Chapter Text
Yugi is sleeping.
So deeply.
So peacefully.
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t stir.
Not an inch.
And he dreams.
And dreams.
And dreams.
Of everything.
And ever so slowly.
Yugi wakes.
It feels as if it’s the first time he’s ever woken up.
Is this what it felt like?
Atem?
Yugi breathes.
His breath is slow, and steady.
He eventually becomes aware of it.
Atem.
Yugi misses him.
He dreamt of him.
Yugi remembers.
Huh.
Yugi doesn’t usually remember his dreams.
It’s been a long time since he’s slept long enough to dream.
Of anything.
Of Atem.
He wants to go back.
Back into his dream.
Back to Atem.
But Yugi is quickly being pulled from sleep.
Though he tries to fight it.
He knows it’s pointless.
Atem will disappear again.
It makes him want to cry.
He buries his face in the pillow.
It’s soft.
And he is too aware of his breath now.
Despite his best efforts, he’s awake.
He doesn’t want to be.
He hates waking up.
He grasps the comforter, and pulls it up.
It’s heavy.
Heavier than he remembers.
But he doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet.
He doesn’t want to see his empty room.
And empty bed.
And feel his empty heart.
Yugi doesn’t want to face it.
But, he knows he has to.
As is his daily routine.
And it’s time to give up.
He can feel the sun on his face, after all.
What time is it?
Yugi slowly opens his eyes.
He blinks, and blinks again.
The comforter is green, he thinks.
Not purple.
Not his.
And the pillow is too soft.
Slowly, Yugi’s dream comes back to him.
And he shuts his eyes.
His heart pounds.
That was a dream, wasn’t it?
It had to be.
Because this is impossible.
It’s too good to be possible.
And good things like this just don’t happen.
Not to Yugi.
And then, he feels a hand on his waist.
It rests for a moment, then travels.
Up.
And down.
It lands on his hip.
And draws him closer.
Yugi feels himself getting pulled across the silk sheets.
His eyes fly open, and Yugi jumps up, throwing the comforter off of him.
This can’t be real.
But the comforter is fucking heavy.
He gets caught in it, and almost falls to the floor.
Then, strong hands grab him by the hips, and he doesn’t fall.
And a forceful laugh, like an electric guitar, captivates the air.
Yugi scrambles around in bed, catching those twin violet eyes, on the pillow beside him.
“You’re here,” Yugi says, breathless. “I thought you were a dream.”
“You’re here,” Atem chuckles, and his hand falls gently on Yugi’s cheek. “Yugi.”
Atem’s hand travels.
Down Yugi’s face.
Down his neck.
Down his chest.
Where it lands.
Yugi’s hand lands on top.
Atem watches Yugi’s eyes.
So wide.
And beautiful.
And then.
They shift.
It’s subtle.
But Atem sees it.
And feels it.
In the way Yugi’s breath changes.
In the way Yugi’s grip changes.
Yugi takes Atem’s hand, and guides it.
Down.
Down.
Further.
Atem smiles at Yugi.
His memory may not be the best.
But he does remember this.
.
.
.
“Oh, they are out,” Quinn whispers at the sight of the two boys entangled in Atem’s sheets, fast asleep, their clothes scattered. She delicately closes Atem’s door to preserve their dignity. It doesn’t make a sound. “Bless them.”
Anzu takes a step back, so Quinn doesn’t know she was attempting to peak above her tall shoulder. She bumps into Susie, who bumps into Omar.
“Susie, you stepped on my toe,” Omar whines.
“Oh my god, guys,” Quinn groans. “Back up.”
“It is like almost evening,” Omar whispers. “Should we—”
“Do not wake him,” Anzu insists. “Er—them. I have not known Yugi to sleep past seven in the morning in years.”
“Jesus,” Susie mutters. “That’s when I go to bed.”
“Why are you two even here?” Quinn pushes them all down the hallway.
“Bro.”
“It’s the legendary Yugi!” Susie squeals. “We cannot miss this.”
“Tem and Yugi are ride or die, right?” Omar points down the hallway with his thumb. “Well, so are we.” he gestures around the circle.
