This chapter has been modified from its original publication (on or about 08-08-04) in preparation for completion and a possible prequel. The other revamped chapters should be up within a week of this day, 07-31-07.
Yu-Gi-Oh was created by Kazuki Takahashi sensei and is not mine. I'm making no money from this work of fiction, I can barely claim credit for the plot of this little ditty.
Will contain shounen-ai (literally, boy love. Or, if you prefer, slash, mild yaoi, homosexual relationships between fellas, etc.), mentions of death and a few curses.
Enjoy.
Chapter 1
I've always hated graveyards. Somethin' about 'em always gives me the creeps. I dunno, maybe it's just me, but I'm thinkin' it's probably got somethin' t'do with all the dead guys under your feet.
So why am I here then?
Well... 'cuz I know he'll be here.
He always is. Every year, first day of spring, like clockwork. I come find him up here and drag him home. He won't leave on his own and I can't just leave him.
Well no. I mean, I could but... I really don't wanna.
So, as I'm walking across the grass, still fresh with morning dew, and through a break in the trees I see him lying there like a corpse himself, (can't hold back a shiver at that), I'm not really surprised. Not anymore. I was the first time he did this; seriously, it scared the crap outta me. I ran around all frantic, lookin ' everywhere for the guy for damn near three days. I even called in the gang to help me out. Probably would've asked Kaiba even.
Lucky for my dignity, the jerk was outta town.
This is a routine thing by now though. I know he's been here all night, he would have come at exactly three minutes before midnight.
He always does.
Every year since...It happened.
What, you ask, is It?
Eh, ask me later. Just don't ask him; you're too young to die. Anyway…
I finally get close enough to circle around to the front of him. I can see his face now, he's awake, his dark eyes staring blankly, his attention turned inward. (Does that even count as awake?) He's laid out crosswise in front of a white headstone, curled up loosely over the grave. His left arm is curled around himself, the right flung outward before him, tips of his fingers barely resting on the memorial stone. I can see his breath making little clouds in the early chill and I feel better about his deathly stillness.
The damp clings to his worn jeans and the jacket he remembered to wear this time.
Hey, isn't that my jacket?
His skin, his lashes, his hair, they all shimmer with the tiny gems of moisture, but I doubt he's noticing. I hurt for him, seeing him this way, but still... I gotta admit, he's beautiful like this.
It somehow feels wrong to disturb him just yet, so I hesitate. I consider the flowers I brought with me. Five creamy white roses, one for each year that's passed since the incident-of-which-we-do-not-speak. They're good ones, I can smell their sweet scent without even tryin'. They almost seem to glow in the early light. They remind me of the reason for this outing, the one he, we, came here for.
I get an idea then, call it an inspiration, and a tiny smirk forms on my face. I walk around the plot, get right up next to the carved headstone and seat myself cross-legged on the grass beside his bowed head. The top of his head is close enough that I could touch him if I moved my leg even an inch. I take a regretful moment to run my fingers over the stone reminder beside me. The familiar patterns and words aren't really a comfort:
"An unsung hero, gone too soon."
They seem too final. Not enough. It's just that it'd be worse not to have them.
Bedded down in the center of the pale marble surface, below the meager epitaph, is the real tomb, presiding over the empty grave below. A twisted piece of golden metal, blackened and flawed from its former glory. It's obvious someone has taken pains to clean it up as best they can. If you look closely enough you can see the chipped surface around it where it'd been forcefully removed at one point. The evidence of some greedy jerks craving for things they're better off without. They wouldn't be the first to covet it. And I'll bet they've joined the list of other bodies that'll never be found, like so many other thieves who've tried their luck at grave robbing here. Ironic, that, considering the avenger.
Turning my attention back to the man before me, I carefully run one hand softly over his outspread hair, the damp, glimmering strands clinging to my skin in passing. He doesn't stir, and I take that as a sign to be bolder. It's a good thing he trusts me enough to take my touch for granted. Otherwise, with a hair trigger like his, I'd be in for a world of hurtin' by now. I run my hand over his pale mane a few more times, glad that it doesn't seem to bother him. I'd worry at this stillness if he were anyone else, but he does this kinda freaky shit to me all the time; I'm used to it. Mostly.
