great. And, after the dinner, once that ridiculous weight would be off Yuugi's shoulders, he would sit down and have a straightforward, honest conversation with his yami. He would ask what the hell had been going on for the past few days, why the hell Atem had been acting so weird, why—
Atem pushed his chair back and got to his feet. He left his empty cup in the dishwasher and turned to smile at Yuugi again; a vague, impersonal smile. "So. Best of luck tonight. I'll probably see you afterwards. If not—"
"Wait, what do you mean?" Yuugi got to his feet too, his chair scraping the floor. "Where are you going?"
"Uh—The bookstore. Mr Sakamoto said—"
"It's Sunday. The bookstore is closed."
"Yes, but Mr Sakamoto invited me over to play Senet. And a couple more old games he acquired recently."
"And you have to go today?" Yuugi's fists were clenched. He couldn't explain why, but having Atem leave to play games on a day like this felt like a slap to the face. It felt personal.
"Well—" Atem looked away. "It's the only day the bookstore is closed."
"Yeah, cause it's flooding with customers during the week, and you couldn't possibly play a game then." The sarcasm sounded foreign to Yuugi's ears. He didn't normally do this. He was never sarcastic, or derisive; it wasn't him. But this wasn't Atem, either. This situation was fundamentally wrong.
Atem stood, looking at him—at least he had the decency to look at him. If he was taken aback by Yuugi's tone, he didn't show it. His face was impossibly impassive. "I'm sorry, Yuugi," he said. Calmly. Detached. He walked past Yuugi, out of the kitchen, to the coat rack.
In his mind's eye, Yuugi saw himself running after Atem; stopping him; grabbing him by the shoulders and holding him there. In the real world, he saw Atem put his coat on, open the door, and leave.
Minutes ticked by. Hours. Yuugi was sitting on the couch, the grey suit draped over the cushions behind his back. His gaze was on the glass wall across from him, on the setting sun; the glittering buildings, their flashing windows; the sky turning from blue to violet. And a deeper violet. And deeper still.
His wedding ring was in his hands, spinning in his restless fingers, rotating, flipping over, around and around and over again. Yuugi was not looking at it. He was not really looking at anything. He was not really thinking, and he was thinking of everything at once.
His phone wasn't ringing. He had hoped it would ring. He didn't know why.
He was wondering what would happen if he didn't show up at the restaurant. He had no answer. He knew he wouldn't do it anyway. He would show up, because he had to. He was Yuugi Mutou. Yuugi fucking Mutou. World-renowned King of Games, successful game designer, and gaming celebrity. He knew what he had to do.
He put his wedding ring on. It slipped easily in its place, as if it had never left. He got to his feet, not letting out the sigh that was building in his chest, and picked up his suit. The protective plastic crinkled as he took it off, and the smooth grey fabric looked at him, pristine and flawless. He took it to his room.
Dressing didn't take long. A new white shirt, buttoned up all the way, and his fancy silver cufflinks. Blue tie around his neck, striped, silk. Then there was the issue of his hair. Maybe dyeing his bangs blond again had been a stupid decision. Black was much more business-appropriate.
He took a hair tie and tied it back in as neat a ponytail as possible. A tuft rebelled against him, insisting on slipping out of the hair tie and over his forehead. After a few tries, he let it be. There was nothing to be done about it.
He did the laces of his stiff leather shoes and put his suit jacket on. He couldn't tell who the person in the mirror was; maybe he would recognize him, had the eyes been brighter. Then again, maybe this was the real him. The person he would be, had the Puzzle never come to him. Or had Atem not returned from the dead. The real Yuugi Mutou. Distinguished Japanese businessman, with a fine job, and a fine house, and a fine wife.
He put his overcoat and got out of his apartment. Out on the street, he hailed a cab and gave Anzu's address to the driver.
Anzu was nothing sort of breathtaking. Full length glittering blue gown, diamonds around her neck. Yuugi recognized the necklace: he had gifted it to her, on their first anniversary. Her hair was up in a bun, highlighting her dancer's grace, making her whole presence magnetic. It was easy to see what had drawn Yuugi so much to her, what would charm anyone with two eyes and a heart.
"Hey," she said as she slipped in the cab. She gave him a bright smile.
Yuugi felt like a teenager next to her, clumsy and awkwardly adorned, trying to fit in with the adults. He smiled it away. "Hi." He gave the name of the restaurant to the driver, and they started moving.
