Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters = Kazuki Takahashi

This is the first in a series of oneshots exploring all the corners of Puzzleshipping (and maybe Blindshipping) that seem interesting to me. Most of these are the result of prompts; I'll post them in the AN when that's the case.

Just a fair warning, not everything will be romance, but it will all be about Yugi and Yami (Atem).

Okay without further adieu :]

Prompt: (post-canon, but spin it how you'd like) Atem thinks there are cultural differences between them that Yugi wouldn't understand.

Writing music for this chapter: "Song for Jesse" from The Assassination of Jesse James

Concessions

"Excuse me."

He muttered it so quietly he was unsure that anyone had heard him. Yugi's attention was the captive of the fruit store clerk and this was his only opportunity to slip away. He could not have left the boy with any modicum of attention on him – the heartbroken woe in his eyes would have rendered Atem immobile.

He had never seen so many people in the Mutou household, and it was awkward dodging around the loosely formed line to reach the base of the stairs. His bewildered gaze lingered on them even as he climbed; only when they were out of sight did he turn his eyes frontward and duck into their bedroom.

Only now, when he was assured that there was no one watching, did he let out his pent up breath, allowing the disgust to force his brow down and grit his teeth.

In the two years that they'd shared a body, Yugi had never attended the funeral of an acquaintance. Mourning and burials had never been brought up, and Atem, then a spirit, had never needed to ask about them. Certainly, there had been many times where Japanese tradition diverged wildly from the Egyptian, but without memories, it had never mattered; Atem had not had the benefit of knowing the difference.

He clenched and unclenched his fist, thinking of the scene one floor below. Since early afternoon, there had been a paltry throng of people dressed in black shuffling through the house. The side entrance that no one ever used save for the family had been immaculately cleaned and jammed open for the mourners to enter by. The couch and chairs in the living room had been pushed out of the way, lining the walls; the TV had been banished to their room, sitting on the floor unplugged. He had stood, watching with detached interest as the funeral officiates had come into the house that morning, speaking in solemn, hushed tones that uttered line after line of kimarimonku*. They had then proceeded to assemble the altar in the cleared-out space. Yugi's mother had stood beside him, and he offered an arm when she leaned against his shoulder, exhausted and frayed around the edges. Yugi would not watch them.

When the altar had been erected, they'd discreetly approached Ms. Mutou and she'd pulled away from him, turning him a look that was both grateful and beckoning; he hadn't known what it meant at the time. He trailed after them like a curious child, brows furrowed as they climbed the stairs. When they stopped outside of Sugoroku's bedroom, he'd felt his body chill. One look from Yugi's mother pushed him back into motion as he ducked past them, leaning into their door and pushing it open, sliding in through the smallest crack possible. There were no words exchanged when he sat on the bed and without prompting, Yugi climbed into his arms and pressed his wet face into Atem's neck.

He'd held his boy tightly as the shuffling in the hallway wrenched sobs from his chest.

Standing in the room now, alone, he growled at the memory. He had been vigilant from the moment they'd discovered Sugoroku still in his bed two nights ago. It had been a shock, and no one had jumped to action. Yugi's mother alternated between frenzied movement and lethargy; she sat at her father's side, stroking his peaceful face.

Yugi would not speak, though he seemed desperate to try; no matter how he worked his jaw however, words had not come. He had rarely let go of Atem's hand since that night.

But when time did finally begin to move again, Yugi's mother had disappeared to the first floor and when she returned, she had a small business card and the cordless phone.

From the next morning, they'd shuffled between the funeral home and the house, preparing rituals that Atem was completely blind to. They seemed utterly unconcerned with gathering supplies for Sugoroku's tomb, and no one had brought up the location of the burial monument. How could they ensure that there was a satisfactory tomb waiting if they spoke to no one but this funeral director?

He understood now, of course. There was no tomb; they had not even deigned to mummify the man properly. From what he'd seen, they hadn't taken any measures at all. The man would be helpless in the afterlife.

At some point the day prior, Anzu had been at the house and seeing his complete confusion, had pulled him aside and tried to explain their practices to him. She'd detailed how the families chose the location of the wake, and then prepared the altar; how they dressed the deceased and made arrangements for the days after the "wake" and "funeral".

He roused himself to attention when he realized he'd kicked the desk chair. The room was so still that it was not hard to hear the low murmur of voices wafting up the stairs. He pulled the chair out, sitting in it heavily, grimacing as the jacket of his suit pulled taut over his shoulders. He leaned forward, elbows to knees and held his head.

