Archive of Our Own

[Once Before]

As long as he could remember, there had been the Flowers.

Marks signifying your bonds with others, he'd been told, to express the feelings you held for one another. They blossomed and grew - and in some cases, wilted - in tandem with the people they were connected to. He read about Flowers changing, thistle being replaced with tulips, bouquets of roses turning to chrysanthemums. Ever changing but always there, a reminder you weren't alone.

For better or for worse.

Far, far back in his memory, there was his mother, eternally cheerful and kind. Gently stroking father's carnations and red roses around her wrist, sneaking glances at the little white heathers blossoming on her shoulder for him and Mokuba. Sometimes, during the darkest nights or rare moments of nostalgia, he wished he could recall what Flowers had adorned his skin for her, or for his father. Baby's breath, perhaps? Maybe gladiolus, or daisies.

It didn't matter.

The first Flowers to stand out in the obscure corners of his mind were snow-white lilies, those pretty flowers strangers came to place on his parents' graves, reflected on his own skin. They had changed from whatever they had been before overnight, from one day to the next, though he hadn't felt anything of the process. That'd come later.

He didn't cry for his mother or father, he couldn't, but he dug his nails into the small leaves curling around his forearm, pressing and pressing until they bloomed red instead. Anything to make them stay.

No others marked his skin, as Mokuba and he were passed around from family member to family member until the money ran out. Left behind, forgotten. The last of his parents' Marks blinked out of existence, petal by petal, until there was nothing left. A far-off echo of his mother's laughter, the half-remembered warmth of his father's embrace.

And Mokuba.

There was always Mokuba.

An uneven sprinkling of bluebells that spanned from his upper ribs to the center of his chest. A neat arc, right below his heart. 

The only Flowers he needed. The only ones he wanted.

It was enough.

[Before]

Seto discovered for himself that the Flowers weren't always a good thing after they had been living in the Kaiba household for about a month. It felt longer, days and weeks stretching out and twisting together until they felt like years, even though he knew it was impossible. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, making his every thought and action blur together in a mess of classes and training of whatever his new father deemed necessary.

The skin around his neck was red and irritated, chafed by the collar he was forced to wear more often than not. He never bandaged the wounds, even when they broke skin, not wanting to grant Gozaburo the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. He made do with salve and cold compresses, disinfecting and hoping the swelling would be gone by the next day. Day after day. Maybe that was why it took him so long to realize.

It was usual to feel sore, as it was usual to have a crick in his neck from the hours he spent studying, sitting in the same position. The tension never seemed to leave the area around his shoulders since he'd started his classes. It was Mokuba who pointed it out one day, that there was an outline of something, peeking over the hem of his shirt.

Seto froze.

He stammered out the first excuse that came to mind and left, forcing himself to keep an even pace. Running would give him away. Running would be an admission of panic.

Sure enough, once he'd managed to position himself in front of a mirror properly, there was no mistaking beginning of lines and a slight change in color at the base of his neck. The beginnings of a Mark.

Why?! He despised Gozaburo with every fiber of his being, he cursed the man's very existence. Why did that monster leave a Mark on his skin?

There was no way Gozaburo hadn't noticed yet. He knew now, irrefutably, the influence and power he held in Seto's life. Like a cub snatched up by its scruff, like a chain fastened around a pup. The placement of the Flower couldn't have been more demeaning.

Seto flushed hot in shame and anger. Pure, unadulterated rage coursing through him for the first time he could remember. The Mark was wrong. He was no perfectly obedient son, nor a subservient dog that could be brought to kneel before its master. He'd prove it. He had to.

The Mark burned.

With every lash of a belt, with every snap of a riding crop, there was burning. It spread and ran rampant, moving from broken skin to just behind his eyes to the place he bit his cheek to keep quiet. Now more than ever before.

He hated him. Loathed him.

For a moment, after he'd won that chess game, Seto had let himself believe things could be better. He'd let himself hope, with the little faith that he'd managed to hold on to, before that brittle part of him was crushed under the heel of Gozaburo's perfectly polished shoes, scattering like cigarette embers.

Something inside him unfurled.

A rumbling, deep in his gut, that clawed its way up to wrap its talons around his heart. It begged him for violence and retribution. It became the plans he'd make behind Gozaburo's back, every chess piece he moved in their little game, determined to win.

He took all that Gozaburo offered, and then, for good measure, he took everything else as well.

Knowledge, power, a name.

Seto became Kaiba.

And at last, Gozaburo left his life as sudden as he'd entered it. 

A game won, an opponent outsmarted, and Seto Kaiba should have been free.

He wasn't.

Whenever he risked a backwards glance in the mirror, there'd be the hint of fiery orange petals, a single bloom stretching out into a six-pointed star. Another lily. He despised them more than ever.

The worst part was that the Mark didn't dull. He had waited for days, then weeks; checked every morning to see when the colors would start to fade, trying to determine when the image would shrivel up and die already.

Why wasn't it going away?

Furious but unable to speed up the process, he took to wearing turtlenecks and high-collared dress shirts, and threw out everything else that wouldn't cover his neck. He told himself it was a temporary measure. Gozaburo was gone, nothing but a single speck of filth in his memory. There was nothing tying them together anymore. Any day now, he'd be free from Gozaburo's grasp.

Any day now, he told himself. He refused to entertain the notion that the Flower wouldn't disappear. It would have felt too much like defeat.

Any day now, became his mantra, as he grew his hair out in the back, just enough to cover up any traces of that damned Mark. He sucked it up and endured, as he always did. He carried the Mark of a man unworthy, because he had no other choice.  

He waited for it to be gone.

It'd be any day now.

[Interlude: Change]

He didn't remember the Flowers.

In the grand scheme of things, this might have been but a small detail to some. After all, if he had not a single memory of his own, if he could not even remember his own name, why would he have any recollection of Marks?

However... Marks were a part of your soul, from what he understood. Intrinsically, unquestionably connected to one's self, perhaps even more so than a name. Yugi had given him the basic rundown, explained things best as he could to the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle, his Other Self. It had been confusing; the boy had had to go over parts of his explanation multiple times to fill in gaps of information the Spirit had missed the first time around, trying to work out how it all fit into their own situation.

There were too many questions. If they shared the same body, did they share the same Marks? Were they one soul, split in two? Or two souls, inhabiting one body? 

Yugi got anxious whenever these topics came up, curious to find out more, but afraid of what they might find. Thus, he stopped mentioning it after a while. Yugi found other things to focus on, the most notable being the time he spent with his newfound friends. Strengthening the bonds he'd formed with them, after the ordeal they went through with Kaiba.

There were already half-formed Marks spread over Yugi's fingers, spanning the length of his hand. They were different flowers, clustered together in an odd patch-work, that he had seen Yugi admire with an air of pure, unadulterated happiness more than once. Joey, Tristan and Téa's were roughly in the same spots as well, though the designs differed.

It was reminiscent of marker, hastily traced, connecting them all.

He smiled at the thought. 

[Bud]

The Flowers had come back.

