shadowedgamer

[shadowedgamer]

“It’s time to break away from the chains that bind you”

…a no-bs pharaoh saves you from your constipated day

[shadowedgamer]

Seto: Oh my god. I hate you. Leave me alone.

Atem: I'm trying. Let go of my arm.

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO KAIBA ⟩

If Seto could have, he would have ducked away from who he now realized was Roland, holding him up to the best of his abilities, and he would have run away into the surrounding forests. He would have ran until his legs could carry him no further, but he knew where ever else he would have landed, it would be better than here. The front door opened, whining heavily on its hinges, the sound nothing more than a misplaced welcome to its master, as well as the one who had saved Seto Kaiba’s life. And Seto shook within Roland’s grasp.

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Passing across the threshold that divided the outside world away from the interior of the home was almost like stepping through a time machine and into a surrealistic black-and-white place of the past, kind of like something out of a dated, cliched blockbuster. Shattered relics of old scattered the unkempt floors sodden and rotten with soot and dirt. The floor boards were dingy and creaked loudly in protest like they might give way under the weight of a trying tip toe.

Unwashed windows barred sunlight from piercing thick panes of glass, heavy-weighted, moth-eaten curtains draped aside them with such a thick coating of dust, Yami’s eyes couldn’t even detect the fancy patterns imprinted on the dilapidated fabric. The wallpaper was grayed and crumbling. The light fixtures were covered in cobwebs. If Yami didn’t know any better, he’d think this place was a house of mourning of some kind, occupied only by a single grieving individual. 

This house was neglected, chipped, and cloaked in charcoal-colored despair; just like Kaiba.

Yami could not envision someone voluntarily residing in this decrepit estate. Then again, Seto Kaiba was always someone that strayed far beyond the fray and boundaries of his practical-minded imagination. This house, it tormented Yami. For each linen-covered piece of archaic furniture, for every wine stain or glass shard splattered across hardwood flooring, Yami felt more and more like he stood before the ramshackle of someone’s self-made penitentiary than their foyer. For some reason Yami couldn’t quite place, the sight of it made his chest sting.

This place... someone had died here, Yami could tell. Kaiba killed himself behind the shield of these walls on a regular basis, drowned himself in his sorrows and drank himself to near-death in a place so remote and empty, it made him feel better about his own empty void inside. 

Kaiba’s bedroom was no better. Absolutely swamped with filth and squalor, Yami could hardly believe that this was the living environment the multi million dollar C.E.O. subjected himself to day-in and day-out. Kaiba practically verbally shoved Roland out the door with gnawing words that bit like a viscous dog snapping defensively. What a self-fulfilling prophecy, Yami narrowed his eyes and mused to himself. Would Seto eventually allow himself to crumble and waste away just like he was this house? To fade away into nothingness... was that really what he wanted? 

Yami’s hands instinctively balled into fists at his sides as he turned away from Kaiba, watching Roland go. The man bid him a gracious-eyed thank you, to which Kaiba scathingly remarked he would bid Yami nothing. Yami glanced back over his shoulder towards Kaiba, looked into those stone-cold glacial eyes that didn’t so much as portray a sliver of emotion despite the harsh words he coughed out. So casually cruel, carefully-crafted words designed to conceal the internal cries.

                               Wait. Please. Don’t leave me.

A coarse whisper, croaked from the porcelain lips of such a shambled man. He lies all curled up into himself against the crumbly covers in one grand boneless, spineless heap, his chocolate locks tousled all over the front side of his face and curtaining his features moistened over and smudged with tears. A pitiful sight, really. Someone tore this man’s wings, clipped them, dyed them black; convinced this man that he couldn’t fly, because he would fall; so still he stayed, believing the solid ground to be his sanctuary, when safety was only found in the far off sky. 

Twelve years later, Seto Kaiba’s heart still weeps with the same agony it did when they’d met. 

Something came over Yami in that moment, washing over him like a breath of fresh air after breathing nothing but stale and bitterness in ever since encountering Kaiba on that lofty, dimly-lit street-corner. He swallowed the breath whole and it leaped back up out his throat as he exhaled, puffing free in the form of words. He strides forth, propelling himself onto the cushions and throwing himself around Kaiba like a blanket. His arms are wrapped tightly around the other’s neck as his fingers thread their way through disheveled hair, and it doesn’t matter if Kaiba will hate him for this or not even remember it at all, because even a broken heart still beats. 

Even if there’s no one to save, there’s still someone there. And someone, on their own, is ⁠—

❝Enough,❞ Yami says, dragging his fingers through the dampened locks and handling them delicately, then carding them alongside Kaiba’s face. He’s pressed their foreheads together with his moving hands, forcing the other to meet him eye to eye, cutting him off from flinching away with a forceful grip. ❝Enough of that talk, Seto. Just for one night, clear the state, start over. Drown out the voices inside your head, and only listen to mine, ❞ he strokes the other’s cheek with his thumb, watching those dismal blues with his own earnest violets. 

❝Enough of everything always being the same. If you hate your life, then change it. Let me in it. Enough with broken hearts and broken bottles, of loneliness, silence, and darkness... instead, there could be the two of us. Could you at least try that? ❞ He dropped his hands in Seto’s, holding them gently, covering the ice-cold skin in his warmth, ❝ It’s not impossible, I’m telling you. You can forget everything, and focus on me. Let everything else fall away. Seto, Seto,  ❞ pleading hands squeeze tighter, ❝ let me take care of you.  ❞

You Win.

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO KAIBA ⟩

School. It was something that any other kid his age dreaded, loathed, and avoided like something worse than the plague. School was nothing more than an endless maze of brick and mortar and buzzing fluorescent lights, each turning leading one to yet another classroom as opposed to an exit. School was a place where time didn’t just slow down but stopped altogether. School, to these people, was Hell.

But for Seto Kaiba? School was an escape. A place where, for eight hours a day, he was free. School was salvation, and it was a salvation that Seto not only had to painstakingly achieve on his own and fight and hope to keep, but a salvation that promised the delivery of absolute and sheer brutality upon his arrival home… Home to the Kaiba Mansion… Home to his uncle…

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Everything around him fades into background as those eyes become all he can see, an endless sea of sapphire blue divided away by wired webbing. Yami can feel himself sinking in those eyes, becoming transfixed on their slowly widening shapes against his own. It’s as though he’s been swept away beneath a tidal force, he becomes lost in the oceanic depths of those eyes.

Such soulful eyes. For all the reticent hush of the stranger’s heart, his eyes are crystal clear. He’s never seen a pair of eyes quite like that before, with all the sparkling complexion of a priceless gem. They’re stunning, so captivating, all Yami can do is stand and stare.

The whispers, they pick up. Unlike all others before them, they’re choked and coarse, and Yami has to strain his ears in order to catch them. I can’t save anyone, I can’t even save myself. Those whispers are ridden with such... defeat, guilt, shame. Yami’s never heard a heart hum such a hollow tune. It’s like a broken record, the way it scratches and plays back one part on an endless loop: in this case, a loop of self-deprecating and demeaning statements.

Just how in the world did someone get that unhappy...? 

The screeching of tires wheeling and grating against cement pavement ends their encounter all too soon. The boy’s hastily spoken, blurted words, I’m nobody, sound like a sour surrender as they roll off his lips, and his heart pangs the same miserable manner. The words echo and resound in his ears as he watches those blue eyes deflate with some kind of resignation, like he’s giving up on something. Then, the curious boy turns, and trots off just like that. 

Yami watches his back as he does; the way he clings too tight to the straps of his bag, the way his legs move so fast and with such haste but without eagerness of any kind, the way his chocolate hair bobs and sways as he clicks open a car door and disappears from view. Into a limousine, not that Yami could possibly overlook that, what with the way the car is huge and sleek and long and probably costs more than he would gutted and sold on the black market. 

Ah. Seto Kaiba. 

The two of them are in the same school year and they share quite a few classes together. Yami pays him just about as much mind as he does nearly every other student in the school: slim to none. If memory serves, Seto is like him in that he is quiet, withdrawn, and socially disinclined. He knows for certain that Seto shares more than a preference for solitude with him; he’s an outcast, a loner, a loser just like him. Which means, of course, he’s slightly more tolerable than the average chum; as Yami can’t stand the self-important, superficial student body of this school.

Seto hadn’t caught his eye, no, but his heart certainly had.

For someone who kept to himself whenever possible and disliked mingling with others, Yami sure spent an awful lot of time that night tossing and turning and remembering those eyes. They stirred something in his gut, but it wasn’t that foul sensation of pure, uninhibited wrath he was so accustomed to troubling his sleep. This was something else, something foreign that he simply couldn’t place. He resolved to chase Seto down tomorrow and talk to him one-on-one, and it seemed that resolution finally granted him the peace of mind he needed to get some shut eye.

Yami spent most of the next morning in the principal’s office, slumped up in a plastic chair and listening to his mother shriek and holler on and on about the school board’s lack of consideration for special cases. Her heart was even louder, though, and what a shit show that was. The school board only had security footage of what transpired in the vacant corridor, but the perpetrators were identified and verified personally by Yami, and each of the four boys was given one week of suspension to appease Miss Mutou. She was also paid a compensation to keep quiet.  Either way, Yami didn’t care so long as both his mother’s mouth and her heart were silent at last. 

His shitty morning did not improve as the day went on. Class was worse than usual.

Yami always took the desk farthest from the front, right beside the window. A row in front of him, two seats over, was Seto’s desk. Normally, Yami’s gaze drifted between the chalkboard, to the teacher’s moving lips, to his notebook in front of him. Today, though, Yami couldn’t stop himself from looking over at Seto. His gaze was trained on that back, watching the way Seto fiddled with the lead tip of his pencil, the way he chewed his pale bottom lip, the way those sapphire eyes were so alert and attentive as his hands scramble to take diligent notes on the lecture. 

