The Last Puzzle

by tenderwulf

11 years after the Ceremonial Duel, the yamis inexplicably return to Domino and their hikaris' lives, but not everyone is happy about it. Things have changed, and finding a place in this world is not that simple. Soon they set out to solve the mystery of their return; some in order to make sure that they stay, and some to make sure that they don't. [puzzleshipping, tendershipping]

26. The king's decree and the demon's will

Chapter 26: The king's decree and the demon's will

Atem was back home first, like most of the evenings. Tonight was movie night with Yuugi, Jounouchi and Honda, so it was up to Atem to get the living room ready. Just as he was wondering whether he would have enough time to bake a cake, the doorbell rang. The small screen next to the intercom showed Jounouchi waving at him and holding a six-pack of beers. Atem buzzed him in.

"Heeeey, buddy!" Jounouchi yelled as he stepped out of the elevator. Atem smiled, holding the door open for him. "First one here? Is Yuugi not back yet?"

"Nope." Atem took the beers to put them in the fridge. Jounouchi followed him.

"How's the new job?" Jounouchi hopped to sit on the kitchen counter, leaving his long legs hanging.

"It's interesting. I'm learning a lot. Want some tea?"

"Tea? Hell no, it's a beer and popcorn night!"

Atem poured a cup of tea for himself. At Jounouchi's gesture, he reached in the fridge for a beer and handed it to him.

"Cheers!" Jounouchi took a sip, made an appreciative sound and smiled. "So, how have you been, buddy?"

Atem hesitated for a few seconds. He thought about arranging books for hours on end while listening to Mr Sakamoto ramble on about less-known historical facts, all the while thinking about the cool new stories he would get to tell Yuugi when he returned home; he thought about how the first thing he heard every morning was Yuugi's sleepy 'Goodmorning, 'tem'; he thought of how his chest constricted to the point of pain every time, and how it was the sweetest pain he had ever known; he thought of sitting next to Yuugi on the couch, watching movies, and how Atem's pulse started racing every time he wondered What if I move a bit closer?; What if I lay my hand on Yuugi's shoulder?; On Yuugi's hand?; On Yuugi's thigh? What if he pulled him a little closer, enough to taste his breath in the air, enough to count his eyelashes and every small dimple on his lips? He thought of how, every night, he died a little every time Yuugi said 'Goodnight' and Atem went to bed, alone, with a wall between him and the person he longed to lie with.

"I'm okay," he said, sipping his tea.

Jounouchi nodded slowly. "What about... Those thoughts you were having?"

Atem's gaze flicked to Jounouchi, only to dart away again, his heart beating hard in his chest. "What—What thoughts?"

"You know. The ones you'd told me about. About how you were afraid to live because you might... disappear and stuff."

"Oh." Atem relaxed, realizing how hard he was gripping his teacup. "Those ones. Yeah, it's... I'm better. I haven't been thinking about that as much."

Jounouchi hummed, taking another gulp of beer. "That's great to hear. It's hard to enjoy life when you're worrying all the time."

"Right."

Jounouchi was looking at him, the tip of his beer bottle hovering in front of his mouth. "And how's Yuugi?" he asked. There was something probing in his voice; an air of knowing.

Atem tried to hide the way his breath quickened at this question. He pretended to be absorbed by his tea for a few seconds, until he felt safe enough to talk without his voice betraying him. "You don't need to ask me that, Jou. You're his friend. You chat with him every day."

Jounouchi shrugged. "I just wanted your perspective. You're living with him, after all."

"Well, he's..." Atem paused. "I think he's having difficulty coming to a decision. Even though he says he's decided... He hasn't, really."

"About Anzu, huh?"

"Yes."

"Hm. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Have you met any cute girls?"

"Uhh..." Atem looked away.

"Or boys," Jounouchi added.

Atem hoped his face hadn't turned as red as he thought it had.

"Oh, so it's boys!" Jounouchi said brightly.

"Jou—"

"Don't worry, I don't judge. I like both, after all."

"Um—" Atem didn't know what to do with that information. He wasn't sure how acceptable that was in this day and age. He might have to do some research online. Or, he could ask Jounouchi—at the risk of revealing too much about himself in the process.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry. Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable," Jounouchi winced.

"It's okay. I'm fine."

"I just wanted you to know that I don't judge."

"Thanks, Jou," Atem said with a tight smile.

"So, have you met anyone cute?"

"No, umm... I'm not really looking to... meet new people."

"How so?"

Atem's thoughts inevitably flitted back to Yuugi. "I'm just not interested."

Jounouchi's gaze was unwavering, and Atem had an inkling that he was onto him, somehow. Just as Jounouchi opened his mouth, probably to ask another question that would propel Atem into panic, the sound of keys turning in the lock interrupted him.

"Hey! I'm home!" Yuugi called cheerfully.

Both Atem and Jounouchi exclaimed with joy—and, in Atem's case, relief. For a few moments there was nothing but pleasantries and jokes, and Jounouchi grappling Yuugi and rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles, messing up Yuugi's ponytail. They got their beers and cups of tea and moved their little congregation to the living room, where the joyous vibe turned sober when Jounouchi asked, "So, what's up, Yuug? How's it going?"

"Umm..." Yuugi smiled, discomfort evident in every line of his face. The cheer and laughter faded from the room.

After a bit of sighing and a bit of fidgeting, Yuugi told him about the business dinner he had to invite Anzu to, and how important it was, and all those other explanations Atem wished he didn't have to hear. Jounouchi listened with utmost seriousness, wincing when Yuugi mentioned his mother's phonecall.

"Damn. I was wondering when your mom was gonna find out," Jounouchi said.

"Mom adores Anzu," Yuugi shook his head. "I knew it wasn't gonna be easy, but..."

It took all of Atem's concentration to maintain a neutral face. He didn't like this at all. He wished that he could make Yuugi see that this was madness. He had already reached a decision, back then in that bar, over those shots of tequila, and he had even taken his ring off. Couldn't he just stick to that decision? Then, maybe they could...

They would be able to do anything. The possibilities were endless. He had to make Yuugi see that.

Atem cleared his throat and said, "It's your marriage, aibou. Not your mother's."

"Buddy, it's not that simple," Jounouchi said.

"Yeah, it's not just my mother," Yuugi agreed. "It's... everyone. My boss. My coworkers. My relatives. Anzu's relatives. And... my reputation. My career." He made a desperate gesture, shoulders sagging. "Everything."

"Yes, you've already explained that, but you've made your decision. Don't let anything pressure you into changing it," Atem said.

"But what if Yuugi wants to change it?" Jounouchi butted in.

Atem turned to give him a sharp look. Just whose side was Jounouchi on? "Yuugi will speak of what he wants. Not us."

Yuugi did not speak. He seemed lost, gazing at the table.

Atem took the silence as an opportunity to lean closer to him and say in a low, gentle voice, "Remember what you told me, aibou. Remember all the reasons that led to your decision. Are they something to overlook?"

"I remember them," Yuugi replied quietly. "I had reasons for my decision, sure, but there are just as many reasons to decide the opposite."

"You should not try to please others, aibou. You should do what will make you happy." With every sentence, Atem's throat went drier with anxiousness. He had to make Yuugi see.

"And how should I know what will make me happy?" Yuugi said.

"Your instinct will tell you." And your instinct told you to take off your ring, back then, Atem thought, but he didn't say it out loud. Jounouchi was watching him closely, so Atem would have to rely on Yuugi to figure out the rest of his sentence.

"My instinct tells me other things, too."

"It it instinct, or is it fear?"

"Now, you know what," Jounouchi interrupted them. His face was unusually serious, his eyes sharp, fixed on Atem. "I think we should give Yuug some space to think about it."

Atem was ready to argue some more, but the look on Jounouchi's face was unwavering and way too calculating for Atem's liking, so he kept his mouth shut. If needed, he would talk to Yuugi once they were alone, after Jounouchi left.

Presently, Honda arrived and the conversation shifted to other things, more innocent and pleasant. Yuugi's spirits lifted again, and he started cracking jokes and laughing. When movie time came, Atem sat next to Yuugi on the couch, huddling as close as his manners—and acceptable social behavior—allowed, which was close enough. Jounouchi turned off the lights and the movie started.

It was some sort of adventure about a lost treasure. Or map. Atem wasn't entirely sure. He paid attention at first, but then Yuugi shifted, pulling his legs up onto the couch, and one of his shins came to rest against Atem's thigh. It pressed into him steadily.

Atem didn't dare move. He didn't know if it was accidental or intentional on Yuugi's part, but he was content with never finding out. Every time Yuugi laughed or shouted at the screen along with the others, Atem could feel it reverberate through their point of contact. He could feel Yuugi's leg shifting against his, sometimes pressing in harder, sometimes shaking, rubbing against the fabric of Atem's jeans.

He liked the way Yuugi's eyes looked with nothing but the light of the TV hitting them. It made all sorts of colors sparkle in them. Atem didn't stare, of course—he made an effort not to. But Yuugi was always there, in the corner of his vision, and sometimes Atem could steal another look by pretending to want some popcorn from the bowl Yuugi was holding, or turning to look at him when he cracked a joke.

When the movie was over and the light was turned back on, Atem felt like snapping awake from a dream. He became aware of the apartment around him again, of the real world, the city outside.

The guys got to their feet, Jounouchi stretching his long limbs and appearing to take up nearly all the space up to the ceiling. "Man, that was fun!"

"Yeah!" Yuugi beamed. "There's a sequel, you know. Maybe we could watch that next time?"

"Sure!"

"Yeah, sounds good," Honda agreed.

"What do you say, Atem?"

"Um... Yeah, sure." He hoped they wouldn't ask his opinion on the movie, because he had paid attention for a total of about eight minutes.

As Jounouchi and Honda got ready to leave, disconcertingly, Atem caught Jounouchi giving him another assessing look. Honda left first, saying he had to hurry back and read Miko her bedtime story, but Jounouchi loitered behind, finishing his beer while helping Yuugi tidy up the living room.

"Hey, Atem," Jounouchi said suddenly. He stuffed his empty beer can in a plastic bag, along with the rest of the cans and snack wrappings. "Come on, help me take out the trash. Let's not make a mess of Yuugi's house."

Atem glanced at said trash. They were just two small plastic bags, nothing Jounouchi couldn't carry alone, yet Jounouchi's look made him say, "Okay, sure." He took one of the bags and followed Jounouchi to the door. "Be right back, aibou."

"G'night, Yuug!" Jounouchi shouted.

"Bye, Jou!"

