Red String

Er, yes, the story isn't dead! Huzzah!

That being said, I've gotten back into the YGO/Puzzleshipping mindset, so expect regular updates from now on! I've also recently opened up a Skype account, so if anyone wants to RP, fandom spazz, or simply know me better, then hit me up!

karen . renrin (without the spaces ;D)

Help me keep motivated, please! I'd love to discuss potential new stories or plot developments with my readers using the convenience of Skype :D

In any case, you've waited long enough—hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 5: Responsibility

When Yuugi came to, the first thing he noticed was white walls.

It stung his eyes somewhat so he instinctively closed them again, grimacing. His body felt heavy, weary—weighed down by lead or an ocean of water he couldn't remember ever consuming. When he breathed, it was a conscious effort; he was aware of every breath and how his chest rose and fell with every shudder of his lungs. Everything ached, from the back of his head to the hollow of his back to the back of his knees. There was a particularly sharp kind of pain at his side that roared to life whenever he even shifted an inch, and it concerned his drug-induced mind somewhat. Why was he hurting all over?

But if he were honest with himself, finding himself in this kind of situation wasn't new. It just hadn't happened for a while, was all.

Then suddenly, he felt something cover his forehead—a gentle pressure, firm and warm. He blearily opened his eyes and was met with the blurred face of his grandfather. Yuugi imagined that his expression was relieved and grateful; he couldn't quite make it out from his hazy vision. He also couldn't mistake the feeling of his hand resting soothingly on his forehead, a comfort he'd known ever since he could remember. He was saying something but Yuugi couldn't decipher what; he was too tired. His listless amethyst eyes slid to the side and was just able to make out a golden pyramid-shaped object resting on the bedside table.

The sight of it lifted a weight from Yuugi's chest he hadn't realised was there until it was gone. He released a hollow breath and closed his eyes, falling back to slumber again.

Sugoroku sighed and gently brushed the tips of his calloused fingers over his grandson's forehead before pulling away. He was glad that he had been here when Yuugi had woken up, if only for a brief moment, after being admitted into the hospital yesterday. It had certainly given him a fright when his grandson had entered the Game Shop with a bang, beaten up with a knife lodged into his side and blood deeply staining his school uniform. Sugoroku was much tougher for his age than most believed. If he had been a weaker man, he would have had a heart attack at the sight.

He glanced at the Sennen Puzzle that lay innocently on the table, as near to Yuugi as it could be without actually being on his person.

Yes, it had been a frightening evening indeed. Not only because the door of the shop had slammed open unexpectedly to reveal his knife-stabbed grandson, but because of the aura that had surrounded his small body. When Sugoroku had looked into Yuugi's eyes, he didn't see Yuugi at all. It was someone else—and while he wondered if who he saw was the other Yuugi, for some reason he didn't feel quite the same either.

He felt… terrifying.

His school uniform was bloody, but when Sugoroku saw his face and looked into those eyes (were they violet? Red? He couldn't remember such a trivial detail when his breath had been stolen instead by their sheer intensity), he wondered whether all that blood actually belonged to Yuugi.

"Take care of him," Yuugi had said in a voice much too deep, much too old, and then gestured to the knife still protruding grotesquely from his side. "This is the worst wound he has." And, even though it looked horrible, Sugoroku immediately understood that the lodged knife was the only thing making sure that his grandson didn't outright bleed to death. Yuugi's dark eyes had flashed as he stared at Sugoroku and then he whispered a quiet "Sorry" before he slowly began to fall, deliberate and careful, to his knees. The older man had caught his grandson before he completely hit the floor and was calling for an ambulance in the next breath, panicked and consumed by hysteria.

It was only when the paramedics came and took Yuugi away that Sugoroku had actually noticed the blood on Yuugi's hands. It wasn't surprising that Sugoroku hadn't noticed it right away—after all, he was too preoccupied with the blood that was congesting around his knife wound, but when he did finally notice, it had jerked him into paling shock. For some reason or another, even though the logical assumption was that he'd tried to staunch the bleeding by covering it up with his own hands, Sugoroku was struck with a thought that the blood wasn't from him at all.

He had no reasons, no grounds to think so, and yet still—his mind had seized on the idea that Yuugi's hands were tainted with blood that didn't belong to him.

Sugoroku reached out and grasped his unconscious grandson's hands, his own grip trembling slightly.

Yuugi would never harm a fly.

