Chapter Text
At the same time the door slams shut behind Atem—heavy as the regret he can’t help but feel at losing his final duel, at losing Yugi, and losing the world before him—the world ahead of him goes dark.
The fleeting figures in the light he saw not a moment ago from the other side, from Yugi’s side, disappear before him, abruptly swallowed by shadows.
He blinks. The air leaves him.
His heart stops. It falls to the pit of his stomach.
This can’t be right.
The shadows grow darker, pressing in, along with the intense sensation that something went terribly wrong here.
No, this isn’t right.
It’s not supposed to be like this. This much Atem knows.
Atem does not want this. He wants—
No. He spins around, cursing himself for that split second he allowed himself to want, with such childish hope, to go back. For of course, the door is gone, too.
Still, he reaches out his hand, desperate for it to find something. And still, it’s gone. His hand finds nothing. Yugi, his friends, his new life. His afterlife.
Gone.
The realization is dawning, or more so pressing, down on Atem’s mind. His hands find his face, then his mouth. He feels like he might be sick.
Atem opens his mouth to scream, but before any sound comes out, he’s falling, and before he gets the chance to even wonder what this could mean or what could come next, Atem is gone, too.
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Yugi trails behind Anzu, eyes darting everywhere and at everything. He can’t look away from anything, but can’t take it all in at once, either.
Something strange swells inside of him, a lost excitement he hasn’t felt in who knows how long. The lights, and sounds, and smells, and so many different people, everywhere.
Like everywhere. It is very disorganized.
“Yugi, c’mon,” Anzu tugs at his wrist. “We haven’t even left the airport yet. I can’t wait any longer.”
Anzu pulls Yugi ahead through the crowd, as Yugi pulls his eyes away from a boarding flight that’s bound for Cairo. His hand briefly grazes his chest, where the puzzle used to hang. Yugi drops it as soon as he realizes what he’s doing.
And like that, his new excitement suddenly feels so insignificant.
“It looks just like any other airport,” Anzu smiles down at Yugi, but her face is pinched, “except way more chaotic than Narita.”
“Yeah, you could say that—Oof!” Yugi runs into Anzu, stopped to let a frantic family dash past.
“Sorry, Yugi.”
“T’sokay,” Yugi looks at Anzu’s back. There’s a tension there Yugi doesn’t often see. “Hey, Anzu.”
“What’s up?” She starts walking again, her pace brisker.
“Um,” Yugi nearly has to run to match her, his carry on almost clipping his heels with each stride. “Are you okay?”
“I just want to get our bags and get out of here,” she huffs. “Maybe then I’ll start feeling more excited…”
Yugi understands, nodding though she can’t see him.
Maybe she really is just stressed and tired from their long, long flights. Yugi is dying to get out of these airports and into some fresh air.
But it’s something about the way she’s stressed out that bothers Yugi.
He thinks.
This is it for her. This is her journey just beginning.
They’re in New York City. Anzu is getting ready for her first semester at her new dance school. She’s been dreaming of coming here for her whole life, saving for years and years, and now she’s finally here. Here to make her dreams actually happen. Here to start her journey.
Yugi wonders what he would feel like, if he were in her place right now. If he were about to go and get his dream.
Ever since that day, he’s only had one.
Stupid. He knows that could never happen.
His mind returns to Anzu. To her journey just beginning.
He remembers a time when everyone said that about him.
His journey is supposed to still be just beginning, not so far ahead of Anzu’s. His own journey should still be just starting.
So then why does it feel like it’s already ended?
It’s not supposed to be like this.
Yugi shakes his head. This isn’t about him now. And besides, that’s all lost in the past, buried under ruins and rubble over four years ago. Now is her time.
She’s taken the first step on her journey. Yugi could almost be envious.
But, he isn’t.
It must feel so surreal, is all.
Yugi thinks of what to tell her.
Anzu finally slows down as they reach a long line.
“Ah shoot, I forgot about customs,” she moans.
“I have our papers here somewhere.” Yugi starts fishing for them in his jacket. He doesn’t let go when he hands Anzu her forms.
Their fingertips touch, and Yugi pulls her gently closer.