It must have been years since he thought to check for them, since the tell-tale sting of new colors and lines taking shape made his skin tingle. Not since there'd been a half-formed splash of yellow on his wrist, back in the orphanage, that disappeared as quickly as it had shown up. He learned to not get attached to the other children after that, aware of how inevitable it was that they would be separated. It'd been easier not to care, even then.

And after Gozaburo... Not caring was a relief, compared to the humiliation of carrying his hate for the world to see. The less people saw, the lower the chance they somehow managed to exploit him for their own gain. He became desponded, aloof, cold. Uncaring, the maids spoke in hushed tones when they thought he wouldn't hear; ruthless, mocked his business associates.

Perfect, Kaiba thought.

But that morning, as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, he'd caught a glimpse of color.

A small burst of purple and white on the outer crook of his elbow.

Sharp, nearly full outlines. Vivid colors. Confusion soon became disbelief as he realized what this meant.

Either it had formed exceptionally fast, or he hadn't noticed it creeping up on him, in the few days it usually took to appear.

Either option was unacceptable.

He ran the tap, grabbed the nearest towel, and scrubbed. He refused to believe it was real. Yet, no matter how long he rubbed the spot with soap, sponge, bristles, anything, it wouldn't come off. He tried until his skin was raw and aching, bruised to match the little flowers' hue.

He was furious.

He wanted to deny their existence, expecting lack of acknowledgement to make them disappear. But of course they didn't, and he barely lasted a day before the burning need to know gnawed at the edge of his consciousness, demanding an explanation.

Left with no other choice, he started doing research. It was the same meticulous process he applied to finding any sort of information, really. There was relief in the familiarity of routine.

In any other case, there'd have been a relief in knowing as well, but now there was no such thing.

They were petunias, he found. An everyday flower for suburban gardens, but not prevalent as Marks. Fairly easy to identify, but difficult to ascribe a meaning to. None of the books or sites ever gave him conclusive information, contradicting each other and themselves. It served to prove what nonsense this entire ordeal was, in his opinion.

Only one thing was for sure: it was highly unlikely that it was caused by any positive sentiment. And there was only one person he recently became acquainted with that could have led to a sufficient amount of disdain. Only one person he had, he loathed to admit, felt a connection with.

Yugi.

Considering their circumstances, resentment and anger were the most likely feelings this thing held.

Kaiba didn't want any bond, least of all to that child. There had to be a way to get rid of the barely-there Flowers. After all, Marks were nothing more than a visual representation of strong emotion felt towards another. Where there was no emotion, there was no bond.

If resentment over losing their duel caused Flowers to pop up, Kaiba saw only one way to erase this humiliation. It shouldn't be too complicated. All it would take was a single victory, proving once and for all that he could defeat the other, that he was superior. Then there would be nothing tying them together, and Yugi would become nothing more than the dirt beneath his shoes once more. 

And he'd be rid of these blemishes marring his skin.

He had to rethink his strategy, he decided. He couldn't risk losing again. He had to be better prepared, he had to bend the game to his own rules. And he had just the thing in mind.

He called for Mokuba, and transport for himself. This was going to take a while, and he needed to keep the company running in his absence.

A few days later, among leftover screws and unused wires, he came to regret that decision. A new prototype Duel Disk was sitting on the tabletop, but his little brother had been taken.

He adjusted his priorities accordingly, and took off for Duelist Kingdom.

[Interlude: Game Start]

Everything that could have gone wrong, had gone wrong.

He should have known the peaceful days they had experienced after defeating Kaiba that first time wouldn't last long. He shouldn't have hoped for normality, when his very existence defied the concept.

One thing after another, a string of events that had taken its toll on all of them.

It all started with a tape.

A challenge.

No, a wager.

Come to Duelist Kingdom, Pegasus had said, and win if you want to free your grandfather's soul. It was an ultimatum they could not refuse, not if they wished to retrieve grandpa. Pegasus had looked at them, and for all that he had been nothing but a projection on a TV screen, he'd seen them. He had known they would come. There had been a glint in his eye that spoke of worse to come, trials and tribulations that they couldn't yet put a name to. Pegasus had been a perfect example of the predator lying in wait to claim its prize, and they had no choice but to spring his trap.

So they went.

They dueled.

There was barely time to think between each new duel, thrown around from one unlikely opponent to another as they were. The experience helped. With each duel he felt more comfortable in their shared skin, with each victory they grew closer. Him, Yugi, the others.

By now it was almost certain that he and Yugi were not, in fact, the same soul. Yugi's Flowers for Téa, Joey and Tristan had all settled now, occasionally shifting whenever emotions ran high, but otherwise a steady presence on the boy's arm.

Whenever Yami took over for a duel, they went hazy again. He'd sworn that even the basic colors and placement was ever so slightly off from what they should be; almost Yugi, almost his Marks.

They hadn't had the time to look closely during the duels themselves, but they'd discussed it one quiet evening, huddled near the campfire Tristan and Joey eventually managed to set up.

They shared a body, but not their Marks.

What did that make them?

Over the course of the tournament, he'd gotten used to being called Yugi's Other Self. The part of Yugi that remained in the shadows until he was needed. He found that he liked to be called Yami, for all that it was still not a name of his own.

It acknowledged his individuality, but it connected him with Yugi. He felt less alone for it.

They were not alone, and because of this, they managed to defeat Pegasus.

All of the souls that had been taken, returned to their respective bodies. All was well again.

No lasting damage done.

They could breathe. Life kept moving on.

Yami had finally gotten some time to pause, and think. He turned the events of the tournament over in his mind, determined to make sense of them. An exercise in self-reflection, or maybe nothing more than his own desire to remember something.

One memory sprung to mind, clear as glass.

Wind cutting across his cheeks atop a castle tower. Kaiba standing in front of him, backing away, closer to death with each step he took.

Closer...

Closer...

He didn't regret his choice that day, he couldn't. Finding Yugi's grandfather and saving him had been his goal. He barely knew Kaiba. Kaiba had been standing in his way. He'd chosen accordingly. He was not as kind as Yugi, unable to see what had made Yugi so averse to taking his chance by calling Kaiba's bluff.

The elder Kaiba brother admittedly made a good actor, but he'd seemed off somehow, different from what he remembered from their first duel. There, but not quite.

His eyes ablaze from the other side of their makeshift arena, trying to pull apart his strategy. Words dripping with acerbic comments, a challenge laced with poison.

And Yami never could refuse a challenge.

He turned the shards of the memory over, again and again.

He didn't regret his choice, and wondered what that said about the person he was supposed to be, without Yugi's influence.

It was a memory clear as glass, reflecting the worst parts of him.

At least he could be sure those darker traits were his, and his alone. Yugi had stopped him from crossing that line. Yugi had seen his choice, and objected. He'd found another way.

So the darkness he felt lurking in his soul? That wasn't Yugi.

It was him, and him alone.

That thought probably shouldn't have been comforting.

It was.

[Bloom]

Something must be wrong with him.

There was no other explanation as to why there were not one, but two unfamiliar Marks on his arm now. Although, to call the first 'unfamiliar' when it had been over a month since it first appeared was not quite the right choice of words. What was unfamiliar about the first, was not their existence as such, but how they had spread. Kaiba may not have been an expert on Marks, but he felt it was safe to say that it was not supposed to do that.