But the eyes that he saw that evening, consumed by darkness and rage and anxiety—yes, those eyes had looked capable of murder.

Yuugi's friends visited the next day and this time, Yuugi was conscious enough to receive them. He was warmed by their concerns and their relief at his well-being, and was even blessed by a gentle hug from Anzu which made him flush.

"I can't believe that happened to you!" Jounouchi raved. "Yuugi, are you sure you're alright?" His eyes were filled to the brim with worry.

"Yes, I am," Yuugi responded, laughing lightly. "I'm fine now, Jounouchi! It wasn't that bad."

"That bad? That bad? You got stabbed!" Jounouchi screeched. Needless to say, Yuugi's attempt at a placating smile didn't work on him in the slightest. "If I ever find the guy who did this to you, I'm going to bash his head in!" His thunderous expression, however, suggested that he'd do more than just beat him up with his fists.

"They say that they haven't found him yet," Anzu said, nibbling her bottom lip in worry. "The guy who attacked you—they don't know where he disappeared to."

Honda cracked his knuckles. "Smart guy," he said darkly. "He knew to run before we found him."

"Guys, it's okay, really!" Yuugi said, waving his hands around in a sheepish gesture. "I told the police who he was and everything. They'll catch him and put him behind bars, definitely." He ended his statement with a firm nod.

"How are you so sure about that?" Jounouchi countered a little sharply. "The police are hardly ever useful!"

Yuugi opened his mouth to answer but strangely, he couldn't formulate a proper response as to why he was so confident. It was… a gut feeling. Even though he should be scared out of his wits of a guy who nearly killed him in a dark alleyway, for some reason he didn't harbour any fear at all. Deep in his gut, he seemed to know that he'd never see the guy again. He had no reason for believing so, since as Anzu said they never caught the guy or even picked up his trail, and yet his belief was as solid as if it were fact. He frowned. He wondered about this feeling now himself.

"And where was the Pharaoh, huh?" the blonde continued to gripe. His chocolate-brown eyes were hard. "Why didn't he help you?"

"It all happened so fast," Yuugi replied, shrugging and smiling hopelessly. "It caught him by surprise too."

Jounouchi crossed his arms and grumbled something beneath his breath, but otherwise begrudgingly accepted that answer. The matter seemingly dropped, Yuugi relaxed back into his bed again with a soft sigh. His amethyst eyes slid to the side to where warm sunlight was beaming through the open window, carrying with it a fresh and cool breeze. It was a good day. Anzu noticed his wayward gaze and smiled gently before clapping her hands and standing up.

"Okay, you guys!" she announced. "We've got to give Yuugi space to rest!"

Jounouchi and Honda followed her lead, the blonde grunting as he stood. "Heal up soon, Yuug'," he said, patting the injured man's head briskly. "School's borin' without you."

"Hey, what, we're not entertainment enough for you?" Honda butted in, playfully insulted.

Jounouchi smirked and shook his head. "Fine, let me rephrase then: school's not the same without you, Yuugi. There, is that better, you whiny baby?"

"Much."

Yuugi couldn't help but laugh at his friends' antics, his cheeks feeling warm. "Get out of here, you guys," he said fondly. "Thanks for visiting me. Really."

"Of course we'd visit," Anzu said with a smile. "You're our friend."

They left with boisterous goodbyes and a promise that tomorrow they'd bring some get-well-soon chocolate and a deck of cards to play during visiting hours. Once they were gone, Yuugi still felt the content smile on his face and he leaned back, sighing, into his pillow. In the abrupt silence, he turned his head and peered at his most prized possession: the Sennen Puzzle.

Ever since he'd woken up, he always felt them near him—the two personas. Not a single second had gone by where Yuugi noticed a hollow absence of their presence like he did before. The channel between them, the psychic link that connected their hearts and minds, remained open, and this was a great source of comfort for the youth. Not only did he naturally feel better when he felt that they were with him, but because this openness was their way of saying that they were concerned for him, that they cared.

Now that he was alone, he mumbled out, "Guys…?"

Without a bated breath, the two personas appeared before him, one on either side of his bed. There hadn't been a single sliver of doubt within Yuugi that either of them would reject his call, and he smiled brightly when he saw their faces. His welcoming smile faltered, however, when he noticed the heavy expressions that they both wore. Instead, it turned a little sad, a little exasperated, because he knew exactly what the two were thinking. They were rare occasions, surely, but sometimes he was able to read the other's soul like an open book.