It was the best restaurant in the city. One couldn't get a reservation, unless one was someone important, someone known, someone distinguished in one way or another. In the Capitol of Gaming, Yuugi Mutou was more than a household name: he was up there with Seto Kaiba, the two most famous people to ever come out of Domino—which meant he could have whatever table he liked and demand the best service available.
Yuugi hadn't really picked the table. His boss had. It was next to the high windows, with a glorious view of the city, and separated by the rest of the tables with two steps, a platform, and a white baluster.
Yuugi and Anzu were there first, so they took their seats on one side of the table, leaving the two chairs across from them for their guests. Anzu looked around, her shoulders drawing up towards her ears as she giggled quietly.
"I feel so out of place in here."
"You don't look out of place," Yuugi said.
She turned to give him a smile. "Thanks. But I really do feel like it."
Yuugi didn't speak. He looked at the array of silver forks and spoons next to his plate. His hand rested awkwardly next to them, his fingernails looking terribly unpolished. He had forgotten about nails. He should have made a manicure appointment.
"You look great, by the way," Anzu said.
Yuugi turned to her, taken aback. "Thank you," he heard himself say. "Not as good as you."
"Oh!" Anzu looked down at her dress. "Yeah, I was looking for an excuse to wear this. I bought it in New York, but I never got the chance to wear it."
"It's lovely."
"Thank you."
Yuugi noticed a couple looking at him, a few tables away; the man nudged his date with his elbow, nodding towards Yuugi, none too discreetly. He looked awe-struck. Yuugi turned away, to gaze out of the great glass window next to him.
The city was sprawled before his eyes, glittering and vast. One of these million lights was the bookstore where Atem was right now. He wondered if he could spot it. This one single glowing spot, tiny, buried under all the rest. He tried to tell apart the main neighborhoods of Domino, just to give himself a chance to locate the street, or at least the block Atem was in. Perhaps Atem could feel him searching for him. Feel Yuugi looking, from miles away, way high up, on the thirtieth floor or a tower, sitting in a restaurant full of chatter and the clatter of china, looking out the window towards him. Thinking of him.
Would Atem care, if he knew?
He thought of Atem correcting himself every time he was about to utter the word aibou. He thought of him curling away from Yuugi on Jounouchi's couch, drawing his legs close to him. And of his face, stone cold and smooth like a statue, saying again and again that no, nothing was wrong. As if Yuugi couldn't tell he was lying. They had shared a soul for years; Atem couldn't hope to fool him so easily.
Two nights ago they had stood by Yuugi's window, looking at the city much like Yuugi was doing now. For a moment, Atem had spoken to him in the old, familiar way: with soft assurance, and the rumble of an affection Yuugi had only heard whenever Atem was talking to him, and him alone.
In Yuugi's mind, Atem was inextricably connected with that voice. He had heard it in his head, whispering during school hours. He had heard it in dreams, and every time he awoke. He had heard it being spoken out of his own mouth. That voice had echoed through his bones, thrummed in his veins, hummed in his fingertips. Even if Yuugi were deaf and blind, he would recognize that voice from the way it made the air quiver.
If someone told Yuugi that Atem would never talk to him like that again—that, from now on, Atem's voice would have the same hue whether it talked to Yuugi or to any other person, Yuugi would have laughed. He would have called them crazy. He would have said that it was impossible.
He had gone through the pain of saying goodbye to Atem and living without him, with his shadow haunting him in both good and bad ways. But this was an entirelly different kind of pain. Sharper, cutting deep; it had no sweetness, no warmth. It was blunt, straight-forward. Like having Anzu tell him you are nothing like him, like realizing she had not been in love with him, like holding the divorce papers in his hands. But worse. Much worse, in a way he couldn't explain. He would go through all the fights with Anzu, all the tears, the slamming doors, the unanswered calls, the lonely nights, the bleak mornings, the black hair, the pitiful looks, the whispering, the gossip, the paperwork, everything, everything, he would do it all over if it meant he would get to hear Atem speak in the voice he reserved only for him, and see him smile, and feel the realness of his heartbeat. He would go through a lifetime of torment for it, and he wouldn't care.
"Hey, Yuugi... Is everything okay?" Anzu's voice.
Yuugi turned around to look at her. He had momentarily forgotten she was sitting next to him. "Um—yeah, yeah. Totally. Yeah. Why are you asking?"
"You are looking outside the window kinda intensely. Did something happen?"
Yeah, my yami has been avoiding me for days and it makes me want to rip my heart out of my chest. "No, everything's fine," he said.