When Ms. Chono called on him to ‘ensure he was paying attention,’ well... he wasn’t. 

That’s why he was held back after class and issued a formal warning that if his inattentive behavior pursued, she would be taking away his headphone privileges. He’d left class in a rather morose mood, making his way towards the courtyard to wait for mother dearest to come and pick him up. Ugh. Sometimes, he wished he could just lie against one of the cherry trees of this school yard forever, leave all the stress and the unknown behind him, and just rest a while. 

That would be the day...

As if to prove he hadn’t paid a single word of Ms. Chono’s scolding any mind about being absent-minded or learned from the events of yesterday, he once again bumped straight into somebody while caught up in his thoughts. The action held instant karma, though, as the scraped skin beneath the gauze taped over his face throbbed painfully from the collision. He’d caused the person to drop whatever assemblage of books and papers they had in their hands, and Yami was quick to kneel down to apologetically help them recover their possessions.

Things never really change when someone actually wants them to, do they? 

That’s just the way the world works.

❝I’m sorry,❞ He said, although he didn’t mean it. Like the rigged timing of change, accidents was just another unfortunate facet of this world. Those who got worked up over it... were simply people who never got over the fact the world did not revolve around them, and never would.

The world spun in Yami’s favor for once, though, for when he looked up, it was those beauteous blues that he simply couldn’t get off of his mind that were staring straight back at him. 

❝Oh. Seto.❞ Nobody called him ‘Seto,’ it was only ever ‘Kaiba’ or some twisted, half-baked insult. As Seto’s last name was a big one and a great source of envy among other students, it was probably why he was only ever referred to by it. Yami had spoken the name reflexively, having put no prior consideration into it.  He returned the others items, swallowed, and asked,

❝A... about yesterday. Did you... see anything? ❞ 

[shadowedgamer]

[shadowedgamer]

[shadowedgamer]

I can see you. Now, what did YOU see? @brokenbymymaster​

The piercing wail of the bell blasted all throughout the halls of the school building, loudly announcing in an unbearable high-pitch that final period had come to a conclusion at long last. All around, ordinary school children shuffled and packed up their bags to head home for the day. A lone boy watched on and waited; he wasn’t like anybody else in his classroom, this school, or this entire city, most likely. More than he saw the faces of the people around him, how they looked or what they wore, the boy could hear their hearts. 

There’s more to people than their face, for there is only so much the external features can portray. The face can hide; people can cover up. The heart, however, tells no lies.  

Public places like these were so noisy. Hearts would whisper in a jumbled mixture of words and phrases all around him, a thousand voices all at once some would claim were only in his head —  but if so, why were they were so vivid and loud and why wouldn’t they just shut up already? 

His mother had worked very hard to receive specific permission from the principal for him to have a music player and a pair of headphones during class, so to play background music and distract away from the rowdy ambience. He’d learned to read lips so that it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Of course, Ms. Chono highly disapproved and was always singling him out, harassing him under the pretense of ❛ensuring that he was paying attention.❜ A stickler for the rules and a control freak, she was none too pleased to have to accommodate his faculty approved ❛condition.❜

He has always hated this teacher, Ms. Chono. The majority of the male student body were absolutely enamored with her, but as for him, he simply couldn’t concede. In his eyes, she was ugly as a troll. For to his ears, her heart was ugly, filled with hatred, pride, and vanity. He could not wait to get away from this place and its loathsome proximity. 

Heaving a sigh, the petite teen boy dove down beside his desk to collect his bag up from off the tiled ground. He slipped the straps over his shoulders and began making his way towards the door, now that the way had been mostly cleared. Despite the afternoon hour, the halls were sunny and bright. It was a lovely spring day, and the cherry blossom trees that scattered the school grounds were in full bloom. It might be nice to wander around aimlessly for a little while, as he was stuck here waiting on his mother to come pick him up.

He had turned up the volume on his music to drown out the background noise, admiring the pink petals through the windows as he walked through the halls absent-mindedly. He’d been completely caught off guard when he bumped face-first into someone, snapping his eyes away from the exterior view of the building and forward, towards a fellow student that was now looking towards him. 

❝M’sorry,❞ He said fleetingly, rounding around the other and moving to proceed down the hall. There was a muffled sound that might’ve been the other boy responding, but he couldn’t decipher it through the blaring of his music in his ears. No matter. One ❛watch where you’re going, underclassman punk,❜ wasn’t that big of a deal to miss out on. He’d heard it a thousand times before.

He reached for the handle to the exit doors when a hand grabbed his arm and halted him, hard. Yami glanced over his shoulder and discovered himself to be surrounded by a small group of four including the student he’d stumbled into earlier, except they weren’t some crowd of miffed upperclassmen. They were boys from his class, he realized belatedly.

 ❝HEY DOWN THERE. Where are you going, Yuugi? I asked you a question, now answer it, ❞ The boy barked so loudly, Yami could almost hear him through his headphones. Yami watched the other’s lips, deciphering his words, then gently wiggled his arm and tried to wrestle it free from the other’s grasp. The other boy only grabbed tighter the more he struggled, though, and Yami’s stomach was starting to feel sick. 

The stomachache... it was kicking in, just like it always did.  

There were some dark chuckles as one of the four boys threw a remark, but Yami didn’t catch it, he hadn’t been fast enough to look to his lips. He was being forcefully turned now, and before Yami knew what hit him, his classmate and captor had walked forward and kicked him in his gut.

Yami doubled forwards, choking a breath as the student moved his hand to grab a fistful of Yami’s jacket. He used it as leverage to pull Yami along, dragging him out through the doors and back towards the now emptied courtyard. The place was empty as the buses had come and left, and the students with them; and teachers were tucked away in their offices bent over ungraded test papers by now with pen in hand. Yami felt it just as strongly as he knew it to be true, that he was in trouble, and these guys meant trouble. 

❝Let me go,❞ Yami practically hisses, wriggling in the student’s grasp, when he’s thrown face-forward into a brick wall. His face collides with a slap and his headphones are knocked askew, while his cheek, brow, and chin get all scuffed up against the rough surface. He blinks back tears of pain-induced agony, clenching his fists feebly against the wall and trying to push off, but the boy has an iron tight grasp on the back of his hair. With his headphones no longer covering his ears, the whispering assaulted his senses with ten times the force and brutality than the other’s hands did.

❛Dumb pretty boy. What do the girls see in this dumb kid? I can’t believe she turned me down because she’s got a crush on THIS bastard... he’s gonna get it now, I’m gonna wreck his face so bad, she’ll never look his way again without up chucking. It’s what he deserves for taking what’s mine.❜ 

Yami screams out when his face is brutally dragged along the expanse of the brick wall, tearing pale flesh and drawing blood all along the front of his face. Tears slip free from beneath screwed-shut violet eyes. The stomach ache gets worse. Their whispers all around him are getting louder. They’re all getting off on this, sick with the sadistic glee of ganging together and brandishing a helpless person’s face beyond the reach of any adult who might put them to a stop, protest, or punish them. Yami’s stomach is lurching with that ache, and he knows it won’t be much longer now. 

 ❝Get away from me! ❞ He pleas, but they only laugh. They just don’t get it. That time, he was begging for their sake, not his.The hand belonging to his current aggressor that holds him firmly by his fire burst colored hair tightens its grip on him, the cronies sticking it out on the sidelines shouting words of encouragement as he forces Yami down onto his knees.

 ❝You’re going to get exactly what you deserve. ❞  

The crude whisper in his ear was the last straw. His stomach was grumbling in protest now, and he couldn’t hold it back. The whispers were too much, the dark cloud all around him was suffocating and fighting it away was a losing battle. Blood loss had made him dizzy and he blinked once, twice, his violet eyes burning a fiery crimson. His teeth gnashed together like a feral animal’s as he growled, low and guttural, earning a couple chuckles from his aggressors. With a surge of strength he didn’t believe his arms to posses, his arm bolted upward, taking hold of his captor’s wrist and twisting it. The blood-curdling  scream in his ear told him he’d either fractured or broken it. 

Panic broke out the second the scream did, and the boys were backing away from him now. His backpack fell to the ground as he turned, wiping his lips of blood and glaring at the boys all around him with this churning hatred he couldn’t pinpoint the origin of. 

 ❝RUN. ❞

The three that were still on their feet scrambled away, leaving the leader of their troupe behind them, doubled over in pain and clutching his injured arm in his opposite hand, bemoaning his miseries. Yami looked down at him, and despite his bloodied face, he smiled brightly.

❝ Hey down there. Let’s play a game, why don’t we? I’ve got some time to kill. Have you ever heard of Jenga? Why don’t we play that.. with this brick wall. C’mon, it’ll be fun! ❞

He didn’t give the student much of a choice. He could feel something surging inside him, manipulating his surroundings and making the bricks pliable enough to pull free from the wall. They played, each boy taking a turn pulling a brick from the wall. In the end, the boy ended up completely crushed under the collapsed wall, as he’d plucked the wrong piece, just as he’d picked on the wrong person. Guilty, Yami decreed, not feeling a smidgen of remorse for what he’d done. In the end, it was the other boy that was the one that got exactly what he deserved. 

Yami fled the scene of the crime, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and scampering away. Suddenly, his senses picked up on another presence, and he looked up, catching sight of a pair of steely blues watching him through a nearby wire fence. His own, now having returned to their original violet hue, narrowed.