"Guys, don't blame yourselves. It was my fault for being caught off gua—"

"Aibou, no." It was Yami's deep, baritone voice that interrupted the youth with a firm shake of his head. "Don't mistake us for fools." His dark, violet gaze was sharp and hard, and his lips were pursed together thinly in disapproval.

The harsh look surprised Yuugi greatly and he felt his heart thud solidly in his chest.

"We were the ones at fault," the spirit continued, voice impassive. "If I wasn't playing such a childish feud with myself, then this wouldn't have happened."

Mouth agape, Yuugi looked towards Atem, expecting him to rebuke his other. But the Pharaoh's eyes were downcast, not meeting his. It was so uncharacteristic of him to remain so silent and it was unnerving Yuugi to the bones. He turned back to Yami, who had never let his gaze wander away from him for a single moment. The youth couldn't help but shrink beneath such an intense, dark stare.

"It was because of the problems between myself and the Pharaoh that you were hurt. If we weren't acting so childishly and blocked you off from our tantrums, we would have been alerted to your panic much sooner. We could have prevented this from ever happening."

This was wrong. The words felt so wrong. Yuugi felt a twisting in his gut. "Mou hitori no boku…!"

"We're sorry, aibou."

Despite it being an apology—despite it being sincere—Yuugi felt like the words were a punch to his stomach, rendering him out of breath and hurt. "No, mou hitori no boku, you're wrong!" he shouted, desperately. He reached out with a hand towards the transparent spirit and found that he was out of reach. The stoic look that Yami still wore was making him panic. "This isn't your fault!"

Yami's expression twitched as if he was clenching his jaw. "We won't close you off again, aibou. Not for such a petty thing as a feud within and between ourselves. We won't let you pay the price for our mistake again." At Yuugi's bewildered stare, Yami's hard gaze seemed to soften and he offered a rueful smile. He glanced once at Yuugi's outstretched hand and for just a moment, a yearning look passed through his stoic stare and he looked like he wanted to grab it and hold it tightly. But he didn't. "Rest up, aibou. If you ever require my assistance, don't hesitate to summon me."

And then he disappeared, retreating back into the Puzzle.

His abrupt departure left Yuugi gaping and out-of-sorts. There was a heavy silence, dense and thick like polluted sludge, and Yuugi desperately turned to Atem in the hopes that the Pharaoh wasn't as ridiculous as his other. But he wasn't surprised—no, he sincerely wasn't—when he caught the Pharaoh's resentful stare aimed at something on Yuugi's bed but not on his bed at all. It was a far away look, glaring at something that Yuugi couldn't see but had a hunch as to what.

"Pharaoh…?"

"It angers me when he acts all noble," he suddenly spat, voice laced with venom. Yuugi jumped slightly, making his wound sting; he barely noticed it. "Acting like the weight of responsibility fell solely upon himself. His pride makes me sick."

Just as he did with Yami, Yuugi reached out towards him.

Atem noticed the gesture and he glanced at his hand, the same look passing through his eyes that Yuugi saw pass through Yami's. It felt like déjà vu, but instead of Atem clenching his hands resolutely by his side, he reached out and translucent fingers laced through smaller ones. Yuugi shivered. Even though he couldn't physically touch the other, a shock still seemed to originate from their points of contact, running down his arm and directly jolting his heart. The Pharaoh's expression softened and a sad smile stretched across his face as he peered at his akhu; the look caused Yuugi's heart to thump loudly. Atem drew in closer and leaned down, dropping his face so that it hovered over the youth's. The closer he became, the louder Yuugi's heart seemed to beat and the more his eyes widened. Thump. Thump. Thump. Even though it was impossible, Yuugi could swear he felt the ghost of the Pharaoh's breath on his cheeks. He was so close, just a few centimetres away, a red gaze trained solely on him that let Yuugi know that he held his full attention in his amethyst stare.

Time seemed to slow when Atem's lips twitched minutely upwards and kissed the top of Yuugi's forehead.

"But even though I resent him, I understand his feelings well." With his other hand, Atem softly caressed the skin of Yuugi's burning cheek. "We seem to share the same pride, after all." He touched their foreheads together and as they peered into each other's eyes unblinkingly (he was so close, so close, so close—his heart was hammering), Yuugi was able to see the torn look in those red eyes, the heaviness and the weariness.

It was the same look that Yami had been wearing, that they both unconsciously shared.