“Yeah, we want to support our friend, Quinn,” Susie teases.
“Okay, sorry,” Quinn laughs. “What I actually meant is that they might just want privacy.”
“Oh.”
“No, it’s all right,” Anzu assures, trying to figure out which coffee is hers. “They won’t mind. Here, Omar.”
Susie takes hers, then hoists herself up to sit on the kitchen counter. The knife on the cutting board falls, clattering loudly into the sink.
“Shhh!”
“Jesus, Susie.”
“Sorry!” Susie’s hands fly to her rear. “At least I didn’t slice my ass, guys. I think that’s more important.”
Omar falls back onto the couch with a loud thump that shakes the living room.
“This is hopeless,” Quinn sighs. Anzu laughs.
They sit at the little dining table. Quinn pushes aside some cards and empty dishes.
“Anzu, yeah?” Omar cocks his head to look at her.
“Yeah.”
“You know Tem and from when he lived in Japan?”
Anzu’s laugh fades, and her eyes soften.
She looks down at her coffee, popping the lid off.
Steam rises to the ceiling, but her eyes stay down.
“Yes.”
“Whoa,” he whispers, his head falling back to look at the ceiling.
A moment of silence passes through the room.
It’s heavy.
And Anzu wonders how much everyone knows.
About Yugi.
Atem and Yugi.
She’s scared to say any more.
She looks up from her coffee, feeling once again like she’s in some crazy alternate dimension.
It’s unreal.
She should be in her bed, sleeping over a hangover, blissfully ignorant to the world around her about now. Yugi right beside her.
Not here.
She’s suddenly a little mad at Atem.
It’s not very fair, is it?
What should she say?
Then, she feels Quinn’s hand on her arm.
Anzu looks to her. She has this knowing smile. And her gaze is calming, just like her touch.
“Don’t worry, Anzu,” she says. “Atem has put me on the spot way more than once. I can’t even count how many times I’ve had to cover his ass regarding his…history.”
And then Quinn’s eyebrows raise, and she gives this half smile that makes Anzu laugh.
“Yeah, he does that, huh?” She says. And laughs some more.
It’s all so absurd.
But, well.
She can’t be too surprised.
It’s Atem, afterall.
Her life has been absurd ever since he first entered it.
Of course, it wouldn’t stop after he died.
Or didn’t die.
“God, Quinn,” Anzu giggles, grabbing Quinn’s arm. “I think you’re the first person who might ever understand me.”
Anzu can see it, in the way Quinn laughs back, how she knows.
It makes her feel immediately better.
Less alone.
But, Anzu’s gaze shifts to Omar and Susie, and they are looking at each other with confusion written all over their faces.
Not everyone here knows quite everything.
“They must have been a handful,” Quinn says to her, drawing her attention back. “Atem alone is enough. I can’t imagine dealing with a two-in-one.”
“Oh God,” Anzu sighs, thankful Atem was able to open up to at least someone here. “You have no idea.”
“Hey, question,” Omar pipes up. “Are Atem and Yugi, like…” Omar trails off, making vague hand gestures.
“What?” Quinn asks.
“In a cult?” Susie finishes.
“What?” Anzu laughs.
“I’ll take that as a no."
“Okay, but then what the hell are y’all talking about?” Omar runs his hands over his face, his voice rising an octave. “I can’t take these riddles no more.”
“Yeah,” Susie complains. “And are we not going to talk about how they look damn near identical?”
Quinn rolls her eyes.
“What, have y’all been keeping notes?”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Quinn looks back and forth between them.
Then she glances down the hallway.
It’s quiet.
“Well,” she sighs.
Omar and Susie exchange an excited glance.
“I hate to do it without telling them, but…” Quinn starts the thought.
“I think it might be better that way.” Anzu finishes, catching Quinn’s eye.
“I feel the same.”
Quinn takes a deep breath.
She has to trust them, Susie and Omar.
That they know their friend.
That they love their friend.
So that they’ll hear her out.
“So you two know,” Quinn begins, her tone shifting, “how Yugi thought Atem had died.”
Omar and Susie nod.
And lean in.
Quinn can feel it, suspended in the air.
This weight.