❝ You. ❞ He sprinted forward and pressed up against the wire fence, staring darkly up into the face of the other student.  ❝ What did you see? ❞ 

All at once, the whispers were in his ears again. Fucking hell, Yami thought, he’d forgotten to pull his headphones back up over his ears. Who knew what horrible arrange of atrocities what should be no more than an innocent teenage boy was about to confess... Yami wasn’t in the mood. 

But suddenly it was blue. Those eyes, they sucked him in. And then there was weeping. It wasn’t loud or obnoxious like the other whispers were; it was quiet and soft, like it was trying to shrivel away from prying ears and conceal itself, unlike any other heart he’d ever heard before. Hearts don’t hide. Yet this boy’s heart was cowering, shaking with trepidation and crying so breathlessly. Yami had never heard a more melancholy sound. This... was this what heart break sounded like? Yami felt himself staring into those blue eyes, so clear, so precise, positively lost in them. 

The words flew free from Yami’s lips unchecked. 

❝ Who... who are you?❞

[shadowedgamer]

I’m just a vibe you won’t find nowhere else

Tory Lanez (via ghettoauthor)

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO🌙 ⟩ 

The doe-eyed, flabbergasted expression that crossed Yami’s face at the sight of the mediocre dessert churned Seto’s stomach. But not in the way he wished it had. Still, he contained his composure, though admittedly Yami’s stuttering irked Seto, very slightly. Was it really that bewildering that the CEO was capable of a nice gesture?

…maybe it was.

“Whatever,” he grunted as he moved forth. So Yami thought Seto’s act of charity was so incredulous? Fine. He would shock him once more with another favor. Seto stepped forward to retrieve a fork, and as he glared into Yami’s eyes while setting the utensil down, he couldn’t help but to smirk lightly at the other’s expression. He retreated to the opposite side of the counter and leaned against it, deciding he, too, wouldn’t mind a treat. He plucked out two Gobstoppers from the opened box and stuck them in his mouth.

“Well,” Seto prompted, shifting the candies from the right side of his mouth to the left. “You going to eat it or not?”

Yami’s gaze was still trained on the cream-covered, fluffy confection, admiring it with an appreciative eye as Kaiba stalked away to fetch him the appropriate corresponding cutlery. 

In truth, Yami wasn’t so flabbergasted simply because it was the ever-unpleasant Seto Kaiba that had treated him to a rare act of kindness, or even in merely having the savory sweet treat itself. It was in how spontaneous Kaiba had been in presenting the sugared gift to him that had left him so distraught. Kindness, which Kaiba had preached on and on of being oft premeditated ＆insincere, was acting out of genuine kindness of his own. Naturally, Yami was floored.

Kaiba’s slighted definition of doing him a ‘kindness’ in the past had conceitedly consisted of treating Yami to harsh words ＆persistently pushing him away with crushing force. Yami never liked that twisted version of kindness Kaiba gifted him, but this... this was the kind of generosity that Yami could accept with ready ease. He gladly took the fork from Kaiba’s offering hand and took a hearty bite, discovering the dessert to taste just as good as it looked. Delicious. 

❝It’s good,❞ Yami can’t help but sing his praises, because it really was. He highly doubted there was anything special about the cake or in its ingredients, versus something special in sharing this moment with the other. Somehow, it almost seemed to make the cake taste even sweeter.  ❝I suppose I owe you one now. A cake debt, if you will. What kind of cakes do you like, Kaiba? I have a lot more free time than I care to admit. I bet I could whip one up, just for you. I have a hand in the kitchen, I’m not half-bad. ❞

He took another forkful of cakey goodness and held it out towards Kaiba, offering with a glittering smile,  ❝Want a bite? This is a lot to eat all by myself, you know. You have a bad habit of leaving me with heaping loads of sweets, huh? Help me out over here. ❞

[shadowedgamer]

[shadowedgamer]

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO🌙 ⟩

“Hey, Yami…”

❝Do you think this is FUNNY? Am I a JOKE to you?❞ He smacks the plastic toy out of Kaiba’s hands and lets it roll. Once its rolled its course and become still, he begins stomping on it with his foot, despite the squeaks of protest that seemingly spur him on to stomp harder. He frowns, clearly dissatisfied with the amount of destruction he has done his rubber tormentor, muttering, ❝I need lighter fluid and some matches. And Kaiba?

Did you forget I know where you live now? I will be dropping in for a visit.❞

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO🌙 ⟩

The CEO dropped a noisy, plastic container in front of the other. Concealed within, a moist, yellow shortcake, complete with a generous serving of whipped cream and two strawberry halves, placed perfectly within the center. Just as asked –or rather, whined– for.

“Enjoy. You big baby.”

Yami lifted his head and watched as the other carelessly plopped the container down on the counter, his dexterous reflexes taking charge and causing him to reach out and catch it just above his outstretched palms. His gaze lowered down to the box with a certain contained excitement ⁠— did he really, just for him?— before looking back towards Kaiba, deflating visibly and frowning flatly, grumbling,   ❝I am not a baby. I am perfectly grown adult, with a refined taste and blatant need for sugary sweet pastries is all. Particularly the fruity, short cake kind.❞ He very gingerly lifted the cover of the plastic tin, hesitant, half-expecting Kaiba to have gifted him an empty box just as a practical joke. Granted Kaiba’s refined taste and blatant need for getting on his nerves, it really wouldn’t faze him to say the least.  

He was pleasantly surprised to uncover the petite, fluffy cake topped with a hearty portion of whip cream and plump, pink strawberries. No way, Yami thought, Kaiba actually did it, just because I asked? He had really only been half-joking earlier when he’d prodded at Kaiba and imitated a child mooching for sweets. Pestering Kaiba was a dedicated pastime of his at this point, the nature of their relationship practically being delegated by his identity as a thorn in Kaiba’s side; and so he certainly hadn’t expected Kaiba to regard his mischievous words of jest with seriousness or consideration of any kind. Yet here the highly-coveted treat sat tantalizingly before him. He almost felt strange was this a twinge of guilt? impossible, Kaiba had really done something nice for him and it was something so trivial and little and yet Yami felt himself getting inexplicably flustered. Perhaps because Kaiba was usually so cold, this one nice thing really, really rattled Yami. He stumbled, ❝ Oh. Th… thank you, Kaiba. That’s… nice of you. ❞

The strawberries weren’t the only pink thing in the room.

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO KAIBA ⟩

He didn’t remember being picked up off the pavement. He didn’t remember the pain along his spine as the thug held his frail and limp body against his own, knife poised against flesh, ready to strike. He didn’t remember the sensation of cool steel, the stench of sweat, the trembling body. He didn’t remember dropping from the man’s hold, and crashing back to the alley floor, nor the warm blood that dripped upon him. All he could remember –lying stiffly on his side– was the flash of stupid-looking blonde and black hair…

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Yami took in the scattered wreckage of his fallen victims strewn all around him, staring blankly from one unconscious body collapsed against concrete to the next with remorseless eyes that burned brightly ＆flickered through the shadowy haze. Their tousled figures ＆scrambled limbs were nothing more to him than the inevitable debris of the dastardly that dared to stand in his way ＆ therefore unknowingly stepped themselves into the path of his vindictive ruination. They got exactly what they deserved as all wicked wrongdoers did in these callous acts of his delivering otherworldly ＆impersonal retribution.

In this world overgrown with impure, tainted souls that multiplied like garden weeds, mortal men may lie, cheat, steal ＆ vie for power while evading obstruction. The bounds of law ＆potential backlash of karma does little to deter those wretched fools that have already jumped far from grace for flimsy things like ‘power’ ＆‘control.’ Under Yami’s law ＆domain, however, he was the sole judge, juror, ＆executioner all packed together in one doomsday of a man; ＆when his court was in session ＆the defendant on trial, there would be no defense. He became the prosecution that snuffed out the darkness ＆salvaged indifferently for whatever ❛good❜ might remain in their garbage souls. This lot, like most, was nothing but a pitiful heap of rotten, bad apples.

That’s all Yami saw for as far as he could see, ＆his nose scrunched in disgust at the mere sight of them.

Glancing over his shoulder, Yami reaffixed his attentions onto the unlikely damsel in distress. Just what on earth had Seto Kaiba been doing mingling with this sickening scum so far beneath him, they didn’t even deserve a spot on the underside of his shoe? Yami had half the mind to ask but figured such a frivolous interrogation would overlook more important matters; more important being the man that hadn’t stirred once from the place Yami had left him, sitting still as a statue ＆breathing in quiet, panicked heaves. The danger ＆darkness had subsided, ＆instead, concern ＆ timorous uncertainty replaced them within him. He blinked, lavender color reclaiming his widening eyes as he dashed to Kaiba’s aid.

Please, please, please don’t let him be hurt; not here, not disgraced and defiled by these pesky lowlifes. Yami would never be able to forgive the grimy hands that had hurt Kaiba, but even worse, he would never be able to forgive his own for reaching out a second too late ＆allowing Kaiba’s to slip away. Yami dropped to the ground beside him and rifled his fingers through chocolate brown hair until he grappled a knot of his own fine craftsmanship, undoing it with expert ease. The fabric scrap fell to Kaiba’s lap loosely, and the cobalt stare that greeted Yami’s fretful one was barely alert, vacuous ＆unresponsive.