They looked like they were burdened with the weight of the world—and ridden with the guilt of failure.

"I apologise, akhu. Sincerely."

Then Yuugi's dry eyes forced him to blink and when he did, the Pharaoh was gone.

Heart still running a sprint in his chest, his body feeling warm and tingly all over, Yuugi let out a shaky breath. He clenched his hands, scrunching up the hospital sheets. His vision blurred and his head pounded and he gritted his teeth, remembering sad eyes and miserable smiles and tormented voices and the fact that neither of them had even looked at each other, despite being the same, despite sharing the same soul—

He let out a strained, shaky breath.

Yuugi was angry.

When Yuugi fell into his grandfather's arms and the personas let their host's body be taken care of in the real world, the two confronted each other in the cubic room they shared in their soul room. Their stances were rigid, their shoulders pulled back; they stood like they were glaring down at an enemy. They were on neutral ground, levelled equally, matching height for height and scowl to scowl.

When the silence between them was broken, their voices resounded at the same time:

"This needs to stop."

Their eyes simultaneously narrowed, both unbelievably irritated at the fact that they had spoken the same thing at the same time. Yami crossed his arms. "This feud of ours should never have come before aibou's safety," he continued harshly. "If you weren't so pigheaded, then this would never—"

The sheer rage that ignited in Atem threatened to make the room quake. His red eyes narrowed into slits, he boomed, "You would lay all responsibility on me?" The expression he wore was thunderous, flashing—Yami saw a hint of the wrathful pharaoh that he once was and he stiffened.

"If you had known your place, I would never have blocked aibou off when that had been happening—"

An angry, sharp laugh. "Are you blaming me or yourself? You sound confused, my darkness. Lest you forget, you are of equal blame as I."

Yami's fists clenched. "If you weren't here, I would have—"

"Ha! Surely you jest!" The cutting smile disappeared from Atem's face and he stared at his other with an expression of pure hatred. "Now who's the pigheaded one? I cannot believe for a single moment that this was your first failure as akhu's protector. You are dark, my other. I see in your eyes that you've struggled with your pride, your own weakness. Tell me," he commanded, voice powerful and strong, "that you've never failed him before. Tell me."

Yami's lips thinned and his fists shook with rage. When he looked at this tanned version of himself, he could see himself reflected in those red eyes and he hated it. "As if you've never failed your duty before, Pharaoh," he spat, and he was appalled by how weak his voice was.

"I never claimed that I didn't," Atem returned, sharp as a reprimand, brutal as an accusation. "It is you who denies the part you played in this, the responsibility you hold. We are three millennia old, my other—you have no right to act so childish."

Yami stood rigid and the look on his face made Atem wonder if he was going to lash out and strike him. But then, as if a switch has been flicked, Yami's posture seemed to sag slightly and he dropped his arms, letting them hang loose at his sides. At once, he adopted an aura of defeat, wholesome and miserable, and Atem found that this change of attitude didn't lessen his anger but made it flame more intensely. His eyes narrowed.

"You're right," Yami's monotone voice droned, stoic and impassive. "It is my fault. I should ha—"

"We both share the fault, my other—stop your pride and—"

"Interrupt me one more time and I will end you!" Yami snarled, his voice like a hammer striking stone and his eyes alight with a monstrous fire.

His anger was matched by the Pharaoh breath to breath, glare to glare. It was like looking into a mirror. "Watch your tone with me, boy," Atem murmured, and despite the fact that he didn't shout, his voice would be enough to render a whole room of people silent and quivering in fear. The small, square room was filled with tension, the power that each of the two possessed hissing and snapping at each other like snakes and wolves. They stood there glaring at one another, full of spite and fury, with their powers licking at their heels just waiting to be unleashed, begging for the other to step another toe out of line so that they could destroy themselves and self-destruct into nothing.

Another tense moment passed as they watched the other, and then Yami said tightly, "This must stop."

Atem consented with a stone-cold glare.

"From now on, we do not let our petty feud get in the way of our duty to protect Yuugi. You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."

Atem released a dry chuckle. "A wiser suggestion has never left your mouth." His tone was icy; one would think that he had grown up in the Arctic, rather than a desert. "From hence forth, we are not to associate with each other unless absolutely necessary. You do not exist to me, and I you, unless Yuugi requires that we do."

Yami gave a sharp nod. "Then it is settled," he said. His voice was equally as chilling, final. "We have nothing more to say to each other."