It’s rare, she thinks, that Susie and Omar can hold something like it.
Hold space.
It takes her breath away for a moment.
They really must care about Atem.
She knew this already, of course.
But the reminder is lovely.
Steadying.
Especially when she’s about to tell them this.
“Atem did die,” Quinn says.
She looks at Anzu, a little wide-eyed.
Anzu nods.
Omar and Susie look back and forth between Quinn and Anzu, and then to each other.
The second they catch the other’s eye, they laugh.
“Come on, guys,” Omar giggles.
But then he catches Anzu’s eye, and his laughter fades away.
“What do you…?”
“There is a collection of Ancient Egyptian artifacts,” Quinn continues. “Or was, I guess. But, one of those artifacts was a puzzle, which was made to seal away an ancient evil that threatened the Pharaoh’s kingdom. But in order to seal that evil away, the Pharaoh who inherited the puzzle had to sacrifice his own soul,” Quinn looks to Anzu. “Is this right so far?”
Anzu stares at Quinn.
It’s amazing to hear someone else tell Atem’s story
“Yes,” she says, barely a whisper. “The Pharaoh sealed his own soul away in a puzzle.”
“And according to the hieroglyphs,” Quinn adds, “the one who solved that puzzle would gain certain powers. And after three thousand years, the one who solved that puzzle was, drumroll, you guessed it—”
“Yugi!" Susie gasps, her eyes wide in wonder.
“Yugi inherited the soul of the Pharaoh,” Quinn continues. “Quite literally, if I’m right.”
“You’re right,” Anzu says.
“Soul of the Pharaoh?” Omar snorts.
It all sounds so surreal.
As it happens around him.
“You’re telling me that Tem was a pharaoh in a past life?” Omar asks. It comes out flat, unbelieving.
“Yes,” Quinn shrugs, looking down. “Believe me or not, that is what I’m telling you.”
Omar looks from Quinn to Anzu.
He just met her, after all.
And this is crazy.
But still.
She’s Atem’s friend.
And Atem is his friend.
And Quinn’s their friend, too.
Omar’s eyes slide back to Quinn.
His heart thumps, when he sees her.
Really sees her.
Omar has not seen Quinn quite like this.
Not since her dad died.
She looks scared.
And nervous.
And serious, but not in the funny way.
“Huh,” he says, as he thinks about it.
About him.
Atem.
Atem is a weird guy, Omar thinks. Maybe even weirder than him.
But Atem is really smart, about really odd things, and might know more about Ancient Egypt than even Quinn.
He prefers wine and beer to liquor.
And he calls weed shemshemet.
And he looks at everything as if it’s brand new to him.
As if it’s his first time being alive.
No.
That’s not quite it.
As he thinks about it, he starts drumming on the coffee table with his fingers.
It’s more like it’s his first time being free.
Isn’t that the same thing?
He wonders.
As he wonders, Susie watches.
She watches Omar’s habit.
And she watches Quinn fidget with the ends of her sleeves.
And she thinks of all those times Atem would talk of this Yugi.
This Yugi, who saved his life.
Yugi gave me life.
That’s what Atem would always say.
Susie always thought it was so romantic, the metaphor.
The metaphor.
“Atem told me that he and Yugi were two separate souls who shared one body,” Quinn says to Anzu.
Anzu nods. “Yeah.”
And it’s surreal, Quinn thinks.
To meet someone else to say this.
To meet someone else to know this.
To meet someone to know Atem.
In a past life.
“Wow."
Silence falls once again.
But this time, it’s not so heavy.
“Atem and Yugi,” Anzu speaks, after a while. “It’s not quite right, having one without the other.”
“What happened next?” Susie asks, quietly.
Anzu looks at her.
Quinn looks at her, too.
She’s on the edge of the counter.
Her eyes are wide, like a child during storytime.
Quinn blinks, an image from a long time ago flashing in her mind, from a past life.
When they were kids.
When they would play pretend in the streets of Bay Ridge, before the world was so cruel.
When Susie used to speak of fairytales as if they could come true.
Quinn used to tell her that was impossible.
Anzu speaks.