“Anzu, I, um, I know this must be all so new for you, and a lot. Being here finally. But you’ve known you could do this ever since you told Jonouchi and I about your dream," Yugi looks down. "Well, and I’m sure for even much longer than that, but anyway,” Yugi takes a deep breath, feeling stupid.
But he means every word.
He looks a little deeper.
The next words come out sure and easy, steady in a way his voice, if he could even call it his, hasn’t sounded like in a long while.
“I know you can do this. Ever since you told me, when we were sixteen. I’ve known. I know you. I know you have the courage. But more importantly,” he smiles at her, just something small, tugging at the corner of his lips, “I know you know it, too.”
Anzu’s eyes soften, something in them Yugi can’t quite place.
“Okay, Anzu?”
“Thank you, Yugi,” she says. “Thank you…For coming with me, to see me off. I need you here for this. I’m…” Anzu’s eyes grow almost sad. “I’m really going to miss you when you go back.”
Yugi looks down. He hasn’t told her yet. He’s not sure he’s going back.
But then again, he’s not sure he’s staying here, either.
He doesn’t know where he’s going.
“Yeah, I mean,” Yugi smiles, pushing down his discomfort. “I’m–”
“Excuse me?” A loud voice behind them makes Yugi jump. He didn’t notice they were holding up the line.
“Sorry,” he mutters, letting Anzu pull him forward once more.
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Yugi knocks, but there’s no answer.
He knocks again, and hears something fall.
He tries the door. It's unlocked.
“Anzu—“ Yugi pushes the door open, but slams into it hard when it abruptly stops against something. It knocks the air out of him. He peers inside, and the next thing he knows, he’s laughing. Hard. “This is insane!”
The words slip out before Yugi can stop himself, but luckily he ducks before the empty Pepsi can she throws whacks him across his head.
“That’s the thanks I get for coming to help you unpack?”
“Stop it!” Anzu whines from her spot in the corner, where she is quite literally boxed in. Yugi can hear the smile in her voice, though. “I’m the one who has to live here! Soon you get to run back to your actual human-sized room in Domino City…”
Yugi has to sidle into her dorm in order to shut the door behind him.
“You shipped way too much stuff.” Yugi finds a sturdy box and sits on it, dropping his bag on what little floor there is, letting the sudden giggles drift away.
He feels weird when they’re gone. He could almost wonder if they were ever there to begin with.
“I’m well aware,” Anzu slumps down on a chair, set up in a makeshift sort of way. “It’s small, but at least no roommate,” Anzu puts her chin in her hands, “though I’m thinking now that was a mistake.”
“What do you mean?” Yugi’s eyes drift up to find hers. They meet his with no fanfare.
“Nothing. What have you been doing with yourself the last few days?”
Nothing, is what Yugi doesn’t say.
In a sudden movement, Anzu sits up straight, then stands. All she has to do is turn on her heel, and she’s in her kitchen, if you could even call it that.
“It has a hotplate and a microwave, what else do I need?” She mumbles, as if she can hear Yugi’s thoughts. “Do you want coffee? Tea?” Yugi watches Anzu put on a kettle, then sift around a crate at her feet. “I haven’t had time to put everything in its right place yet…There’s been so much orientation at school these last few days, I haven’t been able to orient myself here at all!”
“Anzu, sit down,” Yugi insists, suddenly. Then he’s standing. “Let me do that…Tell me what’s been going on.”
Yugi’s surprised at the confidence rising in his voice again. He pushes it back. Sometimes when he sounds like that, he sounds almost like…Well, he can’t let his mind linger there.
He sighs. “Please.”
Anzu sits back down, eyes never leaving him. “You…” Something odd passes through her eyes. It’s the same thing from the airport, Yugi thinks. But just like that, it’s gone. “You sound like Jonouchi.”
“Do you want coffee or tea?”
After a short time, they’re back in their respective spots, sipping tea. They couldn’t find the coffee filters.
Anzu is gone in her own world, her eyes staring past her window. The afternoon light cascades over her hair, making it glow warm. Yugi watches her watch the world. And waits.