That was reason number one for his current, less than optimal, mental state.

Reason number two could be found adjacent to the first, on his inner bicep. A dotting of delicate blue periwinkle had taken shape, as fast as the first Flowers had, and for no good reason. There had been no change in his attitude towards others, nor in the way others approached him.

Unease washed over him, languidly dragging him under until he struggled to breathe and-

He coughed and shook his head.

Ridiculous.

Ever since he lost to Pegasus, he'd been out of it. Of course he was relieved to have Mokuba at his side again, safe and sound, but that didn't clear the cloud of - by lack of a better word - anxiety that followed him around.

And it all came back to the ways in which his own body was betraying him.

He had stopped denying his desire to defeat Yugi, and chose to ignore the corresponding Mark to go with said desire until he succeeded and it would go away. Even the way it had spread could have been attributed to his increased itching for a proper rematch, one of his own volition this time, and with only their honor at stake.

When it came to saving Mokuba, he hadn't cared how he won. The Mark - and by extension, his subconscious - had obviously thought otherwise.

The first Mark wasn't an issue, he could still make it go away. It was normal.

The second one wasn't.

It was not merely a new part of the first one; one Mark, one flower, that was how it went. So this must have been something else.

He ran his fingers over the Flowers on his chest and recalled his affection for his little brother in vivid detail. Traced the petunias on his arm and longed for comeuppance. The periwinkle... he couldn't place. His mind was pushing him towards some vague words Yugi and his little group had spoken, back at Duelist Kingdom. How they had tried to encourage him, of all things. They really couldn't take a hint whatsoever.

The new Mark couldn't be because of that. He had no interest in any of them aside from Yugi, and he hadn't heard of multiple Flowers appearing for a single person.

Even if that had been the case, what was this Flower supposed to mean?

He only wanted to beat Yugi, that was the extent to which he cared. Nothing more, nothing less.

A muscle near his jaw twitched.

Either his mind was playing tricks on him, or his body messed up.

Either option was decidedly not good.

He knew they were nothing more than images, pigment seeped into his pores by some freak twist of nature - and thus they could be fallible, as humans themselves were.

In his dreams, however, the Flowers were real. Their presence was marked by a visceral, sickly sweet smell seeping through every crack in the walls that was impossible to escape.

He dreamt of the orphanage - lilies lining the halls like a tomb -

of the Kaiba estate - bluebells crushed under his shoes -

of a dueling arena stretching towards the sky, audience thunderous with anticipation - a mixture of aroma so strong that Kaiba couldn't place it.

In his waking hours, he was torn between pouring his time into researching what was wrong with him, and pretending that everything was fine.

In sleep, he chased the phantom sensation of longing for something, anything, nothing at all.

He was more tired than he'd ever been.

[Grow]

He got a grip on himself as he found distraction in planning bigger, better things. A new pet project, so to speak. A tournament that would put Pegasus' to shame.

More importantly, a chance to face Yugi once more in a duel and prove his superiority.

Battle City took shape.

Other Kaiba Corp business trudged along the norm; the marketing department had its ups and downs and R&D was - as always - a coin toss between complete failure or absolute genius.

This event was sure to shake things up a bit for the better. Not only did the tournament attract its fair share of publicity, so did the participants. It promised to become an international showcase of skill and technological prowess of the highest degree, and the press had taken notice after his initial announcement. He watched months of planning and suffering through negotiations with his board of directors and the city council come to fruition with a rare sense of satisfaction. Everything ran smoothly.

His gaze slid over to his deck, resting innocuously on the desk. On top, the glint of blue reflecting off of Obelisk. The corners of his mouth twitched up, settling in a smug grin.

Things were finally looking up for Seto Kaiba.

---

As much as he had observed Yugi's previous duels, dueling at his rival's side for a change had been an odd experience. Seto Kaiba did not work well with others, as they tended to hold him back too much to his tastes. Though Yugi displayed an innate talent for Duel Monsters, Kaiba had always seen it as an obstacle to overcome, not an asset.

Yugi was not on his side, but in his way.

A single tag duel wasn't likely to change his mind, but it did provide him food for thought, and ensured that every bit of his attention remained focused on Yugi in the days leading up to the finals. Collecting the remaining Egyptian God cards was an afterthought in comparison. If he could beat Yugi, he would acquire the cards; the two were entwined with one another.

The other finalists were inconsequential, no matter what tales Ishizu spun about fate and inevitability.

---

His duel against Yugi was a blur in the moment, a test of skill like no other. A worthy challenge.

Later, Kaiba found that he could still remember every minute detail, from the moves they made to the way his blood had rushed through his veins with sheer exhilaration. The hologram of the Colosseum he had programmed stretched around the arena; a reminder - no, a visualization - of the eyes and ears the world focussed on them.

An audience, come to witness the battle of giants.

Nothing moved inside this world Kaiba created for their rematch, not even time itself. It felt like the tension of bated breath, of balancing on the edge of a cliff.

They dueled.

It was heated, rough, unforgiving. Yet, at times, Kaiba caught himself considering the fluid grace with which their moves flowed together, played off of one another.

If he had been anyone else, he'd have called it admirable.

---

Kaiba lost in a flash of light, and his world moved forward again.

---

He wondered why he'd given Yugi the card, really. His chances were looking grim. His fallen friends - that idiot Wheeler and the white-haired kid - should be proof enough of the risks he was taking.

Devil's Sanctuary gave Yugi a fighting chance though.

Why did he even bother assisting the underdog in this situation? Yugi's unwavering faith in his friends wouldn't help them here. It was impossible.

Kaiba didn't care enough to worry.

He didn't.

He pointedly crossed his arms, left one caught firmly underneath the other, and ignored the burning in his shoulder.

---

Yugi put down a single card face-down, not bothering to look at it. His attitude could almost be mistaken for flippant, yet the confidence in his eyes never wavered.

Kaiba didn't realize he had been holding his breath - not until Devil's Sanctuary was revealed, and he surprised himself with the odd sense of pride flooding over him. Victory was possible again.

---

Yugi won the tournament, Kaiba convinced that it was thanks to his inexplicable combination of luck and skill. Kaiba should have known it'd end like this.

He grimaced. 

He vaguely wondered if he should have asked him to return his Devil's Sanctuary card, but decided against it. There were other copies in his collection, after all.

There was no harm in letting Yugi keep the card.

---

Amaryllis, the flower was called. Pride and beauty. They spread sparsely across his side in bursts of red and white, tender to the touch still. Another new addition to the chaotic canvas his skin had become lately.

There'd been the hyacinths on his right arm; the lavender on both hips; gardenia's itching along his spine. As the Flowers not only increased in number but also in variety, he found himself growing agitated by their apparent lack of meaning. Because, as silly as he found the concept of the Marks, their clear ties to interpersonal bonds made sense.

Usually.

Kaiba couldn't make heads or tails of what the new Marks were linked to. That he'd have one or two for the same person, he could accept by now - because what other choice did he have? Even the Marks' weird tendency to appear in clusters was unusual, but not altogether unheard of.

But this?