“Atem left us,” she says. “After he and Yugi fulfilled their duty. The one that came with the puzzle. Atem had to go…to the afterlife." She looks down at her coffee, which has gone cold. “He and Yugi completed the ritual to send him back. Then, suddenly, he just…wasn’t there anymore. He left. Yugi hasn’t been the same since.” She takes a sip of her cold coffee. “None of us…”
“But then," Quinn leans forward, her hand landing on top of Anzu's, "Atem woke up here."
“He did?”
Quinn sees quiet tears, unfallen, in Anzu’s eyes.
And wonder.
“Right on the floor of my museum.”
“You don’t own the Met, Quinn,” Omar interrupts.
“I might as well, since I basically run the damn thing!” Quinn snaps back. “Well, at least the Egyptian wing.”
“What was at the museum?” Anzu stands, her chair screeching.
“What do you mean?”
“Was there, like, some special exhibit? Or, like, thing? That you had at the time?”
Quinn leans back in her chair, thinking back.
“The Tablet of Lost Memories,” she says. “That depicts him and the priest.”
Anzu collapses back onto her chair, looking down at her coffee.
“Wait, there was a hiero-thing that depicted Atem? At the Met?” Susie throws her hands over her head. “And nobody told me?”
“You hate going to the Met.”
“Well I would have come for THIS!”
Quinn laughs.
“Probably…” Susie grumbles.
“It was off display before you even met Atem. In fact it was barely even on display before being moved thanks to his little mystery break-in act.”
“Weird,” Anzu mumbles, deep in thought.
“What?” Quinn asks.
“It was involved in getting his memories back,” Anzu says.
“His memories?” Susie asks.
“I just figured since it depicted him or something, that’s why it brought him back."
“I think it’s more than that,” Anzu ponders. “I wonder.”
“So...Atem really did have no memories," Quinn says, her eyes cloudy. She looks down at her tea. “It’s not like I didn’t believe him. I do,” Quinn says. “It’s just that…”
“It’s unbelievable?” Anzu offers.
Quinn smiles softly. “Yes.”
Omar and Susie still lean forward, rapt.
“A Pharaoh…” Omar shakes his head, just slightly. “I can’t believe it.”
“No memories…” Susie whispers. Omar looks at her. Susie looks back.
“It’s still hard to wrap my head around sometimes,” Quinn says. “But...”
“You always believed me,” Atem interrupts.
The whole room jumps.
“Fucking hell,” Susie swears.
Quinn giggles.
Atem crosses his arms with a smirk, but it’s in the way he doesn’t meet their eyes, Anzu can tell he’s nervous.
He must really care for these people, she realizes.
And she sees it, in the way these people try to catch his eye, to uplift him.
They care about Atem, too.
Then, like a shadow, Yugi appears beside Atem, his hair messier than Anzu thinks she’s ever seen it.
She points at him, laughing.
“You look insane, Yugi,” she cackles.
Yugi’s cheeks go red, and he reaches for the nest on his head, trying to smooth it down.
Atem looks up, up to Yugi, catching his embarrassed eyes.
Yugi smiles at him.
And his worries fall away.
He takes Yugi’s shoulders, and spins him around. With a small fight, he gathers up Yugi’s tangled mess of hair and ties it off with the hair tie that lives eternally on his wrist.
Then, he spins Yugi back around, the bun bobbling on his head. His bleached bangs fall out of it.
“Better,” Atem smirks.
Yugi’s eyes are so open.
Yet knowing.
It’s Atem’s fault his hair is like that, after all.
Yugi smirks back.
Atem has to look away at the sudden butterflies.
But his eyes find their audience, and Atem regretfully remembers what they were discussing.
“What?” Atem says. It comes out more defensively than he means. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets.
“The puzzle and everything, is it all…” Omar speaks carefully. Atem catches his eye, loathing the look there, almost as much as the tone in Omar’s voice. “Is it true?”
And all the fears he had back when he told Quinn, high on her pink shag carpet, slam back at full force, at that look in Omar’s eye.
At the way Susie’s silent.
At these things which tell him that he’s crazy, and that Omar and Susie and Quinn will all leave him because of it.
His stomach hurts.
