Chapter Text
It was the best duel of his entire life.
Of that, he had no doubt. And though there were plenty of challenging opponents in the world—Kaiba challenged him at least once a month, even a year later—he was sure that there would never be a duel that surpassed the one he had fought against his other self.
And he knew his other self felt the same.
Mutou Yuugi had become the most famous, respected duelist in the world, present at most major tournaments either as a competitor or to duel the winner as part of their prize. He showed up on interviews and talk shows, though he turned down most of those offers, and every game shop offered to give him new cards for free, though he insisted on paying on the rare occasion he wanted to add something to his deck. Duelists lined up for hours to get his autograph, and he stayed to sign every one, even hours after the events he attended had officially closed.
He was a celebrity, and completely ordinary, and happier than he had ever been in his life.
And Atem, the pharaoh who had spent more time sharing his body than ruling Egypt, could not have been prouder.
Mou hitori no boku?
Atem looked up at the ceiling of his soul room, though the voice had come from inside his own head, as it always did. He closed his eyes and felt himself manifest at Aibou’s side, glancing around to find them out of the game shop, walking through town.
“Yes, aibou?” he asked.
Aibou raised an eyebrow, wearing a slightly confused grin. “You haven’t come out all morning.”
If Atem hadn’t been so skilled in practicing dignity, he probably would have bit his lip. He looked away.
“I … wanted to give you some privacy, aibou.”
He didn’t have to look to feel Aibou’s smile tilting into a smirk.
“I’m not in school anymore, you know,” he replied. “It’s been four months since graduation. Besides, it’s Sunday. You don’t have to hide from Takeuchi-sensei’s lecture right now.”
If Atem had had blood vessels, his entire face probably would have gone red. He stared off into the distance.
“I didn’t hide. I just … knew I wouldn’t benefit from it, so I stayed in the Puzzle.”
Aibou snickered. “If you knew you ‘just wouldn’t benefit from it,’ why didn’t you stay out and chat?”
“I … felt it was best to stay as far away from her wrath as possible.”
“Which is also called hiding,” Aibou countered, laughing again. Several people walking nearby gave him odd looks, but he didn’t seem to care. “She couldn’t even see you!”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t scary,” Atem said, turning back to him and crossing his arms. “I’ve told you many times, aibou. You were a truly brave being to face her every day for a year.”
Aibou just snorted and walked on.
He had suggested, before graduation, that maybe Atem should pay attention in class so he would be better prepared for when the two of them went off to university in the fall, and the rest of adult life. Atem had countered that he tended to absorb much of the knowledge Aibou possessed without even trying, so he saw no point in sitting through boring—and occasionally terrifying—lectures or watching Aibou do his homework when he could lounge about in his soul room to the same end result.
He hadn’t known that Aibou could give such an intimidating glare.
Not that Atem could really blame him. He had never been through high school at all, and he had certainly never experienced the apparently-dreaded “third year” or any of the schoolwork or university preparation it implied. So he had done his best to look sheepish and avoided bringing up school unless Aibou did it first. Even now, he usually chose safer topics.
After all, he had meant it. He was more than a little impressed that Aibou had sat through classes eight hours a day, five days a week, that he had done so for years up until last April, and in just a couple of weeks, he would be on to a whole new schedule at university. That was no surprise, of course. Aibou had always impressed him. Ever since the moment he first turned from “Yuugi” and “mou hitori no ore” to “Aibou.” And more than ever since that day in his tomb a year before.
Aibou had beat him. And it was the proudest moment in both of Atem’s lives.
Losing had seemed so hard before. So … unbearable. Maybe it made sense: from the beginning, the games he played would have left his host injured or dead if he lost. Later on, so many of them were shadow games, or leading up to shadow games, and losing would have been just as bad, if not far worse. Losing had been his greatest fear, and his final test to enter the afterlife had been to overcome it.
He doubted he would have been so happy, so willing, to lose against anyone else. Not that he hadn’t tried. He had given that duel everything he had, and his aibou had still beat him. He had completed the ritual, opened the door to the afterlife that Atem had been searching for ever since Battle City.
And Atem didn’t walk through it.
It hadn’t been planned, and he read the shock on Aibou’s face even more clearly than on everyone else’s. But as he watched his partner duel, saw how strong he had become, imagined how amazing he would become …
The choice was easy.
He knew there would be consequences. The Items would have to be kept and protected, and leaving that magic to exist in the world, even though Zorc had been banished, would always come with risks. But there would have been risks anyway. All magic wouldn’t leave the world just because the Items were gone. And at least now, Aibou wouldn’t have to deal with it alone.