"Well, I hope so, cause I think they're here."
Yuugi followed her gaze and saw the hostess leading a couple to their table and showing them up the steps with a bow. A man in a suit climbed the steps, a man Yuugi had seen in pictures and through screens during video calls: a gentleman in his sixties, tall and square, with greying hair and lines framing his steely blue eyes. Next to him walked his wife, a very tall and very lithe blonde lady, wrapped in silks and pearls. Their elbows were linked and, as they walked, they leaned their heads close to each other, whispering something and laughing like conspirators.
Yuugi and Anzu shot to their feet as the hostess stood to the side to allow Mr Goldner and his wife to get to their table. "Ah! You must be Yuugi Mutou!" Mr Goldner boomed, smiling broadly. He approached and shook Yuugi's hand with fervor.
Yuugi felt himself smile and hoped the expression would pass as genuine, or at least polite enough. "Mr Goldner, it's an honor to meet you," he said, his English sounding awkward and unpolished in his ears.
"The honor is all mine! And, please, just call me Albert," Mr Goldner said. He finally stopped shaking Yuugi's hand and turned to Anzu. "And you must be Mrs Mutou?"
Yuugi realized, perhaps with a second's delay, that he was supposed to introduce them. "Oh, er—yes, excuse me. This is my—my wife, Anzu." At his stumble on the word wife Anzu gave him a glance, quick as a knife, but the next second she was smiling warmly and shaking Mr Goldner's hand.
"Welcome, Mr Goldner. It's a pleasure to meet you," she said in fluent, perfectly-enunciated English.
"A pleasure to meet you, too! This is my wife, Erica." The lady next to him stood terrifyingly straight, but her smile was warm, sincere; the wrinkles in her face were lines made by a life well-lived, and time well-spent.
They all took their seats and the waiter appeared almost instantly, bringing them menus and recommending this wine and that. They gave their order, with Yuugi hardly paying any attention to what he was saying. After the waiter went away, he was left to look at Albert Goldner and his wife who, even when seated, still stood very straight.
It occurred to him he should probably say something, but he didn't know what. His business smile felt stuck on his face. He tried to think of something appropriate to say, but couldn't come up with anything. As if sensing this, Anzu spoke.
"So, welcome to Japan! When did you arrive?"
"Oh, just a couple of hours ago," Albert Goldner said. "And thank you. We had been looking forward to this trip, Erica and I."
"It's our anniversary trip," Erica Goldner said; her voice was like warm metal, smooth and hard.
"Oh? Not a business trip, then?" Anzu asked.
"No, no. We weren't even supposed to come to Domino, actually. But I figured the King of Games was worth the detour!"
Yuugi smiled at Goldner's comment, even as a warning bell went off inside him. Get it together. This is important; he's here for you. Get a grip.
"I am deeply honored," Yuugi said. "And I am very grateful that you agreed to this meeting, Mr Goldner."
The waiter arrived with the wine and started filling their glasses, just as Albert Goldner gave a short laugh and said, "Oh, your boss, Iwata, has been hounding me for months. But I was coming to Japan with Erica anyway, so I figured, hey, why not? I hear you are designing a game that will revolutionize tabletops!"
"Oh. That's right," Yuugi said, smile still fixed on his face. "We are hoping to collaborate with you for a release in America."
"I know, I know. But let's save the business talk for dessert. What do you say? Chase that jet-lag away with a good meal and some wine." Albert Goldner raised his wine glass and raised it. "To new meetings and new games!"
Yuugi raised his glass along with the others and drank. He took a couple of sips more than needed, hoping it might ease the knot inside him. The entrees arrived shortly after, thankfully: eating gave Yuugi a good excuse not to talk. The downside was, it left him too much space to think, and he didn't feel like eating anything, anyway.
"Your English is very good," Erica Goldner said to Anzu.
"Thank you! I actually spent the past seven years in the States."
Erica gave an impressed hum. "Where, if I may ask?"
"New York. I was in a ballet company."
"Ballet? You're a dancer?" Anzu nodded proudly and Erica said, "Oh, I love ballet! Which company was it? I might have seen you dancing!"
And, like that, they were off, talking about ballet and art and the joys of New York. Anzu handled the conversation with charm and elegance, laughing her clear laugh at all the appropriate times and subtly flattering both Mr and Mrs Goldner. Yuugi mostly listened, smiling along or laughing a bit whenever he thought was necessary, or answering every time Anzu turned, beaming, to say something like, "Oh, that place has the best pancakes! Remember, Yuugi, when I took you there for brunch?"