Jounouchi and Atem, each carrying one of the extremely light and perfectly manageable trash bags, walked in the elevator. After the doors closed and the elevator started moving, Jounouchi turned to give Atem a firm look, pointedly raising one eyebrow.

Atem kept his cool. "What is it?"

Jounouchi raised both eyebrows. "Dude," he said.

"What?"

Jounouchi shook his head. "Look, I know it's not my place to interfere, but... Is there something going on between you and Yuugi?"

Atem praised all his long years of experience in maintaining a perfect poker face. "Like what?"

"Dude. You can't take your eyes off of him."

Atem felt his stomach do a backflip, but kept it from showing on his face. "I beg to differ. I was watching the movie."

"Like hell you were. And it wasn't just tonight. I've been wondering for a while, I just wasn't sure if I should say something."

"I returned from the dead. Sometimes I'm still amazed at how real everything around me seems, especially—"

"Oh no, don't play the resurrection card with me, pal, I know it's not just that."

They reached the ground floor and the elevator doors slid open. None of them moved. When the doors made to slide closed again, Jounouchi planted his foot between them, keeping them open. "I'm not judging, you know. I know you and Yuugi have a bond unlike anything anyone else has ever experienced. I get it."

"It's not like that," Atem said. His heart was beating so hard in his chest it ran the risk of echoing through the whole elevator and ruining his poker face.

"Dude, chill. I told you I'm not judging. And I wouldn't say anything, but—" Jounouchi hesitated. Then he huffed through his nose. "Look. Don't get this the wrong way, but—"

"Just say it," Atem said, and was proud to hear his voice come out strong and steady.

Jounouchi looked uneasy. "It's just... This situation with Anzu is a very delicate one. None of us should interfere."

"I am not interfering."

"I'm not saying you're doing it on purpose. Just that your... feelings could be getting in the way without you realizing."

"I have no feelings of that kind towards—"

"Alright, then, whatever kind of feelings you might have."

Atem swallowed a knot of dryness. His heart was about to break out of his chest in the most painful way possible. He steadied himself, sitting up straighter, the way his years of dueling had taught him. "Jounouchi, I was a king. I have learned not to let my emotions cloud my judgement."

"Yeah, but... You met with Anzu. You told her to stay away from Yuugi, remember?"

"That's not the whole truth," Atem said, inwardly panicking. "I told her to stay away in case she wasn't sure what her feelings were—"

"That counts as interfering, you know. And I know Yuugi values your opinion a lot. To him, everything you say has more weight than everyone else's opinions combined. So... Be mindful of that."

"Yuugi is his own person, capable of making decisions for himself—"

"I'm not saying he's not. I'm just saying that you are probably influencing him more than you think."

Atem closed his mouth. He glowered at Jounouchi, then realized how harsh his expression must be coming across and softened the hard lines of his face. "Aibou is not so weak as to allow himself to be controlled by other people's thoughts."

Jounouchi actually smiled at that. "And yet, you see how much other people's expectations trouble him. Lemme tell you something, Atem. As you grow, the pressure on you grows, too. Societal pressure, responsibilities and stuff. It wears on you. No matter who you are, how high up or whatever... There're things you just can't do without risking to lose everything. And, at this moment, Yuugi has a lot to lose."

Atem squared his jaw, ever stubborn. "I know about responsibilities. I was a king."

"Then you understand."

"But Yuugi won't lose everything. He won't lose us. He won't lose his friends."

"Yeah, but he'll lose everything else he's strived for."

"So, you believe that continuing with a marriage that made him unhappy is the way to go?" The last three words echoed in the enclosed elevator space. Atem took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

Jounouchi's look was grim. "Buddy. I never said that."

"Then what—"

"I have my own thoughts and feelings about the situation, but they don't matter. It's Yuugi's choice. All we can do, as friends, is lend an ear and maybe sometimes help him sort out his feelings. But it's not our place to interfere. That's all I'm saying."

Atem stared at Jounouchi, his face cold and hard as a rock, while trying to suppress a rising wave of horror.

"Normally I wouldn't say anything," Jounouchi went on. "What you feel is not my business. But after what Yuugi told us tonight... It should be his decision, and his alone."

"And I agree wholeheartedly," Atem said. Gods. He sounded so tense.

"Good. That's all." Jounouchi made a gesture for Atem to give him the trash bag. Atem handed it to him. "No hard feelings, huh, pal? I'm just looking out for Yuug."

"So am I." His voice was brittle rock.

Jounouchi gave him a small smile. "If you have any trouble... You can call me. I'm your friend too, okay? Don't forget that."

A bit of the tightness in Atem relaxed by a fraction. His voice softened somewhat. "I know, Jou."

"I'm here for the both of you."

"I know." Softer. "Thank you." The inward wave of horror didn't stop rising.

"Kay, then. See ya." With another small smile and a nod, Jounouchi walked out of the elevator. Without his foot getting in the way, the doors finally slid closed.

Atem stood in the empty elevator for few seconds, listening to his heartbeats. Or maybe it was for a few minutes. His pulse echoed like a drum in his ribcage.

Gods. This was bad. Very, very bad.

Jounouchi had seen right through him and through his feelings for Yuugi. If it had been that obvious to him, then it might be equally obvious to everyone else. But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was the suggestion that Atem might have been influencing Yuugi, and that this influence was not a good one.

Oh, Ra. Had he made a terrible mistake? He had only ever acted with Yuugi's wellbeing in mind, but—

A startling thought made his heart miss a beat.

...Had he? Had he been acting with Yuugi's wellbeing in mind? Or had he simply tried to influence things in his favor? Maybe he had convinced himself that breaking up with Anzu was the best thing for Yuugi, because he wanted to keep Yuugi for himself. First Atem had convinced himself, and then he had convinced Yuugi, and he had never even realized how dishonest he was being, how devious, how greedy. Selfish. Oh, so selfish.

He had once said he would only stay if he was certain that his presence wasn't bad for Yuugi, but all he had done so far was stir up trouble. Yuugi and Anzu had been about to give their marriage another chance, and then Atem had went and meddled, ending up with Yuugi being confused, and having all sorts of trouble with his work, and his mother, and—

He had messed up. Despite his claims, he had done the one thing a king shouldn't do, and he hadn't even realized. If Shimon were still around, he would scold him harshly—and if Mahad were here, he would have tried to make him see it sooner, gently and politely. As for Set... He would have made a snide remark that would have hit like a stone slab, snapping Atem out of his nonsense.

How much damage had he done? Had he ruined Yuugi's chances? By Ma'at's feather, Atem had even tried to talk Anzu out of trying to fix her marriage. He had accused her of being dishonest about her feelings for Yuugi when he, himself, had been the most dishonest of all. That was what Atem had never realized, and what Jounouchi had discerned.

So, what was he to do now? Fix it, obviously. But how?

He punched the seventh floor button and the elevator started moving.

He hoped the damage he had done wasn't irreparable. He hoped he could still make things right.

The doors opened to the seventh floor and Atem walked in Yuugi's apartment. "Hey, aibou," he said at once, not looking at Yuugi. "I'm gonna take a bath." He needed some more time, to think.

"Sure. Uh—" Atem could see Yuugi looking at him. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Perfect."

He hurried down the corridor to the bathroom and closed the door. This would alert Yuugi, he knew, but he would be able to talk his way out of it later. He placed his palms against the bathroom door, leaning forward and letting his head hang between his arms, and stood there, breathing. In and out. He tried to keep a calm rhythm in his breaths.

He had been despicable. Dishonest. He only hoped his own stupidity hadn't ruined Yuugi's life; Yuugi's chance at a normal, happy life, where he would keep being respected by his family and his colleagues, and he would keep the girl of his dreams, and the job of his dreams, and everything he had worked so hard for all those years.

He had to find a way to undo all the damage he had done. Which meant keeping his feelings in check, first and foremost. No matter how badly he wanted to be with Yuugi, he could no longer act with this as his ulterior motive. And... It would probably be better to keep some distance. Moments like the one that took place earlier, during the movie, where their legs touched and pressed into each other, would have to be avoided. If Atem wanted to have any chance at ruling over his feelings, he couldn't allow such things to happen anymore.

It wouldn't be easy. And it would hurt. Being close to Yuugi was a physical need for him, as indispensable as breathing. But Yuugi's happiness was infinitely more important. So he would do it.

---

There was something weird going on. Yuugi wasn't sure what it was, but something wasn't right.

Atem had gone to bed early, barely glancing at Yuugi as he bid him goodnight. The following morning, when Yuugi woke up, he found Atem dressed and ready at the kitchen table, finishing his breakfast. Yuugi had barely had any time to sit down and Atem was already on his feet, putting on his coat and saying he had to hurry because he would be the one to open up shop that day.

Yuugi wasn't paranoid. He knew that some days just weren't as good as others; it was human. But he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something else going on.

After work, Yuugi went by the bookshop. When he walked in, he saw his yami look up from the pile of dusty scrolls he was digging through. Atem smiled at him, but there was a tentative quality about the expression, something reserved. "Hey, Yuugi."

"Hey, Atem." Yuugi picked his way among books and other paraphernalia. "Wanna go out for dinner?"

Atem paused with a scroll in his hands, looking at the shelf in front of him. "You mean, the two of us?"

Yuugi gave a casual shrug. "Yeah."

"Hm." Atem still wasn't looking at him. "I'm afraid I can't. I have to finish with these today," he indicated the sea of yellowish scrolls around his feet. "I'll probably stay here till late."

Yuugi arched an eyebrow. "Really? Is that so urgent?" He took a look around the shop. As always, there were no customers around. How come that tidying up the shop was so important just now?

Instead of a meaningful reply, Atem shrugged. "Ask Mr Sakamoto."

Yuugi looked at Atem from under brows tightly scrunched together. The suspicion from before came back full force. Something wasn't right.

"Alright," Yuugi said slowly, testing. "I hope you won't be working late tomorrow, too. It's movie night with the guys."

"Right. I remember." No further comment.

After a few seconds ticked by where no one said anything and Atem kept staring at the shelf as if it had just activated a very troublesome spell card combo, Yuugi said, rather impatiently, "So? Will you be able to make or should we postpone—"

"I'll make it." He finally turned to look at Yuugi, with something like a reassuring smile on his lips. Except that Yuugi knew exactly how Atem's real smiles were, and this wasn't one—and it sure as hell wasn't reassuring. "Don't worry."

"Right," Yuugi said, both irritated and disturbed. Mostly disturbed. This, however, wasn't the place to discuss it. He'd make sure to ask Atem what the hell was wrong after he returned home that night. "See you later, then."

---

Yuugi went to his favorite ramen place by himself and got two hearty portions to go: one for him, one for Atem, hoping Atem's food wouldn't have gone too cold by the time he came back from work.