He feels sick.
He brings a hand to his mouth without even realizing it.
And then, before he can even think to say anything, Susie has him wrapped up in a tight hug. It squeezes the air out of his lungs.
He can smell her vanilla perfume. It falls over him like a blanket.
“I'ts okay, we know,” she says into his ear. “We love you.”
They nearly fall over when Omar slams into them, too, engulfing them both in a hug.
“Yeah dude,” Omar says. “Enough with the secrets!”
“Besides,” Susie begins.
“This is way cooler than a cult!” Omar cheers, finally letting them go.
Atem's eyes fall to Anzu, who sits quietly smiling. He smiles back at her.
God, how he missed her.
And then his eyes slide to Yugi.
Yugi’s smiling at him, too.
But his is different.
Softer.
Wider.
Knowing, and close.
Almost like he loves him.
Atem shakes his head slightly.
It’s still hard to believe, but the proof is right there, golden on Yugi’s finger.
Yugi loves him.
The thought takes his breath away all over again.
“YUGI!” Susie yells. It makes Yugi jump. “Atem has told us so so so much about you!”
Atem feels the blood rush to his cheeks, but he’s not embarrassed.
Not at all.
“You did?” Yugi looks at him, a mischievous smile.
“Yeah,” Omar says. “Except for how you two apparently shared a body?”
“Omar,” Quinn appears behind Omar, a hand on his back. “Maybe not now.”
Atem is thankful for it, as he feels Yugi’s arm wrap around his waist.
“He reminds me of Jonouchi,” Yugi says to Atem, though not quietly enough.
Suddenly, Anzu’s cup falls to the floor, black coffee spilling all over the hardwood.
“Watch the rug!” Atem gasps.
“Oh my god!” Anzu’s hands fly over her mouth. “Jonouchi!”
Atem and Yugi share a look, their eyebrows raising in unison.
“He is not gonna believe this,” they say together.
Quinn laughs.
“He can join the club.”
.
.
.
“This better be good,” Jonouchi slams his suitcase down. “I’m winded.”
“Yeah,” Anzu winces. “Sorry about the walkup.”
“The exercise is good for you, Jonouchi,” Honda says, bending his knees like he’s warming up for a race. “You’ve been slacking.”
“I’ve been slacking?”
“Don’t worry,” Anzu announces before they can escalate any further. “You’ll get plenty of exercise in the city.
“Yeah,” Honda says. “New York is a walking city.”
“Right now, I need this to be a sitting city,” Jonouchi huffs, falling onto Anzu’s bed. “This is a nice pad, Anzu.”
“Thanks,” Anzu beams, looking around her tiny Chelsea dorm. Her posters cover the walls, and her pink rug lays perfectly center on the floor. All of her mugs and glasses are put away, and her wardrobe is full of dancing clothes. A decorative disco ball hangs from the ceiling.
Not a single box is in sight.
With the help of her friends, of course.
New and old.
Anzu smiles to herself.
“Sit while you can,” she smirks. “Because tonight, we’re dancing.”
“We came all the way to America to dance?”
“No, I came all the way to America to dance,” Anzu smirks. “You came here for a surprise.”
“Flying halfway across the world for a surprise,” Jonouchi groans. “This better be worth it.”
“Don’t worry,” Anzu hums.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Jonouchi says, looking around, as if Anzu could possibly hide anything in her small home. “Where’s Yug?”
.
.
.
“I walked into this bar, and the man refused.
He said ‘We don’t serve strangers in blue suede shoes.’
We don’t give credit, and we don’t get weighed.
We have to think about what the people might say.
Oh, you know what I mean?’
I said suuuuure, man.”
Atem laughs at Omar on stage, leaning into Yugi. He only spills a little bit of red wine on him.
“Hey!” Yugi swats him away, but immediately pulls him back. “Watch the drink.”
“You’re wearing all black, aibou,” Atem wipes the drops off Yugi’s leather vest. “It’s fine.”
“Quinn is insane up there,” Yugi nods back to the stage, where Omar has taken the mic. His voice is good, but the star up there is undeniably Quinn, whose fingers dance effortlessly up and down the piano keys.