Yuugi did not remember any of the places she talked about—and, inwardly, he wondered whether he had ever actually been to all these places with Anzu, or whether she was coming up with stories to keep the conversation going. Either way, he smiled and answered every time with something along the lines of, "Oh, yes, of course. I'll never forget it."
"For how long did you live in States?" Albert asked Anzu.
"Hm... Seven years, give or take."
"What about you, Mr Mutou? Did you also move to the States for the sake of love?"
Yuugi blinked at Albert Goldner, taken aback. "Oh—no. I... I stayed here, in Japan."
"And you were apart? That must have been hard," Erica said with sympathy.
Yuugi stuttered, but Anzu's smile did not falter once as she said, "You know what they say. Love conquers everything, even distance!"
Yuugi felt as if someone had taken the silver knife from beside his plate and driven it in his throat. Anzu's foot pushed Yuugi's under the table, gently but steadily, and he smiled. "Exactly."
"You're right," Erica said, turning to give her husband a smile. "Albert has to travel a lot for work, too. But what is important is making up for the lost time whenever we are together."
"That's true," Anzu said.
"It takes so much trust and communication," Erica went on. Anzu was nodding along. "You've known each other for a long time, then?"
"Oh, yes," Anzu said with a laugh. "We've been friends since we were kids. Best friends."
"And in love since?" Albert asked, giving Yuugi a companionable smile.
Yuugi gripped his fork a bit too hard. He tried to smile. "You know it."
"It took Yuugi a long time to work up the courage to ask me out, but he did it in the end," Anzu said.
Only because I knew you were in love with someone else, Yuugi thought. He was so tired. Sick and tired of talking about this.
"Oh, same thing with Albert," Erica said. "We were in university together, studying programming. At first, he tried to get me to teach him how to code."
Albert laughed. "And I failed spectacularly, because I was constantly thinking of asking her out instead of actually learning coding."
"And it took him a while to propose to me, too," Erica said. And then she said a story about Albert showing up out of her house and taking her to an impromptu trip to Maldives, where he proposed to her under the stars.
"It had been quite impulsive," Albert said with a soft chuckle, "but it really was my best decision."
Anzu placed a hand over her heart and said, "That's so sweet! I remember when Yuugi proposed to me—" she turned to Yuugi, and searched for his own hand to grab. It was under the table, and she took it and firmly held it on the table with both her hands. She looked at Mr and Mrs Goldner with her unfaltering smile, while Yuugi sat petrified, his hand frozen in Anzu's hands.
He wasn't sure he wanted to hear an account of his proposal to Anzu. It was one of the good memories, one of the precious, sweet ones that he kept in the softer part of his heart. He didn't want it laid out for these strangers' entertainment. It was his.
"I remember..." Anzu said, "it was my first time dancing a major role. It was Odette, Swan Lake, you know? I was so, so nervous. Yuugi had been encouraging me through texts for all the previous days, and then, the day of the show, nothing. Quiet. Then, half an hour before the show, the door to my changing room opened and there was Yuugi with a huge bouquet of flowers!" She beamed at them, and then to Yuugi. Yuugi just stared at her.
This wasn't how it had happened. This wasn't it at all.
Anzu kept talking. "He had come all the way from Japan just to see me dance! And he'd kept it as a surprise!"
Erica made a small aw sound. Anzu, encouraged, went on with fervor.
"So, after the show, after everyone was gone and most of the lights were off, I took Yuugi to show him around the theater. We ended up on the roof, with all of New York spreading under our feet. And there, as we stood in each other's arms... Yuugi asked me to marry him."
"That's so romantic!"
Yuugi's veins had turned into sand, gritty. His hand was still trapped under Anzu's palms, as dead as a rock.
This wasn't what had happened. The true story was nothing like this.
It had been six years ago, on one of the few nights Anzu had been in Domino. Yuugi had been churning the words Will you marry me? around his tongue for the whole day, but he could never quite find the perfect moment for it—no standing alone under the stars for them to set the scene. In the end, on the night before Anzu left, Yuugi had taken Anzu's favorite Duel Monsters card and taped a piece of paper on it, with the question written in his best handwriting. He'd then slipped the card in Anzu's suitcase, among the folded clothes. She had found it a couple of days later and had called him, both laughing and sobbing, to say yes.