Yuugi ate his dinner alone, distractedly watching a show on the TV. Then he waited for Atem to come back. And waited. And waited.

He texted him.

To: Other me, 21:48
Hey, are you alright? Are you still at work?

From: Other me, 21:50
Yes.

Yuugi frowned at the phone, then he dropped it on the couch with a huff. Something was very, very wrong.

He waited for a couple more hours, but then he finally gave up and went to sleep. First, however, he wrote a note to Atem, a Good night! with a smiley face next to it. It was a display of cheerfulness Yuugi didn't really feel at the moment, but one that he hoped might lift Atem's spirits. He pinned the note on the bag with Atem's dinner and went to bed.

Tomorrow was a new day. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

---

The next morning, Yuugi, determined and bold, woke up even earlier than usual, to make sure Atem wouldn't slip away again. When Yuugi padded out of his room, he saw Atem's bedroom door was closed. That was weird. He never did that.

Yuugi knocked softly. Without waiting for a reply, he turned the handle and walked in.

Atem was sleeping, one hand carelessly thrown over the covers, hair splayed like a starburst on his pillow. Yuugi didn't know what he had expected. Maybe that Atem wouldn't be there, or that the door would be locked. Or maybe... That someone else would be with him. That would explain yesterday.

The thought alone made Yuugi's heart beat fast, sending sickening heat up his throat like rising lava. Atem wouldn't hide something like that from him, right? They had no secrets. They had promised they would keep no secrets.

Through his silent and hot panic, Yuugi found the boldness to walk closer and shake Atem awake. First, with a palm on his shoulder. Then, softly, he said, "Atem."

The yami stirred, eyes fluttering open. Striking crimson glittered in the light spilling in through the open door. For a moment, Atem's eyes found Yuugi's and a tender smile curved his lips. Then it was gone. Atem blinked, looking away, and pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Yuugi," he said, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Goodmorning to you too, Atem," Yuugi said, feigning lightness to mask his frustration. Why had he looked away? And why was he no longer calling him aibou?

"What time is it?"

"Time to get ready for work, your Majesty," Yuugi said, but didn't move. He stood, waiting for Atem to maybe explain why he had been so late last night.

Atem didn't. He groaned and shuffled out of bed, yawning. "Gods, this in inhuman," he mumbled.

"Maybe it wouldn't be if you'd gone to sleep earlier last night." Yuugi said it as a joke. He even smiled. He had thought he did, but it didn't come out as a joke at all; his hurt was palpable.

"Oh, right," Atem said, as if he had only just remembered about last night. "Thank you for dinner, though. It was delicious." He smiled in Yuugi's general direction, his gaze not quite reaching him. Then he walked out of the room; Yuugi heard the bathroom door close.

Yuugi stood in the half-light of the guest room, feeling as if his feet had turned to cement, seeping onto the floor and binding him there. The rising heat in his throat had turned to alarm.

What the hell was going on?

---

Yuugi tried to strike conversation during breakfast, but Atem was oddly focused on his toast and butter. When Yuugi asked about work, and why Atem's boss was suddenly being so demanding, Atem shrugged. "There's a bunch of new stuff coming today. I had to make space for it."

Yuugi didn't know if that was a satisfactory explanation or not, but decided not to press further. "Alright. Just don't forget, tonight at eight we're supposed to be at Jounouchi's for movie night."

"Don't worry, aib—Yuugi. I remember."

It had been a split second, the smallest of sounds, but Yuugi had heard. The old nickname had almost spilled out of Atem's lips, before he had corrected it. Like a common slip of the tongue. Nothing so far—nothing—had made Yuugi panic as much as this.

"Atem," he said, hearing the tremor of fear in his voice. "Is something wrong?"

Atem took his time to swallow his bite of toast. Then he smiled, finally looking up at Yuugi. "Everything's fine, aibou. Don't worry."

This time he had said it, but the word didn't have the usual warmth wrapped around it. It had sounded too deliberate, like it had taken effort. Somehow, that was even worse.

---

Yuugi had to use all of his self-restraint to keep from texting Atem all throughout the day. After a lot of deliberation, he had to admit that he didn't even know what he would say. The only thing that came to mind was the one question, repeated over and over. What's wrong? But he already knew Atem's reply to this, didn't he? No point in just texting to see if he would get the same response.

He decided to give Atem some space. At least until tonight. Maybe movie night at Jounouchi's would help him loosen up and finally tell them what has been troubling him.

The phone on Yuugi's desk rang. The small light on it indicated that it was a call from his boss.

"Hello, Yuugi Mutou speaking."

"Ah, Mutou! I just called to remind you of the dinner with Mr Goldner and his wife! I've booked you a table at Diamond Plaza for this Sunday, at seven."

A whole different sense of dread washed over Yuugi. "Sunday?"

"Yup. A table for four, right?"

Yuugi felt like his throat was closing up. "Yes. Correct."

"Alright, then! Tell the missus to wear her best dress! I want you both to make the best impression!"

"Yeah, I—we will."

---

By the time Yuugi reached Jounouchi's place, he was a wreck, emotionally and mentally. He had spent the day alternating between terror about Sunday and worry about whatever was going on with Atem. The yami had already texted him to say he would meet him straight at Jounouchi's place so, after work, Yuugi had loitered about, unwilling to go home. There was no point in it, anyway. Atem wouldn't be there. Yuugi didn't feel like going to his empty apartment to wait for the time to pass, so he wandered around the city, clutching a paper cup with jasmine tea. When it was nearing eight, he hailed a cab and gave Jounouchi's address to the driver.

Atem was already there, as he had said he would. He was sitting on Jounouchi's couch with Honda next to him, and he was smiling at something Honda was saying. When Yuugi walked in, Atem turned to him, his smile still etched on his face. Was it Yuugi's impression, or did the expression dim on Atem's lips? And was that worry in his eyes?

Yuugi hesitated for a second. Then, in a rush of boldness, fueled by distress and something like anger, he walked to the couch and squeezed next to Atem, even though it barely fit all three of them. It was a challenge. What will you do now, other me?

Atem didn't move. He looked at Yuugi, who was looking straight ahead, his back stiff as a board.

"Yuugi." Atem's voice was quiet, a rumble, and despite himself Yuugi felt a ripple of satisfaction coursing through him. "Are you alright?"

And wasn't that an ironic question. "I'm fine," he said, terse. He turned, fixing his gaze on Atem's. "Are you?" He said it like he was daring him to answer.

Atem stared at him, searching. He wasn't looking away or avoiding him, and Yuugi basked in that, despite his irritation and his hurt. He had missed it. It had only been a couple of days since this absurdity had started, and Yuugi had missed seeing those eyes lock on his. Atem was close; Yuugi could smell the pine shampoo on him, the warmth of his breath. It gave a different edge to the ache inside of him—a tightness, like hunger.

"Aibou—" Atem whispered, the sound slithering on Yuugi's skin. "We'll talk later, okay?"

It wasn't an explanation, nor an admission that something was wrong, but it was enough to reassure Yuugi that it wasn't all in his head. Atem also knew that there was something that needed to be discussed. For once, he wasn't denying it. It was enough.

Jounouchi brought a bowl of chips and arranged some cushions on the floor, plopping onto them. Honda followed suit, complaining that the couch was too small for all three of them. Yuugi and Atem stayed on the couch, and something in Yuugi flickered hopefully as he thought back to other movie nights, to his legs tangling with Atem's, or their shoulders pressing against each other, the rumble of Atem's voice coursing through Yuugi's nerves. But the flicker was short-lived. Once Honda freed up the space, Atem scooted over to the other edge of the couch, his back pressing against its corner, his legs folded close to him. Not even a hair of his ran the risk of touching Yuugi.

Yuugi did not pay any attention to the movie. The others laughed and groaned and made loud comments—Atem not so much, but Jounouchi and Honda were raucous enough for all of them. What Atem did was smile, sometimes, or laugh quietly at Jounouchi's jokes. He didn't look at Yuugi. Didn't lean towards him to whisper an inside joke to his ear, or drape a leg over him. Yuugi might as well not exist.

He could feel himself going numb, little by little, his bitterness settling into his skin, forming a shell of coldness. By the end of the movie, he was feeling hollow inside that shell. A part of him was missing.

The cab ride back home was tense. Yuugi didn't know if he should look at Atem or avoid him, since that seemed to be what he wanted. When they got off the cab and the driver sped away, he couldn't hold back any longer. He whirled at Atem and said, as clearly and firmly as he could, "Atem."

"Hm?" Atem was walking towards Yuugi's apartment building.

"Atem, look at me!"

The yami stopped. Slowly, he turned around, his eyes finding Yuugi's. His face was unreadable.

"What is going on?" Yuugi asked, clenching his fists as his sides.

"What do you mea—"

"You're avoiding me."

Atem paused for an infinitesimal amount of time. "I'm not."

"Don't lie, please. We'd promised, no lies. It was your idea, remember?"

Atem did not speak. He stared, his expression smooth and impenetrable like a wind-polished rock. His silence seemed to go on for an eternity, but Yuugi waited. "I'm not lying," Atem said in the end, slowly, with the cold detachment of a king who declares his degree.

It was such a blatant lie that Yuugi huffed, irritation and bitterness mingling in his chest. He didn't even know what to say anymore. "Fine, then." He walked past Atem, stomping off towards his apartment building.

---

The world was crumbling down around Atem. He knew he had promised not to lie, but he couldn't say the truth to Yuugi. He couldn't say, I'm avoiding you because I fear what I might do if I don't. He couldn't say, I'm avoiding you because I don't want you to ruin your life because of me. And he couldn't tell him how much it hurt to do that, how every breath seemed harder, every day seemed longer.

With his bedroom door closed, the nights had grown too quiet. He could no longer hear Yuugi's breathing, or the small movements he made as he slept, the slithering of skin against blanket, the small creaks of the bed. The guest room felt huge, the shadows deeper. An empty totality, encompassing Atem in solitude, like the long years in the Puzzle. He stared at the ceiling, straining to catch the smallest sound of Yuugi through the walls, even though he knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't go after something like that. It was by his choice that the door stayed closed. It was stupid to try to find ways around the rules he himself had imposed.

He didn't sleep much, but when he slept, he dreamed of Yuugi. Sometimes, they were dreams full of heartache: he was watching Yuugi walk with Anzu, holding her hand in his. Atem would try to reach them, but it was as if some barrier had risen between them, and the more Atem struggled to get closer, the further away he slipped. Many iterations of this dream: sometimes, Yuugi might turn around and look at him without recognizing him, sometimes he might say words of dismissal, and always, always, Atem would wake up to find pain like a jagged rock lodged at the base of his throat.