And as the last word fell from his mouth, their agreement seemed to seal with the sound of a gavel hitting stone. They turned their backs to one another and walked away, retreating into their own rooms without a single glance back at the other's direction. Their wild release of powers weakened, splitting from each other and tearing into two, until the room that they shared was barren and hollow and an echo of what once was.

Yuugi decided to go to the Pharaoh first, because he figured that he would be harder to deal with than his more modern counterpart.

He pounded on his door loudly, his knocks resolute and firm. When the door creaked open (on its own, it seemed, but Yuugi knew better), the youth took it as the consent it was and slipped inside.

The throne room was just as he remembered it, unchanged: big, empty spaces, walls that seemed to stretch forever, shadows licking at the columns that supported a ceiling that Yuugi couldn't even see. The air was just the same as well: chilling, hollow, lonely. And of course, at the far end of the room was Atem, sitting at his throne and watching Yuugi approaching him with blank, unreadable eyes. Yuugi walked towards him without fear in his heart despite the intimidating presence of the Pharaoh and his hard stare. Yuugi walked up the steps until he was in eye-level with the bronze-skinned man, standing just a couple of steps away from the top platform where his throne sat.

"You need to come with me, Pharaoh," Yuugi clipped, leaving no room for argument. "We need to talk."

But the sternness of his voice only seemed to amuse the other. He didn't shift from his sitting position, his posture lazy and his expression relaxing into one of pleasant incredulousness. He quirked an elegant eyebrow at the mortal boy. "You are demanding today, little one," he said, his deep voice sending shivers down Yuugi's spine. It was like melted dark chocolate, velvet and powerful. "Pray tell, what is this emergency?"

Yuugi resisted the calming effect of listening to Atem's voice with a shake of his head. Where was the self-hating person that he was talking to just moments before? Where was the heavy look of burden that Yuugi remembered seeing in those same red eyes? Instead, he was looking at a person whose expression was aloof, uncaring—as if it wasn't previously burdened with a weight he had no responsibility carrying. Yuugi clenched his fists at his sides. At that moment, he learned that Atem wore many masks and he vowed not to let them blind-sight him. "Truth be told, Pharaoh, it's less of an emergency and more like a wrong that I want to right," he answered slowly.

The mask remained in place. Atem feigned ignorance and tilted his head to the side, peering at his akhu curiously. "You must elaborate further," he requested. Somehow, there was a daring note in his voice and Yuugi didn't miss the slight way his eyes narrowed despite the easy smile he wore. Yuugi inwardly cheered; it was a sign of progress.

"Well," Yuugi begun, making sure that he chose his words very, very carefully: "I apologise for being so blunt, but both you and Yami are being too unreasonable."

Another crack in the mask. Atem pursed his lips. "I still don't quite understand what you're trying to say, akhu."

Yuugi played his most powerful card: "You're both being idiots."

The mask shattered away and Atem finally showed his true face. It was one of anger. He straightened in his throne and glowered at Yuugi darkly, all amusement wiped clean. His glare was chilling and Yuugi fortified his shaken will, assuring himself that Atem would never hurt him. "You would do well to take back those words, young one," he said lowly, pinning Yuugi down with an intense stare. "I'm in no mood for jests."

But Yuugi pushed on and even dared to climb up the last few steps, standing taller than the perched Pharaoh. "I'm not joking," Yuugi said seriously. "You're both acting like complete idiots. I'm going to fix things."

"There's nothing to fix," Atem responded sharply, eyes narrowing further. He was irritated when Yuugi continued to stare at him with the same unfaltering fire in his eyes. It made his stomach churn, whether unpleasantly or pleasantly he was too preoccupied with Yuugi's accusation to know. "You're misunderstanding the situation, akhu."

"Oh, I don't think I am," Yuugi rebuked. "Unlike you, I can see clearly what's going on."

"Then enlighten me," Atem said dryly, daringly. "What is truly going on, that I'm apparently too blind to see for myself?"

"If it's all the same to you, Pharaoh, I'd rather have this conversation with all three of us."