Sure, Anzu's story was much more lavish and movie-worthy. But it wasn't their story.
Maybe Anzu would much rather have been proposed like that, than with a Duel Monsters card. Or maybe she was embarrassed of the truth, and didn't want to follow the Goldners' story with such a stupid one.
Slowly, Yuugi slipped his hand from under Anzu's, pretending to want to refill their wine glasses. He thought a change of subject might be best. "So, what are your plans for while you are here?"
Mr and Mrs Goldner started talking about the trip they had arranged, which involved a tour of Japanese temples—because, apparently, Erica Goldner had a soft spot for traditional Japanese architecture—and the booking of an entire luxury inn up in the mountains, just for the two of them. They both seemed to glow as they talked about it, and once or twice they exchanged loving glances, quick, almost furtive, like schoolkids in classroom. Compared to them, Yuugi felt awkward and way too tense, sitting next to Anzu with a whole universe dividing them.
The way Mr and Mrs Goldner looked at each other, sometimes completing each other's sentences, reminded Yuugi of the way he and Atem would look at each other during a movie, and Yuugi would know exactly what Atem was thinking, or what joke he had been meaning to say. The way it had been every time they'd met with the rest of the gang, and played games, and Atem and Yuugi teamed up and won without having to discuss a strategy. The way they had moved around each other, perfectly in sync, filling in the space each of them left free, completing the picture like strokes from the same paintbrush.
It was painful. Painful to think of it as something that had been, and not something that was, that was still happening, right now, and would keep happening.
Yuugi's gaze was drawn, almost involuntarily, to the high window to his right. He searched among the myriad spots of light.
"That's so nice," he heard Anzu say. There was a tinge of jealousy in her voice, but Yuugi doubted anyone else noticed it. "We also planned small getaways like these whenever Yuugi visited me in New York. Remember Vermont?" Yuugi turned around to find her looking at him with unnervingly gleaming eyes.
No, Yuugi did not remember Vermont. He had never been to Vermont.
"Oh, we love Vermont," Erica said. "Do you know the Deerview Chalet? Albert took me there for our fifth anniversary."
Anzu fired off reply after reply, with a conviction that made Yuugi doubt his own memories. He didn't know if she was coming up with all these stories on the spot, or if she had imagined them in the past—perhaps, when daydreaming what she wanted her life to be like. She talked of places they had never been to, and things they had never done, like snorkeling in Greece and skiing in the Alps. Every time Erica Goldner mentioned something romantic her husband had done, or some amazing trip, or extravagant activity, Anzu had an account to match, painting a picture of a Yuugi much more present in her life, and a relationship with much less bumps along the road.
Yuugi couldn't decide if it all felt more like a slap in the face or a punch in the gut.
The main course arrived and, with it, a third bottle of wine.
"Oh, it's so good that we finally have time for the two of us, now that the kids are old enough!" Albert said and took a sip. "Do you have kids?"
"Er—" Yuugi glanced at Anzu and saw her give him an uncertain look. "No. No, we don't," he said.
"How come?"
"Well..." Anzu said with a smile, and leaned closer to Yuugi to place a hand on his thigh. "I had wanted to dance for a few years, devote myself to my art. Now that I've taken my fill—" she shrugged, looking serene. "Who knows?"
Yuugi swallowed. He and Anzu had never discussed having kids, even though he was vaguely aware that she wanted to have kids someday. He himself didn't know where he stood. He didn't want to think about it. Especially now.
"Well, you should hurry up and do it. Savor it while you're still young!"
Anzu squeezed Yuugi's thigh. "I know. And I'm so lucky. Yuugi will make a great father."
Yuugi's face was on fire. He wondered whether he was sweating.
"What do you say, Mr Mutou?" Erica turned to him. "Won't it be nice to play games with a mini-you?"
"Um—" he said, his tongue numb. Anzu's hand was squeezing his thigh. It felt like a warning. "I don't know. Never thought of it."
Erica let out a surprised laugh. "Surely, that can't be true!"
Anzu's fingers dug into the meat of his thigh.
"We, um—We were focusing on our careers, so—"
"What Yuugi means is," Anzu cut across him, "with me away, it wasn't an idea we could really entertain. But now that I'm back in Japan..."
"Oh, it must have been so hard. I can't imagine having a long-distance relationship for so long. You must be so in love, to manage to get through this and still be together," Erica remarked.