This was a damn nightmare.

No matter what sources he consulted, no meaning fitted the recent additions to his skin. They couldn't be. Affection of any sort was about the last thing he felt towards the other boy.

Sure, Kaiba felt a connection to Yugi, mostly a need to be better, striving for victory but always falling short. The intense dislike he'd felt at first and later the tentative sense of understanding were logical bonds to form symbols of, even if he preferred having none at all.

Understanding him didn't have to mean he liked the guy though.

The Marks must have been wrong.

It terrified him.

After a while, he took care not to look at the Marks any longer, but he could feel them.

If random Flowers kept appearing, who was to say that they wouldn't continue growing and growing, filling up every blank space the canvas of his skin had to offer? Had there been cases like this before, Kaiba wondered, where the Flowers consumed instead of blossomed?

The words would never pass his lips, swallowed down again and again, kept to fester in his mind and sink to the pit of his stomach. Rotting from the inside out.

He was well and truly afraid now.

Afraid that his own body would betray him, turning a supposedly harmless and joyous phenomenon into deadly poison. Breeding belladonna and foxgloves like invasive species, with no way to fight back. 

Afraid that one day, he'd wake up to find devil's ivy crawling up his chest, working its way into his veins and winding around his throat, restricting and stealing air from his lungs until his body gave up.

He hadn't been so acutely aware of his own appearance since-

Since Gozaburo.

He swallowed.

No. That had been different. Associating Yugi in any way to that man felt plain wrong. Back then, the Mark on his neck had felt like a brand, humiliating and disgraceful. He may dislike Yugi's Marks as well, but not like that. It was different. There was shame in every loss he suffered at Yugi's hands, but there was also a thrill to it. Next time, Kaiba would do better. Next time, he would come out on top.

His hate for Gozaburo felt like a failure in his own ability of emotional self-control, but whatever these emotions for Yugi were, they held a sense of equality. He may have lost every one of their duels so far, but he could win one day, as long as they held their unspoken promise of next time.

Whatever feeling was hidden in his Marks for Yugi, it came nowhere near the emotion evoked by the memory of Gozaburo's tyrannical grip on his childhood.

Then why was he so afraid of these damn Flowers?

---

It took Kaiba a few days to calm down from his sudden bout of irrational panic. A good thing, because he may be a decent actor, but Mokuba knew him too well.

He reconsidered his options.

If he considered his current state a problem - which he did - then he needed to approach it as such. Every problem had a solution, if you looked hard enough. Having good resources available definitely helped as well. He could do this.

One step at a time.

It was alright. He had time to figure it out. Yugi - the other one - and his friends were off doing who knows what. They had dropped off his radar after Battle City, to be honest. Kaiba had been more concerned with running his company and trying to spend more time with Mokuba. The hours he put into reading obscure science journals concerning Marks became a hobby, almost. Something he did during his rare time off. A pursuit in a personal interest; a hobby, if a hobby was fueled by anxiety and paranoia.

It remained stubbornly classified as 'hobby' because he refused to make it a priority.

It didn't matter that he had the Marks, or even that there were more than was normal. He didn't have to act on anything if he didn't want to. For all he knew, the Other Yugi didn't even have any Marks of his own, let alone one for Kaiba.

Besides, it would be a while before Kaiba saw any of them again. There was time to think things over, he didn't have to decide right this moment.

The repetition of words sounded too much like an attempt at convincing himself for him to be comfortable with.

[Interlude: Fade]

Atem.

His name was Atem.

Knowing felt like air returning to his lungs, like weariness lifting from his bones. It felt like peace.

Like finality.

He had to leave, he knew. This world was no longer meant for him, nor was he meant for this world. They were an ill fit for one another, puzzle pieces deformed by the sands of time. 

If only he could afford to stay another day, another week, another-

He would be able to prepare his departure better, he'd be able to say goodbye to all he had come to care about during his time with Yugi. There were so many things left that he and Yugi and everyone else could experience together. He pictured a graduation he would never see, new games he'd never play. How his friends would find jobs, their own house or apartment; how they would find someplace to call home. How they'd grow old.

Atem longed for a lifetime more of memories with all of them.

But his time was already up.

He welcomed his fate with open arms this time, at last closing the chapter of his life. He would leave with both regret and anticipation, marveling at their coexistence in the maelstrom of his mind.

He wished he'd done more with his time here.

He wanted to rest.

He wanted to stay with Yugi and Joey and Téa and Tristan and-

He left. After all, a new world awaited his arrival.

Someday, he'd see his friends again.

He closed his eyes against the glare of the Egyptian sun and smiled.

Someday.

He had faith.

[After]

He was gone.

He was gone he was gone he was gone he was gone he was gone he was-

Gone.

Without a trace, without a word, without any warning, without as much as a goodbye.

How dare he?

Speeches about teamwork, about the bonds of rivalry and friendship whirled around in Kaiba's mind. Empty echoes, shadows of a ghost, smoke and mirrors. Meaningless.

He left.

He chose to leave, to die.

Kaiba had dismissed all staff at the mansion for the week with a few choice words. Mokuba had been silent the entire way home, visibly conflicted, biting his lip. He'd disappeared into his own room upon returning home, while Seto made a short stop at the kitchen. A drink sounded appropriate right now.

Gone, gone, gone, gon-

He got rid of his coat, buckles, bracers, all excessive mess weighing him down.

Another drink.

A moment's hesitation as he passed by the mirror, dragging himself away just to keep moving.

He didn't want to see yet what had become of his Flowers. He'd felt them change, earlier, among the glaring sun and burning sands; he'd felt the tell-tale crawl and pinching of skin with every word Yugi had spoken after. Marks that signified Bonds, changing along with it. Fading when the Bond did. Fading with death.

He barked out a laugh, because he could, nobody would hear. He was alone here.

Wouldn't that be great?

He wanted the Flowers to be gone, he wanted them to not have existed in the first place, he wanted to scratch them off of his skin, he wanted-

He wanted.

The door to his room opened easily enough, clicking shut behind him, the same as always. He lowered himself on the bed, bringing the palms of his hands up to his face.

Still the same.

He rubbed his hands together, trying to rid himself of the cold that had seeped into his skin since leaving the airport earlier. It was so much colder here than in Egypt.

A thumb resting in his pulse, tracing circles. He closed his eyes as it ran up, and up, taking his sleeve with it, exposing skin and-

Bright orange. Plants like little paper lanterns, lighting the way for passing spirits. A crawl of skeletal white lines.

He wanted them gone.

With every inch of skin laid bare, he forced himself to look.

Some Flowers the same - affection, curiosity, longing.

Some different. Anger. Sadness.

The worst though, those were the least expected ones.

Spider lilies, starting at his knees and stretching upwards, stalks creeping towards the mesh of red, all red on his thighs and hips, bleeding color where there'd been nothing before.

Flowers known to grow on graveyards, in myths marking bridges to the afterlife.

Flowers of the dead.

His nails dug into them. Dark red, spilling under his fingers no matter where he looked.

The Flowers were still ingrained in his skin, colors vivid and cutting through the haze clouding his vision. The dead don't have Bonds. The dead don't have Flowers.

