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They pitch their tent in the shadows of flowering cacti — Yusei hammers in each leg with care and precision while Kiryu collects twigs for a fire. Closer to Satisfaction Town, there wouldn't be any twigs to find; this campsite is a plain of compromise, where the outer detritus of Neo Domino meets the long, lonely desert. Two worlds. Two boys huddled around a sorry excuse for a firepit. Two pink cactus blossoms. Two silhouettes against the horizon as the scarlet sun bleeds out into dusk.
"I'll get it going," Yusei says. "Do you have a lighter?"
"That'd be a waste of fuel. Here." Reaching into his pocket, Kiryu pulls out a leather cord looped around two strips of metal. He tosses it to Yusei, who catches it with a nod — he recognizes the device up close, admiring the craftsmanship. "A little flint and steel goes a long way."
"Did you make this?"
"Yeah. Had plenty of time to learn. Surprising how much you can get done while you're waiting to die," he snorts. Someone has to laugh. "A little smelting, some whittling… picked up the harmonica, too. Something about the motions."
"Mm," Yusei nods, fiddling with the firestarter. They’ve always been receptive to tactile hobbies; Yusei learned best with a screwdriver in hand. For Kiryu, it was more often a fist. Meeting in the middle usually involved Kiryu hanging on Yusei’s shoulders, boredly watching him twist screws into their sockets.
"Looks really good," Kiryu used to say, even if Yusei's latest project was junk. Even if it didn't work. Some kids bring home stray cats; Yusei had a habit of rescuing three-wheeled clunkers and defunct radios. "You're a genius, you know that? It pays off having a tech guy on the team."
"You can learn it too."
"Sure, whatever. But then I wouldn't get to watch."
The makeshift workbench smelled like dust, dry sunlight and oil stains, Yusei remembers. A little like sweat, too. Whether it was his or Kiryu's, he can't be sure (it was probably both). Kiryu's red cotton shirt always brushed at the back of his neck, too — he can still feel that little prickle from the collar.
"You got it?"
"Hm?" Kiryu's voice pulls Yusei back into the present. Still no fire. Right. "Yeah. One sec."
The sun has gone down by now, and with it all the warmth of daylight. Yusei shivers as he tries to strike the stone unto steel. Precise motor actions like these are an engineer’s specialty — which makes it all the more frustrating when his fingers tremble, too shaky to make sparks. He sighs and tries to focus, tuning out his surroundings-
"Nights are always colder in the desert."
Kiryu is sitting right beside Yusei, as if he'd always been there. Up close, it's easy to see how exhausted he looks; his eyes are perpetually bloodshot, with purpling shadows underneath them. The sharp contours of his cheeks and jaw have long since molded to accommodate his restlessness, reshaping him as if the nightmares line the natural curve of his bones. It wasn't too long ago that he was a walking ghost.
But not anymore. Pale and thin as Kiryu is, he's still warm — his body has a solid presence, and his breathing is even. He places his hands over Yusei's to steady his grip on the firestarter. Yusei can feel every crack and callus along his skin. A few scars, too. "You'll get used to it," Kiryu murmurs. "Try again."
That's all it takes. Yusei strikes the flint once more with renewed confidence, and a rush of golden embers springs to life. Between stacks of rock and clay the fire breathes, reaching up and up into the night; the twigs catch every spark, chasing the plentiful stars. It's quite different from living in the city — Yusei can't name most of the constellations overhead. He sighs in relief and huddles closer to the open flame.
Kiryu, meanwhile, lets go of Yusei's hands and starts to peel off his jacket. The orange glow of the fire illuminates a row of thin scars along his left arm. They form a sort of picket fence on his skin, or maybe one very long barcode. A bunch of tally marks for a score that Yusei hopes Kiryu isn't keeping anymore. To his relief, they don't look fresh. "Take it," Kiryu says, drawing Yusei's gaze elsewhere.
"I'm fine-"
No dice. Kiryu drapes the fabric over Yusei's shoulders and gives him a brisk pat on the back. "You need it more than me," he says cooly, and there is no changing his mind.
Yusei smiles, giving only a nod.
❧
The tent is wide enough for four people, let alone two. Kiryu keeps to the far left side, taking up as little space as possible in their purple-nylon sanctuary. A stark contrast to the days of rusted swingsets and back-alley wall ball, of black eyes and wide smiles with crooked teeth — they used to live elbow to elbow, taking swings at the world. Their hearts crashed and bled into each other, for better and for worse and for everything in between. Kiryu took up all the space he needed and then some, leaving a trail of sparks and shrapnel behind him like a backyard roman candle.
But out here, tucked between the sleeping dunes, it’s quiet. Kiryu’s light has long since fizzled out into silence. Yusei wishes he knew how to rekindle it, if only a little. If only to see him smile.
"I can feel your eyes on the back of my head, Yusei."
"Oh," Yusei blinks. "Sorry."
"You need another blanket, or what?"
"No, but I could use some light." Sleep isn’t happening just yet. Maybe he'll read, tinker with something. "Do you have the lantern over there?"