But the other dreams were even worse. The dreams in which he held Yuugi, feeling his breath close, his eyes looking straight into his soul; dreams where it was Atem's hand in Yuugi's, not Anzu's, and where Yuugi's fingers might trail upwards, up Atem's arm, and pull him closer. Dreams where they were alone, the world fuzzy with heat, dissolving at the edges until all that existed were Yuugi's hands. Yuugi's voice. Yuugi's lips.

He woke up from these dreams feeling glad that his bedroom door was closed. He wondered if he should start locking it, just in case. He didn't know if he made any sounds while dreaming; he knew he was making sounds in his dreams. He always woke up panting as if he were running, with his heart racing a mile, the blankets feeling too hot, his T-shirt sticking on his back.

He felt dirty for dreaming of such things. Yuugi was his friend. It was shameful to think of him like that, all wet skin slipping over Atem's, voice whispering tender words. Breathless. Beautiful.

It was even harder to look at Yuugi in the morning. Hard to look at him without seeing the dream-Yuugi in the back of his mind, and without feeling ashamed and wretched for tarnishing the purity of their friendship. If Yuugi knew, would he be uncomfortable? Appalled? Angry? Would he kick Atem out? Or would he try to act like it was no big deal, like it didn't matter, as little by little it would poison his image of his yami, turning their friendship sour?

There was no room for honesty. Atem had promised, but he just couldn't tell him the truth. All he could do was keep his distance, and pretend that it didn't tear his heart every time Yuugi's eyes went wide with hurt and puzzlement, or every time his jaw squared in silent resentment.

You should hate me, Atem thought, once. It might be easier that way.

---

Ryou climbed the winding staircase up to the fifth floor, yawning widely. His shoes squelched, soaked from the rain, leaving wet footprints on the steps.

He had just gotten off work. As far as shifts went, it hadn't been a bad one, but he was exhausted. He seemed to be perpetually exhausted these days. Maybe he should start taking vitamins. Or take a week off and sleep.

He had a missed call from Malik. He already knew why he had called: to pester him again about Bakura. Ryou didn't wanna hear it.

He reached the fifth floor landing, lit weakly by a single lightbulb. The doorways were left swathed in shadows, the light not strong enough to illuminate all of them. Ryou was digging in his pocket for his keys when he caught a glint with the corner of his eye.

He froze. There was something in front of his door, on the doormat. A small object, gleaming faintly.

Ryou didn't move. He didn't need to get a closer look to know what it was. He would recognize it anywhere: it was his knife. His old, trusty knife, the one he had always carried with him for years; the one he had dropped at Bakura's feet in a bout of recklessness, weeks, months ago, back before all the meetings and the Spellbook sessions and... the letters. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He had dropped it at Bakura's feet, and he had never picked it up. He had simply left. He had regretted it afterwards but, the following day, when Ryou had gone back to search for it, the knife was gone. Of course it was gone. Anyone could have pocketed it.

But it was here now, right in the center of Ryou's doormat. How had it gotten here?

At once, Ryou's head swiveled around, his gaze darting from the staircase to the landing and the shadowy doorways around him. There was no one there except him.

His gaze returned to the knife. Holding his breath, as if to not make any noise that might disturb it, he took a step towards it. Slowly, he picked it up and turned it over in his fingers, examining it. Yup, it was surely his knife. Just the way he remembered it. Not a scratch on it.

Ryou unfolded the blade. Even in the weak lighting of the landing, it gleamed with a shine that spoke of recent polishing. Ryou marveled at it for a while, turning the blade this way and that and seeing his eye reflected on it. He had never polished the knife himself; he wasn't even sure how to do it.

Somehow, this knife had found its way from that street to Ryou's door. And there weren't really many ways it could have happened. There was only one option.

Bakura.

Ryou glanced over his shoulder again. He was still alone, his breath loud in the quiet landing.

Bakura had been here. He had been here to leave the knife on the doormat. Or maybe it had been accidental; maybe he had simply dropped the knife. Maybe he had tried to break into Ryou's apartment again and—

Ryou, still clutching the knife in one hand, unlocked the door to his apartment and shoved it open. The apartment was dark; in the light filtering in from the landing, it looked undisturbed. Ryou turned on the lights to confirm it. Everything was in its place. There was nothing of value left to take, anyway. The letters were destroyed and the Spellbook was with Ryou, in his bag.

What was the meaning of this, then? Had Bakura kept the knife all this time? For what?

Ryou stared at the thing in his palm, the cogs in his mind turning and turning. Bakura had picked it up, back on that night, and he had held on to it. For whatever reason, he had kept it—and honestly, maybe it made sense. He bet the Thief King had a use for knives.

Why leave it, then? It had to be deliberate. A warning?

If Ryou wanted to use a knife as a warning, he would stick it into someone's door, or his belongings, or attach a threatening note or something. Ryou took a look around. There was no note. And the knife had been folded and placed neatly right in the center of the mat. The whole thing spoke of unexpected care: from the way it had been laid out on the mat to the shining blade.

Maybe this wasn't meant as a warning or a threat. It could be meant as returning to Ryou something that belonged to him. Something that Bakura had clearly cared for, given its immaculate state.

Why return it, then? Why, after holding on to it for so long—? And why even bother to hold on to something that was Ryou's? Surely he would have no trouble finding better weapons in those seedy places he frequented.

Maybe Ryou was overthinking it. Maybe this meant nothing. Maybe it simply meant that Bakura wanted to get rid of everything that was Ryou's. He had kept it for as long as it served him, and then—

No. He wouldn't bother to give it back if that was the case. He would just throw it away. And yet he deliberately brought it back to Ryou. That had to mean something.

...An apology? It was the only thing that made sense.

Ryou huffed through his nose. Wishful thinking. It wasn't like Bakura to apologize for anything.

---

Leaving Mariku all by himself went better than Malik expected. He returned home from work to find everything in order and Mariku already fast asleep in the bedroom, the door left ajar. In the kitchen was a cup with a bit of tea left inside, the tea bag neatly placed in the saucer next to it, and a plate with leftover crumbs—evidence of a sandwich that once was.

Quietly, so as not to wake his yami up, Malik closed the bedroom door, turning the key in the lock as quietly as possible. This was still a necessary step. Everything had gone alright so far, but Malik wouldn't get any shuteye unless he was certain he was safe.

The phonecall from Ishizu had come while Malik had been at work. She had had many questions, especially about the Spellbook and the way Ryou and Bakura worked on it, but overall she agreed with Rishid. She cautioned him to be very careful with how he treated his yami, and advised him to talk to his friends about him. Malik hadn't needed any more persuading. He could see his siblings were right: secrecy wouldn't lead to anything good.

So, the following morning, after unlocking his bedroom door and preparing breakfast, he texted Ryou.

To: Ryou, 10:43
I need to talk to you asap

Ryou replied within seconds.

From: Ryou, 10:44
If this is about Bakura again, the answer is no

Malik sighed.

To: Ryou, 10:46
No. I think I should tell the guys about Mariku

This time, no text reply came from Ryou. Instead, Malik's phone rang with an incoming call.

"Hey," Malik said after picking up.

"Can you talk?" Ryou asked.

Malik craned his neck to peer beyond the kitchen door, towards the corridor that lead to the bedroom. He had unlocked the bedroom door, but it was still closed. His yami was still sleeping. "Yes," he replied.

Ryou let out a long huff. "Do you think it's a good idea? Telling the guys?"

"I see no reason to keep it from them."

"Okay. What about the Spellbook? Are we gonna tell them about... Y'know. Our efforts to translate it?" His voice had been stilted, carefully keeping Bakura's name out of this.

"I dunno. I told Rishid and Ishizu about it."

"You did?"

"Yes. They were... concerned, but also curious. Ishizu wants to know more, of course. I think she'd like to talk with you and Bakura about your translation methods."

Ryou's voice darkened. "If she wants me to tell her about my method, I gladly will, as long as we keep that bastard out of it."

"Ryou..."

"No. I won't talk about him again. I'm sick of it."

Malik sighed again, feeling they had already gone through the same dialogue a thousand times. "Alright, but will we tell the guys about it?"

Ryou thought about it for a while. "No. I don't want to have to talk about him."

Malik rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but he had no stamina to argue. "Okay. Then we just tell them about Mariku."

---

Malik didn't call Yuugi right away. He let half of his day go by, mentally preparing. He left his yami alone again at some point early in the afternoon and went to the gym. A workout never failed to make him feel braver, somehow, so on his way back home he wrote a text.

To: Yuugi, 16:12
Hey Yuugi. I need to talk to you. Call me when you get the chance

Yuugi called nearly two hours later.

"Hey, Malik! I just got off work. What's up?"

"Hey, Yuug," Malik said with a smile. He looked over his shoulder at his yami, who was sitting in the living room. Mariku had been watching a show on the TV but, the moment Malik's phone had rung, his attention had shifted to him. Now his eyes were on Malik, watching curiously. Always watching. "Hang on," Malik murmured into the phone. He grabbed his keys and walked out of the apartment.

"What's wrong?" Yuugi asked.

"Wait, I gotta go somewhere where I can talk." Malik climbed the stairs down to the ground floor and out into the street.

He could hear the frown in Yuugi's voice. "What do you mean? Where are you?"

"Right now, I'm outside my place. I, uh—I couldn't talk freely before."

"Why?"

"Yeah, see..." Malik kicked some gravel off the sidewalk, grimacing as he prepared himself. "My yami is back."

He expected the silence that followed. He could picture Yuugi gaping, his phone held against his ear. Malik waited.

"Your—What?" Yuugi said after a while. "Mariku? Mariku is there?"

"Yes. He's in my apartment right now."

"Oh my god. Are you okay? How—? When—?"

"I'm okay," Malik said quickly. "As for the how and when... It's a long story."

"Do you need help? Should I come over? I can take a cab—I can call Jounouchi and Atem, and we can—"

"No, no, I told you, I'm okay. He's not... aggressive, or anything."

Yuugi had many questions. He fired them one after the other, until Malik had to suggest they meet, to discuss all of this from up close—preferably with the rest of the guys present, too. It would be better than having to go though everything repeatedly over the phone.

Yuugi agreed at once. "Should we come over? I can get Atem and—"

Malik grimaced. "To my place? With Mariku here? I'm don't think that's a good idea."

"Okay, you can come to my place, then. I'm on my way home right now."

"Alright. I'll see if Ryou can come, too."

"And I'll call Jou and Honda."

"Alright. See you soon."