Yuugi wondered if they could hear how frantically his heart was beating. Anzu reached for his arm, which was hanging limply to his side. "We are," she said. The words echoed in Yuugi's skull: we are, we are, we are. The taste in the back of his throat was bitter. He could feel the wedding ring digging into his skin, under Anzu's firm grip. His hand was sweating in hers.
"So, what are your plans now, Mutou? Think of starting a family?" Albert was looking at him.
There was a pain in Yuugi's chest. The only family he could think of was in a dusty bookstore right now, playing games with an old man. "I don't know," he said. He barely heard his own voice.
"You should hurry up and have kids while you're young. You won't regret it, trust me," Erica said.
"I know. I've been thinking about it a lot lately," Anzu said.
Yuugi turned to stare at her. He didn't know what was real and what was a lie anymore. He felt like a lie himself.
He pulled his hand out of Anzu's, perhaps more roughly than he should. To cover for his gesture, he reached for his glass of water and downed it all in what felt like one gulp. He set the glass down, watching its glimmering bottom, the white tablecloth underneath. If he managed to focus on it for just a bit, maybe the rest of the world would fade out for a second, become blurry.
"You should come visit us in the mountains—" Albert was saying. "The inn I've booked has many bedrooms; you could stay with us for a day or two. We could talk more about games, and I heard there are some magnificent hot springs nearby."
"Oh, that'd be lovely!" Anzu said brightly. She flew her arms around Yuugi's shoulders and pulled him closer to her. "Hear that, Yuugi?"
Yuugi went rigid between her arms. She hadn't been this handsy with him in months. Maybe a year. Maybe more. His body wanted to recoil from her touch, but he held himself still.
Albert Goldner was watching him with something like faint puzzlement. Yuugi had to relax. He had to put on a better act, or he would ruin this, and then his boss—
"I heard you're designing a new game," Albert said. He was looking at Yuugi closely, and much more serious than before.
Yuugi tried to find his voice. He nodded once. Why were Anzu's arms still around him?
"What is it about?" Albert asked.
Yuugi slunk out of Anzu's arms and tried to think of his game. It had been one of his ideas, one that Mr Iwata had called 'groundbreaking' and 'so very original', before going ahead and demanding so many changes to make it 'appeal to a wider audience', that it hardly resembled the game Yuugi had originally envisioned. And it was the game Mr Iwata wanted Mr Goldner to publish overseas. The reason for this whole circus.
It couldn't even be called Yuugi's game anymore. None of the games he had designed the last few years could really be called his.
He tried to channel his boss's words. "You see, we took a classic formula and put a new spin to it, to make something fresh and modern, something that will appeal to both the younger and the older generations." He kept going like that, saying a bunch of stuff that didn't mean anything, but that made Albert nod, satisfied.
"And you're the head designer, right?"
"Yeah, I—" Yuugi hesitated. "You see, using my original idea as a jump board, the team and I created a fresh—" He stopped again. How many times could he use the word fresh in just five minutes? He had officially ran out of ways to fake his way through this. Because, in reality, the honest thing would be to say that it was a boring game, similar to at least ten games out there, and nothing that Yuugi himself would be interested in playing. They had simply pasted his name on it, because they knew it would sell. And now, that was exactly what Yuugi had to do: sell it.
He blinked at Albert Goldner. He didn't know what to say.
Albert raised an eyebrow, expectant.
Yuugi tried to smile. "I'm sorry, I'm not good at this. That's probably why I'm not on the marketing team."
Albert laughed. "Well, you know what they say. Actions speak louder than words. So how about you and Mrs Mutou come to that inn with us, where we'll have plenty of time to put your game to the test? I'd love to play a game with you. Imagine, playing with the King of Games himself!"
Yuugi didn't speak. Anzu's hand—weird, Yuugi hadn't realized she was still touching him—clenched around his bicep. "You are so kind!" she said. "Of course we'll come! It would be wonderful—Right, Yuug?"
Frankly, no. It would not be wonderful. He did not want to go. He did not want to play his new game with Albert Goldner. And he didn't want to have to go through this whole charade again, for days on end this time. What he wanted was find Atem and speak to him.
He looked at his reflection in the dark glass, superimposed over the million lights of Domino. A kid looked back at him, with wide violet eyes, and a single blond tuft falling over his forehead. The kid didn't look like he knew what he was doing here. All this kid had wanted was to play games with his friends. Play, and design them. And have Atem in his life. That was it, right there: his three biggest wishes. And, somehow, he'd managed to screw up all three of them.