“She’s a musical genius,” Atem says, shaking his head. His eyes are beaming with pride, Yugi notices. Yugi hugs him a little tighter. “Susie is awesome, too.”
“She should play more,” Yugi hums, watching her pluck bass strings with ease.
“She should.”
They lean back in their booth near the bar, where they can see the small stage, and sip their wine in unison, watching their friends.
Atem shifts a little in his seat. Then, he shifts again. Yugi looks up at him.
“Are you nervous?”
Atem knows hiding it is futile. He looks down to Yugi, a little sheepishly.
“Yes.”
Yugi plays with a strand of Atem’s hair, nodding.
“I know I don’t need to be.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Yugi smiles.
“You think it’s fine we didn’t tell them?”
“Do you think they’d believe us?”
“I don’t know.”
“We fully grieved you, Tem,” Yugi says, but with a light humor. “I think the lure of a surprise is good for him.” Then that smile disappears. “Or, them.”
Atem’s smile fades, too.
Yugi really can’t lie to him, can he?
“How is Jonouchi?” Atem asks, looking down at his drink.
Yugi looks down into his wine.
Yugi sighs. Atem can hear frustration. “He bounced back almost too quickly. A couple weeks after the duel, he just…Went right back to normal. Anzu and I weren’t even going to school…” Yugi swallows. Atem will feel guilty at the confession.
He catches Atem’s eyes, and sees it there.
“It’s okay, Atem. I have you now.”
Atem squeezes Yugi’s arm.
“When he thinks we’re not watching, Jonouchi’s...” Yugi trails off, his eyes clouding. “Different.”
Yugi looks down again, and Atem can tell he’s replaying something in his head.
Some conversation.
Some memory.
Something Atem wasn’t there for.
Something he could have prevented, if he went to Yugi sooner.
He can’t think of that, though.
He lost time with Yugi, and Anzu, and Jonouchi, and Honda.
His eyes drift back to the stage, where Omar is now singing Elton John to a raving crowd. Quinn and Susie roll their eyes and giggle behind him. A few familiar heads on the dance floor glance his way, too, wondering why he’s not up there with them.
He waves their way, remembering what he gained instead.
And he knows, Jonouchi and Honda soon will be here, too.
Very soon.
He can’t wait.
But still, he’s nervous.
He wonders if they’ll be as accepting of him as Yugi and Anzu. As Quinn, and Susie, and Omar.
But that thing, knowing, deep inside of him tells him everything he needs to know.
And he breathes easier.
They’re his friends, after all.
Of course they will.
He just needs to trust them.
Atem stands, finishing his drink in one go. Yugi stands with him.
“Let’s go sing something, Yugi,” Atem looks at him, this gleam in his eye Yugi would normally find attractive, but in this moment, does not.
“Me!?”
“Do you know another Yugi?”
“I’m looking at him.”
And despite being nervous, Yugi lets a laughing Atem drag him through the crowd, right to the small stage, which feels much bigger when you’re the one who is on it.
The crowd roars when Atem steps into the light. Yugi hangs back as much as he can, clutching his still half full glass of wine.
“Are you joining us!?” Susie squeals at Yugi as Omar and Atem fight over the mic.
“Looks like I don’t have much of a choice.”
Susie and Quinn laugh, though Yugi feels like he might throw up.
“Do you play? Or sing?”
“I thought Atem told you everything about me?” Yugi retorts, though it doesn’t come out like one.
“He did,” Quinn smiles. “We’re playing this, right?”
And then, Quinn plays a few chords on the piano that Yugi recognizes immediately.
“Oh my god!” Susie claps.
“That’s…”
“We’ve played it at home a ton,” Quinn says, “but, well…”
“We’ve never played this one in a live set,” Atem says into the mic, finally getting control of it from Omar, who boos him as he shuffles to the drumset. “We’ve played it a lot in the living room, but…”
Atem looks back at Yugi. Atem isn’t smiling.
“We didn’t have everything we needed,” Atem says. Then, he offers Yugi the microphone. Yugi looks down at it like it might bite him.