---

Ryou had just gotten off his eight-hour shift, so Malik went by his workplace on his motorcycle to pick him up. They rode together to Yuugi's place, Malik's motorcycle slicing through the cold streets.

They had left Mariku at Malik's apartment—even though Malik had contemplated calling Bakura to keep an eye on him, just so that he would have something to answer when the guys inevitably asked him, 'You left him alone?' Then again, it wouldn't really reassure them if he replied 'Oh no, not alone, Thief King Bakura, your mortal enemy, is with him.' So, in the end, Malik had just left his yami in his apartment, with the door unlocked and, for good measure, a box of fancy cookies sitting on the kitchen table.

It had been a while since they had been to Yuugi's. They had been so busy with the Spellbook sessions they hadn't even thought of hanging out with the rest of their friends, even though Yuugi had extended to them quite a view invitations for movie and game nights.

When he and Ryou arrived, Honda and Jounouchi were already there, sitting with Atem and Yuugi in the living room. Jounouchi all but dragged Malik to the leather couch and made him sit down. Then the questions started pouring.

Malik told them all about Mariku, about Mrs Aiko in Tokyo and about the days they had spent together so far. He told them about having to lock Mariku to the bedroom to keep himself safe, of how he took him with him to the Crow on most nights, and how incredibly, excruciatingly stressful all of this was.

The guys had questions upon questions, of course. Malik refrained from mentioning anything about Bakura and the Spellbook, even though he couldn't help throwing a couple of sideways glances at Ryou, who was sitting on the edge of the couch, silent.

"All of this is very concerning," Atem said at last, darkly.

"Yeah... I don't think living with him is safe," Yuugi said. "No matter how chill he is so far—"

"What's my other option?" Malik asked.

His friends looked at each other. "I dunno..." Yuugi murmured. "Maybe we could ask for Kaiba's help?"

"Yeah, Seto might be able to give us a room in one of his hotels," Jounouchi said. "We could put Mariku in there, with security around the room and surveillance at all times."

Malik winced. That sounded too much like a prison for his liking. "I think that's guaranteed to make him lash out."

"I bet Seto's security will be able to handle it."

"And then what? We just keep him in a hotel room forever?" Yuugi said.

Atem shook his head, showing his disagreement. "We should find a more permanent solution."

"The only permanent solution is hiring an assassin and—"

"Jou!" Yuugi said, scandalized.

Jounouchi shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"Maybe we should focus on keeping Malik safe instead of keeping his yami detained," Atem said. "Maybe Malik is the one who should have security watching him—"

"And have a bunch of bodyguards shadowing me forever?" Malik said, scrunching his nose. "No, thank you."

"What do you say, Ryou?" Yuugi said. Everyone turned to look at the white-haired figure sitting hunched at the far edge of the couch.

Ryou shrugged and didn't speak.

"I'm telling you, we should call Seto," Jounouchi said, sitting up straighter and taking his phone out of his pocket. "His bodyguards are top notch, Malik; you won't even realize they're watching you."

"They might be, but I can't live my life like this."

"Maybe we should fly you back to Egypt," Atem said. "That way you'll be close to your siblings, for protection."

"I don't wanna return to Egypt."

"Maybe just for a little while—"

"Or we could fly Mariku to Egypt, and have Rishid keep an eye on him—"

"I'm not letting him close to my family!"

"What if we pay that Mrs Aiko to keep him in Tokyo? You said she handled him just fine."

"She's an old lady, Honda, she can't be responsible for my yami forever."

"Alright, that's it, I'm calling Seto."

"Yeah, maybe that's for the best. Maybe Seto has some idea—"

"Guys, guys," Malik lifted his palms in a placating gesture. "I appreciate the concern, but... It's fine. I'm handling it okay so far."

"Yes, but you can't live like that forever!"

Malik made a grimace, looking away from them. "I know."

"Then, I'm calling Seto."

"Or maybe we should call the police!"

"And tell them what? That a person came back from the dead?"

"Let's be realistic. We need to keep Malik safe, possibly hidden—"

"I won't go into hiding!" Malik snapped. "I've had enough of that for a lifetime!"

Everyone started talking at once, one voice topping the other and, in the midst of it all, Malik was trying to protest. It went on for one minute, then two, until Ryou raised his voice and said, "Guys!" They all turned to him. Ryou's face was set in something like determination. "There's no need to panic. We have a plan."

He turned to Malik, who instantly knew what it was about. Ryou had made up his mind. Or so Malik hoped. Gods, he hoped he was right. Malik gave him the tiniest of nods, and Ryou looked back to the rest of their friends, sitting tall.

"There's something I haven't told you," Ryou said. Malik noticed the use of first person: something I haven't told you, not something we haven't told you. A wave of gratitude warmed his chest. "I told you I haven't seen Bakura... But that's a lie. I've seen him many times over the last month. We've been working together to translate the Spellbook."

After the initial wave of shock and gaping mouths and What!s and What are you talking about?s had passed, Ryou went on.

"I thought," he said, and Malik noted again the use of first person, "since the Spellbook had no effect on me, it might be the same with him. And I decided to test it."

"You allowed Bakura to see the Spellbook?" Atem said, something like anger rippling in his voice.

"Yes, I did," Ryou replied steadily. "Under strict rules and supervision. And it turned out I was right. It didn't affect him the way it affected you guys."

"He can read it?" Yuugi asked, eyes wide.

Ryou smiled thinly. "Sort of." And he told them about the Spellbook sessions, about him and Bakura figuring out the meaning little by little over the course of weeks. Everyone was staring him with their mouths hanging open. Then, as if on cue, they all turned to Malik.

"You knew about this?" Jounouchi asked.

"Um..." Malik looked at Ryou, who immediately came to his rescue.

"He knew, yes. He didn't agree with my idea at first, but he helped me, to make sure Bakura wouldn't harm me," Ryou lied without even flinching. "We've all been meeting together."

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Atem said, his voice still having that angry quality. Or maybe it wasn't anger. Maybe it was suspicion.

Malik shifted in his seat, but Ryou didn't cower. He returned the Pharaoh's look steadily. "Because I knew you wouldn't agree, but I wanted this situation over no matter what. Αnd I knew the key was the Spellbook."

"What do you mean? What key?" Yuugi said.

"If the Spellbook brought the yamis back, then maybe it can reverse it. Send them back to the afterlife and, if possible, seal them away forever."

Silence followed, heavy and tense. Malik wasn't sure if it was just his impression, but he thought Atem had gone pale. His fingers twitched on his lap. Malik noticed it then: for the first time, Atem and Yuugi weren't sitting next to each other. Yuugi was sitting further away, between Jounouchi and Honda, leaving Atem to sit by himself to Malik's right. It was odd for them; odd enough that Malik nearly opened his mouth to ask about it. He might have, if he didn't have more important things to worry about.

Yuugi, however, glanced at Atem. He was clearly shaken. "Send them... back?" he said, voice barely audible.

Ryou and Malik exchanged a look. They'd both heard the terror in Yuugi's voice.

"We don't want to send Atem back," Malik said quickly. "Just Bakura and Mariku."

The air vibrated with unease. Yuugi kept glancing at Atem, but Atem wasn't looking at him. He was staring at Ryou. "You think that is possible?" he asked. His usually regal and firm voice was quiet. It made him appear smaller.

"I think so," Ryou replied. "We will find out soon. We were—I mean, we are on the verge of a breakthrough. In our last meeting, Bakura—" he swallowed, licked his lips once, "Bakura and I discovered the page that contains the resurrection spell. I bet... I bet we'll manage to translate it. You know. Next time we meet." The last few phrases struggled to come out of Ryou, but he said them, nearly gritting his teeth as he spoke.

Malik looked at him, feeling some sort of emotion overtaking him, spreading from his chest outwards. Hope. And relief; sweet, sweet relief.

Ryou looked like he had swallowed something foul. He turned to Malik with am expression that said, There, are you happy now? but Malik didn't care. Because yes, he was happy; this was the most hopeful he had felt in a long time.

Ryou probably saw it on his face, because his look softened somewhat. "Yeah," he said, with the expression of a man who has accepted his fate. "We'll probably manage to translate the whole thing... Soon."

"How? How do you do it?" Yuugi asked.

Ryou tried to explain as best as he could—which didn't help much, if the guys' dumbstruck faces were anything to go by.

"I know, it's kinda wild," Malik butted in with a chuckle. "I don't get how they do it, either."

"And... You are okay with meeting with Bakura?" Yuugi asked.

"No. But I'm willing to do it if it means I'll get rid of him forever."

"Does he know that?" Atem asked. He still looked pale; the color was gone from his lips.

Ryou nodded. "Yup. He says that's what he wants, too."

This made the guys exchange more surprised looks.

"The thief said... He wants to return to the afterlife?" Atem asked.

"That's what he claims."

All four heads turned to Malik again. "What about Mariku?" Yuugi asked.

"Uh... He—He doesn't know," Malik replied.

Atem raised both eyebrows. "He knows nothing about the Spellbook?" Malik nodded. "Are you planning to tell him?"

Malik looked away uneasily. "I... don't know."

"Wait. I have another question," Atem said. He had found his stern frown and something of the strength in his stance. He looked at Ryou. "How did you find Bakura? How did you know where to look? Because I've tried to locate him, but..."

"Oh," Ryou said. He threw Malik a quick glance that warned him not to open his mouth. Don't speak. "I didn't find him. He found me. He came to ask for... money. And I made a deal with him."

"He had to ask for money?" Jounouchi said. "I thought he could just steal it?"

Ryou shrugged. "Maybe he's lost his touch."

The silence that followed was a thoughtful one, and it stretched on for minutes. Malik could not believe his luck. This was the best possible outcome: Ryou had finally agreed to work with Bakura again, and they had managed to tell the guys everything without anyone accusing Malik of being in cahoots with the ex-Lord of Darkness. Sure, it had taken a bit of lying on Ryou's part, but it didn't matter. Malik would tell them the whole truth after all of this was over.

"I think..." Atem started, slowly, "that we should all meet. With Bakura, I mean. I would like to talk to him in person."

"Uh..." Malik and Ryou looked at each other.

"I don't know—" Ryou started saying.

"No, I agree with Atem," Yuugi said. "I'd like that, too."

"You guys all remember he hates Atem, right?" Malik said.

Atem squared his shoulders. "I think I can handle him. And I'm willing to have a civilized conversation with him."

"I don't know if he will," Ryou said sourly.

"Still. Extend the invitation to him, please. And maybe, in time... We'll meet with Mariku, too."

Malik would rather this time never came, but he didn't say anything. Ryou, however, sighed. "Fine. I'll tell Bakura. But I can't promise anything."