Atem was out there, somewhere. With someone. Someone that wasn't Yuugi. It should have been Yuugi—tonight, and yesterday, and every day and every night since he resurrected. He should be drinking in every moment Atem was here. Soak him in like the sun, and bless the universe for his luck. Even if Atem wouldn't stay forever—don't think about this, don't, don't—even so, Yuugi would rather lose everything than lose another minute he could have spent with Atem.
He blinked. He saw Anzu's reflection, looking at him, her lips parted in... some emotion. Alarm, maybe. Bewilderment. Something like that. He did not care. The one he cared about was a few miles away, somewhere among the lights blinking up at him, in some dusty basement, among books and scrolls as old as him—or, in most cases, younger than him, eons youngers, eras, millennia.
They had both travelled through millennia to get to this. And Yuugi was wasting his time by sitting in a restaurant, next to a woman that didn't love him, trying to impress a couple that didn't know him, for someone else's sake. Wasting time. Wasting time.
He had wasted so much time. Yuugi should be out there with Atem. And he should be out there dueling, and designing the games he wanted without caring about someone else's company's stocks or sales or figures in a bank account. And he should probably take off this damn suit. And maybe get out of his too shiny, too clear-cut apartment. Take off this ring. Unearth his deck, and his dueling belt, and let his hair loose. And play. Just play. God, all he ever wanted was to play.
He turned to Albert Goldner, who was looking at him, still waiting for an answer to a question. Next to him, Anzu's eyes, distressingly blue, were on him, expecting. They were all expecting something. But they didn't even know who they had in front of them. He wasn't the person they thought they were talking to. He was the boy with the gold pendant, and the games in his backpack, and the bedroom with the slanted roof. He was Yuugi fucking Mutou, King of Games, and he was done with this shit.
He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. Standing with his fingertips touching the table, and the single rebellious tuft hanging over his eyes, he looked at no one in particular and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I can't do this."
He felt rather than heard the silence that followed. He was looking down at his hand, at the gold ring around his finger. He lifted his gaze to Albert Goldner across from him. "I'm terribly sorry for this, Mr Goldner. But I'm done."
Albert Goldner was frowning at him, his mouth half-open in a half-formed question.
"What—?" Anzu said from somewhere on his left. She let out an uncertain chuckle. "Yuugi, what are you—"
"I quit," he said. The words settled dense and heavy in the air, with the finality of a nail driven in wood.
"Wh—" Anzu's head swiveled from Yuugi to the Goldners and back. "Yuugi, stop joking. You can't—"
"It's not a joke. I can't do this anymore." A scorching wave rose inside him, but it wasn't fear nor panic; rather it was the same broad, bright tension that always flooded him as he stepped out into a dueling arena. It was the certainty of knowing exactly what he was doing.
He took his wedding ring off his finger. Anzu watched as Yuugi left the ring on the table in front of her, softly, and looked at her in the eye. He had nothing against her. She had only done her best, and she was still Anzu, his friend. He hoped she understood that.
He gave her a small smile, maybe apologetic, maybe consolatory. Or maybe he was simply trying to show her that it was okay.
"Mr Mutou—" Albert Goldner said, "what is this? What is going on?"
The brightness inside his chest was too much, so Yuugi loosened his tie and took a deep breath. Easy. Full. He felt both numb and overwhelmingly present. He was very aware of the space he occupied, of his feet on the floor and his body towering over the seated people around the table, who were all staring, all shocked and confused. He was feeling oddly tall. Oddly light.
"I'm sorry. But I quit. I'm done."
"What do you—?"
Yuugi turned to Anzu. He smiled again, this time with honest remorse. "I'm sorry it had to happen like this."
Anzu didn't move. Her eyes were wide and still, her whole face pale.
Yuugi turned to Mr and Mrs Goldner. "Sorry for wasting your time. I'll inform Mr Iwata of the... development, so please, don't concern yourself with that. Have a good night."
Without giving anyone the time to say anything more, Yuugi marched away from the table and down the couple of steps that separated them from the rest of the restaurant. A waiter hurried towards him, but Yuugi waved him away with a polite smile. He saw a few heads turn towards him as he crossed the floor. He didn't mind. He didn't mind one bit.
He took his coat from the cloakroom and put it on swiftly. The blood in his veins felt fizzy, electric. He walked out of the restaurant without looking back and, on the carpeted steps outside, he paused to take out his phone. Without thinking about it twice, he called his boss.
