Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Ssh... ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them yet. Sucks, ne?

AN: Bribery. This fic is how I got torsui to come out, socialize, and eat birthday cake. Sweet angsty puzzleshipping ahead. ^_~

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"...Yugi?"
"Hey, Yugi..."

They keep telling me I should turn away. Give it up, give it away, turn him down and never look back.

...back?

Back to where? I've never been complete without him...

They're scared. They're scared, but it's okay. It's okay. I don't understand it, but it's okay.

Isn't it?

...if I could be honest with me, I'm scared too. I'm so scared... It's stupid, I know. It's stupid and it's silly and it's probably insane, but... I'm scared and I can't help myself. I'm just... scared.

They're afraid of what he'll do to me - that he'll catch me in his shadow-spun web of ruby darkness and drag me into the night - that he'll rip off my wings and set them alight, that he'll steal my soul and drown me in my lost innocence...

Are they right?

"What did you do?!"
"They hurt you...!"

They could be... they could so easily be right...

I don't understand him. I don't understand him at all. But he... he...

If you could distill the night and clutch it in your fingertips - clasp the searing light of the sun and cling to it for life - could swallow tearstained living blood and be renewed - it - he...

It hurts to touch him. It hurts to know that the only flesh that will ever slide over his own is mine - and only then in a frozen heartbeat, an instant in time, crisp and clear in the murky coolness of our soul rooms - those gentle, fleeting touches, quick and light and delicate and rare -

It hurts to see the hunger in his eyes.

I'm drawn to him, I'll admit it. He's impossible to ignore - even when solemn and broody and quiet, his aura is so magnetic that even strangers stop and stare when he walks by.

I don't like it.

I don't like it when other people stare at him. I don't like it when all they see is the master to be challenged, I don't like it when all they see is the stranger living behind my eyes, I don't like it when they think he's just a mask for me and I for him - I don't like it.

It's not what they think. It's not what they see. It's just him and me and me and him and us and I - just the two of me.

"How many are you? One or two?"

Mom once joked that I must be pregnant, to eat the way I do. God knows I'm not - but since that one night, I've been eating and sleeping for two. He feeds off me - immerses himself inside my being and drinks in whatever catches the light in his pretty eyes.

He does have pretty eyes - terrifying, calculating, cruel and beautiful eyes.

...he's so pretty... pretty like sandstorms and summer lightning and freshly spilled blood soaking down endless golden hills, pretty like eternity and hell and nothingness and damnation, pretty like a whore bought off the avenue whose asking price is nothing more than the passing trifle of your immortal soul.

"Why do you keep staring at me?"
"...because I think you're pretty."

He fascinates me. I'm not the only one enthralled - but the others can't see him, don't know him, can't breathe his every breath and taste his every tear the way I do.

He's all mine. I could be spending my nights locked in his arms and no one would ever know. I could spend my days wandering the twisting corridors of his soul and only lose out on a class or two. I could summon all the powers that be and wipe my enemies from the face of the earth - or rather, he'd do it for me. He could - if I asked him to, he would.

"Do you know what I can do...?"

She likes him, you know. She finds him fascinating - wants to know what lurks behind his endless walls, wants to know what's hidden behind his unknowing lies, wants to see what's trapped in his soul - but he refuses to share. He doesn't even know - and she'll never be able to find what she's looking for.

I pity her. I pity her for what she feels and what she'll never know.

I know a secret, I promised not to tell - but I know a secret, and she'll never ever know. I should tell her - should tell them all to ease their fears, except... how much more afraid would they be if they knew the truth?

He's not going to hurt me.

He likes me. He likes me a lot. He promised to stay with me forever - he swore he'd never leave me. If he had his way, we'd be wed and I'd be pregnant with our first baby boy.

It's never going to happen, of course. Gender issues notwithstanding, he's dead and I'm alive. There will never be an heir to his throne, to his power, to inherit his strength and finally allow him to rest again in peace.

...I never wanted to have children - what girl would ever look at me that way? But... if there were ever any way at all... If I were a girl, I would find a way for him... but I'm not. I'm not. And I know we're too young to be a father - either one of us - but that doesn't mean...