“I feel like,” Anzu says, breaking their silence. Yugi listens. “I don’t know anyone here. And I…” Her voice is tired. “I know I should be excited, but I suddenly won’t have you, or Jonouchi, or Honda, or anyone I’ve known or anyone who knows me, who gets me, just there anymore. And,” her grip around the mug tightens. “…I’m scared, Yugi.”
Yugi rubs his thumb in a circle on his blue mug. He knows what she’s thinking. They’ve been through this before, after all.
“I don’t want it to happen again,” she says. “I don’t know if I can handle it, all over again.”
“I know,” Yugi tries to swallow back the lump that hasn’t gone away for days. For years, if he’s honest. “I know.”
“I miss him,” Anzu says.
It catches Yugi off guard.
And, for a split second, the Anzu before him is gone. And in front of him, he sees the Anzu from that day four years ago, crying before those ancient, tired stone steps, begging Atem for an answer, for a reason, begging him to make it make sense. Begging him not to leave.
And he sees her, on his bedroom floor with him, for countless nights, nights on end, in the weeks that followed. They would exchange those same words again, and again, and again, which sound so foreign in her mouth now, after all this time.
I miss him.
Anzu is looking at him, a little freaked out.
“I’m sorry—Maybe that’s stupid, or selfish, of me to say still. I mean, you and him were…”
“It’s not,” Yugi says, quickly. How could missing him ever be stupid? “And it’s not going to happen again, either. We’re not dying, Anzu.”
“I know,” Anzu snaps, looking back out the window. Her shoulders slump, and her next words are softer. “It’ll just be different, again, is all.”
“Different…” That’s an understatement, Yugi thinks.
It was different, when Atem left.
Moved on.
Died.
The word crosses Yugi’s mind before he can stop it.
Yugi shuts his eyes. Something deep inside of him aches.
He hates thinking of it that way, but he needs to. If he wants to move on, too. Because, well, that’s what happened, isn’t it?
When Atem died.
It was hard.
Jonouchi burnt the moments into his memories, embracing the end of Atem’s journey in order to accept it.
Yugi has the truth that it was his duty as the one who solved the Millennium Puzzle to send Atem off to rest after so, so long. And that knowledge is all he needs in order to accept it.
Right?
Well, it doesn’t matter.
He’s accepted it.
And he’s moving on.
What does Anzu have, in order to move on?
“I’m not strong like you, Yugi,” Anzu sighs, curling up into her chair.
“Strong like me?” Yugi could almost laugh. “I’m only strong because I have my friends.”
“Then how do you do it?” Anzu spits the question out. It startles Yugi. And now, her eyes are locked onto his with such an intensity, he can’t even think of looking away. “Tell me how to do it, Yugi. Without him, Yugi. How do you do it? Without you, and—and Jonouchi and Honda, and him. How will I do it?”
“How do I…” Yugi can’t speak all of a sudden.
Without him.
Yugi has accepted it. He has to have, so he can help Anzu right now, he has to have accepted it.
Life, without him. That was his duty. His fate. What he had to do. It was right. Right for himself, and right for Atem.
So then why on earth does it still feel so damn wrong?
Without him.
How is he supposed to accept it?
Yugi opens his mouth again, but Yugi can’t speak.
Yugi can’t breathe.
Yugi can’t sleep.
For nights, for weeks, and months, now years. Yugi can’t sleep, because he can’t stand waking up.
Waking up, and opening his eyes to nothing. To no puzzle by his head, and no partner at his bed.
How many times did the other him startle him out of sleep? Talk to him when he couldn’t get back to sleep? Sit with him when the weight of their burden caught up with him before he could stop it, in those dangerous moments suspended between sleep and wake?
How many times would the other him—No, Atem—just be there with him, hour after eternal hour, in silence inside him. In a comfort so deep, Yugi would dream while being awake. In the relentless, ever present knowing that every breath they had was shared and every heartbeat of one was felt by two.
Those nights.
The currents of their minds would flow together, becoming one so effortlessly, sometimes Yugi couldn’t tell who was in charge and when.
Late at night, when the world was quiet and still and all theirs.
Their lines would blur, but both were there, caught between reality and mind, switching back and forth, between one and the other until there was no other, and they simply were, existing as one.
And it’s all gone.
And it’s all his fault.
How does he do it, Yugi remembers Anzu asked.