He watched the door close with only a bit of longing, catching glimpses of his family, his friends, as they watched him from the light. He could have sworn he saw Mana waving, smiling—maybe a little sadly, but just as wide. And just before the door shut completely, cutting him off from that world, he swore he saw her wink.
Then the Ishtars, more shocked than the rest, but accepting of his choice, helped them gather up the Items and start back toward the entrance of the tomb.
He had wondered, just for a few minutes, whether he would keep this new body. But as soon as they walked outside and the sun hit his form, he felt it vanish, return to dust for the second time, and moments later, he melted back into Aibou’s body and their minds reconnected once more.
Maybe he should have been disappointed. But he wasn’t.
Aibou apologized, once they were back on the plane, heading for Japan. But Atem insisted that there was nothing to apologize for.
His body had died three thousand years ago. Maybe it hadn’t been fair. Maybe he had died long before he should have. But he had died, and if he was going to stay here among the living, he would have to share the body of someone with a beating heart. And as long as that someone was Aibou, Atem didn’t mind one bit.
He had worried, early on, whether he was intruding. But Aibou had made it very clear, from the very first time he brought it up, that Atem was more than welcome to stay as long as he wanted. Atem wasn’t stealing his life; Yuugi was holding onto his best friend.
And Aibou took every opportunity to prove to him how welcome he was. Every time he switched places with Atem during outings with their friends, every time he made sure to get his opinion before they picked what restaurant to go to or what movie to see, every time he let Atem try every new food he could think of, every time he let Atem take control just so he could pick what outfit they would wear—and didn’t protest when he put on ten different pieces of jewelry—and every morning when he slipped on not only the Millennium Puzzle, but the cartouche with Atem’s name.
It may not have been his first home. But it was home, and it was a life he had never gotten to live as prince or as pharaoh.
They could always go back to the tomb, open the door again. And someday, they had agreed, they would. They didn’t know when. Maybe in twenty years, maybe in fifty or sixty. They didn’t know how it would work, if they would have to duel again, but regardless, Atem was sure Aibou could beat him a second time. He had only gotten better since the Ceremonial Duel, enjoying tournaments without any major stakes for the first time in his life, practicing with Jounouchi-kun and Mai—when she visited—and even Atem from time to time. By the time Atem was ready to pass on, Aibou would probably be able to beat him in half the time.
For now, though, he was content. He was happy. He was with his friends, he was with his aibou.
And speaking of that …
He looked around at the part of town they were in. He recognized it, vaguely, but there was nothing of particular interest around here. No game or card shops, no good restaurants. Not even any of their friends’ apartments. It had been more than ten minutes since he came out of the Puzzle, and they still hadn’t arrived. If they were walking rather than taking the bus, it couldn’t be too far away, could it?
“Where are we going, aibou?” he asked.
Aibou tensed. He avoided Atem’s gaze with practiced skill, though he couldn’t quite hide the faint pink on his cheeks.
“Oh, nowhere, really. I just thought we should get out of the house, look around a bit. We don’t do that that often.”
“We do that all the time. Except we’re usually with our friends,” Atem replied. “Are we meeting any of them?”
“No, they’re all busy today.”
Atem raised an eyebrow. “All of them? On a Sunday?”
Aibou still wouldn’t look at him. He nodded, a little too stiffly for Atem to believe him.
“Yeah, I checked. They already had plans. So it’s just you and me.” At this, Aibou bit his lip and risked a glance in Atem’s direction, though he didn’t meet his eyes for longer than a second. “Are you disappointed?”
“Never,” Atem said, without a hint of hesitation, everlasting fondness leaking out into his voice. His brow furrowed. “But I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Aibou’s walk looked more like a robot’s than a human’s, his expression of fake innocence so obvious Atem would have laughed, if he wasn’t slightly concerned.
“Huh?” Aibou asked, eyes ahead, voice cracking. “What are you talking about, mou hitori no boku?”
Aibou had tried, really tried, to call him Atem, and he managed it from time to time. But while all his friends had finally made the transition to using his real name—not counting the occasional slip-up—Aibou still stuck to the nickname he had grown so used to. Atem didn’t mind. He was just as happy being “mou hitori no boku” as he was “Atem.” Coming from Aibou, he rather preferred the first.
And there had never been a question of him calling Yuugi anything other than “Aibou.”