This is kinda like pettin' a wet cat now that I think about it. I snicker silently at the look he'd probably have on his face if I told him that.
Assured that he's not moving any time soon, I lay the roses on the grass on my left and use both hands to gather a section of his hair and run my fingers through it, careful not to pull too hard as I smooth out the tangles. When I can run my fingers through without snagging, I hold the ordered strands in my right hand, and pick up one of the roses. Slowly, carefully, I begin to braid the long stem of the rose into the lock of hair. My hands move deftly, familiar with the task, and as I finish I arrange the final result to admire my handiwork. I'm smile, rather pleased with myself.
I tame another section of hair and reach for another rose to continue the process, being careful not to rouse him before I finish. Left and right and left and over and over and over...
I continue like that for several minutes, watching the play of light against his hair and skin, how it reflects and highlights his porcelain good looks. I've done four plaits and I'm reaching for the final blossom before he begins to stir.
He shifts his legs first, curling them tighter and I make a sound of protest in the back of my throat. Damn, I wanted to see how it would look when I was done! He stiffens for a moment, probably sensing something out of the ordinary. He reaches up a hand to touch his hair, and rolls over slowly to glare at me. He flinches a bit, as he is now facing directly into the early morning sun, shoves my knee out of the way and sits up. He blinks the gathered drops of water from his lashes, eyes narrowing further, making his glare more potent. I'm not bothered by it. I hardly go a day without seeing that look. I just grin a bit sheepishly and hold the final rose in his direction.
He stares at my peace offering in silence as his glare melts into something else, some expression I can't place. Too many emotions there, none of them stand out. Sadness maybe, regret, guilt, longing, anger, appreciation...
I didn't used to think he had that many emotions, thought he was just an evil bastard. It just goes to show how stupid it is to assume these kinda things. Now, I sometimes think he's the most human of us all.
He accepts the flower and lays it in the spot he had previously occupied. Slowly he raises one hand to begin the process of undoing the other blooms from his hair. I start to move forward, intending to give him a hand, but he stops me with a peevish sort of look to let me know I've already done enough, thank you very much. I hold my hands up in a universal gesture of peace and bite my tongue to keep from laughing. I'll just sit back an' watch.
I love to watch him. I prop my elbows on my thighs and my chin on my hands as I sit and stare. As he brings both hands to his task, they're a bit stiff at first, probably from bein' out in the cold all night, but they don't stay that way for very long.
As his hands move in and out of the threads of his hair, I just look on, unashamed, captivated by how graceful he is. He ignores me mostly, except at one point when he's trying to disengage a leaf from a tangle and shoots me a look that seems to beg the question "what sort of idiot are you?" I just raise my hands palm up and shrug, giving him a smile that he knows well, the one that says, "Didn't you know? I'm your idiot, babe." He makes some irritated little noise in the back of his throat and ignores me again. That's fine though, still watchin'.
As he frees each of the pale blooms, he lays them with the first until all five are laid in a neat pile. He arranges them a bit to his satisfaction, and sits back in a crouch with a soft exhalation of breath. He sits for a few minutes in silence and I shift occasionally to keep my legs from goin' to sleep while I wait, nervously, to see what mood he'll be in. I really hope it won't be one of his bad years. Those ones tend to hurt, inside and out. A lot.
Yugi understands why I never walked away after the first bad year. He's cool like that. He always looks out for all his friends. He could see that, of the two of us, I wasn't the one who was hurtin' the worst. I've never met a person who forgives the way the little guy does. Don't harm his friends or he'll fight like a tiger, but he's got a bottomless store of patience and second chances squirreled away somewhere that he doesn't mind giving out to friends and enemies alike. He doesn't charge enough for them if you ask me, but that's why he's the Good Guy and I'm the Best Friend of the Good Guy. 'Sides, he's got Atem to mentor him in the ways of caution.