❝Kaiba,❞ Yami whispered the name softly, inquisitively, reaching out and cupping the other’s cheek gingerly in his own bloodied hand and cradling it. Kaiba’s snow white skin was cold as ice. Yami’s thoughts swirled and spun about in distress as he stroked that cheek once, twice with his thumb, smudging red against it carelessly ＆ tracking up crimson. ❝Kaiba,❞ he repeated, more firmly and assertively this time, ascertaining,❝can you hear me, Kaiba?❞

Eyelashes battered dizzily, and those stern blues struggled to clip themselves onto Yami’s countenance. Dark pupils blurred in and out of focus as soft-spoken spiels spilled free from Seto’s inebriated lips. Not him, Kaiba implored in urgent tongues and riddles, take the form of anyone, just not him. Yami watched the ever-stoic and proud man crumble to undignified pieces before him, tearing open at the seams as all the broken parts inside him came spluttering out. Kaiba was speaking to him, Yami realized, but he wasn’t addressing him. In this very moment, Kaiba was somewhere else very far away from here all locked up inside himself, shoving away at the shadows that nipped at him and threatened to close in all around him.

It was a shameful and private sight, one Kaiba would not want him— or anyone else, for that matter— to bear witness to. Although Yami told himself that he owed Kaiba that respect, to tear his eyes away from this Kaiba that was so far out of touch, out of love… withholding his own touch from someone such as that was proving to be a losing battle for him. With grit teeth, he succumbed to his churning instincts, reaching out and wrapping his arms around Kaiba’s shoulders. He pulled Kaiba’s face into his chest and held him tight, because fuck it, how many nights had Seto Kaiba gone to sleep unraveling against his sheets without another’s hands to hold him steady? Unsteady feet were bound to trip, stumble, and eventually fall.

And oh, how Yami yearned to pick him up, to be the solid foundation off which Kaiba could stand again. If only Kaiba would lean on him, allow himself the luxury of another’s solid weight, but no.

For Seto Kaiba was not the common breed of sinner that Yami could encounter just about anywhere on these dingy streets. No, Kaiba was both above and below the rest all at once. Seto Kaiba’s heart was stained soot-black in a toneless shade darker than a moonless night sky, dip-dyed with the shadows another’s fingerprints had embedded in his skin and sullied it with. That darkness was hardened twice-over with chains of guilt, denial, regret, ＆self-loathing; ＆worst of all, the slightest fraction of Kaiba truly believed that darkness was exactly what he deserved ＆where he belonged. Kaiba’s darkness was nothing more than a personal hell ＆a self-made prison specifically designed for ＆created by him where the crude voices of his own inner demons played judge, jury, ＆executioner without a smidgen of mercy. The choking darkness all around Kaiba had come to be all that Kaiba believed ＆all he thought he amounted to; but Yami knew better, Yami shuffled around and saw there was much more than meets the eye to him.

Perhaps it was that all-corrective nature of his at play, perhaps not; but Yami was compelled to bury his own fingertips into Kaiba’s skin, to sear the flesh with sunlight and leave sunspots behind him. Perhaps if Yami surrounded Kaiba with and smothered him inside his own light, Kaiba would remember and come to believe in his own again. For this crippling cynic so averse to the light, believing himself unworthy… Seto Kaiba had forgotten he once had one of his own.

❝You’re going to be okay,❞ Yami whispered reassuringly, believing for himself what he knew Kaiba himself did not have the strength to. Maybe, one day, this belief of his could reach Kaiba and really, really make him okay or somehow make a difference. For that, it was worth risking these words easily lost on the wind, just for the slim possibility it might make Kaiba better.

But as for the moment, it was better to focus on actually ensuring Kaiba’s safety and well being. With a shallow curse, Yami realized he was only in his pajamas, without any proper provisions on his lightly dressed personage to help. He dove for Kaiba’s pockets, checking for something, anything that might be able to better their position in this predicament. Yami recovered Kaiba’s mobile device, his triumph hindered when he realized he did not know the other’s pass code. The phone, like most others, had an option to ❛emergency dial—❜ and so Yami did, typing a one and checking for a speed dial contact. Certainly, Kaiba’s first speed dial contact would be his go-to person for dire situations, right? Yami didn’t want to involve anyone Kaiba didn’t trust, what with how he’d already been choiceless in entrusting himself to Yami’s hands in his current state. The name ❛Roland❜ popped up and Yami stared, considering it, then clicked the call button.

Despite the outrageous hour, the recipient picked up on the second tone.

❝Mister Kaiba, sir? Is everything okay?❞

It was an older man’s voice that had answered ＆ formally addressed him as ❛Mr. Kaiba,❜ so Yami deduced it must be a co-worker that was either undyingly loyal, very close to Kaiba, or both. Looking between Kaiba’s dazed, slumped-over figure and the soft glow of the phone screen, Yami sensed this was his best bet and placed the thin phone delicately against his ear. He responded through carefully-woven, clipped words,❝this isn’t Kaiba. I’m… an old acquaintance of his. I just so happened into Kaiba tonight, and he’s not…” Yami hesitated, struggling momentarily and drawing a blank on a way to phrase this that might save face for Kaiba before deciding choppily, ❝…in the best of sorts. I want to help him sort himself out, but I don’t have the proper supplies. I was hoping I might be able to contact someone on amicable terms with him, who might be willing to help with that… or at the very least, help me get him out of here.❞

The man listened diligently, ＆after a brief pause of contemplation, asked strictly:❝where are you?❞

Yami brushed Kaiba’s bangs out of his eyes, letting out a smooth sigh and exhaling the words, ❝we’re near West End Pub, on the dead-end street that curves around-side it.❞ Yami swallowed, then asked with an underlying uncertainty, ❝can you help?❞

After another clean pause, the man said simply, ❝I’m on my way. Don’t move. Do you… do you have a name, sir?❞

❝It’s Yami,❞ he replied offhandedly, feeling the weight of the worlds lift off his shoulders in knowing that he wasn’t going to have to try and carry Kaiba out of here like that. Sincerely, he spoke into the receiver, ushering, ❝thank you.❞

❝Mister Yami, then,❞ the man replied, unshaken by the strange name, speaking with a practiced eloquence, ❝thank you, as well. Please stay put. I’ll be right there.❞

The beeping of the line going dead ringed in Yami’s ear as he lowered the phone, hitting the end button and setting it aside on the pavement. Sighing, his gaze flicked back towards Kaiba,who was still a shaking, soundless mess of anxiety ＆paranoia. Yami could hardly stand to see him like that, but not enough to actually look away. Shivering… he was probably cold, Yami realized, despite Kaiba being the more heavily-dressed of the two of them. Not everyone was a walking wildfire, like Yami. Yami looked to his left, then his right, then gently took Kaiba by the shoulders, tugging him outwards and slipping behind him. He allowed Kaiba to slump back against him, folding his arms around the other’s shoulders and resting his chin on Kaiba’s head with a snort.

❝It’s okay,❞ Yami said again, although he knew well that Kaiba neither comprehended nor cared that he did, remarking, ❝I guess I owed you one for the candy, anyways.❞

In record time, a sleek, grandiose limousine not tailor-made for these dirty, shady streets pulled up some ways away from them against the curb. The man in the driver’s seat must have had eyes like a hawk, either that, or had the same inborn talent to scope out chocolate locks in a crowd that Yami possessed for some odd reason or another. Out he stepped, a tall, intimidating figure with slicked back black hair, a well-trimmed mustache, an expensive-looking prim-pressed suit and tie, as well as a dark pair of shades to top his ❛body guard❜ look off. The man strode with purpose towards them, quickening his steps with each one he took and gaining rapid haste.

He stepped over the downed bodies of unconscious men with such comfortable, dismissive indifference, the sight clearly must not have been one he’d never encountered in the past. He looked from Yami down to the slumped, hunched figure of Kaiba ＆breathed a puffy sigh of relief. ❝Thank you,❞ He said promptly, removing the cap from his head and tucking it under his arm, kneeling down to carefully pry one of Kaiba’s arms up and away from its place of rest at his side and ease it around his own neck so to guide him back towards the vehicle. He nodded Yami along as he walked with Kaiba, and Yami grabbed the phone, hopped to his feet, and trailed after them. The man popped open the car door to the backseat and carefully maneuvered Kaiba inside, then stepped back, gesturing for Yami to hop on in. Yami stopped short, expecting to see Kaiba to the door and then maybe get another polite expression of gratitude, not to get invited along with him.

Perhaps Yami’s eager, genuine concern showed on his face. Either way, he jumped right in.

The engine started back up and the car took off, presumably towards Kaiba’s personal estate. Yami clicked his seat belt into place and then reached across the way to buckle Kaiba up, muttering, ❝Safety first.❞ Safety must not matter much in Kaiba’s book, though (a granted fact what with where Yami had stumbled into him in the first place), as he fell forward in defiance the moment Yami reached for the buckle as if to spite him. He slid along Yami’s arm and wound up with his head in the other’s lap, much to Yami’s dismay. That was― er, well― certainly Kaiba would be none too pleased to learn of this accidental act of intimacy when he sobered up. For Kaiba’s sake more than his, Yami moved to prod at Kaiba and attempt to shift him back in place― but Kaiba nuzzled closer, ＆something inside Yami said, ❛to hell with it, leave him.❜

Yami’s hands wound up carding their way through Kaiba’s hair, ruffling it reassuringly. He’d all but forgotten for a moment there was another man in this car (a rather obvious one, the driver, in fact), up until he exchanged a brief, unreadable glance with the man through the rear view mirror. Yami felt the heat rise in his face, but hey, this weird position was Kaiba’s doing, not his!

❝Um‒❞ Yami spoke up, recapturing the man’s attention, ❝excuse me. Might I ask why you allowed me to come along? Not that I desired anything to the contrary, I just… really wasn’t expecting that. Thank you. ❞

The man explained himself thoroughly, as though he were being questioned by a superior rather than asked a simple question out of curiosity. Yami, who was better accustomed to being disregarded based off his looks than handed respect without question, took well to him.