Yet the ones he traced this very moment remained in bloom, shifting and breathing, alive.

The other Yugi - the pharaoh - couldn't be dead. No matter the discussions surrounding the Marks and their meanings, one thing all sources agreed on; Flowers never lied. If they existed, a Bond did as well. The connection was still there.

And this time, Kaiba wouldn't let go.

[Slumber]

They were making good progress on the new Solid Vision tech, and the Duel Links system was as good as completed and in the final test phase.

With each passing day, Mokuba's worried glances grew less subtle. But it was alright. As long as he had a goal to work towards, Kaiba knew what to do.

Research. Experiment. Fail, until they got it right. Rinse and repeat.

It had been grueling, tedious work. He buried himself in lines of code and scrap metal, grasped every string he could think of and pulled. Eventually, something would have to give.

(If it wasn't Atem, then-)

He had entertained the thought of introducing a new AI to the Duel Links system. He had gotten as far as outlining the key components that would need to be programmed before changing his mind. It wouldn't be real. It wouldn't- It wouldn't be Atem.

KaibaCorp's equipment was state of the art; any AI he chose to make may very well have ended up being perfect. An exact replica. But Kaiba would have seen, and known.

Standing across from him, standing among the stage lights and projectors, would have been the image of his rival. And it would have meant nothing. It would be empty, a hollow victory at best, an echo of his losses at worst. He'd be dueling a blank slate, for all that he knew Atem's mannerisms and speech patterns, his tics and his humor, it was never enough.

He hadn't realized until that moment, spreadsheets of data sprawled across his desk, just how little he knew after all.

How did Atem look, really, underneath Yugi's skin? Would he be taller, shorter, more built or slender? How could Kaiba hope to recreate the physical appearance of a person he had never seen?

Sometimes, Kaiba thought he knew the way his lips would curl into a smile, stretching into a smirk as his eyes lit up with challenge.

A half-remembered dream of tan skin that felt like silk and his fingers catching on tangled hair.

Breathless laughter that sounded like splashing water, drifting away when his consciousness tried to get a hold of it.

Always barely out of reach.

He couldn't visualize Atem as the individual he was on imagination and dreams, and he deserved better than to be reduced to another pale, washed-out imitation of his soul's true brilliance.

Kaiba scrapped the AI, and poured over his other leads.

Organizing a dig at the site of Atem's final duel with Yugi was a long shot, but seemed promising. The Puzzle was guaranteed to have some clues as to Atem's whereabouts.

It would work, he told himself. Soon, he'd be able to duel the pharaoh again.

Any day now.

[Before All]

Kaiba wished that he could just hold one single tournament or showcase without something going terribly wrong. Although, granted, this time he himself might have been the one to invite disaster in the first place, in the form of one very troublesome blue-haired kid and his cronies.

As the world around them warped and the sky swirled with an unfamiliar miasma, Kaiba had to admit that he hadn't exactly foreseen this turn of events though. He grit his teeth and told himself that it was still worth it. They'd survived worse.

They would make it out of this, no matter what.

He clasped the Puzzle's chain, twining it around his fingers, holding it out towards its rightful owner. If anyone could still turn this around, it was-

A sharp pain cut through his side, forcing him to his knees.

It was getting harder to breathe. The black tendrils slithering their way into his vision were alarming, but he paid them no mind. He had to tell Yugi- Atem-

This wasn't over yet.

There was still hope.

[Flower]

He felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull. And his back. Possibly a few limbs as well.

Everything hurt, though he tried his best not to show it.

Thankfully, everyone was thoroughly distracted with the return of their friends, giving Kaiba a few minutes to compose himself. The sting in his muscles was superficial at best, nothing like the bone-deep ache he'd felt when Atem had been out of reach.

He bit his lip to keep from smiling. The light-headedness must be getting to him more than he thought.

But-  

He had been right about Atem.

If he didn't know better, he'd say he felt giddy at the confirmation. As it stood, Kaiba insisted he felt pleased at being proven correct, and excited at the prospect of having a new lead to follow in his search for Atem.

At least, that was all he was willing to show right now, with Yugi and his friends still so close. 

Mokuba shot him a disbelieving look as they turned away, but the smile never left his face. "Did you really have to tell them 'I told you so?'", he asked him, exasperated but fond.

"Yes, Mokuba," Kaiba replied with a small grin of his own. "I had to."

Because he had been right.

Atem wasn't gone.

He was so close now, like all Kaiba would need to do was reach out, and he'd be there.

[Once Upon A -----]

Deciphering the Cube had been marginally less complicated than expected, thankfully. Not so long ago, Kaiba would have been impatient, pushing himself and his equipment to the limit in order to reach his goal that much sooner. Now, he no longer felt it necessary. His theories had proven right, Atem was still out there, and no matter what the distance was, it could be bridged.

Kaiba only had to figure out how.

His previous endeavors had been an undeniable failure, but he chalked those up to insufficient data and a rushed job overall. He'd rather not examine his frenzied actions of the past months too closely.

Those same actions had eventually given him the Cube though, and with it, the last piece of data he needed to make this journey feasible. It had served its purpose well.

He looked over the prototypes currently mid-welding process, leaning on a nearby balustrade. It allowed him a clear sight of both the workers, and the blueprints on the screens. Two-thirds complete. One more week of constructions, one week of diagnostics, one of functionality tests.

One more month before he would be able to see Atem again.

He didn't allow himself to dwell on the pharaoh's possible reaction to his appearance. Would the welcome he received be friendly? It was just as likely that he would be kicked back home as soon as he set food on the sands of Aaru. Or stone. He wasn't quite sure what environment he would be met with either. He'd made sure to include adequate scanners to determine potential risks before he stepped out of the ship.

Contrary to what Mokuba and some of the more chatty employees seemed to think, he would like to make it back in one piece after all.

And then there was the matter of his Flowers.

He should tell Atem about his predicament. Wasn't that the entire point? The first goal was to see Atem again, yes, but it was meaningless if they did not duel. Not mentioning Kaiba's Flowers would be the exact opposite of tying up loose ends.

Moreover, it was sure to explain some of the leaps in logic Kaiba had made in the time they'd known each other; his personal demons written on his skin. But back in some dark recess of his mind, he feared Atem's reply.

Kaiba didn't care about the Flowers. He didn't care if they were there or not. That was the truth.

Marks were useless to him, without the person it belonged to.

But they were here, tangible, and Atem wasn't.

Showing them to Atem meant acknowledging their existence, not to himself, but another person. Putting emotion out in the open was a loss of power, it left people vulnerable and weak.

Exposing the Flowers that had grown on Kaiba's skin in Atem's name was not unlike handing the pharaoh a loaded gun, guiding the nozzle right between his own eyes and trusting Atem not to pull the trigger.

He should tell him.

He wanted to tell him.

He just wasn't sure he could.

The shrill whistle of metal rang through the air.

Kaiba heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples. It had been approximately twenty-six hours since he slept. For all that he didn't want to rush this, he did insist on personally overseeing quality control during every step.