Honda wasn't as understanding about my "demon lover" and his aggressive mourning techniques. He wanted to kill him and put me in a home for the mentally inept. We got in a few fist-fights over the whole thing. I'm pretty sure he went easy on me out of pity. I haven't got him back for that yet. He still doesn't approve of the relationship, I think he's still waiting with a big I-told-you-so for something to go wrong. After all these years though, he's starting to trust me enough to back off and pretend that he's happy as long as I am. Jerk. Love him for it.
Anzu's approach was to take me out to Burger World and proceeded to inflict me with the, Your-boyfriend-is-an-abusive-jerk, stop-defending-him, save-yourself-while-you-still-can speech. I was already stressed so it didn't go over well. I don't remember what I called her, but she stormed out and left me to walk home. I later apologized for humiliating her in public like I did. She was just being a friend. She lectured me, hugged and kissed me and forgave and forgot the whole incident. We're cool. We still go out for lunch when she thinks I'm being a dumb ass.
Actually, I think she's probably some sort of closet fan girl, she seems to think we're "adorable" these days.
Sis…she didn't know. Still doesn't know. I mean, she knows we're together, just not the details of the rough times. I shouldn't keep secrets, I just don't wanna upset her anymore. She says she's cool with our relationship but she's gotten distant. It's hard for her to see us together. I can't blame her. If I had to watch her date a guy identical to my "dead" boyfriend and still try to be supportive, I think I'd fail. Going to America for school was good for her. And maybe us too, it's easier to be honest with each other when we're not trying to protect her.
I think this year is gonna be alright though. As he blindly reaches out a hand to where I am behind him, his eyes facing stubbornly forward, I know it's gonna be a good year.
I take his hand and squeeze it, but then I let go. He looks over his shoulder at me inquisitively, something perilous, almost fragile, in his eyes. Does he think I'm turning him down? Silly bastard oughta know I wouldn't do that on a day like this. I unfold my legs and open my arms to him in invitation. He hesitates, but only for a second. And then he's settling his back to my front, his weight against my chest. My arms go around him immediately, my right hand over his chest, my left wound about his hard waist. I lay my chin on his shoulder and he tangles his fingers with mine over his heart. He sighs, shudders and relaxes against me, as if a weight has been lifted from him. He closes his eyes and I bury my face in his hair.
I can still smell the roses on him.
If anyone had told me five years ago that I would someday be holding this particular creature in my arms like this, that he would allow himself to relax in my embrace, seek comfort from it, I'd have laughed my ass of. Before I socked 'em a good one I mean.
It scares me sometimes, this feeling that I want to never let him go. I used to hate him so much. He was the enemy, a clever fiend to be on your guard against. I'd watched him and felt guilty for watching him, for the dreams I'd had about him. Really good dreams, if they had been about anyone else. Ryou I would have understood (after I got over the fact that I was perving on a dude) but not his darker tagalong. Oh yeah, those were definitely not the kinda dreams you have about an enemy.
'Course, they ain't dreams now. And he hasn't been an enemy for a long time.
He's mortal now, as far as anyone can tell. Still got some freaky ass mojo he can do, but other than that he's as human as any other guy. Feels the cold more than most though, at least when he's tired. He starts to shiver a bit now, and I hold him closer to me. After a few moments he pushes my arms away and shrugs out of the wet jacket (my wet jacket) that he's wearin'.
Hey, that's my favorite shirt he's got on! The little klepto…
Did he just dress himself out of my side of the closet or something? I start to ask him that very thing when he gives me a smug, creepily possessive look as he burrows with me into the warm, dry jacket I have on. He knows I love that shirt, we're gonna have words over this. I grumble a bit as I let him pull my arms back around him, but I ain't gonna start a fight over it right now. It's an old argument; it can wait.