❝Normally, nobody is allowed in Mister Kaiba’s vehicle but Mister Kaiba or those he personally invites inside. However, I made a special exception in this case, as your name has popped up mistakenly on the top of many documents in the past few weeks as well as having been mumbled on a handful of occasions. While I don’t claim to know anything regarding the nature of your relationship― someone who stayed in the cold to keep the Boss warm is someone I trust.❞

Relationship… nature… Yami could feel the burning in his cheeks as he glanced down at the face in his lap. It wasn’t like that, Yami told himself, why ever would someone presume such a far-fetched thing? But Roland had said something peculiar that was far more pressing and had caught his attention, that thing being Kaiba’s odd allusions to him in the work place. If Kaiba was so caught up on him, why had Kaiba been so straight forward in shooing him away? Honestly, such a nonsense-speaker Kaiba was… and there he went, rambling on under his breath, begging some unseen force for forgiveness and absolution Kaiba needed only from himself.

❝It’s okay,❞ Yami said yet another time, raking his fingers through that messy tangle of hair and narrowing his eyes, ❝it’s okay, Kaiba. It’s okay. You’ll never be him, but you’ll always be you. It’s okay,❞ Yami dragged his palm across Kaiba’s face and wiped away the little salty rivers forming down his cheeks. Kaiba, Kaiba, Kaiba… he really would have done it, wouldn’t he have? He would’ve gladly died out there, on those cold and empty streets, would have rathered that over just admitting he needed someone— no— wanted someone there.

Alas, it seemed neither the universe itself nor Yami were going to let him have his way with that.

The car slid to a smooth park in front of a large house. Yami had been so lost in thought, he only noticed that they had in an awkward moment of untangling and a lot of coughing on Yami’s part when Roland popped the door open so to help Kaiba out. Despite his incoherent intoxication, Kaiba loudly protested Yami’s presence; but Roland paid him no mind and gestured for Yami to do the same, nodding him along once more. Yami followed, pausing to stare and take in the extravagant exterior of the estate. The house was impressive, but… cold. A lot like Kaiba.

❝Come, Mister Kaiba,❞ the henchman said, ❝let’s get you and Mister Yami inside, and get you some pain killers. It’s very late, we can’t send him home like this.❞

You Win.

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO KAIBA ⟩

You Win.

Seto did it. He had done the very thing he desired to do the moment Yami had plopped down within his office, as though he, too, owned a share in it. Seto had simply left. Retreated back to his reclusive ways. He denied those sparks, those swells of liveliness that he hadn’t felt in years, and he denied –dare he even think it– the attraction, the possibilities. The moment he got in his car and sped away, he left it all behind, ready for the day to disappear behind him, as though it never existed. This, of course, did not work the way the CEO desired. Then again, things hardly ever did.

Keep reading

The urban landscape of Domino City was hectic per usual come this late of night, a thousand startling sounds scraping together all at once to compose a chaotic, tumultuous rhythm: the chugging of car engines and sputtering of exhaust pipes; the restless beeping of car horns and screeching of rubber tires protesting against pavement; the clattering of raucous delinquents up to no good and the hoots and hollers of disapproving adults from out their windows. There were bright lights everywhere, billboards, street lamps, and buildings coming to life in blinding, multicolored luminescent glory. And wherever there was light, there was bound to beSHADOWS as well; and wherever there was shadows, there was bound to be an unforeseen THREAT lurking somewhere within.

Like most other cities, Domino’s streets were a dangerous thing to walk alone come the dead of night; the cloak of darkness and waning crowds made it the optimal hour for crooked thugs, cheap charlatans, and rotten-cored criminals to come out to play. Despite its upscale venues and many wealthy inhabitants, the area’s crime rate was hardly pristine, having a wide arrange of gangs and infamous crime rings based underground its local vicinity to skew it. That alone should suffice to deter even the most determined of night owls from prowling about past bedtime; and that it did, the late a.m. crowds compromised solely of sloshed up pub-goers and other such reckless individuals.  Someone such as himself would certainly be considered twice as reckless if he were to be among them.

A petite, slender-framed boy standing at a mere five feet of overlookable height was certainly not an advisable candidate for a late-night stroll through the unpredictable city sidewalks of Domino City. Yami knew that, but he also knew something nobody else could tell just from looking at him. And come nightfall, no matter how relentlessly Yami tossed and turned and bit into his pillow trying to quell it— it always came for him, dragged him out of bed and chucked him out on his rear onto those desolate, risky roads most avoided.

He could tell, as he buttoned up the last notch of his night shirt, tonight would be no different.

❝Lights out,❞ a woman cooed, outstretching her pale hand towards him that he never quite felt was his to take. Whenever he voiced that feeling or these thoughts bubbling inside his head, it only ever made things harder for him; so tonight, like many nights before, he pushed that feeling down and let her take his small hand in hers and lead him.

She patted down the mattress for him then gingerly guided him into his bed, as though he were nothing more than some lifeless ragdoll. She pulled the covers up over him and tucked them snug beneath his chin, giving him one of her worn, devout smiles that always struck something deep inside of him, stirred up something long since dead. With a pale, long finger, she tucked away his stray blond bangs behind his ear then ducked to plant a kiss against his brow.

CLOYING, it was; it did nothing to distract away from the stomach ache that GNAWEDat him.

He closed his eyes tight and feigned falling fast asleep, hoping to appease her. The sound of her slippers padding against the hardwood was a sure sign he’d succeeded.❝Good night, dearest,❞ the woman said softly, flicking the light switch off with a click, ❝you know what to do if you need anything, alright？❞

The door shut, and her partings words only made his stomach ache get worse.

It throbbed and grumbled, and he could feel it creeping up from underneath his bed ＆wrapping all around him like an extra blanket. It provided no warmth, but rather, bit into his bones in the form of an ice-cold chill that racked his spine with frightful shivers. He flicked the covers up in one frenzied sweep, darting over to the pad-locked doors that barred off the interconnected roof to his bedroom here in this lofty attic. With deft expertise, he fiddled once, twice with the lock using the blunt underside of his finger nail, until the rusty ‘old thing popped open all dingily just like that. With an eager grin, he threw the doors open ＆sucked in a big breath of the freedom-scented night air, standing on the small balcony-like alcove ＆looking out at the city down below. The hunger rose as that disgusting scent rose with it, filling his nostrils and paining his gut.

The adrenaline was kicking in, he could just feel it. And as he hooked one bare foot over the banister of the brass railing, the wind rushing up and nipping at his ankles; like this city come night, he, too, came alive.

He jumped with ease, like someone might have jumped off a diving board into a pool of water.

He landed against the ground as smoothly and soundlessly as he might’ve had he weighed nothing at all, as delicately as a paper drifting down through air into place. His senses were going wild, ravenous with this uncontrollable hunger that might drive him mad if he didn’t soon sate it. The moment his tip-toe collided with solid ground, he vanished completely, blending in seamlessly with the shadows draped against the walls of surrounding buildings so well, he might as well have been a shadow himself.

Yami could smell it; he could smell the damnation wafting off this city of sin. He could smell the rotten, putrid hearts and vacant souls, and they beckoned him in these frantic, fast-spoken whispered confessions of their crimes. Yami squeezes his eyes shut and inhales sharply for a moment; when his eyes open, they were no longer the charming violet orbs they usually were. Instead, stark crimson eyes sparkling with mischief replaced them.

Yami shoved his hands deep down into the warmth of the velvet pockets of his baggy pajama pants, slouching slightly as he strode forward casually. His feet felt heavy and were no longer his to command; they walked him into a narrow alley way, where a hurried-looking young man dressed haphazardly in beat-up sneaks, a heavy parka, jeans, and a tousled button-up pushed past him with cold, distant eyes that did not see him, bumping shoulders with him carelessly. Yami fell forward, and the man said with his mouth,❝move, BRAT,❞ but Yami could hear the whisper crisp and clear in his ear: ❛fucking brainless woman. Can’t believe I made that troll my wife, I deserve so much better. I BEAT the shit out of her, but she just won’t take the hint and take a hike. BITCH.❜

❝Hey,❞ Yami says softly as he catches the man around the elbow with a forceful grip, not righting himself from his half-fall and keeping his face downturned and shadowed.

The man looks to him like one might fifth smudging the sleeve of his shirt, barking,❝fucking brat, I said move!❞

He moves to yank his arm away in one aggressive heave, but Yami proves more formidable than he appears, his iron-tight grip tearing into the man’s arm like the steel of a saw as he whispers softly, playfully, ❝where are you going, mister? Won’t you play a game with me~？♪❞ His head inclines, revealing ruby orbs glittering dangerously.

The man’s screams cannot be heard. It’s too late. The shadows have closed in all around him and swallowed him whole, made him their prey and enveloped him entirely in darkness. Yami’s in the mood for checkers tonight, and this man’s heart will serve as their game board. His smell is rotten, vile as he is cornered and given no choice but to accept a game that he is certain to lose. For the man would succumb to the darkness in his heart; he was just another one of the spineless weaklings that walked this earth and disgusted Yami, made his stomach hurt. These bile-smelling, wretched creatures of the night that his light would pierce, shatter, and snuff out.

Yami walked forward, his bare feet having gone limp and numb in the cold of the night as they dragged against the pavement. A stray black cat hisses to him from its perch up on a wire fence, and Yami raises his head and hisses back in a flash of pearly whites. At the gleam of his scarlet eyes, the cat takes off, its black tail bobbing behind it as it bounces away. Yami chuckles a breath softly, folding his arms for warmth and keeps on walking.

It’s time to head back.