Kiryu lets out a weary sigh as he crawls upright, feeling around for the lantern. He pats the floor of the tent uselessly. "I don't know- oh, yeah." There's a soft rustle of plastic and the click of a handle being pried from its socket. Another click — then, Kiryu's long silvery hair and sleepless hazel eyes illuminated in the dark. Glassy olive green tinged with brown, blooming nopales on a bed of feldspar sand. He scooches over to Yusei’s side of the tent, holding the lantern aloft. A pale, golden glow frames his pallid expression, the faded ghost of a light that death claimed twice.
"Here."
"Thanks," Yusei nods, taking the handle. Their fingers brush, but Yusei barely notices — he's too busy studying the dark, puffy creases over and under Kiryu's eyes. An unspeakable sorrow is buried there, like the mound of a corpse lying in a shallow dirt grave. Before Yusei can dig it out of him, Kiryu turns away.
Yusei grabs his wrist.
Kiryu inhales, but he doesn’t look back. His shoulders stay tense.
“What’s the matter?”
"You said nights are always colder in the desert," Yusei murmurs.
The words are old, familiar. Well-worn like a favorite jacket, and well-loved like a couch with broken springs. Kiryu’s posture relaxes. "I did," he whispers, a smoke signal on his lips. A silent question is written along the bony curve of his spine. Do you remember, it asks. Do you remember? Do you want to remember?
Neither of them dare to finish the thought. This is the natural conclusion — the last train pulling out of the station, leaving only dust behind. Another missed stop. Kiryu is happier here than he ever was in the city; is Yusei doing him a disservice, giving him something to miss? Is it cruel to pull him closer? Shouldn’t he just…
Yusei's grip loosens until he lets go of Kiryu entirely, bowing his head. “Sorry. Good night-”
And then, it's not so cold anymore.
Yusei looks up and finds Kiryu's arms wrapped around him. They don't say a word — they don't need to. The child in both of them still remembers.
How many years has it been since that day?
"Nights are always colder in Satellite," Kiryu said, slinging an arm around Yusei's shoulders. Something in his heart swelled hot, even amid the falling snow. It was the first time he had ever felt so... wanted. And not just by anyone, either — by someone a little older, a little cooler, and a whole lot braver. Someone with sparks inside him that still burned bright. "Let's huddle up and stay warm, yeah? Like soldiers in the trenches," he waved his hand in a slow arc before them, cutting through the frigid air as if painting a scene of chaos. “Fighting against the storm.”
It was true, in a way: Yusei, Jack, Crow, and Kiryu were all dueling soldiers, surviving the battlezone of their upbringing. But it’s one thing to survive, and another to live; Kiryu taught Yusei how good it feels to live out of spite, to be truly alive in opposition. Every kicked can, every fire started, and every duel won were as medals, ones they wore proudly on their chests. It was good, having something to be proud of. Yusei wanted more. The snowflakes piling up in his hair were a bit much by then, too; it couldn’t hurt, could it? He nodded, letting a timid smile peek through his silence.
"Great," Kiryu grinned, taking him by the hand and tugging him onto the scavenged couch in the corner of the room. It was a ratty old thing, but it was home — as much of a home as an old warehouse could be. He flopped down onto the creaky springs and patted the space beside him.
Once Yusei crawled in, Kiryu tucked his head into the crook of his neck and pulled a thin blanket over the both of them. His chest and his arms were bony, but warm all the same.
"Kiryu?"
"Yeah?"
"Why me?"
"Huh?” Kiryu played with the ends of Yusei’s hair, letting them flip back upright between his fingers. “Whaddya mean?"
"You could... I mean," Yusei looked down into a hole in the cotton. "You could have asked Jack. Or Crow.”
“Jack kicks in his sleep,” Kiryu pouted slightly. “And Crow’s looking after the kids tonight. Why, you wanna kick me out?”
“No. No, it’s… it’s just that it could be anyone, couldn’t it?” How to phrase it? Yusei hummed, trying to pick out the right words. Words that didn’t betray too much, but didn’t understate all of the things he had come to love about the boy resting underneath him. “You attract people.” He tried. “So you could have anyone you wanted."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Yusei swallowed and fidgeted until he heard a tiny snort — it bubbled into wheezing laughter, like seafoam under Daedalus Bridge. "You think I’m sexy, Yusei?”
“That’s not- I don’t mean it like that, I-”
“So you don’t? How could you,” he mock-gasped. “I thought you were my best friend, Yusei!”
“No, I mean, you’re-”
“Relax, I’m teasing," Kiryu sighed, ruffling Yusei’s hair. "You really think that's true, though? That I could pick anybody I wanted? Everybody wants a piece of this?"
"I don't know," Yusei grumbled, burying his face in Kiryu's collar. What a stupid thing to say. "Never mind."
"It’s fine, seriously. Thanks for thinking I'm hot shit,” he snorted. “But so what?”
“Huh?”
The couch creaked. Kiryu pulled Yusei just a little closer, threading a hand through his hair. The steady, even motion made it hard to keep his eyes open. “If I could have anybody I wanted,” he murmured. “I'd still choose you."
The falling snow fades into clouds of sand.
Yusei remembers his body in the desert; Kiryu holds him just as tight now as he did through the blizzard. The curve of his palms clutching Yusei's back says enough; the hitch in his breath says the rest. Yusei threads his fingers through the silver strands of Kiryu’s hair and smiles, pulling him down into his sleeping bag.
He curls into Yusei without a word, resting his head in the crook of his neck.