My, my. The strength in those words. Atem couldn't help but feel a familiar shiver as he looked at Yuugi and was the recipient of such a determined gaze. The boy was definitely brave. Foolish, but brave. "Yuugi," Atem said, and his tone demanded Yuugi's full attention. His voice rolled over Yuugi like a rift in the ocean, pulling him in and entrapping him. "I have no desire whatsoever to be in the presence of my other unless it is absolutely necessary." His gaze darkened. "I know that our conflict has caused much grief to you and the results of it… has manifested in the physical world in the form of an actual wound." Red eyes glanced downwards to Yuugi's side and the youth self-consciously covered the area with a hand. Atem looked back up again and his gaze was guarded. "It is a source of shame for me—and my other self. Our dislike for each other caused you to be hurt. Hence, we have struck an agreement. To avoid our conflict affecting you, akhu, we are to avoid each other."

Atem smiled tightly.

"And honestly, I rather like this arrangement."

Because if they couldn't see eye to eye, then this was the logical step. This had to be done. Atem would not allow himself to be pushed to a state of such shamefulness again, where he would sulk and brood on his own for days. It was such a petty reason, such a petty feud, with such drastic consequences. He remembered reflecting before—about how, as a Pharaoh, he usually didn't allow himself to engage in such distasteful behaviour in the first place. But a lack of responsibility had made him lax; just because Atem no longer had a kingdom to protect, he had foolishly believed that he no longer had a great responsibility weighing down on his shoulders. He'd allowed himself to fall victim to his darkness and someone dear to him had paid the price.

He looked at Yuugi, stared at his face.

No, Atem no longer had a kingdom to protect. He no longer had a whole people to look after, didn't have countless lives held so delicately in his hands.

Instead, there was just one. One life, one person. In his hands he held a soul so precious to him that the responsibility to care for him weighed the same as a kingdom. Atem had realised this when Yuugi's heart had pierced through the mental barriers he'd surrounded himself with, and for the first time in three millennia, Atem had felt fear.

He couldn't lose him—couldn't lose his light. And he'd be damned if he let this conflict with his other self be the threat that took him away. Atem would not allow it. By the gods, he would protect Yuugi with every breath in his non-existent body, with every beat of his worn, weary heart. If that meant that he had to deny his other self, so be it. He was used to carrying burdens on his own. A king always did.

He was startled out of his revelations when Yuugi held out a hand to him. The sight was such a familiar image that it jarred Atem to his core. There was a smile on his akhu's face, tender and sad—and the gentle look in his eyes made Atem wonder if the youth had felt the intensity of his feelings, whether he had allowed his thoughts to leak through their mental bond. Atem wouldn't have been surprised if Yuugi had heard him.

"Please, Pharaoh," Yuugi whispered. "Come with me. I know. I know how you're feeling, and I'm telling you that you're wrong."

"Yuugi—"

"I've listened to you," Yuugi interrupted kindly, still holding out his hand. "Now, please—would you listen to me?"

And it was a request so humble, so meek, that Atem would have been heartless to refuse. Despite his reluctance, despite the fact that he felt the young one was asking too much, he slowly reached out and entangled his fingers with Yuugi's own. It was a mimic of what they had done earlier in the hospital room, with Yuugi beaten and wrapped up in bandages on the white bed. But this time, Atem was solid. His hand felt as real as the stone beneath their feet and the telling beating of their hearts. Warmth surged through their contact and Yuugi flushed, heart hammering once again, as Atem slowly rose from his throne and drew in closer, intertwining their fingers intimately. He looked down at his akhu, staring deeply into wide, young eyes, and Yuugi felt the breath of Atem's next words on his face as he murmured, "I will listen."

His consent lifted a weight from Yuugi and he couldn't help but smile brightly, his eyes shining. He didn't catch the hitch in Atem's throat at the sight and only noticed when Atem suddenly gripped his hand tighter. "Thank you," Yuugi said in a matching soft tone, as if they were sharing a secret. He began to walk down the steps from the throne, tugging Atem behind him by their joined hands.

Atem felt like a child, being held like this and being guided out of his own throne room by a man who was a head shorter than him and had no royal blood running through his veins. But he didn't resent the thought, even though by all accounts his pride should have been wounded. The only reason why he accepted this was because when he looked at Yuugi, there was a wisdom in his young eyes that cowed him. There was wisdom in his brave innocence and it made Atem drop his pride, made him drop all pretences—because otherwise, keeping them up around a person who could so clearly see through them would be shameful.