---

When they left Yuugi's, as they climbed on Malik's bike, Malik paused and gave his friend a grateful look. "Hey... Thanks."

Ryou simply made a grimace. "It needs to be done. Or this will never be over."

"Still. Thanks."

"Yeah," Ryou mumbled.

"So... Who will tell Bakura?"

---

Bakura was at the gym, training on his favorite boxing bag. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, making his bangs stick on it. He brushed them away with his taped knuckles, took another breath, and started attacking the bag again.

Aaron had announced him his next match: next Saturday. Eight days from now. Bakura was pretty confident about it; he was in excellent shape. And, today, he had ran a couple of errands for Ishido and gotten paid for them. After that... incident with Bakura's money and the threat to break his hand, things had been going smoothly. Bakura was cooperating, and Ishido had been happy about it. It wasn't ideal, but it was working for now. All Bakura did, mostly, was pick up Ishido's money from various scumbags around the city. No break-ins or threatening people at gunpoint. Just smooth jobs. Easy.

Bakura twisted his mouth and gave the bag a particularly forceful punch, feeling the impact vibrate all up his forearm.

He hadn't given up. He was just bidding his time. He would make sure that, before he died, he would do that bastard Ishido the most damage anyone had ever managed to. He didn't yet know how he would do it, but he had time to think about it. He kept his eyes and his ears open, waiting for just the right bit of information.

Half an hour later, he took the tape off his wrists and made his way to the changing room. He fell heavily on a bench and took his phone out of his bag. He nearly dropped the thing when he saw he had a text from Ryou.

He stared at the tiny letters on the screen, blinking, just in case this had been just a post-workout exhaustion-induced hallucination. His heart was beating hard. With a shaking finger, he tapped the screen to read the message.

From: Yadonushi, 20:23
Tomorrow at 8. My place.

That was all. Five words. Bakura stared at them, feeling the surge of... something in him. Nervousness. Gut-gripping.

How had this happened? Had Malik finally managed to convince Ryou? Bakura nearly texted Malik to ask him, but he changed his mind. He would go by the Crow and ask him in person. They had a lot of things to talk about, after Tomb-Keeper had promised he would help Bakura, with advice and whatnot, so he'd better keep his word.

He hurried to the shower, wanting to get to the Crow as quickly as possible. But first, he took his phone again. He went to Contacts and found Ryou's number; the word Yadonushi glared up at him from the screen. Bakura deleted the old nickname and, in its place, he simply wrote Ryou.

---

Malik was not surprised to see Bakura walking through the doors of Crow barely five minutes after opening time. "I knew you'd show up," he said as Bakura dropped onto the stool in front of Malik.

Instead of a reply, Bakura shoved his phone in Malik's face. Malik managed to read the text he knew Ryou had sent. Tomorrow at 8. My place.

Unimpressed, Malik pushed Bakura's phone out of the way. "Yeah, I already know."

"Was this your doing?"

"Uh... Yes and no?"

"What does that even mean?"

Malik gave a weary sigh. He had opened up the bar five minutes ago. No patrons had walked in yet and Reiji had the night off, so it was just him and Bakura, for the time being. He got them two glasses of beer and pushed one towards Bakura. There was a brief silence as he waited for Bakura to take a couple of sips, and then he told him about the meeting at Yuugi's place.

When Malik finished, Bakura had a look of absolute repulsion on his face. "The Pharaoh wants to meet me?" he said, nose twisted.

"Yeah."

"Cool. Great. I accept. I would love to smash his face in—"

"Bakura!"

"What? You expect me to meet that asshole and simply talk?"

Malik rubbed his eyes, mindful of his eyeliner. "Not with that attitude, no."

"Where's your super crazy alter-ego, by the way?"

"Home," Malik said.

"You left him alone?"

"Yeah. I've been doing so for the last few days. It's been... okay."

"For real?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Bakura sipped at his beer. "So... Ryou lied about our meetings?"

"Yeah. For my sake."

"He lied right in the Pharaoh's face?"

"Yes."

Bakura grinned widely, fangs showing. "Nice."

Malik shook his head. Of all the things Bakura would be impressed by...

"You'll be there tomorrow, too, right?" Bakura asked.

"For the first hour or so. I'll still have to come to work."

Bakura nearly choked on his beer. "And I'll have to stay with Ryou alone?"

"Probably."

"What am I gonna do?"

Malik sighed. Normally, he would tease Bakura, but he looked so nervous Malik didn't have the heart to make fun of him. "I don't know."

"You said you would help me!"

"Yeah, but..." The first couple of patrons walked in, so Malik lowered his voice. "My life's been kinda crazy lately, you know. I don't know what I should be doing half of the times."

"But you said—"

"And I will help you. Once I know how."

Bakura scowled. "You're good for nothing, Tomb-Keeper."

The patrons were walking towards the bar, so Malik rolled his eyes at Bakura instead of a reply and went to take their orders. After he gave them two tall glasses of beer, Malik wiped his hands and leaned in front of Bakura again. "Look. I can't fix this thing for you. That's something you'll have to do by yourself. All I can do is put a good word in."

Bakura didn't speak. He looked away, pouting petulantly.

"I don't really know what's going on in Ryou's head right now, anyway," Malik went on. "I haven't had the chance to spend time with him lately. So I don't have much to go on."

Bakura grunted in acknowledgement, still looking away. Malik shook his head and left him at it, going to take the order of a group of newly-arrived customers.

---

That night, Atem couldn't sleep. The room felt too confining, too large, too empty. Malik and Ryou's words churned in his mind. Send the yamis back. Seal them away.

He hadn't discussed it with Yuugi after the guys had left. At first they had both sat in a sort of daze, a creeping shock that had made their voices die in their throats. Then Atem, unable to bear the crushing weight of his thoughts, had excused himself and gone to his room. He had been lying on his bed since, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

It must have been well into the small hours of the night when he decided he couldn't stay in that room any longer. He opened his bedroom door as quietly as he could and, despite himself, paused to hear Yuugi's breathing. Yuugi's door was left wide open, but his room was quieter than usual, his breath barely audible.

Quietly, like the cats they once kept at the palace, Atem walked along the hallway into the dark living room. The great glass window pulled him like a magnet, the distant lights of Domino drawing him. Atem stood before the glass, his back to the quiet apartment behind him, and looked out at the city. The sky was deep blue ink mixed with red. A few stars dotted the sky; only the brightest ones, like Polaris. No moon tonight.

His gaze roamed over the city buildings. Domino. His beloved Domino.

'Seal the yamis away.'

Just Bakura and Mariku, they had said. Not Atem. That was the plan. But who was to say if such a thing would be possible? Magic often made no distinctions. When he tried to seal Zorc away, Atem had to seal his own soul along with him. No matter that one was the Lord of Darkness and the other was the son of Ra—they had both had to go, or none would have. And the spell that had brought them back to life had brought all of the yamis back. No exceptions. What if the only way for it to work would be to send all of them back, too?

'We either seal everyone away or no one. We're sorry, Atem. That's how this works.'

That was how it would go. How it might go. What would Atem say then? Could he condemn Ryou and Malik to a life with their yamis, just so that Atem could stay in the world of the living? Or would he give it all up, sacrificing himself once more, to seal away those last remnants of darkness?

He was a king. He knew what choice he was supposed to make. He had made the same choice before. The noble one; the selfless one. If that's the only way, then I'll seal myself away, too. History repeated itself, they said.

But Yuugi...

Could he leave him again? He had thought of the possibility, many times over. All those times he dreaded he might disappear as quickly as he had appeared, Yuugi had been his one and only concern. But that was different. It was one thing to be forced into something, and another thing to choose to do it willingly.

Could he make that choice? If it came down to that... Would he be able to do it?

Should he do it?

And that was the important questions. Should I do it? Was it the way out of the rut he had run into? The only solution to their situation?

His presence had messed Yuugi's life up, and it kept messing it up. It made everything harder—and now, it was hurting Yuugi. Atem was trying his best not to make matters worse, but he only ended up causing Yuugi pain. He could see it. Everyone could see it.

Perhaps he should go, along with Bakura and Mariku. Perhaps none of the yamis had a place in this world. They weren't supposed to be here. That could be what Atem's initial instinct had been about, that feeling that he didn't belong. It hadn't been just him worrying over nothing; it had been deeper, the ripple caused by a fundamental law of the universe being violated. They had hacked at the seams of life and time, and now the rip was being stitched up, kicking them out. No space for them. There was never supposed to be any space for them. They were anomalies and, the harder they tried to fit in this world, the worse things would become. That was what his instinct had been trying to tell him since the beginning.

And, even if the spell could actually be applied to some of the yamis, and not all of them... Should Atem stay then? If he had that option, what would he pick, knowing what he knows?

He swallowed thickly. He drank in the sight of the city, because who knew how many more times he would have the chance to lay his eyes on it? And Yuugi... The great dilemma. Should he drink him up the same way, savoring each of their precious moments together, or should he keep his distance, to make parting easier? One was the selfish route, the other was not. And he had already been too selfish in this life.

His gaze travelled over the glittering skyscrapers. The blinking signs. The harsh line of KaibaCorp's tower. The distant lights of the pier.

One would think that saying goodbye would be easier after he had done it once already. It wasn't.

He didn't know how much time he stood like that. All he knew was that, at some point, he heard shuffling behind him. Quiet steps. Soft breathing. Yuugi.

A thin blanket fell over Atem's shoulders. Yuugi's hands, gentle but firm, wrapped it around the yami's figure. "It's cold in here." Yuugi's voice was a murmur.

Atem turned to look at him. Yuugi's hands were on him, holding the blanket tight around his shoulders, pressing against him. Real. Solid. Yuugi's eyes were soft with fatigue and something else, something knowing, like compassion, but deeper. Atem didn't have the heart to look away.

He raised a hand, slowly, and pulled the blanket more securely around him. He hadn't realized how cold he was. He was still looking at Yuugi, and Yuugi held his gaze.

"You should be sleeping," Atem said.

Yuugi's lips quirked into a smile. "So should you."

Atem didn't reply. He knew what was in Yuugi's mind. No matter what, that was something they would never escape: that bond that ran deeper than flesh and consciousness. Atem could see the fear stirring in his eyes; the same questions he had been asking, too. Will we have to send all the yamis back? Will it be possible not to?

Atem decided not to voice them. Instead, he smirked. "We are going to be so tired at work tomorrow."

Yuugi breathed out a chuckle. "Yeah, well. They can't fire me. They need me for that dinner on Sunday."

A dread Atem had forgotten about fell heavily in his stomach, like a stone. "Sunday?" In two days?