That’s what he thinks, when he hears another whisper that freezes him in his tracks: a whisper that says, ❛I’m going to kill him, I’m going to kill Seto Kaiba.❜ Yami’s body stills like a statue, his lips parting silently in soundless surprise. Kaiba, he repeats in his own mind, processing the word slowly like it were some sort of foreign language, Seto Kaiba. The sound of a commotion brewing in the distance is impossible for him to miss, what with the ruckus the group of men were stirring up. They stand several yards away from him in a dead-end alley, but Yami’s firelit eyes can see them as though they were standing a mere few inches away. The silver glint of a knife wielded in one man’s hand catches his eye, and Yami hears that abominable whisper speaking up again, rasping throatily: ❛I’m going to drag this man down into his grave, so he’ll be so low in the ground, he’ll be just like the rest of us. This is only what he DESERVES, him and all those white-collared bastards.❜

A swirling cloud of darkness surrounds the man who clutches another’s limp body in his own muddy, grimy hands. Yami can’t make out the features of the man’s victim; but he sees disheveled chocolate-colored strands, and he knows in an instant. Yami looks at that small, crumpled, lifeless figure all hunched over and defeated looking— and the stomach ache becomes a knot in his chest, a raging fire that burns through him stronger than ever before. His teeth grit as the shadows slide forward. There’s ardent shouting from a mixture of different voices in all different tones, saying various diverse things: ❝DO it, man, SLIT his throat！❞ to ❝HOLY shit, man, DROP the fucking knife！❞ The man has the knife poised, and the opposing men around him aren’t moving fast enough to restrain him. He moves that greasy hand of his to strike, the yelling getting louder, bodies hitching with tense movement.

In a heartbeat, every single one of those voices go funeral home silent as, in the blink of an eye, the small boy has materialized himself right there in front of them. His pale fingers are curled around the knife, halting it in its conquest, clutching tightly, bright red liquid staining the pure white of the blade and dripping slickly. As the attempted assailant looks from the blood into Yami’s glaring eyes, he finds them to be the same exact color. In a dazed stupor of terror, the man drops the knife, his jaw falling slack with tremulous fright. Kaiba, who he’d been hoisting up in his other arm, he released impetuously and allowed him to fall slack onto the cement.

Yami’s grip on the knife loosens as he throws it up and rolls it in his hand expertly, a slim dark brow quirking upright with scrutiny, saying softly, ❝WHOA there, mister. These are awfully dangerous, you know？ They’re much too dangerous to be in the hands of a little guy like me.  So, you’ll have to take it back from me, won’t you？ Come now; let’s play a game. ❞ With flaming eyes, Yami took the knife and spun it in his fingers, saying chipperly, ❝ You want this back, don’t you？ ❞

At that point, several of the men were already taking off, sputtering, ❝fuck this shit, man!❞ But Yami wouldn’t let them off the hook so easily; after all, each one of these men were dripping with the blackness of the voids inside their hearts. They nearly sat idle as another life was jeopardized; unforgivable, Yami thought. The darkness formed a wall all around them, trapping them, pulling them all together in a nice little container for Yami to handle later.

With the knife in hand, Yami slit a sliver of his shirt sleeve, walking over to where Kaiba lie. He carefully helped Kaiba up and into a recumbent position, propping the man back against a brick alley wall for support. Yami’s hand, peculiarly radiating searing warmth despite the frigid air all around them, cupped the other’s cheek. Bright red eyes looked into dizzied blues, staring right through them like they were panes of glass. Yami’s fingers drummed against Kaiba’s cheek and dragged downwards, jerkily cupping his chin. The whisper was soft and meek: ❛I want to die. You win, Uncle Quinn. You win.❜ Yami’s eyes narrow as he gives Kaiba an unreadable look, before releasing him completely.

❝You are not worthless,❞ Yami says as though he were merely stating the current weather conditions, stretching out the slip of turquoise fabric between his hands. With a stern expression, he says, ❝if you were, there would be nothing here for me to save. As I’m saving you, that must mean you have something. And if all you have is your life, that is still something, however pathetic it may be. Do not throw away what little you have, or you really will have nothing. A pathetic life can be changed, made better. A life that’s lost can never be regained. If you die now, it’s not another man that’ll have won, Kaiba. You’ll have lost only to and yourself.  ❞

With a little smile, Yami hummed, ❝ sorry, Kaiba. I don’t want you to see this. So be good for me and don’t peek, alright? You really don’t want to see. ❞With amble hands and quick-working fingers, Yami knotted the fabric behind Kaiba’s head and screened his eyesight in a makeshift blindfold. With Kaiba out of the way, he could get back to business.

The dark cloud had increased in volume, swirling like a storm; and trapped inside it, only partially visible to the onlooking eye, were the several men that had nearly spilled blood on the very concrete they stood on. They would learn their lesson, Yami decided, however he had to slice it to them. He dissipated into the dark cloud; and for a good fifteen minutes, that’s all it took.

Then, like a dense fog suddenly lifting, the heavy mist was gone. The cloud subsiding, it revealed Yami, with the handful of men all around him, face-down on the ground.

Yami didn’t pay them any mind, though. With his back to Kaiba, he said plainly: ❝ You can look now, Kaiba. Now, let’s get you out of here. ❞

You Win.

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO KAIBA ⟩

With his own final word, Seto was ready to stand from the booth and leave. He had done his due diligence, he had told the other a truth about himself, all to uncharacteristically protect him from the damage Seto knew he could produce without even having to try. He would get up without another word, he would leave, get in his car and speed away, leaving Yami behind, in the past, where he would become nothing more than a memory. It was better this way, and Seto was certain Yami would come to agree. He deserved better, after all.

But like a snake releasing from its coil and snatching its prey, Yami’s hand was on Seto’s again. How many times had this touch occurred now? Seto’s body tensed as his hand was held a firm hostage, and his heart threatened to burst from his chest. He couldn’t endure this torture anymore, this teasing touch that gave the false illusion that warmth and light and –dare he consider– happiness could exist. It was shredding Seto from the inside out, snapping and re-breaking any pieces he had somehow managed to poorly piece back together himself. This kind of warmth, it could never exist for him. It never did. It had been twenty eight long years of snow and blizzards. And the only burning fire Seto had ever known, a perfectly-crafted campfire in the middle of his barren, white land, had been snuffed out by the very snow and ice that fell with each step he took. Flames extinguished, his world devoid of kindling and fuel. All Seto had left was the memory of what the fire had been, and alone he watched its smoky remains rise and dissipate forever.

Seto needed to take his hand back, stand firm, leave and never look back– not only for himself but for Yami, too. But once royal blues met those of violet, his weak will, his desperation, it overpowered. And Seto gave in.

Yami’s eyes, again, they were too much, but rather than look away, rather than keep his head held high and his gaze focused on something else to distract him from the words, Seto closed his eyes. And each of Yami’s words sunk in, deep. Seto had long since convinced himself he was the only broken one, the loneliest one, and by far the greatest threat to others. He was, after all, Quinn Gozaburo Kaiba’s nephew… Broken and dissected piece by piece by his demonic hands, thrown into thick darkness that would conceal and hide him forever, and from the ashes… Seto would be reborn in his likeness. Perhaps he wasn’t the only broken and lonely soul… but it was in Seto’s nature, just as it had been in Quinn’s, to drag everybody else down with them.

There it was again, the burning. He shut his eyes tighter. Not now, not now, not now you God damn wimp. The memories of his uncle surfacing, just as Yami confessed that he was choosing to stay with Seto, to be with him, to accept him… It was too much. It was too damn much.

And finally, a single tear broke lose. The tear that had been trying to escape since Yami had barged into Seto’s office. The tear that it seemed Yami was so desperate to summon. Seto could feel his face reddening, he wished to wipe away the moisture with a violent toss of his hand against his face, but he didn’t dare move. The rotten memories, the people he had hurt, Yami’s beautiful, exquisite words that were just too good to be true, were all building up within, and Seto knew as soon as he moved, that pressure would get the best of him, and he would break down.

Yami was challenging Seto to hurt him, to do his worst. Fool. Idiot. You naive moron. He had no idea what he was asking for. He had no idea who Seto Kaiba truly was, what he was truly capable of. Anyone who ever got close enough to start to see a glimpse always ran away screaming, be it of fear or frustration and anger, disgust, or all three. Why couldn’t Yami understand, and take Seto’s warning… his plea, rather… at face value?

Then there it was, that warmth again, only this time it was on his cheek. Like the sun shining in that barren snow-covered land, warming just a small plot, melting the snow, evaporating the remaining ice water and making it disappear all together. The warmth held a firmer grasp, almost a forceful one, and Seto had to open his eyes, force himself to look at the other. Seeing was, after all, believing. But, it was more than that, this kind of new touch. It took not even a fraction of a second for Seto to figure out what it was.

Yami’s warmth didn’t just melt away a patch of snow… it had melted the frigid, solid and what had otherwise always been impenetrable shield of ice that made up Seto Kaiba’s exterior. And what he hid within that ice, was now what was staring back Yami with disbelief. His inner child. That last piece of purity and innocence that Seto had managed to save and hide from his uncle, from the world. It stared at Yami with wide and frightened yet wondrous eyes. These words, this touch… it was all Seto ever wanted. It was all that child ever craved. And it was everything that child was denied.

A shiver coursed through Seto as Yami traced his finger against his cheek with expert precision, and as soon as he retracted his touch, as soon as the warmth and sun disappeared back behind pitch-black clouds, that ice shield reformed within an instant. Only this time, it felt as though a small piece was missing from that armor of frost. Seto blinked and finally he realized how much he had leaned into the touch, how much closer in proximity he had allowed himself to become to Yami. His lips parted, he was ready to speak, to interrupt, but then came the most puzzling words of all. I’m not afraid of you, Kaiba. I’ve said it so many times… but you just don’t get it.