He was led out of his soul room and they stopped in the cubic room with empty, white walls. Yuugi let go of his hand and immediately, Atem wanted to snatch it back. He cringed and violently resisted the urge, lest he fully succumb to petty childish needs and desires. Yuugi left him alone to enter his other's soul room, disappearing behind a black, intimidating door inscribed with the familiar symbol of the Eye of Ra. Atem didn't know how long he waited—seconds, minutes, hours?—but when the black door once again opened, he wasn't surprised to see Yuugi exiting first with his other in tow.

Just like how Atem had been led out of his own room, Yuugi was leading Yami out of his with their hands firmly clasped together. Jealousy once again reared its ugly head in Atem's heart but he bit the inside of his cheek, remaining silent. As they drew nearer, Yami and Atem instinctively looked at each other and glared.

But there was a heat missing in their rival stares. Both sensed it and both wondered why.

Yuugi pulled Yami over firmly, despite the growing resistance the closer they drew to the tanned Pharaoh, and finally let go of his hand when they were standing in a haphazard triangle, facing one another. Both Yami and Atem were tense and avoided looking at each other, instead fixating their narrowed, troubled gazes to the ground.

The silence stretched on and Yuugi huffed. Then he took a deep breath, fortified himself, and demanded, "Stop it."

Both personas knew what their host was talking about and the time for feigning ignorance was not here. "It's the only way, aibou," Yami said, voice tightly controlled. "We clash too much and our actions caused us to fail you. This is the only way to prevent us from…" But Yami trailed off and his eyes narrowed, because Yuugi was suddenly shaking his head.

"You're both silly and blind," Yuugi told them quietly, not unkindly. There was warmth in his gaze and this desperate need to have them understand. "If only you can see though my eyes," he mused. "You'll see how ridiculous the both of you are."

"Please, aibou," Yami said sharply. "This isn't a laughing matter. You nearly died—"

"But I didn't," Yuugi interrupted. He pinned them both with a hard stare. "And guess who's responsible for that?"

The question left them surprised and unable to answer right away.

Yuugi stole this opportunity and ploughed on. "You two need to stop acting like it's your fault! It wasn't, not one bit. You weren't the one who dragged me into that alley. You weren't the one who beat me up. You weren't the one who stabbed me. Did you know what you were responsible for?"

Both personas knew where Yuugi was going with this, but they both stubbornly refused to accept his words. "Whether we were the ones to do the actual deed doesn't matter," Atem said. "We have a duty to protect you and we failed."

"You failed?" Yuugi repeated, incredulous. He gestured wildly to himself, to his in-tact body. "Look at me! Does it look like you failed?"

"You got hurt—" Yami started, backing up his other's claims. "We should have prevented that from happening."

"I always get hurt," Yuugi said in a slightly depreciating tone. "But that isn't your responsibility. You two need to stop burdening yourself with all this responsibility and actually leave some for me. If I suddenly stub my toe on a desk, that's my fault, not yours."

"That's different," Yami said, narrowing his eyes. "In this case, you were in serious danger, and we would have gotten to you in time if we weren't fighting with each other. You cannot redirect our blame for that."

"True," Yuugi consented, "You two are definitely to blame for being so moody. You can accept responsibility for that. But what I won't accept is you taking responsibility for something that you have no right to have."

Both Atem and Yami frowned, equally perplexed. What was Yuugi talking about?

Their twin expressions of confusion, for some reason, made Yuugi happy. It warmed his heart, gave him the urge to simply reach out and hold them both dearly to his chest. He met each of their eyes and said clearly, his voice echoing in the barrenness of their shared room, "I won't let you two believe that you hold responsibility on your own. My life isn't just your responsibility, but also mine. Just as your life isn't just my responsibility, but also yours. We're in this together—all three of us—and you two need to stop acting like brooding teenagers facing the world all on their own." He reached out and grasped both of their hands, a pale hand in his right and a bronze-tanned hand in his left. "You need to stop blaming yourselves for what happened, seriously. Because from where I'm standing, neither of you failed." He smiled, and the expression was bright—bright enough to warm the whole room and bless it with something unfamiliar—something like warmth. "You saved me, and with all your stupid pride putting all the blame onto yourselves, you never even gave me the opportunity to thank you." He squeezed their hands. "So, thank you. The both of you. For protecting me, and keeping me safe, and bringing me back to my grandpa. Thank you."

His words were like wind chimes, dispelling the darkness and bringing with it a sort of lightness that reminded them of air, of a breeze in an open plain.

"But…" they both started, simultaneously, and this time they didn't even seem to notice.