We sit in silence for awhile, long enough that the sunrise has faded and the early bird has long since caught his worm and moved onto loud, enthusiastic narratives about his nest building prowess to anyone who'll listen.
I'm pretty sure my legs have gone to sleep at this point. I nudge him a bit with my knee, wincing at the tingling of blood getting sluggishly back to work, but he doesn't respond with more than a mumbled curse. I think he's fallen asleep, really asleep this time. I move around a bit, try to stretch my legs out without disturbing him and he pinches my leg.
Hard.
I yelp and jump a bit, earning me another pinch. I grab his hand and settle quickly before releasing him. Damn, how do I forget what a light sleeper he is? Not to mention not being a morning person. I usually avoid waking him when I can, me not being suicidal an' all.
I hear him mumble something. I wait to see if he'll repeat himself since I didn't quite catch that.
"Katsuya!" he rasps, his voice harsh from disuse.
My name. He's the only one who ever uses my real name, I think he does it to irritate me. But strangely, I don't mind when it's him, at least not anymore. Don't tell him though.
"What?" I answer defensively, a hand ready to intercept if he decides to attack me again.
"Thank you", he mutters.
Oh. I don't hear those words from him too often. I guess he means the flowers, so I nod in acknowledgment, only he can't see me, so I tighten my grip a bit in a hug to let him know he's welcome.
Then he asks "What did you bring to eat?"
...Oops.
I knew I forgot something. He probably didn't eat at all yesterday, an' I usually bring something when I come. I rushed out this morning though and it must've slipped my mind. He turns at my silence and rolls his eyes at my sheepish expression, a faint scowl condemning me. My stomach growls at me as well, to add to the censure. What?! I ain't perfect, I was worried about his state of mind not his stomach.
He raises an eyebrow at me and asks in a deceptively sweet voice "So? Are you going to fix this little oversight?"
I grumble a bit and start to let go of his now warm little body when I remember why I forgot to bring food! I silently congratulate myself for remembering but he's still giving me that look so I rush to enlighten him.
"Well, Yugi and the guys are bringin' food when they come out this morning."
He doesn't look especially pleased; he barely tolerates my presence on this anniversary. He doesn't want to see the others, I know, especially Yugi and Malik, but he just turns back around and slouches further in my arms, stretching his own legs out in front of him. I'm kinda worried that he's takin' it so well, but maybe it's a good thing? He interrupts before I can start thinkin' too hard about it.
"How long?"
How Long? For what? I make some noise in question.
"How long until they arrive?" He clarifies
"Honda said nine-ish when he called, couldn't get a babysitter before then."
He nods and grabs my arm from around his waist and raises it up to look at my watch. I peek over his shoulder to look as well. 7:46. Damn, too early for a weekend. He huffs a bit, hating waiting even more than I do. Which is his fault really, I had to learn more patience to keep up with his crazy mood swings.
"Fine," he says "then tell me a story while we wait."
Okay, that's new. Did he just ask me to tell him a story?
"Uh, would you remind repeating that? Just for clarification?"
"I'm bored, I don't feel like moving and I want you to entertain me." He states calmly. "So, unless you brought a book or a television, you are going to tell me a story."
I blink a bit in confusion. "What kinda story we talkin' 'bout here?"
"I don't care what kind," he says impatiently, "make up something if you must, just start talking."
Okay, phrase number one I never thought I'd hear in my lifetime. It's usually somethin' like "Shut the hell up!" Well if he wants a story, I guess I can do that. I got nothin' better to do, and it's actually pretty comfortable sitting here now that I can move my legs without waking His Peevishness. I think for a minute before coming across an idea that might work.
"Alright, fine then, but you asked for it. So… Once upon a time..."
TBC
Words in parenthesis are original author's notes.
(I have never written a story in my life before this. Second grade doesn't count, the teacher made me. Anything else was a failure. But this was bugging me to no end so I wrote it.
So, is this worth more than a one-shot? Can it even stand as a one-shot on it's own? Be honest, I don't attack for honesty and I really wanna know. If you got this far, thank you for reading.)