"Yeah. I... forgot to mention," Yuugi said, strained. Forgot—or rather Atem hadn't given him the chance to.

"And... Anzu agreed to it?"

"Yeah." Yuugi's hands slipped off him.

The blanket suddenly did nothing to warm Atem. After a short pause, he asked, "How do you feel about it?"

A huff. "I don't know." Yuugi turned his gaze to the city. "I don't know what's the right thing to do."

"You always figure it out in the end, aibou. Don't worry."

Yuugi turned to him, his eyes wide in wonder. Or maybe hope. They were warm with it, like purple velvet, and his lips parted at his short intake of breath. He was looking at Atem's face as if he was searching for something.

The world went fuzzy around the edges, the way it did in Atem's dreams. He lost himself in Yuugi's gaze. The air in his lungs turned scorching, and the ache was so, so sweet. A distant part of him was whispering, You shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't listen to it. Maybe, for this one minute, he could ignore it. How many more chances would he get for minutes like this?

The dream-Yuugi stirred in his memories, the sweet caresses, the slick skin. Heaviness pooled in Atem's belly, making breathing difficult. And Yuugi was still looking at him.

He might see. The thought darted through Atem's mind, startling him. He might see it in your eyes; he might realize.

Atem took a step backwards, looking away, at the floor, at nothing, trying to hide his sudden panic. "I... I'll try to get some sleep," he said. He swallowed and added, "You should, too."

When he looked at Yuugi again, the warm wonder was gone from his eyes. His expression was shuttered, like he was a mile away. "Yeah. I will."

---

Bakura took extra care in preparing for the afternoon's Spellbook session. He took a shower, cutting into the line outside the communal bathroom and baring his teeth at those who tried to protest. Then he chose his best jeans—black and tight—a clean hoodie, and his leather jacket. He pulled his hair up in a ponytail, because it always made his wild mane look somewhat neater, and crouched to rub some dried mud off his boot. He had no idea why he was doing all that; he was aware only of a vague desire to bring forth his best self. Maybe he hoped it would be received as a sign of respect, or as proof of the seriousness with which he approached the situation.

He wondered if Ryou had found the knife. He hoped none of his neighbors had pocketed it before it had the chance to fall in Ryou's hands. Well, he thought as he left his room and locked the door, if anyone stole it, I'll track them down and steal it back.

He wondered if Ryou had figured out who had left the knife at his door. He certainly would have. Ryou was sharp like that.

Bakura walked to the door next to his and knocked; Yuki answered. She cracked a smile when she saw him, examining him from head to toe. "My, my. Looking good, grumpy pants!"

Bakura opened his arms, looking down at his outfit. "You think?"

"I think you could lead straight hearts astray, if that's what you're after."

Straight hearts? Absently, he wondered if Ryou was straight. He smoothed down the front of his hoodie.

"So, who's the lucky one?" Yuki asked, leaning against the doorframe and bringing the tip of a finger to her lips, pretending to be thinking. "Hmm. Could it be Ryou?"

Bakura glowered at her, out of principle. "Shut up."

"Oh, it is Ryou! You guys made up, then?"

"No," Bakura grumbled, looking down, at the worn edges of her door. "He texted me. Told me to go by his place."

"Ooooooh," her smirk made her eyes glimmer. "You should take something to him, then. A present. As a peace offering."

"I already gave him something."

"What?"

Bakura hesitated. "A knife."

Yuki rolled her eyes, the gesture so exaggerated that her whole head rolled with it against the doorframe. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"It was—an important knife," Bakura snapped, feeling the need to defend himself.

"Wait! Was it maybe... The knife?" she said, the word full of meaning. "You gave it back?"

"...Yeah."

"Aw, so sweet!" Yuki seemed ready to laugh.

Bakura didn't like it—and he'd already gotten what he wanted: a confirmation that he was presentable, so. "See you around." He gave her a curt nod and left.

"Good luck!" Yuki called after him.

---

Outside of Ryou's place, Bakura paused. He looked up at Ryou's window while the cold whipped at his cheeks and nose. He had no idea what he would find in there today. The more he got to know Ryou, the less he knew of what to expect from him. How had he once been deluded enough to think he could control him?

He walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. Ryou Bakura, 5th floor. He hoped Malik would already be there. Another part of him wished Malik wouldn't.

"Hello?" Ryou's voice, crackly with static.

Bakura licked his lips. He steadied himself, the same way he did before entering the cage, or before meeting up with Ishido's associates around the city. "It's me," he said.

For the breadth of a heartbeat, Bakura doubted that Ryou would actually buzz him in, but then he heard the telltale sound and pushed the door open. He tried the elevator, just in case. It was out of order.

Up on the fifth floor, Ryou's door was cracked open, letting out a stripe of light. Bakura's gaze immediately darted to the doormat. The knife wasn't there. Of course it wasn't. His fingers tingled at its remembrance, missing the smooth handle, the clean ridges, the fine blade. It was in its rightful hands now, he reminded himself.

He pushed the door; the flaking paint crinkled under his fingertips, tiny bits of it coming off and floating to the floor. The hinges were loud.

Before taking even a step further, Bakura searched with his eyes for Ryou. He was in the kitchen, busying himself over the kettle. Ryou raised his head, giving Bakura a glimpse of his darkness-rimmed eyes and the tight line of his mouth.

Bakura had seen him from afar many times during this past week—more times than he cared to admit. It had always been through a glass, or around corners or columns or other people. It was different, now, looking at him so openly. This close.

"Hey," Bakura said. Had his voice always sounded this hoarse?

"Close the door," Ryou said, voice terse and icy.

Bakura obeyed. Malik hadn't arrived yet, after all. The apartment was just the way Bakura remembered it; maybe a book or two were in different places, Ryou's shoes discarded on the other side of the entrance, but otherwise Bakura might as well have been here just yesterday. He took off his boots and left them next to Ryou's old, mud-stained sneakers.

The yami walked to the living room, but he didn't take a seat. He looked at Ryou's back, his hair gleaming like bone against his dark blue sweater. He was stirring something in a cup.

Bakura was wholly prepared for Ryou to ignore him, but Ryou didn't. He turned around, holding the steaming mug, and leaned against the kitchen counter, his whole body facing Bakura. His eyes were on him, deep like the caves of Bakura's hometown.

A few seconds passed in sizzling silence. Bakura took in the sight of Ryou, haughty, distant, dark like the afterimage of lightning.

"Coffee?" Ryou said, razor-sharp.

A peace offering? Sort of. Tentative truce, even as his eyes said, You are not forgiven.

Bakura nodded. "Sure. Thanks."

Ryou did not move yet. He kept staring at Bakura, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Were you the one who left the knife at my doorstep?"

Oh, so he had gotten the knife. Good.

"Yeah," Bakura said. He smirked, for tradition's sake. "Who else could it be?"

Ryou did not reply. He was examining Bakura, arms folded across his chest, one hand still holding the mug. He raised it to his lips and took a sip. "Why?" he asked at last.

Bakura shrugged. "It was yours."

"Why did you keep it?"

Right. That one would be hard to explain truthfully. "It was a perfectly fine knife," he said.

"Then why give it back?"

Bakura hesitated again. He thought of the crumpled up note where he'd written I'm sorry. Ryou's eyes were two pits of night; he couldn't read them. "I already told you. It was yours."

"So? That's never mattered before."

"It matters now."

Ryou raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Look, if you don't want it, you can give it back," Bakura said with an irritation he did not really feel.

Again, Ryou did not reply, nor did he make any move to give the knife back. He stared at Bakura, a muscle rippling at his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Then he turned his back to the yami. He made another mug of coffee, the small space filling with its nutty and bitter scent.

Ryou did not hand Bakura his mug. He left it on the kitchen counter, before taking his own mug and going to the living room to sit cross-legged on the carpet. Bakura guessed it was just as well; he had already gotten more than he expected.

He picked up his mug, wondering distantly whether Ryou had remembered to stir some sugar in it. It didn't matter. Bakura would drink it either way, because this was Ryou's peace offering—sort of—and Bakura would rather kiss the Pharaoh than complain.

He took a seat on the couch across from Ryou, who was staring at him steadily, in a demonstration of defiance. Bakura actually preferred this over having him avoid him.

He took a sip of his coffee. Ryou had put sugar in it, after all; he had remembered. Somewhat emboldened by this, Bakura started speaking. "Listen—"

"Save it," Ryou's voice cracked like a whip. "I don't wanna hear it."

Bakura closed his mouth again. Maybe he had overestimated the situation. He drank some more coffee, to fill the silence. "Where's Malik?" he asked.

"He's gonna be here any minute now."

Good. Maybe Malik would blunt the sharp edges in Ryou's mood.

Bakura took another look around; the Spellbook was nowhere to be seen. "Shouldn't we get started?"

Ryou considered it, his face not softening in the slightest. If anything, he tensed more, but he reached into his bag and pulled out the stack of Spellbook pages. The paper was soft and wrinkled with use; it crackled slightly as Ryou left it on the table.

Bakura waited for Ryou to withdraw his arm first. He didn't want to force him to get closer than he wished to. Then he took the stack of pages, eyeing the swish and swirl of the symbols.

Right. That shit. He hadn't thought about those symbols at all during the past week. He had almost forgotten the way they coiled, like smoke rising from funeral pyres against a white sky. Their movement tugged at Bakura's stomach, his diaphragm, his lungs. It tugged and pulled. Welcome, it whispered, somewhere deep in his ribcage.

Bakura leafed through the pages. He couldn't remember where they had left things off the last time. All Bakura remembered was the fight with Ryou and the shit that had come afterwards.

Malik arrived, smiling despite the apprehension that lined his face. "Mariku is at home," he said when asked. "It's been okay so far. He seems to prefer it over following me around." He dropped onto the couch next to Bakura, warily eyeing the pages the yami was holding in his hands.

I was quiet after that. Bakura picked a page, Ryou picked a page, and they slipped into the well-known concentration, with Ryou occasionally scribbling something on a piece of paper. Bakura pretended to be staring at the page, but his gaze often flicked towards Ryou, taking in the determined set of his brow, or the way his nicotine-stained fingers held his pencil. Once or twice Bakura glanced at Malik, hoping for a small sign, a subtle gesture that would give Bakura a clue on how to act, but no such sign came.

Before he knew it, forty five minutes passed and Malik got to his feet. "I gotta go to work."

"Already?" Ryou asked, not pleased at all.

"Sorry," Malik said. Then he glanced from Ryou to the yami."Keep me posted. If you find anything—"

He gave Bakura a meaningful look—which, if the yami translated correctly, advised caution. Don't screw this up. Or Don't be an ass. It could be either of the two.