Sleep was an afterthought at this point. The more time he spent working, the more his dreams were dripping with sun and searing heat, the sickly sweet aroma of unknown flowers lining a riverbank, and a sense of eagerness that should have frightened him. Instead, he was left with nothing but yearning when he woke.

Sleep could wait.

When he closed his eyes, the stale air of the lab he breathed in made way for the winds of a long forgotten place. His data couldn't tell him what awaited on the other side, but his soul knew, certain. It urged him forward, called out to a land Kaiba had never seen. The images his mind conjured were indistinguishable from memory.

He breathed out slowly, and opened his eyes.

Sparks of metal skittered around below. He hummed, inaudible to anyone but himself, and brought his hand up. It was a practiced movement; fingertips skimming over the Flowers on his chest. Mokuba's presence at his side, steady and true.

It had been all he'd needed, once. 

Now, he wasn't so sure.

[After All]

He walked up to the throne room with his head held high, as composed here as he had been a world away. His facade of calm held, despite the nervous flurry of his mind.

He made it.

So, so close.

Just a few more steps before he-

---

They dueled with reckless abandon, no holds barred.

For the first time in months, Kaiba felt alive.

---

If only words came as easy to them as battle, all of this would be going a lot smoother, Kaiba thought later. He'd lost, but found it hard to care with the remnant of battle still simmering in the air between them, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The natural post-duel high began to wear off though, and his thoughts strayed back to everything that had been left unsaid before. Or at least, all that had been left unsaid on Kaiba's end. He wasn't sure about Atem.

Even here, at the end of everything he had chased after, he couldn't be sure that Atem felt as strongly as he did. The welcome he had received from the pharaoh had been amicable, warm even, but he couldn't tell if that was due to the fact that it was Kaiba that had shown up, or just because Atem treated all people with kindness - all people who did not actively try to wrong him, of course.

He observed Atem as he followed him through corridors and spacious rooms, for once not bothering to ask their destination. It didn't matter where they went, as long as he was here.

The pharaoh looked comfortable despite the oppressive heat, more at home than he'd ever seemed back when he was Yugi. Some of the tension that had followed him around as a spirit had seemingly evaporated into thin air, making Kaiba wonder if he'd imagined the harsh set to his shoulders back then, or the way his stance alone could intimidate men twice his size.

Back in the throne room, Atem had appeared larger than life as well, but it had been on a different level than before. If Kaiba had to hazard a guess, he'd say it was borne from the confidence that came with knowing this was where he belonged. Atem had found himself, carved into the empty spaces left on stone pillars and written in between the lines of history.

It was mesmerizing.

Atem moved with liquid grace, winding around pillars and down stairways, until they turned another corner and stepped outside. Kaiba's gaze lingered on Atem's shoulders, shifting up the line of his neck. Warm skin and tangled hair, gleaming under the light. The sun's heat bore down on them, with no sign of letting up any time soon.

Kaiba huffed. He was forced to take off his coat at last. It had been bearable earlier, but as the afternoon wore on, he wished he had brought more appropriate clothing with him.

Then again...

He couldn't roll up his shirt sleeves an inch if he wanted the Flowers to stay hidden, so a T-shirt had been out of the question. The fabric itched and clung to his skin. He adjusted the Duel Disk's clasp around his wrist, hoping to relieve some of the irritation.

Unlike his own, Atem's clothing wasn't made for concealment, that much was clear. He wondered which of those Marks stretching over Atem's dark skin were for Yugi, for the mutt, for all of his other friends he'd had in life or death. Fleetingly, a memory of a vision crossed his mind, a person so alike Kaiba himself but different all the same.

He didn't allow it to linger.

Seeing the Marks here, in Aaru, raised more questions than they answered. How could they remain after Atem's 'death'? Was the body before him now physical in the same sense that Kaiba was?

Vaguely, he recalled a something his mother had said, a lifetime ago. "They're part of your soul," she laughed. He had interrupted the bedtime story she was telling, a simple thing that Kaiba nonetheless remembered nothing of. Only the rhythmic rise and fall of her voice as she wove the words together remained with him.

"And because souls aren't always bound to a body, that's why the ghost in this story still recognizes his beloved. Their connection comes from their souls, not their bodies."

He hadn't understood, and complained, "It doesn't make sense!"

"It doesn't have to," his mother had replied. Her smile lit up the room, warm and bright, and a little bit sad. "Sometimes things just are, for no reason at all."

[Ever After]

Kaiba wasn't sure if he should be happy or annoyed that Atem was trying to make small talk. He had asked about Kaiba Corp, if Kaiba had seen Yugi recently, did he know how his friends were doing, how was Mokuba, and so on. Kaiba had answered them one by one as brief as possible, before Atem had changed tactics and started telling him about their current whereabouts instead.

The only period of true silence had come when servants brought drink and fruit, which Atem guaranteed were safe for him to eat. Kaiba didn't fully believe him about the fruit - they appeared to be grapes, which was less suspicious than pomegranate at least - but accepted some water eventually. Atem went on to describe some secret passage he'd found in the palace as a child, and the trouble that ensued.

Mindless chatter.

On one hand, he appreciated the effort to make the conversation less awkward, but on the other hand, it wasn't helping much. The atmosphere between them right now wasn't tense as such, but the longer Kaiba hesitated to mention the actual topics he wanted to talk about, the more he lost his nerve - which, in turn, made him more frustrated with himself, and really, nothing good could come from keeping silent much longer.

Atem must have known Kaiba wouldn't have come here without reason, and his patience had to run out sooner or later.

But at this point, how was Kaiba supposed to bring up his Flower issue? 'Hey, I know we've only spoken a handful of times before this - meaning, 'had a decent conversation longer than five minutes' - and I acted like I hated your guts pretty often, but apparently I feel a lot more for you than I thought I did and for a while I wanted to get rid of all that, but now I'm actually here I'm not sure about anything anymore'?

And that was one of the more tactful ramblings his mind had come up with so far.

It was pathetic, honestly.

'Have you ever had a Mark you didn't know the meaning of? Or that you didn't want to know the meaning of?'

'Sometimes I don't know if I want to punch you or kiss you'

'You make me feel so much it confuses me, and it's terrifying'

'Do you even care about me?'

He took another sip of water. The heat wasn't doing his ability to think things through any favors.

"Should we move inside?" Atem asked, right on cue. He was too perceptive sometimes. 

Kaiba turned to face him, hoping he didn't look as out of it as he felt. "Why?"

"You seem uncomfortable out here," Atem replied. "Might be because of the turtleneck. Not exactly the usual fashion in a desert climate." His voice was teasing, but Kaiba could sense the underlying curiosity.

In hindsight, he should have known that the outfit would raise more questions than it would prevent.

"I could ask someone for a change in clothes, if you'd like."

"No, that won't be necessary."

Atem raised an eyebrow at Kaiba's clipped tone. "Are you sure?"

Kaiba brought a hand up and ran his fingers through his hair, and cursed his own indecisiveness. It felt too much like cowardice to his liking. What good was his composure if it kept him in this stalemate? Nothing would change, for the better or the worse, unless he acted.

When he put it that way, he had made up his mind long ago.

"Actually," he said, "A change of shirt would be nice."