Yugi thinks he’s laughing. Because it’s ridiculous, isn’t it?
How does he do it?
How could he do it?
“Yugi?”
Isn’t the answer obvious?
Yugi’s heart only beats for one, now. His breath stops whenever he opens his eyes.
There is no other, and Yugi can’t stand being one.
Atem was more than irreplaceable.
He doesn’t even startle when Anzu’s hands squeeze his shoulders. She’s in front of him now. His face is wet.
“I don’t, Anzu,” Yugi says, low, and steady, and surer that he’s felt about anything else in his life. “I don’t do it. I can’t do it. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Oh Yugi,” Anzu scoops him up in a fierce hug before he even realizes he’s falling. “I didn’t know you were still hurting like this…” Anzu holds him.
Yugi can’t stop crying, no matter how stupid he feels for crying now, so many years later. He thinks he’s saying something, too, but he can’t stop that, either. It sounds distant and far away. I miss him. I miss him. I miss him.
“Talk to me, Yugi,” Anzu says. She’s crying too. Yugi realizes they’re both on the floor now, and he’s holding her, too. “Tell me about it. Share it with me, Yugi, please.”
Those words make Yugi cry harder.
Tell Anzu about it? How could he?
With words?
What words could be sacred enough for the immaculate sunlight, which soothes the tired earth?
The unspeakable covenant hidden in the songs of birds?
What words could hold that?
The peace of deep outer space, untouched and unknown by man. Dark, and true, and pure, which holds all the secrets of the universe.
Atem was every secret, and Atem was every answer.
Atem was the first break of light early in the morning, and the first coo of baby animals, late in the spring.
Atem was the earth quaking, the secret language of ancient plates deep below the surface, whispering with each other, trading secrets long lost to man.
Atem was the relentless thunderstorm, which brought with it the harsh lightning. But Atem was also the unrivalled perfume of the sky, signaling the rain would soon fall, and begin the earth anew.
Atem was why Yugi understands what happiness is, and why he understands that he will never have it again.
Yugi will never have it again.
Tell Anzu?
Yugi wants to laugh.
There just aren’t words.
“I’ve never…” Yugi coughs for a moment, though his sobs have long since died out. He doesn’t feel stupid anymore. “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped hurting, Anzu.”
Yugi’s eyes finally find Anzu’s.
And those words are painfully inadequate, but they are all he has now.
“I’m sorry I never told you,” Yugi says.
“I’m sorry, I never noticed,” Anzu holds him tight for a few more moments, then slowly lets him go.
Yugi sits back and looks at the floor between them, etched and scratched from who knows how many years and years of students before Anzu. He feels like every emotion he’ll ever feel again for the rest of his life, he just felt all at once. And now there’s nothing left.
He remembers a similar time, being like this, four years ago, jetlagged and crumpled on his bedroom floor with Anzu and Jonouchi both around him, holding him, and letting him cry. And holding them, too, while they cried. Cried, and screamed, and grieved.
Of course he is still hurting.
Of course, Anzu is still hurting.
Hell, he knows Jonouchi and Honda are still hurting, too, no matter how hard they pretend like they aren’t.
But…Would it be selfish of him to think that there is no way they hurt could like he does?
He doesn’t want to say it to them, but he knows. His hurt is different. Anzu and Jonouchi and Honda. Time will help their hurt. This he is absolutely sure of.
But how could time help him?
“He was you,” Anzu says, so quietly, Yugi nearly misses it, but Anzu’s cheeks go red, and give her away.
“I thought he was you, for a long time. I thought he was just another side of you,” she continues. Yugi nods. This isn’t the first time she’s said this. “You told me he wasn’t. He was an entirely different person altogether. And he would have to…Go. Eventually. He even told me, too. Atem.”
“Sometimes it feels…” Yugi starts, before he can stop himself.
“It feels like maybe he really was you.”
“Yeah,” Yugi admits. “I mean, he wasn’t,” Yugi knows, “but at the same time. I’m…Missing something inside of me I’ll never get back. I just feel like maybe he was me, after all. Like he was really my soul, or just a different part of it. Maybe from a different time,” Yugi sighs. “I don’t know.”