“Me?” Yugi feels every eye on him. Voices and whispers break out among the crowd. At least those paying attention. Yugi lowers his shaking voice. “I’m not—I don’t…sing.”
“Sure you do,” Atem raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard it.”
“Shut up,” Yugi shushes him, but with no bite.
Atem waves the microphone in front of Yugi.
“I won’t make you,” Atem says, low. “But…”
“I don’t back down from a game, Atem,” Yugi yanks the mic from Atem’s hand, giving him a smile that he knows betrays how nervous he actually is.
“I know you don’t,” Atem says, just inches from his face.
“You’re an asshole.”
Atem laughs as he turns away to pick up a guitar off a stand.
He takes a moment to check the tuning and amp settings as Yugi tries to breathe. Someone quickly sets up a second micstand. Atem stands behind it, strumming a few bars that send the crowd again.
He nods at Yugi.
Yugi blinks. Then looks around him. Susie is on his other side on bass. Quinn and Omar sit behind him. They all nod.
And then something hot washes over Yugi.
It starts at his head, and slowly melts over him.
It quiets the rushing in his ears.
It calms the beating of his heart.
The adrenaline gives him a moment of floating peace.
And confidence.
Though that might also be from the way Atem is looking at him like all of his dreams are coming true.
Yugi likes that look.
He thinks he’d like to see it again.
“This is called Crying On A Saturday Night,” Yugi says into the microphone, eyes never leaving Atem’s.
His voice doesn’t waver.
Neither does that way Atem is looking at him.
Omar hits drumsticks to a tempo. “Two, three, four!”
And then, the band is playing all around Yugi.
Yugi hears the chords, so familiar, yet so different when they are happening in the moment.
Atem plays the lead guitar, right next to Yugi. Yugi watches his expert hands glide across the strings.
He plays with his whole body.
Yugi can’t look away.
And before Yugi’s mind can catch up with himself, he opens his mouth.
And he’s singing.
.
.
.
“Right around the corner here,” Anzu drags Jonouchi’s eyes away from a closed trading card store. “C’mon, we’re already running late.”
“Sorry,” Honda says, shoving the rest of a hot dog into his mouth. “I had to try a New York hotdog.”
“And Jonouchi had to try New York pizza,” Anzu sighs. “And New York halal, and New York bagels, and New York water,” Anzu rolls her eyes. “Let’s go!”
“I had to fuel up for dancing!” Jonouchi whines, patting his belly as they turn the corner. Anzu leads them down a cobbled sidestreet. A familiar door glows with fairy lights and hazy smoke at the end of it.
“Where are we?”
Anzu ignores Jonouchi’s whines. She elbows them to get their IDs out for the bouncer.
And before long, they’re inside.
Anzu listens for the band, but it sounds like they’re between sets. She eyes the booths by the bar, where Yugi said he’d be with Atem, but they’re full of people who are definitely not them.
“What gives?” She says, to no one in particular.
“What?” Honda shouts into her ear over the roar of conversation.
“Nothing,” she mutters. “Let’s grab a drink.”
They move to the bar, where another bartender, Shawaz, if Anzu remembers correctly, pours them a round.
“Are we dancing here?” Jonouchi asks above the din, finishing half of his beer in one swig. “There’s no music.”
Anzu cranes her neck to get a view of the band, and to try and spot the boys, but as she does there is suddenly a lot of movement and a loud cheer, and she can’t see anything.
She feels Jonouchi and Honda craning their necks, too.
“What are we looking for?” asks Honda, sipping his beer in a more respectful manner.
And then, Atem’s voice is amplified, easy to hear above everything.
“We’ve never played this one in a live set,” he says. Anzu uses her free hand to grab Jonouchi’s arm. “We’ve played it a lot in the living room, but…”
“Come on,” she says.
“Wait, I want to get another—“
“Come on,” she tugs his wrist. He gives in with a groan, Honda laughing as they follow Anzu weaving through the crowd.
“We didn’t have everything we needed.”
“He wasn’t supposed to be performing, they were supposed to meet us,” she complains.
“Who?” Jonouchi shouts above the sudden cheers. “What?”
“This is called Crying On a Saturday Night.”