Bakura nodded.

"Good luck, both of you," Malik said then, his eyes again staying a tad longer on Bakura.

"See ya, Tomb-Keeper," Bakura said with a relaxed wave of his hand.

After Malik left, Ryou sat back in his seat, lips pinched together. Bakura couldn't understand if he was nervous or furious. Without Malik there, the air grew tense again, as if the room was holding its breath. Bakura kept feeling that Ryou was about to say something, and he remained alert, waiting for it. When it became obvious that Ryou wasn't going to be the one to open his mouth first, Bakura said, "What page are you working on?"

A displeased twist in Ryou's mouth. "Seven."

"Let me see."

Ryou made a show of huffing, to show how annoyed he was by Bakura's interruption, but he handed the page to him.

"Ah, right," Bakura said, recognizing the pattern of symbols at once. The light and dark page, as he had come to call it. Ryou's favorite. Bakura looked at the light symbol, observing its curves, the ebb and flow of its shape, perpetually in motion like black streams trickling along the page. The paper seemed to rustle slightly with the sound of it.

The sound of Ryou's pencil joined in the page's noiseless choir. It made Bakura want to look at him again, and he did, furtively. Ryou was hunched over his pad, his neck at an angle, its curve emerging white and gleaming like porcelain out of his sweater. A bit of hair brushed against it, spilling over the inline of his shoulder to coil and curl over dark blue fabric. Bakura observed, following the swirl of Ryou's hair like a man in trance. He looked and looked, until Ryou faded from his vision and he was looking at the symbols on the page again, at their own twists and turns, their mystical dance.

Ryou's presence was pulling at Bakura like gravity. A couple of days ago, he hadn't thought he would get to sit in the same room as him again. He had been fully prepared to stay away, but fate seemed intent on bringing them together, one way or another. Death hadn't changed that. It had been stupid to think that life would. Nothing had managed to keep them apart for too long—and, right now, Bakura didn't mind.

His gaze flicked from the symbols of the page to the nape of Ryou's neck, over over until he wasn't sure anymore which was which. The scratching of Ryou's pencil was like a song. His breath was quiet, but inescapable, like the movement of the earth under their feet. Bakura focused on it, and it grew louder, and louder, until it felt like it was Bakura's breath, coursing through his own body, wrapping around his heart. Distantly, at some subconscious level, Bakura became aware that Ryou's breathing couldn't possibly be this loud, but he could not care. He swam in it, the way he would have swum in the whispering waters of the Nile, letting it envelop him. It felt like he was back home. His lungs rested against that familiar rhythm. His limbs sighed and relaxed.

Bakura breathed as Ryou breathed, aware of nothing else, until another sound joined them: a deep beating, a subterranean swooshing, like waters rushing in underground caves. A muffled thump, then another. Bakura's heart followed it. It beat with it. The corners of his mind softened, settling in some sort of warmth. Home, he thought. Home.

Ryou was breathing. It made the darkness swirl against Bakura's eyelids, the soft huffs and puffs setting it in perpetual motion. The thumps made it tremble. The whole world was loud with it, and Bakura was floating in the sound, slipping through it. He felt it grab him by the bones and pull, and even though there was no sense of direction, he knew where it was leading him. Ryou.

He did not resist it. He followed, the thumping growing louder, deeper, all-encompassing; the breathing was like the wind roaring over rock plains.

And then there were voices. Many, many voices. All speaking, one on top of the other. They were asking him something, but Bakura couldn't make it out. What? he said, a hiss in the wind. The voices asked the question again, a thousand iterations of the same thing, over and over. Bakura didn't know what the question was, but he knew he had already answered it once. This was not the first time they had asked him that question.

He had answered, once. Without a voice, he had answered. The answer was in his veins, in that swooshing and roaring that was pulling and dragging him.

Then so be it, the voices had said. And he had hurtled through the stars, through ribbons of time, speeding towards the heart of all that thumping and roaring and swooshing, until the sound became his heartbeat. His breathing. Blood filling his veins, muscles waking.

"Bakura!"

His name. Yes. Pulse beating loud in his ears.

"Bakura!"

The sound of breathing was no longer all around him. All its dimensions diminished to one, a single point in space, a single source. Sharp and fast. Somewhere close.

A shake made all his senses acute again, his mind waking up to fill all the jagged corners. He opened his eyes.

Ryou was above him, his hands on Bakura's shoulders. There were lines on his face, rumpling his forehead, but it wasn't Ryou's usual scowl. His breath was quick, an echo of the sound that had reverberated through Bakura seconds ago.

"Ryou," he murmured, slurring, like someone dreaming.

He saw Ryou swallow. He realized then what that look on his face was: alarm, with a distant hue of fear. Bakura became aware of thin carpet under his back, the hard floor beneath. The furniture took shape around him. The couch was towering next to him, and Ryou was kneeling, his white hair falling around his face like a foaming waterfall. Its tips hovered just above above Bakura's face, enough to see his exhales stir them softly.

The thumping and roaring was gone. The voices were gone. The breathing had turned into Ryou—almost panting, eyes darting along Bakura's face, searching in near panic.

Bakura's voice scratched its way out of his throat. "What happened?"

"You—" Ryou started, but stopped. He drew back, his hands slipping off Bakura; the wild waterfall that was his hair shifted and settled in a quiet flow over his shoulders. The alarm was not gone from his eyes. "Can you sit up?"

Odd question. Why wouldn't he?

Bakura made to push himself off the floor and the room swam before his eyes. He blinked, clutching his head. "Whoa." When the world grew calm again, he turned to Ryou. "What the hell...?"

Ryou glanced away, towards the notepad that lay discarded next to where he was kneeling. "I—I'm not sure. I heard whispering. I thought it was you, but you... You didn't speak. Your lips weren't moving. You were looking at... the page, I think."

"You heard whispering?"

Ryou nodded. He picked up the notepad and got to his feet. "I tried to write down whatever I could make out. Until you... You slipped off the couch and fell on the floor."

Bakura waited for Ryou to say something more. When he didn't, Bakura said, "That's it?"

Ryou nodded. Now that there was no longer a cause for alarm, he was growing distant again, his eyes a few shades colder.

Bakura held a hand out towards the notepad. "Lemme see."

Ryou handed it over. On the page, in a hasty scribble uncharacteristic of Ryou's neat handwriting, was a scramble of words, divided every now and then by blank spaces.

The void - the -ness beyond

-thing above, and everything be(low?)

- blind -all-seeing, I shackle the -

I silence the ruler, - discard

- (I am?) and the darkness -

Everything a-low

The one - hatred, the one that - (brief?)

- is malice, (the one?) that is greed

- lord and the god, the -east

I am He, and so -

My scattered - I summon -

(My?) scattered remains -

- blood touched -shall (land?)

Where - touched light, - shall -

If flesh persists, itself -

Darkness - bear its -

The void I (am?), and the -

Everything above, and -ing below

- scattered - I - and (fall? call?)

My - remains I hank- (fond?)

"What is this?" Bakura asked, frowning at the page.

"It's all I could make out. Some words were unintelligible, so I left blank spaces. And—" He pointed at a word with one pale finger, "the words in the parentheses kinda sounded like that, but I wasn't entirely sure."

Bakura did not remember saying any of this out loud. He did not even remember hearing something like that. He read the words again, racking his brains to dredge up any memory that might help. Nothing.

He took a picture of Ryou's notes with his phone, to study it afterwards, in the dark and quiet of his room. Then he glanced at the tiny clock on the screen. 23:20. It had been nearly two and a half hours since Malik had left; Bakura could swear that it had been roughly twenty minutes ago. He felt drained. He sank onto the couch, right in the middle, where the cushions dipped a little, and rubbed his eyes. "For how long did this... whispering go on?"

Ryou shrugged. "Dunno. It was weird."

"Weird how?"

Ryou stared at the notepad in his lap, thinking. "Time felt... stretched. I could hear lots of things."

"Like what?"

Ryou hesitated again. He glanced at Bakura, lightning-quick, before turning to his notes again. "You. Breathing. And—" Ryou shifted and his bangs slipped in front of his face, obscuring his eyes. "Crying, I think. A child, crying."

Bakura didn't know why, but he felt a knot of discomfort in his stomach. He hadn't heard crying. He had only heard breathing, and a heartbeat. Ryou's, he realized now, as if it had been obvious from the start.

"Should we continue?" Ryou asked. He tried to make his voice sound biting and frosty, but it was clear he was shaken, too.

Bakura shook his head. "I think I'm done for today."

Ryou did not reply, but he seemed relieved.

Bakura was at the door, boots on and jacket zipped tight, his hand half-way to the door handle, when he heard Ryou speak behind him. "You know—"

Bakura halted. He turned to look at him.

Ryou was standing with his arms folded across his chest, something of his usual harshness back in his face. "Atem says he wants to meet you."

Bakura lowered his arm, away from the door handle. "Right. Yeah. Malik told me." He was about to say, I don't care what this asshole wants, he can't command me, or something of the sort, but he hesitated. He looked at Ryou, at the stern set of his mouth. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I think it's a reasonable demand."

"Oh." Bakura paused. Ryou seemed disgruntled, either at the suggestion of the meeting with Atem or at the fact that he had to be the one to tell Bakura about it. He was looking somewhere off to the side, shoulders stiff.

Bakura stared at him. In his ears, he could almost hear the last dregs of that rumbling heartbeat. They stood, and Bakura had a sudden recollection of himself standing in this very spot, and Ryou screaming at him to get out. A mug smashing against the wall. Tears down Ryou's face. And then, written in that delicate handwriting, We could have been happy. I could have shown you a way.

"Okay," Bakura said, surprising both of them. Ryou turned to him, gaze snapping to his in startled wonder.

"What?"

"I'll do it," Bakura said. "I'll meet him." Ryou blinked. Yeah, pal, I hardly believe I agreed to it, too, Bakura thought. And he added, "You arrange it, though. I don't want to talk to him more than I have to."

"Uh—Sure," Ryou said, still very evidently taken aback. It wasn't often that Bakura saw him so caught off guard, so he relished it now, observing how much bigger his eyes seemed when he wasn't frowning, how softer his mouth.

"Text me to tell me the time and place," Bakura said, feigning more ease than he really felt at the prospect. He opened the door and gave Ryou a curt nod. "See ya." And he left before Ryou could recover from his surprise, before he could remember that he was furious at Bakura—so that Bakura could keep this image of Ryou in his head, with no lines of hate on his face, with his eyes bright in amazement, lips slightly parted, hair like a foaming waterfall falling over his shoulders.

.

.

.

.

.