“You’re not the same,” Anzu says. It’s quiet, and sure. Yugi wonders how long she’s been thinking that. “Since Atem. You’re not the same.”
Yugi’s eyes catch hers. He feels like he should be shocked, or surprised, or offended or something at those words, but he isn’t. Because, well. “I’m not.”
“How could you be?”
Anzu takes his hand in hers. She rubs her fingers over his silver rings for a few moments, then squeezes.
Maybe Yugi doesn’t need all those words to tell Anzu exactly what he has lost. Maybe Anzu understands, as best as she can, what Yugi feels, and what Yugi is now.
“Anzu,” he says. He feels some sort of peace. For just this moment.
It’s the first sliver of peace he thinks he’s known for a while. He knows it won’t last, but still. He needs to hold onto it, for as long as he can manage.
“Yugi?”
Anzu knows what Yugi was, and now is, and has stayed. Still, after it all.
“Thank you.”
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Atem is falling.
At first, he is terrified.
But with time.
It gives over to a lull.
He releases himself into it, allowing the sensation to wash over him until he could be flying. The darkness gives way to nothingness. And peace, like the first time a baby sleeps.
Eventually, Atem sleeps.
And Atem sleeps.
And sleeps.
So deep, and for so long.
He dreams of everything.
He dreams of distant stars as if he came from them.
He dreams of distant planets and solar systems, far, far beyond what any man could even hope to dream of knowing the existence of, for as long as humans will live.
He dreams of the cosmos, and of the galaxies. And of suns, and moons. Of wormholes, and blackholes, and secrets.
He dreams of Earth, as magma, and lava. Violent and angry. The plates ever forming, and flowing, and crashing, and fighting.
He dreams of the planet frozen over, for millions and billions of years that pass by like nothing at all, and end in a violent rainstorm that lasts just as long.
Atem dreams of the ancient beasts, of living monoliths that once roamed the earth, bigger than should ever be possible.
But was, at one time.
And time, and time again, extinction after extinction after rebirth.
Atem dreams of time.
It appears to him as a current. Strong, and forceful, and unforgiving. But flexible, ever evolving, with countless tributaries that move and stretch beyond every direction Atem can see and can’t see, beyond anything Atem could ever imagine, and it makes him feel so insignificant.
Time passes.
Atem dreams of the first trees.
And of the first people to ever walk the earth, and of those that came before them.
Atem dreams of the first fire, and of dances that tell stories, and of the first time the universe heard laughter, and of sounds that grow and evolve to become all the languages of the world.
Atem dreams of the pyramids.
He dreams of heavy stone slabs. He dreams of his people. Their death. The smell of blood and decay, and sweat. The labor of thousands and thousands. Of ropes, and burns, and cries. All in the name of light, he dreams of the pyramids.
He dreams of the pharaohs. Of all the kings which came before him, for hundreds and thousands of years, and make his time reigning as the eternal pharaoh feel like a pebble in the Nile.
He dreams of their tombs. And of mazes, and traps, and death again.
The hallways are long, and winding, and confusing. Atem finds himself lost in tunnels of stone and carving that should look old, but appear new before him.
Atem dreams of Siamun.
And of Seto.
And Mana
And Mahad.
And Isis.
And everyone.
He dreams of his father.
He dreams of his father’s smile, and his robust, rare laugh, and his cinnamon wood scent, which would wash over Atem when he would lift him up close, to bask in the glory of their land which stretched endlessly before them. Of bazaars, and children, and elders, and sand rich with memories.
Their people.
Atem dreams of his people.
Of Honda. And Mai. Of Shizuka, and Otogo. Bakura and Kaiba.
He dreams of Jonouchi. He dreams of their duel, their real one.
He dreams of Anzu. Of her laugh, and of the way the heart that wasn’t his would beat for her, whenever he spoke her name.
He dreams of Yugi.
He dreams of Yugi for a long time.
Of chains, and collars, and soft leather and spiked studs. Of rings, and bracelets, and black nail polish. The spice of his incense, and the sweetness of his shampoo. The melting wax of his candles, which he never would clean out of the votive holders even after the hot wax would flow over, and spill on the floor, burning beautiful patterns into wood.
Atem once spent a whole evening scraping that wax off the floor while Yugi laughed and laughed in his head.
