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They’re at the market, hand in hand.
3000 years ago, such a thing wouldn’t only be blasphemous but a sure fire way to his execution for daring to even graze any span of divine flesh of the mortal Horus.
Yet here they are, weaving around the crowd and stalls alike in search for fresh produce to cook dinner tonight.
Here they are, pro heroes in their damn civvies and living a life that’d been impossible once upon a time.
The dunce -Kaminari, he’s Kaminari now because no matter what era, the thrice damned Pharaoh has always been too clever for anyone’s own good- holds his hand without hesitation. In this life, even with the war, is far kinder than how things used to be in Kemet and its evident in the playful grin that used to be a rare occurrence in their millennias of existence. The elegant gait and lithe shoulders are considerably lighter, free from the burden of duty, justice and destiny that the Pharaoh used to wear unflinchingly to the bitter end and even beyond that.
Kaminari laughs and jokes and is as playful as the once boy-king he glimpsed of in the safety of shadows before he grew aware of the sins his family and royal court.
Once upon a time, his hatred and thirst for vengeance had outweighed any affection, mercy or even love he had for the Pharaoh.
Once upon a time, the Pharaoh’s duty and destiny had outweighed that same love clear in his eyes even as he led his priests into a living nightmare of Zorc’s doing.
It was war.
It was vengeance.
It was justice.
It was destiny.
They died, killed by each other’s Shadows.
They both loved and hated each other in equal measure.
They were of different castes.
They damned themselves to madness and isolation for 3000 years for fuck sake!
Yet here they are.
But they were doomed once, who’s to say it won’t happen again–
He’s torn away from his musings when Kaminari gives his hand a sudden sharp tug, stopping them in their tracks.
Scowling, he raises a brow in question. “What?”
Kaminari doesn’t say anything for a long while, face contemplative. His eyes flit across his face before his features settle into something fierce before the other pro hero steps forward, eyes firm and determined. Its a look he’s seen countless of times in the past across battlefields and countless of duels. He’s even seen glimpses of it during fights or missions in their new life before they even began to recall memories of their shared past.
And even though they were in different places during the war, he suspects that thrice damned unflinching spirit had tried to break the surface back then too. He knows that if either of them could’ve wield their magic during the war, things would’ve gone very differently.
(Afterall, he still remembers the raw chaos of lightning storms and the deafening roar of Osiris above Kemet and much later, on the Battle City blimp, summoned by the command of the boy-king bathed in gold).
“What?” He repeats, the growl in his tone lacking any bite. Soft in a way that only the Pharaoh has ever earned. “If ya want a duel or some shit because I know that look, then its gotta wait after dinner, dumbass.”
The determined look softens as Kaminari chuckles, closing the distance between them until their chests are almost touching. Tilting his head up, the Pharaoh smirks at him.
“Kiss me, Akefia.”
He startles, almost flinching back in hearing his original name fall from the Pharaoh’s lips but the hand holding his tightens and he doesn’t go far. The words are said softly, for his ears only and in their mother tongue, the ancient language a nostalgic comfort to his soul.
In a flash, Akefia sees the boy-king as the desert wind whips that wild tri-coloured hair around Atem’s beautiful face. The crown sits heavy on his brow even as bloodstained lips breaks into a grim smirk.
Then the Pharaoh squeezes his hand, the smirk softening into something wistful.
“Kiss me, Bakura.”
Yami stands before him, wrapped in leather and chains and borrowed pale skin. The words are spoken in Arabic, the language their once home now speaks and Bakura stands still as Yami raises a hand to caress his head and hair like a halo. It’s a lover’s gesture that has long since faded in the sands of time and yet even with a borrowed face and voice, the Pharaoh was still so stupidly beautiful.
“Kiss me,” Denki murmurs in Japanese now, cupping his cheek as he smiles up at him, the love in his violet-gold eyes an unflinching constant in every lifetime they’ve lived. “Katsuki.”
Between the both of them, they know the importance of names and each of his was spoken with care. With love. With all the weight of their past and their present. With the unspoken promise to be better- together.
They’re standing in the middle of a market with people weaving around them without a care, in a world where they can finally just be people without the weight of vengeance, duty, justice or even destiny to bind them. He stares down at Denki, leaning into his touch, sees the promise of a shared future too and smiles back.
Fuck it, doomed again or not, this is their life to live.
Kiss me, Atem-Yami-Denki says.
And Akefia-Bakura-Katsuki leans down, doing just that.