Mr Iwata replied at once, as if he were waiting over the phone. "Mutou! How did it go? Tell me the good news!"
Yuugi was feeling both like he was controlling his body from far away and like his presence was filling every inch of his being. He hadn't felt like that in years. He was shaking slightly, but it didn't show in his voice.
"Mr Iwata, I quit." Yuugi had never said anything more wonderful in his entire life.
There was a few seconds' silence on the other end of the line. "What—Mutou, what happened? Where is Goldner?"
"He's at the restaurant. But I left. I'm done. With all of this."
"Mutou... What are you talking about? What happened?"
"Nothing. I just realized I can't spend any more time. So, yeah. I quit."
"What? What are you—"
"I'll come by the office tomorrow to pick up my stuff."
Iwata's voice changed from stunned to furious. "Mutou, cut this nonsense. You can't quit!"
"I think I just did."
"Are you out of your mind? Get right back in there and tell Goldner—"
"I'm sorry, but I won't."
"You can't quit! You're the head designer!"
"You'll find another one."
"Mutou—"
"Good night, Mr Iwata."
With that, Yuugi hung up. Almost immediately, his phone started ringing again. He forwarded the call.
"Yuugi!"
He turned around. Anzu was running out of the restaurant and down the steps towards him. She stopped a couple of steps away, out of breath, and looked at him in a mixture of confusion and panic.
"Yuugi, are you crazy? What are you doing? Come back inside! The Goldners—"
Yuugi shook his head. "No. I meant it. I'm done with this. With all of this."
Anzu blinked at him. "Have you gone mad?"
He shrugged. "Perhaps."
She didn't speak. Her face hardened in that way it always did when she was angry, her lips turning thin. "Do you even realize what this means? For you, for your career, for—"
"I do, but I don't care."
"How can you not care? Why are you doing this?"
"Because this is not what I wanted. This isn't who I am, and you know it. I know you know it."
She held out her hand, and Yuugi saw his wedding ring on her palm. "And this? Why—?"
"Yeah..." Yuugi smiled, a bit guiltily. "I should have probably done it a long time ago. It's been over for a while now, don't you think?"
"But you said—"
"I know. I guess it was hard to accept it, but I see it now." He took her in, and affection warmed him, blunting the intensity in his chest for a few seconds. "You're one of my best friends, and I love you. But we weren't meant to be. Not like... this," he nodded towards the ring. "I know you can see it, too."
Anzu's lips pinched together. She looked angry, and she looked like she was about to cry. She closed her fist around the ring, her knuckles turning white. "And what are you going to do?"
Yuugi let out a short, breathless chuckle. "I'll go find Atem. And then I'll probably burn this suit, and all the others along with it. And maybe I'll start dueling again. I'll go to tournaments. Maybe design a couple of games the way I want them. You know." He shrugged. "We'll see."
Anzu's eyes were watery, gleaming and shimmering, but the rest of her face was hardened with bitterness. "So..." she said, her voice trembling, "you decided to go back to the past, like nothing ever changed?"
"No. I decided to go back to being myself."
They stood, looking at each other, Anzu still standing a couple of steps above him. Her fist was still clenched around the wedding ring. She didn't speak; she was merely staring, looking heart-broken and resigned. She was shivering.
"You should go back inside," Yuugi said softly. "Talk to you soon, okay?"
There was nothing else to be said, so he turned around and climbed down the rest of the steps. As he walked along the marble floor to the elevator, she didn't try to stop him.
Yuugi rode the thirty floors down to the foyer. He was alone and, in the silence, he felt the brightness swell inside his chest. Part of him couldn't believe what he had just done. He felt dizzy with it all.
He reached up, took the hair tie off and shook out his hair. The distorted reflection in the polished elevator walls showed his hair take its usual, wild shape. Several blond tufts fell across his eyes, and he run his fingers through them in near wonder.
He had done it. No going back. Thank the heavens, there was no going back now.
When the elevator doors opened, he ran across the foyer, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He ignored the missed calls from his ex-boss and dialed Atem's number. While the phone was ringing, Yuugi ran outside, coat flapping around his legs. He hailed a cab, his breath fast and excited, steaming in the air.
"Hello?" Atem's voice rumbled through the line and, for the first time in what felt like ages, Yuugi's face broke into a huge smile.
"Hey, where are you?"
"Um... At the bookstore. Is the dinner—?"
"Alright. Wait for me, okay? I'll be right there." And he gave the bookstore's address to the driver.
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