All of these things were his once, too.
He dreams of when Yugi first realized he was there. Scared, and hesitant, at first. But then curious, and kind.
Yugi was so kind.
He dreams of when Yugi accepted him, when their memories became one.
He dreams of the first time he could speak with him, too.
And the first time Yugi spoke back.
And how many hours and days and weeks and months did they spend, silently talking. Crafting secrets, and stories, and jokes no one could understand. He remembers teasing Yugi over his shoulder, and the surprise when Yugi would tease back, even when others were watching.
Yugi never cared who stared at them.
Atem dreams of Yugi’s smile, and his voice, and his laughter, which somehow were so different from Atem’s.
Atem’s laugh never sounded so sweet.
He could almost curse himself, for taking such beauty out of the same smile, the same body. The same laugh.
The same voice.
Yugi’s voice.
He dreams of Yugi’s voice.
And his eyes, so beautiful and bright. Before Atem would take over.
Atem’s eyes were never so open.
He dreams of the Tablet of Lost Memories.
He remembers how Yugi knew he saw it, long before Atem ever told him.
Yugi just knew. So many things about Atem, and so many things Atem never knew about himself, Yugi just knew. And accepted, without question.
Even when he should have asked.
Atem dreams of his very first memories. Of opening his eyes, and seeing the Millennium Puzzle before him, and the overwhelming feeling. The intense, repressed, locked up emotions of a boy who had been hurt and put down, time and time again.
All he knew, at the time, was that he needed to help him, to get what was his back, and get revenge for him from the people who caused him such pain, and needed to suffer for it.
Yugi never thought anyone should suffer.
Atem once did.
Yugi never felt such anger, such hatred, and such meaningless, spiteful satisfaction at winning a game.
Atem once did.
Yugi knew how to win without hurting others.
Atem nearly killed his friend to win, once.
Yugi knew how to lose.
Atem still can’t seem to figure that one out.
He wants to, though.
Atem dreams. And dreams, and dreams.
And wants.
He remembers what he wants.
Slowly, he feels his body.
It returns to him. He doesn’t recall it leaving.
He feels sensation. First in his toes, to the ends of his fingertips. His face. The sensation of his tears on his face.
Sounds begin to come back to him, too, but he can’t seem to make anything out for a long while.
And it’s still dark.
And there’s another feeling, too. Something cold under his cheek.
His cheek?
It’s cold.
Sounds swirl around him. He thinks they might be voices.
He thinks of Yugi’s voice, again, willing the dream to return.
These voices don’t belong to Yugi.
“Sir?”
It’s someone else.
“Are you okay?”
It’s a different language, too. Atem wonders why he can understand it.
It’s a language Yugi knew a lot of.
“—Someone call someone!”
“—No, not the police—”
“—I ain’t cleanin’ up after no crackhead!”
Suddenly he feels something weird and rough on his skin, too. And it’s warm, not cold. And the surface beneath him is hard. And it dawns on Atem that he might not be dreaming anymore.
“That’s a child, not a crackhead, Tony.”
Atem isn’t dreaming anymore.
And it’s dark, because his eyes are closed.
“Could be eighteen—”
Atem opens his eyes.
“What is wrong with you?”
It’s really bright. Then blurry, and then people start to come into focus.
“He’s waking up!”
The voice comes from right in front of him. It’s a girl. She has long, beautiful, dark hair. And eyes to match, which are wide with worry.
Atem blinks.
He’s not dreaming. Or falling. Or flying.
He’s back.
And in a body.
His body.
Holy fuck.
Atem sits up with a start. His head is spinning, and he has to catch himself on the floor before he falls again.
“Woah, sir,” she says. “you should stay down.”
“Yeah, yeah, stay down,” another voice says. A man’s voice, from somewhere behind him. The girl in front of him rolls her eyes, ever so subtly.
He looks down at his body, and his cheeks go hot, because he is ass naked. Someone had the decency to throw a jacket over him, at least.
He realizes he’s breathing. His hand flies to his chest, and he feels it. A heartbeat.
His heartbeat.
Atem has his own heartbeat.
He’s alive again.
And he has his own splitting headache, too. And he’s really thirsty.
