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Yugi opened his eyes. An extra weight had settled on his chest, an addition to the steady press of the puzzle. He searched for a source, but when he squinted, and his eyes adjusted to the dark, there was nothing there. He burrowed deeper into the blankets. His bedroom stayed still and quiet around him.
Outside, someone took their time kicking something metal down the street. Every few minutes, a car drove by.
The feeling remained.
“You look thoughtful.” Yugi started at the voice, his chest warming, but his gaze stayed focused on his feet. He didn’t have to call for Yami anymore. Now, the spirit just knew when he was needed. Some part of Yugi realized that this probably wasn’t what mysterious Egyptian spirits were intended for–comforting lonely short kids with affinities for puzzles and American fast food–but he was glad that this one didn’t seem to mind.
“Not really,” Yugi started, pulling his arms out from beneath the covers. “I woke up feeling weird. And, I don’t know, that’s it I guess.”
Finally, Yugi allowed himself to look over to the faded, lighted figure at the edge of his bed. The violet eyes gave him pause. Long enough to flush his cheeks, at least. Yugi covered his face with his hands, hoping he just looked tired.
“Does that ever happen to you,” he asked from between his fingers.
Yami tilted his head at the question. “Do I ever wake up feeling strange?”
Yugi nodded.
“Well.” Yami’s arms crossed as he looked up in thought. “No, not really. I imagine I’d have to sleep to ever wake up feeling strange.”
Yugi’s mouth opened. Then, slowly, it closed again. He hadn’t thought about it before–now it seemed painfully obvious. Of course Yami didn’t sleep. Yugi sat up a little.
“So… you’re just awake all the time? Even when you’re in the puzzle?”
Yami considered it. “I do not sleep like you do. Some part of me is always aware of what’s going on. But sometimes…. ”
Yugi saw Yami’s eyes grow distant then, and his hand reached over to set on the spirit’s thigh. Yami blinked down at him.
“You were saying,” Yugi prompted.
Yami nodded. “Sometimes I’m not sure I’m exactly awake either.” His hand settled over Yugi’s, and though he couldn’t quite make out all of its contours, the impression and heat was there against his own.
“There are parts of the puzzle, parts I haven’t shown you, that go on and on. Endless walkways without any light. And when I’ve walked them long enough–when so much time has passed that the only thing I have with me is my mind–well, it’s hard to know where you end and the rest of it begins. To separate yourself from everything that, in the light, you were sure you stood apart from. Is that being awake? Is that sleeping? I don’t think I’d even know the difference.” Yami started to trace the outline of Yugi’s fingers. They stood solid against his own translucent edges.
Apart.
He stopped tracing.
Yugi turned his hand over and linked their fingers.
“That’s how you make me feel,” Yugi said. Yami frowned at him.
“What do you mean?”
Yugi scooted closer, bringing their clasped hands to his chest.
“Confused. Not in a bad way,” Yugi rushed out, seeing the crease between Yami’s eyebrows deepen. “Just. Sometimes I’m not sure how all of this works. Where I end and you begin. It’s kind of obvious right now, for sure, since you’re right there and I’m right here, but I can feel you sometimes. Not clear thoughts, but the impressions of them, like they’re my own, and it can take me a minute to realize it’s not even me.”
Yami slowly nodded. His lips stayed shut, but his gaze wandered over every each inch of Yugi’s face. He saw the quick dilation in Yugi’s eyes, felt the stronger squeeze of his hand as Yugi leaned over.
“What were you doing before I woke up.”
Yami straightened. He tried to draw his hand away, not too fast, but found it trapped.
“What do you mean,” Yami said, keeping his voice neutral. Yugi narrowed his eyes, leaning even closer.
“It was you. Something happened, you were thinking about something, and it woke me up.” This time, when Yami pulled his hand back, Yugi let it go. It didn’t seem like the spirit to keep secrets. But it also wasn’t like him to look so undone.
Yami turned away to look out the window. More cars drove by. Then silence.
“It was nothing,” Yami said. “Nothing worth worrying about, at least.”
The lie hovered between them. Staring at Yami’s profile, Yugi wanted to push harder for an answer. The same insistent pressure was growing, he could feel it. He wanted to take it away, to replace it with the usual strength and confidence; yet, it felt unfair to take advantage of their link, to force disclosure where the spirit clearly didn’t want to share. Instead, Yugi eventually laid back down, closer this time, and set his forehead against the curve of Yami’s knee. Maybe Yami didn’t like talking about his feelings. Maybe not being alone was enough. Yugi could give him that. He’d give him whatever he needed. If the spirit didn’t know that already, he would.
Later, Yami watched Yugi’s dozing face, the gentle movement of his breathing. He was well aware of Yugi’s selflessness. It was exactly what Yami was afraid of.
He’d long wondered if Yugi could sense him the same way Yami knew if Yugi was hungry or stressed. And just as long, he’d hoped it wasn’t true, that his own dark thoughts wouldn’t bleed over and show Yugi what he truly was.
Before Yugi woke, Yami’d sat beside him, as he was now, and wondered about worlds where there were no puzzles, no ancient fate drawing them together. Places where they met because they lived next door or rode the same train to school. Times where Yami was a person, not… this. The thoughts brought a pain he didn’t recognize. Wants, he realized, were dangerous. And they were only going to make all of this harder.
Yami swallowed the thoughts down. It would be morning soon. Another day. He leaned down, his hand curling for one terrible, wonderful moment in the hairs at the back of Yugi’s neck, as he pressed their foreheads together and felt, briefly, Yugi’s small breaths against his lips. This was enough.
It had to be. For both of them.