Sugoroku had been a blessed constant in his life. In his time as a spirit, the man had always been sympathetic and unquestioning, helping whenever he could with their latest peril. He'd been a source of great comfort when he felt alienated; he had been the one man who understood the world Atem had been birthed by, knew the customs that dictated behavior that occasionally bewildered his friends. Yugi was always willing to learn, to bridge the innumerous gaps between them, but that was no substitute for someone who understood unconditionally. After he'd been granted his new life, Sugoroku had been ambassador between himself and Yugi's mother; he had smoothed the transition of Atem's life into the living world more wholly than he realized.

He had never thanked the man enough. Now he never could.

And in lieu of thanks, he had to watch as they desecrated his memory by showing him none of the respect he was due. He had loved the man, just as Anzu, Jou and Honda had, but he could only stand by and watch as the strange customs of a Japanese burial unfolded around him.

It was infuriating and sad at once. This man that had sheltered him and trusted him when the world would have run in fear of the unknown would never see the Field of Reeds – not like this.

And most frustrating of all was that he could not tell Yugi. The boy was completely undone, so bereaved that he could barely help his mother in the funerary arrangements. They'd lain awake late the last two nights; their bodies had twisted together, and he'd whispered about nothing in particular into the boy's ear for hours until he could sleep, because silence only beckoned back reminders of what had transpired, and it would send Yugi into untethered grief all over again.

Yugi would not understand his frustration; he could barely handle himself. They had been attached at the hip since that evening; Yugi refused the company of everyone who offered save for himself, his mother, Jou, Anzu and Honda. When the trio was there, he would still insist that Atem was beside him, holding his hand and speaking for him when he lost the will.

And he had no right to expect empathy of his partner, because he'd been in his shoes once. In a time that still sometimes felt like a dream, he had buried a father too-young, and the memory of that grief still shook him from sleep at night. He could not ask understanding from the one person who would walk with him until death parted them, because it was Yugi's turn to be the consoled. And truly, Atem would always choose his own discomfort over Yugi's, no matter the cost to himself.

He was alone.

No one would understand. The one person who had successfully blurred the line between his time and the modern day with little effort lay dead in a cedar box, waiting to be burnt to ash (much to Atem's horror). And he could not share his dismay with anybody.

He had hoped he would never feel this isolation again, but it was there, the ice crawling up his spine, leeching into his cells and leaving his palms clammy and frozen.

Sugoroku was dead, and he could not mourn him in the only way he knew how. And that was enough to light the burn of tears – because this mourning ritual only came once.

There would be no second chances this time.

"Here you are."

He kept his head still so she would not see the positively seething look on his face. Anzu had worked harder than anyone in the last two days to help him understand the mystery of this time and place's customs, but he needed solitude, if only for five minutes. He grunted his acknowledgement.

He could hear her uneasy shifting, and then a heavy sigh. The sentiment was achingly familiar.

And then she said the magic words.

"I know this is really difficult for you, but Yugi needs you down there."

And his heart constricted painfully, because he couldn't bear the thought of sitting before the silent string of murmuring Japanese seniors bowing to an altar that was blasphemous in its lack of splendor and riches, in the meager offering of white rice as sustenance for Sugoroku's journey through the afterlife, in the cedar box that was his coffin, in every single aspect.

But Yugi was enough to trump all of that. So he rose, nodding and drawing a deep, stabilizing breath – he had done more difficult things in his very long existence.

They trudged back down the stairs, Anzu leading. In her gentle, mothering way, she whispered intrusion on the line of mourners and made a gap with her hands, letting Atem slide through and around the throng to re-enter the living room. He ignored the stares, and the whispered Japanese about why there was a foreigner who looked so much like Sugoroku's grandson there; some people still took his tan skin as a sign that he would not understand their tongue.

There was a robed man standing to the side of the living room that he hadn't seen before.

Anzu's voice was soft in his ear.

"That's the priest who is going to read the sutras for the wake service." She paused, and he imagined her weighing her words. "…Yugi started to lose it when he came in. I don't think he's going to make it through the service without everyone there."

Atem nodded as his eyes drifted back to the black-clothed mass and the altar drawing them in. The cedar coffin sitting ahead of the altar with its glass window almost brought back his grimace, but he held the urge.

He slid back into his seat in the empty space beside Yugi, lowering into the traditional kneel that he still had trouble with; his feet would be numb before long. As the owner of the art shop from across town bowed in parting to Yugi and the slight boy bowed back, Atem turned to look at his partner, knowing he'd sense his gaze.

Yugi turned his head and his eyes were desperate and relieved, red from tears he was trying very hard not to loose; they both leaned in and their foreheads pressed together, noses discreetly nuzzling in comfort. Atem felt the boy's fingers slide back into his, and he tightened his grip.

He reigned his grief and his disgust, and felt them lodge somewhere in his throat.

Yugi would never understand, and it did not matter.

決まり文句 (kimarimonku) - set phrase; Japanese has an overabundance of these that are strictly dictated by interlocutor and occasion