“Here,” the girl hands him a bottle of water. He looks at it, feeling it, thinking. Looking inside of him, in his heart that’s now his.
It skips a beat, then thuds.
It’s only his.
Where’s Yugi?
He looks up at this girl, at her dark, shining eyes.
“Where am I?”
His voice. It’s rough, and tired, and takes so much effort, like it’s the first time he’s ever spoken.
“I’m sorry, I don’t, um…” The girl looks a little helpless for a moment. And Atem realizes he asked in…Japanese or Ancient Egyptian? He’s not sure.
He tries again, searching the depths of his memories. Of Yugi’s memories. He still has Yugi’s memories. In them is how to speak this language.
“I’m sorry,” he tries again. She looks like she understands. Great. Good. “Where am I?”
“You’re at the Met, sir,” she says. “What happened? Are you okay?”
The Met? Atem doesn’t know what that means. But he knows he’s still thirsty. He more rips than twists the cap off, and downs the whole bottle in one go.
“What’s your name?” Atem asks, wiping away the water that spilled down his chin with the back of his hand. Speaking is easier now, though he still feels like he never won’t be thirsty.
“What?” The girl chuckles, surprised. She can’t be much older than him. He wonders why she keeps calling him sir. He’s no pharaoh here. “I’m Quinn.”
“Quinn,” Atem tries it out. “My name’s Yu–ah, um. Atem. My name’s Atem. Not sir.” And not Yugi.
“Ah sorry, force of habit.” She looks a little embarrassed. Atem could say the same. “Wait. Did you say your name’s Atem?” She looks surprised. “Like the Pharaoh Atem?” And there’s a humor in her voice. Atem could laugh, too. “They just uncovered the lost Pharaoh’s name like a month ago, you know! What are the odds!”
Atem wonders how much time has passed since his duel with Yugi. How long he dreamt. It feels like many eternities over, but also like it was yesterday, all at once.
They uncovered his name a month ago?
Huh.
Maybe it only was yesterday.
“Yeah,” Atem says. “Like the Pharaoh. You could say that.” He feels himself smile. The sensation is incredible.
“Cool,” she smiles too. “Well, you sure picked a funny place to pass out butt naked, then, your highness.”
Atem hears her sarcasm, but doesn’t understand what she means.
“This is the Ancient Egyptian exhibit at the Met,” she tells him, though it comes out like a question. There’s a sly twinkle in her eye. Atem looks around them. “The discovery of the Pharaoh’s lost name, plus this whole traveling part of the exhibit we just obtained—it’s been incredible for the department…”
There’s security guards around him, some on phones. Some look annoyed. And a few people wearing uniforms, just like what Quinn’s wearing, are staring at him.
Some look concerned. Most don’t.
And there are also sculptures. And jewelry. A lot of jewelry. And stones and drawings. And a sarcophagus, behind glass. And a lot of red rope.
A museum.
The Met. Atem has heard of this museum before, when he was with Yugi. It’s in New York City, in America, if he remembers. Where Anzu wanted to go.
“Can we get Atem some real clothes please?” Quinn stands, speaking to one of the people in a uniform.
“I ain’t giving no crackhead our uniform,” another one of them says.
“Does he look like a crackhead, Tony?” Quinn shouts back. “Why would that matter anyway? And these uniforms are chafey as fuck, get him something nice. From the gift shop!”
“Man, I just work here man…”
Atem watches, bemused.
“The museum opens in fifteen, can we get him out of here at least?” Another person chimes in. “Sorry,” she says to him.
“I’m sorry to put you all out,” Atem wants to stand, but would like something more than a jacket, first, truth be told.
“Go find him a towel, at least, something. Jesus.” Quinn takes a couple of steps towards the gaggle of onlookers. “I do need my jacket back…”
And when she moves, Atem sees it.
He inhales sharply, and it takes everything in him not to stand.
After all, it’s right there. On display, behind glass and a red rope and everything, like it’s the main event here. The whole nine yards.
The Tablet of Lost Memories.
He almost can’t believe it.
The cartouche underneath it still has his name scratched out.
And Atem can’t help but smirk. Looks like he’s still missing something.
No wonder the afterlife spit him back out here.