Chapter Text
Springtime is a dream for those that have a fondness in their hearts for vibrant colors. Fresh blooms and greenery makes for the perfect backdrop and the sun glows at just the right radiance to set it aglow. There’s energy practically buzzing in the air and everywhere is vibrating with renewed life.
It was for those reasons that Atem chose the life path of photography, chasing the desire to capture those perfect moments in a still frame to treasure for years to come.
He’d learned quickly in his young life that he’d had an exceptional eye for color. It had become a knack of his to find complementary balances within a photo or even just capturing the most unique shades. Through trial and error, he’d finally settled on specializing in wildlife and landscapes, something he finds easy enough to navigate.
In truth, it’s mostly due to his innate social battery being permanently set to low. There are few he truly thrives around, mostly just his close friends and family, but beyond those, Atem enjoys the peace and quiet he gets within the solitary aspects of his job, broken only by the nature’s tunes and the shutter of his camera lens.
His latest contract leads Atem to a nearby botanical garden, tasked with capturing the new additions on display for the exhibits butterfly gardens. At first inspection, Atem’s awed by the sheer size of the grounds, numerous species blending together in perfect harmony and he finds himself spending an entire day just walking the carefully laid paths. By the end of the day, he has more pictures of the foliage and flowers than he does butterflies.
He’s excited to return the following day, freshly charged batteries in his prized camera and a blank memory card set inside it. While he’s still distracted by the area, he’s better able to focus on the job he’s been hired for.
The list of butterflies requested is lengthy, given to him upon hire with names and pictures, though he manages to get through it fairly quickly due to the sheer number of wings fluttering throughout the air around him. It also helps that foot traffic is low, not many out to appreciate the exhibit on a Tuesday morning.
As it stands, by early afternoon there’s only one left to be captured before he can return to his home office to develop, edit, and submit the highlights to his employer.
He’s in no apparent rush. For the hour that follows, Atem continues to wander the grounds at a leisurely pace, his camera lifted to his head as he occasionally snaps a picture every now and then.
Just as Atem’s focusing the lens on a faraway bush of blooming red roses, a flash of blue flutters past the field of view. He lowers the camera, garnet eyes squinting as he focuses on the direction it’s heading.
A Silver-Studded Blue.
From the brief description he'd studied, Atem knows it’s rare around these lands, with blue wings framed in black and silver accents along the edge. Even from a distance, he’s almost positive that’s the last one needed to complete his list.
He sets off, catching up to it easily. It’s agile in the air, wings carrying it through loops and dancing in the breeze that flows through the mesh canopy above. Atem's skilled at moving shots, but this little bug seems better at avoiding him.
Still, Atem gives chase, camera now hanging from the strap securing it around his neck, until he’s brought to a much less defined path. Watching the blue wings flap away, Atem pauses, wondering if this path is meant for visitors, but he’s already too determined to stop.
He hurries down the path, but soon finds that he needs to duck stray branches, his feet tripping on the uneven ground. Just when he thinks to turn back, he comes to a small clearing. He stops along the edge, finding the space open, though overgrown with flora and overflowing vines. It’s definitely more wild here, unlike the carefully sculpted bushes and intricately designed flower beds in the main areas.
Lifting his camera, Atem surveys the area more closely, searching for that splash of blue amongst a sea of green.
His heart jumps when the color pops into his view. Blindly stepping forward, he follows it again through the narrowed view of his lens.
He stops only when the butterfly lands on a patch of milky white, but Atem freezes when he realizes it’s another person. He zooms out a smidge, finding a man sitting on a small stone bench, a book open on his lap. He's a vision of golden and ebony curls that frame the soft slopes of his face, with creamy skin along the plane's Atem was privy to. It’s a stark contrast to Atem’s sun-blessed tone, but the perfect shade to compliment the pastels and greenery that flow around him, like the man was actually painted into the scene before him.