Yuugi grinned, not missing their synchronised stares, and laughed softly. "You don't know how powerful you two are when you're together. That time… when I was stabbed…" The smile dropped somewhat and his hands loosened their grip in memory. Almost immediately, both Yami and Atem's hands tightened, securing their grip—making up for Yuugi's weakness. The youth acknowledged this, allowed it to reassure him, and he smiled. "When I was stabbed, I felt it. It was a raw and powerful feeling and it swept me away. The feeling was you."

It had been a breathtaking thing. When the mental barriers had been obliterated, Yuugi remembered being whisked away in a cocoon of warmth and safety, as if he'd been snatched away and wrapped up in blankets and laid to rest on his own bed. It was overpowering, this feeling of safety—Yuugi had felt something similar to it before but never so intense, never so complete. At once, even though Yuugi could see nothing but darkness, he had known that this presence that had surrounded him, protected him, ensured that he would no longer be in harm's way, was Yami and Atem. It was their soul, complete and resonant with the desire to keep him safe.

Their soul had embraced him and sheltered him, and it was with this feeling that Yuugi was able to sleep and rest without the threat of nightmares banging on his door.

And Yuugi wanted them to understand this desperately. He wanted them to know that they were stronger together, that when they acted and felt as one, it felt right.

Their agreement to remain away from each other and still harbour resentment for their other half would only hurt them both—would hurt them all, including Yuugi. And it was Yuugi's responsibility to take care of this spirit, this precious, precious, dear person he cradled so close his heart, and make sure that he—they—were happy. That was his duty, his burden—that was his privilege he accepted with all his heart.

"Stay right here," Yuugi said softly, blushing underneath the intense stares that the personas were giving him. "I'll be right back."

He let go of their hands and escaped the room, leaving the two to their own devices for a short period of time. They stared at the hand that had held Yuugi's closely, simultaneously missing the warmth. They looked at each other, startled, when they felt their feelings match up and synchronise. When Yuugi came back, he was holding a board game in his hands—one that he had gotten from his own soul room. He sat down in the middle of the room and gestured for the other two to do the same, which they did without complaint. Yuugi was surprised by how quiet they now were, how compliant. He had honestly been expecting more resistance from them but with an embarrassed flush, he wondered whether the reason why they were so speechless was because they had felt his emotions through their link. That was probably the case, because they were staring at Yuugi with a softness that made his whole body tingle.

Yuugi set up the board game, trying to fight the blush away from his cheeks. Yami and Atem, equally surprised, just watched him.

When Yuugi finally set up the game, he looked up. His face was flustered but there was a warm, excited smile on his face. "Let's play a game!" he said, brightly and full of hope.

And not even the possibility of a rejection swept through either of their minds. They accepted.

As they played their game, an unfamiliar atmosphere descended upon them, one that neither Yami nor Atem had ever felt before when they were in each other's presence. It felt a whole like peace. They felt themselves relaxing, felt their natural selves bubbling up to the surface. They played the game with playful scowls and teasing taunts, and rolled the dice expertly with free abandon, casting away a tiny bit of their grudge with every dice roll. The small, cubic room was filled with baritone chuckles and incredulous laughter and for the first time in this side of the Sennen Puzzle's soul room, it wasn't cold but warm.

As Yuugi rolled his dice, Yami and Atem's eyes connected above the younger man's head. An understanding passed between them, a sort of truce. Then Yuugi hollered in delight and was able to take the lead, immediately snapping Yami and Atem's attention back to the game.

"Ha! I'm winning!"

In that wordless glance, they had both acknowledged the other. They didn't see eye to eye on everything, but on the important things, they did. Namely, their desire to protect a little ball of light worth greater than any kingdom, worth the sum of their everything.

They didn't see the complete strength they had when they worked together, didn't see it as clearly as Yuugi seemed to. They'd forget on occasion—many times, in fact—that they were on the same side. But that's where Yuugi came to play. He was the eye to their storm, the order to their chaos—and if there was any chance that Yami and Atem could ever accept each other on even ground, then the key to that was Yuugi.

Chapter 5: End

And there's chapter five! Decided to end it on a fluffy, cheerful note for you guys, considering how long I left the last chapter's cliff-hanger, haha. This chapter was simply damage control and also to express some development from the Yami/Atem conflict. But rest assured, there's still quite a way to go to soothe out the personas' opposing views. After all, one still wants to desperately to win Yuugi's heart ;D

Hope you enjoyed!