"Just a shirt?" Atem sounded amused.

"I draw the line at the skirt."

"Technically, this is-"

"It's a skirt, no matter what you call it." Kaiba surprised himself with the light - almost teasing - way he'd spoken the otherwise snappish comment. He hadn't intended for it to sound like a joke, but Atem laughed, joyful and genuine, and Kaiba found it hard to think of much else at the moment.

He steeled himself for the big reveal as he followed Atem back inside.

---

"I never figured you for the vain sort", Atem's voice carried from the hallway where he was waiting. Kaiba rolled his eyes.

"I'm not."

"You've been in there for the past ten minutes. It usually doesn't take that long to change a shirt."

That made Kaiba look down at the tunic he'd put on. The clothing Atem's servants had fetched was made with finely woven thread, obviously expensive, and felt light to the touch. It definitely suited the climate a lot better than his own shirt. He'd been given some clasps to keep the fabric in place as well, and it had been simple enough to put on. A minute at most, he estimated. 

But the tunic was also completely sleeveless and exposed every single Flower on either of his arms. It gave him pause.

He knew what he was getting into when he accepted the offer, he chastised himself. No backing out now.

"Alright," he yelled back, "I'm coming out, but I'm warning you in advance, I'm walking out of here and going straight back home at the slightest hint of mockery."

"Erhm, I promise I won't?" Atem's hesitation didn't do much to ease Kaiba's nerves. "Why would I mock you for wearing the clothes I offered?"

Kaiba snorted, slipping through the doorway and moving to lean against the wall. "You'd be surprised."

Any other time, Kaiba would have considered Atem's reaction comical. His eyes widened, jaw slacking before the pharaoh caught himself and cleared his throat instead to gather his bearings. It was alright, Kaiba had expected disbelief. He could deal with this.

Probably.

Atem found his voice again sooner than Kaiba expected, for better or for worse. "Well, you're not wrong."

Kaiba stiffened, pushing away from the wall. Apparently Atem had taken this as an attempt to turn and leave, because he was quick to explain his words.

"No, no, not like that, that came out wrong. I meant the surprise, I'm definitely surprised, that's all."

Kaiba wasn't sure what he could say, so he just shrugged sharply.

"Trust me, so was I."

Atem's look turned puzzled more than anything. "But they're your Marks, why would you be surprised about them?"

Atem must be really out of it, Kaiba thought, if that was the part he chose to focus on. At least he wasn't alone in his discomfort then.

"How many people do you think I feel strongly enough about to get any Mark for them at all?" He started, "Let alone more than one?"

Atem's silence spoke volumes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought", Kaiba grimaced.

"So you have more than one Flower per person, is what you're saying?"

"It would appear so, yes." Obviously, he didn't add. Provocations probably wouldn't help this situation any.

"Suddenly your usual clothing choices make a lot more sense", Atem tried to lighten the mood. Something about the reply grated on Kaiba's nerves.

"I know it's weird, alright?" He snapped, "What did I just say about the ridicule?"

Atem shook his head, hands held up in front of him. "Calm down, I'm not mocking you. Besides, it's not that weird."

"To you, maybe", Kaiba huffed.

"Doesn't your culture have stories about this?" Atem sounded genuinely confused. Odd.

"About what?"

Atem hummed, a far-off look in his eyes. "Tales about the Flowerless, and about the Overgrown. Stories of prophecies spun in the Marks of priests, because they were devout to their gods above all else."

His eyes focused back on Kaiba, almost apologetic as he finished, "Well, the sort of events that would be easily dismissed as myth or make-believe. Those stories."

Kaiba considered this for a moment. He had read a lot when researching, but he tended to focus on the academic articles and books, not the folklore tales.

"There were a few," He said eventually, "Not always local, but spread across different cultures, yes. But did you really expect me to believe any of those?"

"Perhaps not," Atem chuckled, "But considering the possibility wouldn't have hurt."

"I did. For a bit, at least. But without substantial evidence for any of it..." Kaiba's voice trailed off.

"Still hung-up as ever on needing proof, aren't you?"

"Who knows?" Kaiba sighed. He himself sure didn't have much of a clue any longer. Coming to terms with that was challenging, still. 

But he couldn't claim to have known this place - Aaru - really existed when he first started his search for Atem. Yet he'd taken his chances when the option presented itself; sufficient proof or not.

He would argue that he had done extensive research on his own, and that those results had been proof enough. But what was the outcome of his research really worth if it could not be recreated? A single positive result was far removed from empirical evidence.

"You're saying that there have been cases like this before?" He asked.

"There might have been," Atem replied, rubbing his neck, "But I'm not sure."

"Vague as ever, I see."

"It's the best answer I have, since I can't confirm that any of the stories truly happened. There's enough overlap to ensure at least a grain of truth in all of them."

Kaiba was sure he wasn't going to like whatever was said next, but he had to know.

"Which would be?"

Atem grinned.

"To paraphrase: all stories involve emotionally repressed people with trust issues. And difficulty with communication, that seems a recurring theme as well."

Kaiba looked wholly unimpressed.

"No, seriously," Atem continued, "Your Flowers probably wouldn't have grown so out of control if you had been any better at actually expressing yourself. Bared your heart to others, you know? Instead, your skin decided to do it for you. 'Marks tell no lies', isn't that how the saying goes?"

"They don't have to lie, if their meaning is vague to start with," Kaiba argued, "That explanation of yours seems awfully convenient and simple, considering that there's next to no modern research on the topic. There's a reason these cases are considered outliers, even by today's standards."

"Believe what you will", Atem shrugged, "It might only happen to people with your specific mix of issues. We'll never know for sure, if you need your scientific research to reach a proper conclusion. I'm going with my gut feeling on this one, and it feels fitting enough to me."

"It's not."

"Any reason why?"

"They won't go away."

"Yes, that was the entire point what I just said."

Sometimes Atem could be unbelievably obtuse. It would have been so much easier to love someone else, Kaiba thought, but no. His heart had to go and be that child in the candy story that only wanted the hugest, most expensive article in the entire shop, throwing a tantrum until it got what it wanted.

If that was even an option, he reminded himself.

He explained, "I already know where these Marks stem from. I know what they stand for, and whom. They aren't there because I'm in denial. I used to be, but I... Got over it."

He decided that Atem didn't need to hear that particular part of the story, for now.

"Are you sure about that?" Atem raised an eyebrow, "You seem pretty defensive about them."

"It's complicated."

The look Atem gave him said 'No shit, genius', even when the words that actually left his words were "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really", Kaiba grumbled.

"Hmm, well, I'm not going to force you to explain yourself to me. But you might want to consider opening up about those Flowers to the people involved."

And whatever deity might or might not be looking over Kaiba right now was surely having a grand time with his internal suffering. Because Atem smiled at him, bright and open and honest, and Kaiba's heart leapt up to his throat.

"Person", he blurted out before he could change his mind. "Most of them are for a single person."

Atem was caught off guard and hesitated, unsure how to reply.

"That's..." A forced laugh. "Well, lucky them, I guess."