And that’s not Atem’s voice anymore, Anzu realizes.
Jonouchi and Honda realize it, too.
And then suddenly, it’s Jonouchi who is pulling Anzu.
“Is that Yug?” He yells. “I can’t see!”
And then, the band starts playing.
Anzu recognizes the song immediately.
It’s Yugi’s favorite, after all.
And a voice, feather light, but strong and sure, floats through the speakers.
“Ooh, ooh. Woah, woah, oh, oh.”
And then Jonouchi suddenly stops, in front of Anzu. “Yug…”
Anzu runs into him. “Ow.”
And Honda runs into Anzu. “Hey!”
Anzu slips out from between them, and sees them, through a part in the crowd.
“There’s fifty two ways to murder anyone.”
Yugi and Atem.
“One and two are the same.”
Together, on stage.
“And they both work as well.”
And Yugi, who used to sweat if the microphone came anywhere even close to him at karaoke, is singing.
“I’m coming clean for Amy, Julie doesn’t scream as well, and the cops won’t listen all night.”
Yugi.
He takes Anzu’s breath away.
“And so maybe, maybe, I’ll be over.”
She never knew he could sing like that.
“Just as soon as I fill them all in.”
But Atem.
Of course he would know.
And his eyes don’t leave Yugi, not even to glance at the guitar he’s playing flawlessly.
“And I can remember when I saw her last,” Yugi sings.
“Atem.” Jonouchi says. It comes out like a breath.
“We were running all around and having a blast, having a blast.”
Jonouchi’s eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open.
“But the backseat of the drive-in, it’s so lonely without you.”
His hands are closed in fists, so tightly she’s worried his nails will draw blood.
“I know when you’re home.”
He blinks.
“I was thinking about you.”
And blinks again.
“There was something I forgot to say.”
Honda sees them now, too.
“I was crying on Saturday night.”
Anzu sees a tear quickly slide down Jonouchi’s cheek, and his bottom lip quivers. He bites it.
“I was out cruising without you,” Atem sings now, too, with Yugi. “They were playing our song.”
Atem finds a beautiful, haunting harmony.
She hears it, watching Jonouchi and Honda watch their friends, as she did all those nights ago.
“Crying on Saturday night.”
There’s a break in the lyrics, and Atem plays the key change beautifully.
Yugi watches him.
The whole room does.
So Anzu’s gaze shifts to them.
“As the moon becomes the nighttime,” Atem sings, to Yugi, “you go viciously, quietly, away.”
“I’m sitting in the bedroom,” Yugi sings, to Atem, “where we used to sit and smoke cigarettes.”
They face each other, and together, they sing.
“Now I’m watching, watching you die.”
Oblivious to the room around them.
“I can remember when I saw you last,” sings Yugi.
“I saw you last,” sings Atem.
“We were running all around and having a blast.”
“Oh, having a blast.”
“But the backseat—
“Backseat—“
“—the drive-in—“
“God, so lonely without you.
I know when you’re home, I was thinking about you.
There was something I forgot to say, I was crying on Saturday night."
“I was out cruising without you—“
“—playing our song—“
“Crying on Saturday night,” they sing.
“Crying—Saturday night,” they cry.
“Crying on Saturday night,” they scream.
And the crowd screams.
Jonouchi screams.
Honda screams.
And Anzu screams.
And yells, and cheers, and cries.
Atem finishes the final chord.
And then, something beautiful happens.
Yugi and Atem face each other, so close.
The mic picks up their breathing, barely audible over the crowd’s eruption.
But then, Yugi’s hand with the microphone falls.
Anzu sees Atem say something to Yugi.
Yugi laughs.
And then, he grabs Atem’s guitar strap, and pulls him closer still with it, sending a sound through the room that should be dissonant, but isn’t.
Jonouchi cries.
Honda stares.
Anzu gasps.
And Yugi and Atem, they kiss.
And if Anzu thought the cheers were loud before, it’s nothing compared to the roar in the room now.
Jonouchi whoops, and cheers, and screams.
Honda is shaking Jonouchi hard, screaming too.
But Anzu just simply notices.
And smiles.
Atem’s arms fit around Yugi perfectly.