Atem approaches on careful and silent steps, allowing himself to get just close enough to hear the man as he speaks.
“Hello there, little guy.” The man’s voice is as soft as the petals blooming nearby. Gently, he lifts his hand, admiring the butterfly that joined his company. “Aren’t you just beautiful?” He breathes in subtle awe.
Admittedly, Atem is thinking much of the same, though his sights are far from the wings he’d followed there.
The man angles his head just right, allowing his eyes to flash through the camera. They’re such a bright shade of blue and so pure, one might just drown in the sheer depths of their beauty.
Just when Atem thinks that perhaps this man really is a mere figment of his imagination, some mirage in the otherwise desert of his daydreams, he hears him speak again. This time the words are aimed in his direction.
“I think we have a visitor.” When Atem focuses his attention again, those clear blue pools are on him. Something in his chest flips and his lips twitch into an almost smile. “What do you say, little guy,” he asks the butterfly, an amused tilt to lips. “Should we say hello?”
That’s Atem’s opening, though he’s taking an embarrassing long time to take it. His feet finally bring him forward and he stiffly lowers the camera from his face, bridging the remaining distance separating them.
Atem ducks his head sheepishly as he apologies. “Sorry, I… I didn't mean to hover.” He stops just before the stone bench and the man is sitting on it. With effort, his eyes move back to the reason he’s there. The butterfly is still sitting comfortably on the man’s wrist, moving occasionally with a lazy flex of its wings. He explains, “It’s just… I’ve been trying to capture that one all day now.”
A frown pulls along the man's delicate features. “You were going to take it away?”
“Oh, no.” Atem raises the camera hanging from his neck. “I mean, I’ve been trying to take a picture of it.”
It’s only then does it seem like the other notices the camera, his eye’s brightening in recognition.
“You’re a photographer?” he asks, but Atem barely registers the question, too focused on how the light peaking through the canopy above them hits his irises just right. It transforms them to jewels right before Atem’s very eyes.
Atem’s suddenly unable to form words, so instead, he nods. He inclines his head, absently adjusting the focus of the lens and unsure why there’s heat rising along the arch of his cheeks.
When Atem doesn’t offer more, the other says, “Silver-Studded Blue. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” he nods, holding it a bit closer. “Probably because of its color. It's the one I can see the best.” The statement confuses Atem, something that must show on his face for the other man provides, “I'm colorblind.”
"Ah," is the best that Atem can come up with, the flush deepening even more.
The other doesn't seem to notice, as he's still admiring butterfly. “Plebejus argus.”
Atem looks up, bemusement lining his face. "Bless you?"
The man's laugh is so soft, but probably the sweetest sound Atem's ever heard in his short life.
"No, silly," the man tells him with a shake of his head."Plebejus argus. It's the scientific name for it."
Atem’s no expert, but as he hears it a second time he recognizes the wording. He produces the small pamphlet given to him by his employer from his back pocket, already folded open to show the butterfly he'd been after. Below the image, it reads exactly what the other had spoken. “That’s right." He looks back to this mysterious man. "How did you know?”
The man shrugs easily. “My grandfather was an entomologist.” He looks up to the clear sky, his expression turning almost bittersweet. “He used to go on and on about bugs all day long. I guess some things stuck.”
Before Atem can respond, the butterfly takes flight again, disappearing into the thicker foliage. Atem lifts his camera again, snapping photos that he knows won’t hold up to his self-declared standards.
He’s just about to set chase again, before he hears, “Do you always watch the world through your camera?”
Atem lowers the camera, turning to the man still sitting there. “I suppose it’s part of the job,” He offers as an explanation, “If I don’t, I might miss the perfect shot.”
The other man hums, the sound floating on a soft brush of wind.
Atem’s brow furrows along his forehead. “What?”
Leaning back a bit, the man settles his weight on his hands. “I just think there’s some things that can’t be captured in a photograph.”
The mere suggestion of that pulls a laugh from Atem. “If there is, I haven’t found it yet.”