Granted Seto had made it a point earlier to make his distaste in Yami’s company known, and did nothing to hold back his chilled and rude behavior, even as Yami fought against it, those words struck Seto in a different way, a way he could not explain.

His eyes were still burning, but he found it within himself to lean back slightly. His brows met firmly in the middle, his eyes remained locked on Yami, and Seto had to ask, “do… Do we know each other from somewhere else?”

Finally, at long last that doe-eyed, incredulous look found its way off Seto’s visage, and he shook his head as he leaned further back, still unable to regain any semblance of balance.

“No, nevermind. That’s impossible.” He dismissed his prior question, and he moved on. “You make it out to be so easy and trivial. Like deciding what to wear. The fact is, Yami, you’re an idiot for even thinking that anything here–” he gestured rapidly to the both of them– “could work in any capacity.” Good, yes, insults. It’s what Seto knew best. Perhaps a few more could help Yami to see the mistake he was trying so desperately to make. Who, in their right mind, would want to be put down again and again, day after day, forced to live beneath someone else’s feet? Seto knew that torture far too well. And in turn, he had become a master of inflicting it himself. Yami didn’t know what he was asking for.

“The fact is, you know nothing about me, and what I want doesn’t matter. I’ve tried this before.” The pain, it bubbled stronger as Seto thought to his more immediate past. He wished to stop talking, but the truth, it just continued to pour. “I tried to let someone in. Thought there was this unspoken understanding that I could be myself, and it all blew up before I even knew it was happening.”

Why was Yami so sure he could brave Seto, and face the CEO’s storms withhim?

“If I couldn’t make it work with a teenag–” Oh, no! Bite your tongue! Don’t you dare even go there! Seto flinched, he gasped at the words that almost escaped him to someone else, in public, and his eyes widened slightly. He forced a facade of recovery, but when he cleared his throat the sound was awkward, uneasy. “–All I’m trying to get through to your thick skull is that I’m better off alone. Just accept it, Yami, because that is something that will never change. You’re not as special as you make yourself out to be.”

Seto had to make a point. He had to keep kicking the clingy animal away until it accepted the fact that it was just not wanted. Yami wasn’t listening, and already Seto could feel himself becoming crazy with the desperation to feel that warmth again. But he couldn’t. Each time that warmth found him he’d tell himself it would be the last time he’d feel it. He had to mean it this time. Had to make it loud and clear, once and for all, for Yami.

He ignored the pain in his back as he let himself out of the booth, struggling not to wince, and he positioned himself toward the exit. His legs, however, failed to move at first, and he hesitated as he stared at the tiled floor.

“I pushed away my own brother, Yami.” His tone was quiet, sincere, and with it trickled unmistakable misery. “If I can push away my own family member, what makes you think you’ll be able to hang on?”

And finally, Seto walked away, bee-lining toward the exit of the arcade and candy shop diner, his keys jingling in his hand as he removed them from his pocket. Seto would return to his office, alone, just as he always was, just as he had come to expect.

Just as he had accepted.

Kaiba’s answer to the proposition he’d extended was OUT, apparently.

Out which Kaiba walked, through the doors and further and further away from him with each and every passing hasty step. Yami watched on, finally cornered with the helplessness he’d fought so valiantly to evade in that he’d folded all his cards on the table and even dropped down his trump, and still, he could not manage to convince Kaiba to stay. Helpless, voiceless; one of the feelings Yami hated most in this world, more than any other. His fists were balling against the tabletop and shaking violently, his violet eyes completely zoned in on Kaiba’s figure disappearing into the distance. His throat burned to call out, to cry the other’s name at the top of his lungs, so maybe  he’d turn around, maybe something would come to mind, magic words to say to make him stay.

Yami had nothing, though. 

Kaiba knew it. Kaiba’s words had Yami biting the bullet, forcing him to accept defeat in that there was no space for him in either Kaiba’s battered, bruised heart or in that empty spot left vacant by another and situated beside him. Yami had pumped all his energy, all his will power into this —years worth of wishing and hoping to break through had backed behind every single word he had spoken in Kaiba’s direction  — and yet, he refused him. His words had fallen flat on deaf ears.

Such an expert he was at hurting with these hands of his. He knew how to break a heart into a thousand scattered pieces in just one little touch, but these hands of his could never mend those pieces back together again, he had never bothered to even try, for he’d never cared. What was the point in trying to defy the defined facets of his existence or struggle against them? What was the point in showing up at the Kaiba Corp’s main headquarters, using the perks of his identity to his advantage to get to its C.E.O., and then inviting him out to an arcade, of all things? It was so very futile, such a pitiful reach. It took so much effort to fight, but it would cost him none at all to just accept that he was what he was, and that was... someone that deserved to be left behind.

                                                    ...Do we know each other from somewhere else? 

Yami’s fingertips curled into the underside of his palm, his nails digging into and indenting the tender flesh therein as he recalled Kaiba’s question, one which the man had made quick work of dismissing shortly thereafter. The answer was YES. Yes, yes, yes. Kaiba may have forgotten, but Yami... Yami could never forget. They were such pretty blue eyes. They looked so stern and cold when they were shoved in front of a textbook, glancing at a chalkboard, or narrowing at those of a walk-by student’s. Positively ghastly, a stare that was frigid as ice. Back then, it was as though the whole world was painted over in those gloomy monochromatic tone... all but Kaiba’s eyes.

They’d been a blue beacon in a colorless haze. 

If only time could rewind itself, if only things could go back to the way they were twelve long years ago, before everything had been set in grayed stone. Maybe then, he would do something differently. Maybe he’d try harder to have a heart, to find a home, to be a human being. His past regrets were as fruitless as his present laments, though. There was no changing the way things were. He’d really hoped that Kaiba would be different. That somehow, the boy that was unalike all the rest would be the one person to change everything... but Kaiba wouldn’t even change for himself. Yami’s hopes had been set far too high; and naturally, he had been let down hard.

More than Yami would ever have been tested by Kaiba’s flaws or imperfections, solitude was a thing far more testy than Kaiba could ever hope to be. Alas, Kaiba had chosen solitude. However alike Yami had falsely presumed them two, however different he had built himself up to believe Kaiba would be from any other, even if Yami didn’t want to be alone  — Kaiba did. That was that.

Sad man, you are, Seto Kaiba. Wonder if you could’ve gotten along with a bad man like me. Too bad, so sad that I’ll never know that answer now.

Kaiba’s gone now, and Yami’s right back where he left off in that lonely world he knows all to well. There’s people all around him, moving, talking, breathing; but no one will ever really know him, so what’s the point? He’ll never be one of them, always be alienated, trapped as himself. Yami is no longer in the mood for sweets. He stands, makes towards the door, and leaves. 

Fine. Forget it.  

Should’ve known better, that this misery is gonna last forever.

[shadowedgamer]

⟨ ➥ SETO KAIBA ⟩

Seto was slouched within the booth he had chosen, and narrowed eyes watched as Yami went all about the shop, interacting with the other patrons and collecting bags full of candy and everything else the diner had to offer. You’re welcome, Seto thought bitterly, and he looked away once Yami had approached the table. His slender fingers dangled as he used the back of his hand to keep his head propped, his long legs stretched lazily under the table, and he glared at the wall as he listened to Yami empty all of the candy that had been purchased onto wood. At Yami’s initial words, Seto merely rolled his eyes and leaned up, his back giving a painful pop.

“As if I need the change back,” Seto fired, still refusing to meet Yami’s eyes. If his comment on charity was meant to get under Seto’s skin, it had failed. Children, and childlike behavior was the whole reason Seto had even allowed himself to go along on this venture, and it was part of the reason that his mood had shifted so sourly. But nonetheless, if anybody in this world deserved something extra, something wonderful, it was the children.

Enough with you, Kaiba. Yami’s tone is what finally caused Seto to look at him, and at his questions, at the other man’s pointedness in just coming out and asking the questions directly, without having to lead into it, or sugarcoat, Seto found himself speechless for a moment. Admittedly, he found that to be rather respectful of Yami. But the questions left Seto only able to just stare him, and like an absolute coward he evaded all of the questions and merely said, for the hundredth time that day: “I told you I didn’t come here to play games.”

Did Seto hate spending time with Yami, truly? He wanted to, that was for damn sure. So terribly he wanted to be off-put by Yami, absolutely repulsed by him. But the horrible truth was… he wasn’t, and just admitting that to himself made his stomach churn in disgust, but also his heart to skip several, long beats that stole his breath. But then, Yami spoke a string of words that Seto hadn’t realized he had been in such need of hearing, until those syllables pounded like demanding fists at his eardrums.

I’m fine with you as you are. I’m fine with you as you are.  I’m fine with you as you are.

Seto’s eyes widened at the statement, and this time he did nothing to hide it. Fine with Seto as he were? But, how could that possibly be? It wasn’t possible, that was the thing. Seto was in control of his behavior. He allowed his emotions to get the best of him now. He was in control of his sharp-as-a-razor tone, the harmful words he spoke that dripped like poison from his tongue. He was in control of it all, but he did nothing anymore to change it. There was never a need. Everyone had left him, abandoned him. And it was this very behavior that he exuded onto Yami that had ultimately pushed all those people away, forever. And Yami was fine with him as he were?

He’s lying, came that familiar inner-voice, a voice that taunted him often. Who could possibly accept you for what you’ve become, what you used to be, what you have always been and will always be. Seto’s face winced at the derogatory words that spun in his head, blurring his vision, causing the diner to spin all around him. Years ago, even when Seto had been at his ‘happiest’, he still was anything but a peach to be around. Seto Kaiba was forever a ticking timebomb, a landmine, ready to explode at even the slightest inconvenience. Nobody liked Seto as he was, as he were, and for whatever it was he could become. He was sure of it.