Sometimes, when we're just sitting close at hand, when he's transparent and drowsy and leaning against my bed, when we're almost close enough to touch - sometimes, I wish that it were so. I pushed him to her for a reason - if they enjoyed each other's company, if he enjoyed her presence, then maybe, someday, in that way, I could make him happy.

I think he hates her now - hates me for the idea, hates her for being my unwitting pawn - and I hate me for thinking I could change his mind about me.

"I'm not letting you go."
"...do you promise?"

I never could. He's far too stubborn for that - he'll ignore my pleading and do whatever he wishes - until one or the other of us sees reason.

No wonder they all think I'm crazy - mom's been looking at me strangely these past months, and I know grandpa knows something is going on... he just won't tell me what it is that he's done.

My other self doesn't know either - but sometimes when grandpa has kissed me goodnight, he'll lean on the door with a furrowed brow and stare after him as if waiting for some divine clue that will tell us what we want to know.

"...grandpa, why don't you trust me with the truth?"

...it hurts, to not know anything - to not know his name, not know our past or future, not know what the next day might bring - they're everyday fears, but heightened by black magic and tainted by radiance so bright as to blind me.

I scare myself, and him, sometimes. Things that should affect me - grades, social standing, teachers, my future - they don't seem to matter at all. I had a project due for history once - and I told the teacher I'd left it at home.

She didn't believe me. I failed the project. I didn't care. Mom did, grandpa did, but me and my yami didn't give a damn at all.

Anzu yelled at me for that - but what's the point? It's not like it matters, anyway... so long as I have him, nothing matters. I told him that, after the fire, that night in the hospital when he first held me in his arms - they were there all day, and when I could finally creep into my soul room, he was waiting, bright and hungry and sharp, and even though we'd been discussing strategy that morning, I ran over to the bed where he'd been waiting and flung myself into his arms.

I spent the long hours of that night cradled in his lap and breathing in the scent and heat of him and discovering the taste of his skin.

"I almost lost you...!"
"Never again!"

He's been shy of me since then. He scared himself almost as much as I did, that night... Normally - normally I'm too timid to reach for anyone in longing - normally he's too cold to care for anyone else.

"...are you in love with me?"

But then... I'm not anyone else. I'm me. Aren't I? We're not the same - not really the same. We look alike, true, but he stands differently, he speaks differently, he thinks differently, he believes differently... how can they not tell who is who?

I mean, if I'm not me, who am I?

Sometimes I confuse myself - confuse us - confuse everyone because in the black hours before dawn he'll come into my soul room and slip into my bed and dreams because he can't stand the stormy silence that lingers in the endless chambers of his mind.

I would never know except he told me, once, about a dream I had - told me of it, then carefully drew me into his room and read the cards for me, for us, for all of our conjoined souls, and even with all that we had little warning for what was going to give.

Something has to give - we can't keep this up forever.

"...I'm tired."
"I know..."

Hesitation, frustration, half-spoken want and need... the quiet, longing looks, the softness in his eyes, the gentle curl of his fingers into mine... we came so close, that night - one more breath and he would've stolen my first kiss...

Scared?

Petrified.

"Do you love me?"

They say it's going to be me. I'm the delicate one, the angel, the one who will snap when pressured - but they don't know what pressure is.

And if I do break, it won't be giving in to those who want to steal me away - it won't be giving in or giving up or dropping out.

It's not giving in.

It's acceptance.

And longing.

But giving in?

He gave himself to me long long ago, in the wake of a disastrous battle, in the backlash of our first fight - the Game King gave himself up to me.

And I gave myself to him.

"...do you promise to take care of me?"
"Will you live for my sake?"
"...can I keep you?"
"Forever...?"

I'm not going to turn away. I can't give up. Because you can't give up what has already been taken away.

I own him now. He owns me.

We just don't know what the hell to do with each other.

"...are you as scared as I am?"

They don't understand that. Not yet. They don't know about the midnight whispers, the twin promises forged amid sweat and tears, the quiet vows that sealed us to eternity and each other.

They keep telling me to turn away - shatter his puzzle and leave his soul in tatters and trapped in darkness forever.

But I can't. They don't know because they haven't figured it out yet - haven't seen even when we've let it slip in passing carelessness. We're not perfect... but they just don't know.

And me and my other?

We'll never tell.

We're very good at keeping secrets.

"Do you know what I know?"

Ssh.

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