“Maybe you’re not looking in the right places," he counters.
The notion is hard to believe, having been in the business long enough and having never failed at a project. If anything, Atem had a reputation of exceeding his clients expectations.
Still, there’s something so enchanting about this man that has Atem wanting to believe his words. Before he can travel further down that train of thought, the other man’s voice brings him back to the present.
“Welcome back, friend.”
This time, Atem’s eyes land on the butterfly, only it’s taken refuge along the edge of Yugi’s hairline, right above his ear. It’s a splash of bright blue framed in gold. When it's still, it could easily pass as a flower tucked carefully behind his ear.
Slowly, the butterfly flexes its wings. They catch the light, the blue turning a nearly iridescent violet in the fading afternoon sun beams. The man’s eyes curve upward, and Atem’s breath catches in his throat. The sunlight has an identical effect on the man’s blue eyes, and Atem’s momentarily awestruck.
“Well go on,” the man prompts in a whispered breath. He smiles, eyes shifting back to Atem. "Now's your chance.”
Atem swallows past the sudden dryness in his throat, heart beating so loud in his ears he barely hears the man’s offer. It’s even harder to focus with those lustrous eyes pinned on him.
“Do you mind?” he asks, hands gripping the camera a little tighter than necessary.
The man’s lips curve into a soft smile. “Not at all.”
When Atem lifts the camera now, it feels heavier than usual. He’s so hesitant to take his eyes off the man, afraid to even blink. Still, he manages to bring the camera to position and into focus. As objectively as possible, he snaps as many photos as he can. The rapid click of the shutter frightens the butterfly, and in the next moment it’s fluttering away again.
As Atem lowers the camera, the man asks with an air of hope, “Did you get it?”
Atem’s nods, eyes following the camera as he lowers it from his face. “I think so,” he says, then adds a hushed, “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” A quiet moment passes between them, then the man says, “I’m really sorry but I have to run.” There’s a surge of panic that shoots through Atem, his gut twisting at the thought of making the other uncomfortable. He's just about to apologize when he catches sight of that breathtaking smile only a foot away. The man stands only an inch or two shorter than him, holding his book to the center of his chest. “It was really nice meeting you." He offers a friendly hand between them. “My name’s Yugi, by the way.”
“Yes,” Atem says dumbly, before blinking rapidly, a feeble attempt to gather his bearings. “I mean, it was really nice meeting you, too.” He slides his hand into Yugi’s, their palms fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. Just when he thinks he’s forgotten his own name, he murmurs roughly, “Atem.” He coughs to clear his throat, offering a more proper smile. “My name's Atem.”
They stand there for a beat longer, lingering in the mid-afternoon light before Yugi pulls his hand back. Atem tries really hard not to let the disappointment show on his face.
“Maybe I’ll see you around again, Atem?” Yugi asks, and there's a subtle shyness to his movements now, in the way he inclines his head to look at Atem through a fan of long, black lashes. “I like to take my lunch breaks here when the weather's nice enough.”
Now words completely fail Atem, so a nod is his only answer. He just can't seem to pull himself together in the presence of such flawless beauty.
Yugi doesn't seem to mind, as his responding smile is brighter than the sun.
A moment later, Yugi turns, but before he leaves, he glances over his shoulder. “After all," he says, a playful lilt to his voice, "there’s always something beautiful to admire around here.”
Atem doesn’t move from his spot, unable to as he watches Yugi disappear down the path. Once out of sight, Atem still stands there for what he’s sure is a stupid amount of time.
Slowly, Atem lifts his hand, the same one that Yugi held only minutes before. He’s left wondering how a man he barely knows could elicit such a reaction from him, making his heart race and the skin of his palm tingle even after he's long gone.
Just then, a blue butterfly lands in the center of his palm. His laugh comes out in a soft exhale. “Well, not what I quite had in mind for a wingman,” Atem says, "but I owe you one for that."