Did he want Yami to leave him alone? Such a simple question conjured a difficult answer. Yami was the only close contact Seto had had in what seemed like ages upon ages. It was Yami, after all, who had shattered Seto’s strict regime and rut he had thrown himself in. It was Yami who had re-kindled that inappropriate yet pleasurable fire in Seto’s belly, who continued to stoke the flames, blow on them gently, raise them higher and higher, stronger and stronger. It was Yami who said he didn’t wish for Seto to change. Who, in their right mind, would want somebody such as this to leave them alone?

Seto did. Of course Seto Kaiba did. He wanted Yami as far away as possible from his proximity, because the closer the man tried to get to Seto, the more he tried to wriggle and worm his way into Seto’s hallow shell, the darkness that was inside it would only swallow him up, too, and destroy him just as it had Seto, just as it had everyone else.

But then Yami was taking hold of his hand… again. Such misplaced bravery in the young man, to think, out of the blue, that he could now just touch Seto whenever he desired. But that touch… so warm, so soft… so… unjust. Seto did not deserve such a touch.

But he did nothing to recoil away from it this time. He held perfectly still, but his widened eyes had dropped down to their hands, for seeing was believing. Sure enough, Yami had indeed taken a hold of his hand. Seto could feel the stares from the patrons around them. Feel their curiosity and shock and inability to look away at the scene unfolding before them, but this was the furthest thing from Seto’s mind. For the first time, in a very, very, very long time, the spotlight was turned on Seto, dousing only him in its blinding light. Only this time, the spotlight wasn’t maneuvered by evil, who intended its light to shed visibility on shattered innocence. No, this spotlight was, dare Seto admit, a welcoming light. Perhaps a truly concerned light and an only light that was willing to accept all of Seto’s faults and sin, head on.

Seto was sure he would die before ever admitting that he wanted somebody, needed somebody. Hell, killing somebody before ever admitting it, even to himself, didn’t seem like a bad idea… Seto forced himself to sleep at the images of overdose, of “unfortunate” circumstances, of blood and permanent darkness, night after night. You’ll die alone, that voice sang to him every night Seto crawled into bed after copious glasses of wine and other substances. Your body will rot inside these walls and nobody will care to do a thing about it.

But Yami squeezing tighter on Seto’s hand, intensifying the warmth, caused a sharp shock to travel along his rigid spine, and with a slight jump Seto lifted his eyes to him at a word he never thought he would ever be associated with again.

Together.

A hallow pit opened within his chest. It was the result of all the emotions Seto wanted to feel, but didn’t. He desired anger, outrage. He desired offense and he desired defensiveness. But instead? He felt sadness and hopelessness. Fear, and at the very same time, wonder… curiosity. He dared to give into that curiosity, just the tiniest of little bit, and with a twitch he squeezed back on Yami’s hand. The shock that had slid up his spine now shot up his legs, ignited his sides and clawed painfully at his neck, and Seto’s breath hitched quietly within his throat.

“Yami…” This was not a bark nor bite, nor was it delivered in a condescending tone. Rather, the man’s name escaped ever so softly, ever so genuine, past Seto’s lips. Looking into those violet eyes became to much to bear, and Seto closed his own, tightly, as he solemnly shook his head. “You’re making a mistake.”

Despite Seto’s true feelings about himself, it was still always so difficult to speak negatively about himself out loud, especially to people he didn’t know well. But Seto owed the man before him this much, didn’t he? Just a shred, a sliver of truth, all in the name of protection.

“You don’t want this,” he continued on, opening his eyes slightly, and he kept them focused on the table. “I am… no good. I’m– broken.” Seto’s voice wavered, and he closed his eyes as he took in a silent breath. When he opened them again, he looked to their embraced hands on the table. He couldn’t help it. The urge was too strong. He swiped his thumb over the top of Yami’s hand, savoring the sensation, the warmth, every last rise of vein and bone and individual texture of skin. It was the last touch Seto knew he would ever have. He might as well savor it, for just another moment.

“It’s clear to me now that all I do is destroy people who get close to me. You’ll be no different.” The reluctance to let go of Yami’s hand was scalding, but Seto forced himself to, and his hand slid against the table before he placed it on his lap. Seto forced his eyes to Yami’s, despite how hard it was now to face the man head-on. “I’m doing you a favor,” he felt the need to add. He wished to bite his tongue, but the words, the words he had held back for years were pouring out like vicious waterfalls, and Seto could not hold them back. “Everyone in my life is gone, Yami. Because of me. They couldn’t get away fast enough and apparently I couldn’t push them away fast enough. Even Mokuba is– is…–”

There it was again, that burning behind his eyes. Furiously Seto blinked it away.

“It’s in your best interest to rid yourself of whatever notion you have about me. The sooner you do, the better off you’ll be.”

Yami couldn’t overlook how Seto’s countenance contorted with each steady syllable that fired free from his own, not for one minute, what with the obvious way Kaiba’s distress manifested and made itself known lining the pale ridge between brows, soft brown rivulets drawn together by the crushing tidal force of confliction. How peculiar. Did these meager words of his faze the ever-stoic Kaiba? No, Yami decided, it wasn’t Kaiba they had struck― it had pierced through to the person at his core, Seto, that mysterious, aloof boy with the burning cobalt blue stare from allthat time ago. Yami could see it in the troubled sentiments brimming over those aged blues; Seto was rising up just below the surface of porcelain skin where he’d been buried.

Just who was it that buried that internalized self Kaiba kept like a secret, and why?

Yami hadn’t the faintest idea, but he resented them. He resented them for the slightest hint of a quiver that stirred Kaiba’s pale lower lip, for those distant traces of hesitance in the unsure hand that blanketed his own. So cold. Not only in flesh, but in heart, as well. At some point in his life unbeknownst to radio airwaves, television broadcasts, or magazine pages, had Kaiba been made to endure an icebox and survive the bleak and bitter blizzard of another’s snowy heart? Had his own heart hardened to ice inside his chest, so to adapt to the violent sting of that chill and desensitize him to its vicious blow? Who or whatever it was that had come to torment Kaiba so, it brought on a flicker of turmoil in the mysterious depths of those blues whenever Yami offered him any semblance of warmth. How peculiar, indeed, this mystery of a man was.

Yami couldn’t help it; he wanted to smother Kaiba in the very warmth he so earnestly evaded in each of Yami’s stubborn acts of hellbent persistence motivated by what was partially curiosity, partially something else. At Kaiba’s sputtered proclamation, each word spun from off his tongue with the utmost carefully-crafted sincerity, something inside of Yami snapped like a feeble twig. As Kaiba’s hand retreated across the table, Yami’s shot out and sought to catch it, sealing it in his iron grasp and holding securely. Yami wasn’t about to allow for Kaiba to draw back and drift back into that abyssal darkness of his. The light couldn’t hurt him, but that darkness was a driving force in his self-made solitary confinement that Yami feared to be a lethal one.

What if Kaiba submerging himself in that darkness only led him to sink deeper and deeper down into a sea of his own despair until he drowned, somewhere dismal and all alone?

The hand at Yami’s side curled into a tightly-wound fist as he spoke, ❝ What grave delusion are you living so precariously under, Kaiba, to deceive yourself into believing that you are the only broken, lonely, and dangerous person out there? Do you have to feel so alone, even in the act of being alone itself? ❞ With a voice raw with conviction, he said, ❝if being near you is wrong, then I don’t want to be right. I’ve only ever always acted in accordance to my version of right, anyways, and yours will do little to amend that. If this is your definition of a favor, then I don’t want to be a recipient of your kindness. Spare me. If this is a choice, like you’re making it out to be, then let me be free to choose; and I choose you. Even if everyone else left, I’m right here, Kaiba. ＆I’m much, much stronger than I look. ❞

Yami chuckled quietly at Kaiba’s final remarks, gripping Kaiba’s hand tighter yet. With a certain mysterious, daring glitter sparkling in violet eyes, Yami said, ❝do your worst. Many men have sworn to be the end of me, but here I am. I am so much stronger than I look. You can push me, you can hurt me, you can damn well near destroy me if that is what you feel your accursed nature will inevitably ensure. However pliable and soft I might appear on the outside, within me, I am anything but delicate. Inside, I am strong, I am steady. If you’re so sure and I’m so willing, then test me. Try your weight against mine, and just you wait and see if I run away scared. I bet you I won’t,❞ Yami’s fist uncurled itself at last as it raised from his side to Kaiba’s cheek, holding it firm as he smirks and says assertively, ❝ the question I asked wasn’t if I could handle you, Kaiba. I am used to danger, and prevailing within it is one of my specialties. If you are as dangerous as you say you are, then I am up to the test. I asked if you could handle this, handle me. You’re so accustomed to a cutting touch, that you’ve come to flinch even at a caressing one, hm?  ❞

With criminal ease, Yami traced his finger against the stark outline of Kaiba’s cheek before retracting altogether, taking both his hands and folding them one over the other on the table top. With the clearing of his throat, Yami offered plainly: ❝ this choice is yours, Kaiba. You can continue charging forever forward with this self-made misery of yours in-tow… or come, be with someone who will embrace your misery and share in it. I’m not afraid of you, Kaiba. I’ve said it so many times, so many ways, but I’m afraid you just don’t get it. Your anger doesn’t intimidate me. Your sadness doesn’t discourage me. Your darkness won’t consume me. I can take you as you are. I don’t need you at your best, I’ll take you in whatever form you come.

So, do you want in, or do you want out? ❞