Kaiba closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The dark was soothing after the near-constant glare of the Egyptian sun. He felt nauseous. Hopefully it wasn't heatstroke. He really didn't want to get sick on top of all of this. He dragged a hand over his face, sighing.

He was Seto Kaiba. He could do this. He built an inter-dimensional transporter to 'do this', in fact. He'd never half-assed a thing in his life, and he wasn't about to start now.

He caught Atem's gaze again, and held it, unwavering.

"They're yours."

Atem blinked.

Opened his mouth.

Closed it.

"Excuse me?"

"The Flowers. There's-" Kaiba gestured at them, one by one. "A half-faded one on my neck that's better off forgotten. Mokuba's are bluebells, right around here," Kaiba fingers slid to the center of his chest, "and all the rest are- not his. So. They're for you, as far as I can tell."

"That's- You-" Judging by the flustered, broken off attempts at speaking, Atem was at a loss for words.

"Why? How long?" Is what eventually managed to force its way from his lips.

Kaiba crossed his arms, though that made the Flowers stand out more, ironically. "The first one probably appeared because I wanted revenge after the first time you defeated me." Because you crushed my mind, hung in the air unspoken.

"So that one was fair enough, I thought. The second, I noticed when I got home from Duelist Kingdom." He looked down at his forearms. "The rest just.... Followed. Most during Battle City, though some of those-"

Fingernails dug into skin. He swallowed.

"Some of those changed after you left. The spider lilies nearly gave me a heart attack, let me tell you."

"Spider lilies?"

Kaiba shrugged again. "Flowers of the dead. Not exactly desirable Marks to have."

"I'm sorry." Atem's shoulders drooped, and Kaiba's heart clenched in reply.

This wasn't what he wanted.

"Save it, I don't need your pity."

Anger should have softened the sting, but if anything, it had made it worse. Pity was worse than straight-up rejection. Pity is for the weak, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

"You like jumping to conclusions, don't you?" Atem bit back. "Give me a few minutes to process this, alright? I'm not making fun of you, or pitying you, or whatever you think I'm doing."

Atem stretched, rocking back and forth on his heels a few times, and paced.

Sighed and turned around again.

Kaiba stood perfectly still, driven up the walls by the state of limbo he found himself in until Atem did something.

When he did stop dead in his tracks in front of Kaiba, his face was set with determination.

"Can I see them?"

Kaiba's mind struggled to catch up with the sudden switch in attitude.

"What?"

"The Flowers. From what you saying, it seems like there's more than those on your arms. I want to see."

Kaiba felt his shoulders tense up involuntarily, unsure.

"If- If that's alright, at least", Atem rushed to add.

Kaiba studied him for a few seconds, trying to discern his intentions. He looked... nervous. That could be a good or a bad thing, depending.

He'd take his chances.

"Fine."

He turned around as he unclasped one of the tunic's fastenings again, and pulled the fabric over his head. The sharp intake of breath behind him made him glad that he couldn't see Atem's face like this.

A touch to his shoulder jerked him from his thoughts, as he twisted to look over his shoulder.

Atem shot him a sheepish look, though the high rise of his cheekbones were definitely redder than they had been before. 

He could feel the warmth seeping from the other's fingertips still, hovering over his back.

"May I?"

Kaiba wanted to snap at him, demand to know who he was to ask now, as if there was any choice of still turning back, as if Seto could still walk away from this and deny it ever happened. But Atem waited, looking up at him with eyes too bright and all-seeing in the dim hallway.

They were still in the hallway, for crying out loud.

He grabbed Atem by the wrist and dragged him the few steps it took back into the room. Even with the lack of door, the semblance of privacy made him feel more at ease.

He looked Atem in the eye and gave a single, terse nod.

Atem took his hand, trailing his fingers over Kaiba's knuckles - there weren't any Marks there, so why did he even bother? - before turning his palm over.

As Atem's touch traced higher and higher, the Marks came alive under the attention. They sang, high, cheerful notes bubbling up under his skin, and Kaiba swore the colors had never been this vibrant before. It felt like-

Relief.

Joy.

It felt like being accepted. 

Atem switched from one arm to the other, though there were less Flowers to be found there. The longer the contact lasted, the more soothing his touch seemed to become. The maelstrom of second-guessing and lingering doubt that had raged in his mind settled down at last, leaving nothing but quiet contentment in its wake.

Even if it was all downhill from here, he'd have this one moment.

He allowed himself to smile.

"I don't think I've ever managed to render you speechless for this long, pharaoh."

Atem's eyes snapped up to his face. After his initial confusion about the comment passed, he chuckled.

"I don't think I've ever managed to make you open up this much before either, Kaiba."

One of his hands was still on the crook of Kaiba's arm, unmoving, merely a point of connection.

"You did. Just... Not with as many words."

Laughter filled the room again, dispersing the last bit of awkwardness.

"True, I'm not always good at those either. Duel Monsters is... Well, not easier. But it comes more natural to me. To us, I guess", Atem grinned.

"It's fine like this, you know," Kaiba said. He had to make sure Atem knew that. "I never came here expecting you to reciprocate, or to act on whatever I feel. I just... Needed this."

The back-and-forth, the duels. The silences and the bickering.

Atem.

"I know, Kaiba."

He moved his hand back down, entwining his fingers with Kaiba's own.

"But I'm not sure you fully understand. You can't stay here. You know that, on some level, right?"

Kaiba fought down the biting remark threatening to well up. He knew, he knew very well, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Technically, he could stay here. Change a few variables, adjust some code. But he wasn't sure he liked the implications of what staying entailed for now.

"I can always visit again, you know", he said out loud.

Because he had to try.

"No you can't," Atem grinned, "Not for a long time. You have better things to do, I'm sure."

"And how would you know?"

Slowly, Atem brought his other hand up. It came to rest over Kaiba's chest, the thundering of his heart under Atem's palm.

Iris, wisteria, forget-me-nots.

Orchids, lily of the valley, lotus flowers.

The map of Kaiba's emotions, laid bare before his eyes only.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'm not going anywhere. We can figure out the details when you do get back."

"You seem to have an awful lot of faith that I will", Kaiba replied.

The hand holding his own tightened its grip. Atem tugged lightly, and before Kaiba realized what was happening, he felt Atem's other hand slide to his neck. As he bent his head down, he found soft lips meeting his own halfway.

The touches before had been electrifying, but the feeling paled in comparison to this; the dual heat of the sunlight from the window at his back and Atem's mouth to his own, the far-off noises from the palace too muffled to be heard over his own surprised intake of breath, the world at once seeming larger than ever yet narrowed down to just the two of them.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

Atem pulled back, flustered but with a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

"You still owe me a rematch, Kaiba. You wouldn't want to stand me up, would you?"

"As if I'd ever let you win by default, please."

Kaiba caressed the outline of Atem's jaw with his thumb, an idle movement, nothing more than reveling in being able to touch. He smiled back.

"It's a date."

[Waking]

The sun rose over the horizon - the arrival of a new day. The ghost of a touch lingered on his skin, remembered warmth tingling where fingers had traced the outlines of his heart. Kaiba opened his eyes, squinting against the sudden influx of light, and took a deep breath.

He would be alright.

[End]

(art by ariasune )