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It began not so long after Anzu left to New York, chasing her dreams to the world’s end.
The month of July was upon them, bright and golden, and summer nights used to be pleasant enough to sleep with the window open. Tonight, however, was harsh cold, and no amount of blankets seemed to do the trick; as if the emptiness he could feel in his heart was sucking all the warmth out of the room, of everything.
Yuugi Mutou knew his grief would eventually come to pass. Yet, he missed Anzu already, and – since their souls had joined and departed once again – Atem even more so.
(Yuugi was positive the sadness he had seen in the Pharaoh’s eyes, before he left for good, was haunting him.)
“I wish you were here,” he whispered into the dark, and nobody answered.
Sleep wouldn’t come tonight; the cold was sharp and his heart too raw for it. However, Yuugi was nothing if not stubborn. Silent tears soon began to fall through gritted teeth, and Yuugi hoped so very hard for them to wash all of his sorrows away, if only for a moment, or for a hand to fall into his and hold it till dawn, a voice chanting everything is going to be okay, partner—
Warmth surrounded him in a desperate embrace, and Yuugi could feel the hand in his and the smile and the arms holding him close to a burning sun, for it was happening here and now, and it screamed Atem Atem Atem—
“Everything is going to be okay, partner,” were the words spoken into life – hot and dry like a desert wind, a gentle caress over his touch-starved skin – before silence fell abruptly into Yuugi’s soul, as history repeated itself once more.
(Or perhaps not; weren’t they building bridges, wishing oh-so-desperately for them not to collapse so soon?)
Yuugi Mutou fell asleep with the ghost of a hand in his own, gone when he opened his eyes the next day. He knew it would be okay, though, for morning came and the warmth in his heart had remained.
It didn’t stop, and the more and more he thought about it—
(About reaching out— About the many ghosts of the past, of a touch lingering in the dark where his hand should have been – was, in those quiet, short-lived moments – of that warmth in his damaged soul, akin to the most beautiful summer day in Kemet; of comforting words whispered to each other and the million more left unsaid in between, lost in translation between their distant worlds, between them—)
“You’re fidgeting again, my King.”
Mahad was right – usually was – but pharaohs obviously did no such thing, and so Mahad was wrong. There remained, however, some truth in the fact Atem was growing restless by the day. After much pondering, his oldest friend offered him a soft, knowing smile.
“Maybe one shan’t so easily find rest, when half of their heart is missing.”
(Over and over Mahad held the truth, and Atem was exhausted and grieving and most importantly he was pharaoh; what was building a bridge between this world and the next, for a God-child as himself?)
“I’ll duel you, Kaiba,” spoke the Pharaoh, Lord of the Two Lands, ever regal in the sunset. “On the condition you'll answer one question of mine.”
There was a time for such requests (a time to tame the beast endlessly gnawing at his heart and soul) but now, however, was the time to duel. They clashed, as they often did in the world of the living, and to the surprise of no one – including his challenger – the King won.
With no hint of emotion whatsoever – ever the stone-cold businessman – Seto Kaiba promptly said:
“Ask away.”
Kaiba hazarded a glance and suddenly wished he hadn’t. Soon he couldn’t help but stare – utterly dumbfounded – for Pharaoh Atem never looked so unsure and vulnerable and painfully young than at this very moment.
“Do you believe they—” he tried to level his tone and breathe, to no avail. “They would be pleased to see me— again?”
“Are you fucking serious,” Many a priest frowned at that, but Seto couldn’t be bothered to ever remotely care about respect. “You doubt it?”
Not a word was spoken between them, and yet the silence conveyed so much Seto Kaiba had no desire to be anything but genuinely, disgustingly honest.
“You left a hole in plenty people’s hearts, Pharaoh.”
(For what it was worth, the duelist couldn't hide the crack in his own voice.)
Then, as his gaze fell upon Atem once more, Seto remembered battles of old and new – of victories that weren’t his, and gentle eyes which, despite everything, never quite ceased to smile – and dragged out a heavy, weary sigh.
“Now, for fuck’s sake,” Kaiba eventually snarled, heading for the entrance without much more ceremony than a wave of his hand, leaving outrage and hope, so much hope, in his wake. “Will you come back with me, or not?”
It ended with light, pouring through an open door. The sun was setting, kissing the world gold and pink and purple; kissing unexpected tears on warm skin and smiles and trembling hands – real tears and smiles and hands – brightening everything just so. It was too much and not enough all at once, how the entire universe felt whole once again.
(The walls were no more, one bridge left standing.)
Atem was back.