He had an identity now. A name, a person he used to be. But he didn’t feel quite like Atem, just like he didn’t feel like the “other Yuugi.” The original Atem had died at sixteen years old, knowing only his country and life as a prince and a pharaoh. But this Atem had lived several years in modern day Japan. He had new friends. He had a man who called him his second grandson, a man who Atem still thought of as “Jii-chan.” He played arcade games and avoided school and helped Aibou plan for university and played Duel Monsters with cards and holograms rather than monsters summoned from his soul, and spent hours and hours just talking with the boy who had become as much a part of him as himself.
Even if it wasn’t where he was born, it wasn’t hard at all to think of it as home.
He missed his old family and friends, sometimes. He supposed he always would. There were times, usually in the middle of the night when Aibou was asleep, when he yearned for the afterlife, yearned for that eternal rest, yearned for peace and closure and the people who had known and loved him in his first life.
Then he looked down at the boy sleeping nearby, spiked hair bent out of shape by the pillow, a bit of drool hanging off his lip, and all those desires faded away.
His loved ones were still there, and they would be there until he decided he was ready to move on. But he only had one chance to see Aibou grow up, get older, and make him prouder than he ever imagined he could be, and he wasn’t going to miss it for anything in this world or the next.
And Mana, his closest friend from his first life, had given him her blessing.
He hadn’t realized what that wink meant for more than a week after they returned to Japan.
He and Aibou had gone back to their normal life, or the closest to normal either of them had had in a while. Aibou went back to school, and Atem spent most of his time in the Puzzle, exploring the much smaller range of corridors, doors that opened without traps, doors that led to rooms that represented his past. He talked to Aibou whenever he wasn’t in class or with their friends, but mostly he rested, still worn out from all he had learned and all he had done.
Then, one night, a knock sounded at his door.
Atem hadn’t expected it, but he raced to answer nonetheless, almost throwing the door open in his enthusiasm to welcome his aibou into his soul room: his real soul room. He ran back inside almost faster than Aibou could keep up, and if Aibou had come to talk to him about something—he hadn’t been worried, Atem would have felt it—he apparently forgot as Atem began his tour. He explained each item, each carving on the wall, the stories of the gods and ancient kings his father had told him about as a child. The carvings of his own life, of him and Mana and Mahaad playing together as children, sneaking dates and honey up to his room after dinner, slipping out of the palace in disguise to play games with the villagers, the day he became pharaoh, the day he locked his soul away.
And mixed in with the carvings of his first life were scenes from his second, in the same colors and style. Duelist Kingdom, winning against Pegasus and high-fiving his aibou after their first shared victory. Aibou refusing to leave the burning building before he’d finished the Puzzle. The duels of Battle City, fighting against Noa, their reunion after Dartz had been defeated, laughter at the KC Grand Prix.
The brief weeks he had spent alive again. Alive, after he had been dead for three thousand years.
Atem doubted any other pharaoh had ever been granted an honor like that.
The two of them paused in front of the final carving, the depiction of their duel, and the moment Aibou had beaten him. Atem still smiled every time he looked at it, and he smiled even wider now, turning to Aibou with pride gleaming in his eyes.
Aibou laughed, and on some reflex built up from dozens of experiences with his friends, he stepped forward and threw his arms around Atem in a hug.
And Atem felt it.
Not just the pressure of another being existing in close contact. Not just another soul bumping into him. He felt him. His warmth, his pulse, the blood rushing beneath his skin.
Aibou froze, looking up to meet his eyes while not daring to let go.
Atem knew. He knew from the emotions now racing along the link, and from the growing glow in those wide violet eyes.
He felt it, too.
Atem swore he could hear Mana’s gleeful laugh echoing all the way from the afterlife. He had no idea how she had managed it, but he knew he would owe her about a hundred favors once he finally passed on. He didn’t have much time to think about it, though. As soon as the shock began to fade, Aibou laughed again, shier, tears gleaming in the corners of his eyes, and hugged him again, tight enough to break his ribs if he had actually had any.
They didn’t meet in their soul rooms every day. Often, they were content with talking and teasing and laughing as they always had.
But Atem always felt his chest warm when Aibou showed up at his door just after he went to bed, dragging him by the hand into his room to play a board games or talk or play-wrestle or just sit with their arms wrapped around each other, as close as two souls could possibly be.
If Ishizu had been right, if he and Aibou had once been two parts of the same soul, he would probably never know. Perhaps in the afterlife, but certainly not before. Even if they had once been one and the same, they weren’t any longer. They had learned and grown from one another, filling in the empty spaces, and now those spaces would be filled whether they were together or not. He was his own person—he was the only Atem, just as Aibou was the one and only Mutou Yuugi.
But they were still one another’s “other selves,” and Atem was just as happy to share his identity with Aibou as Aibou had always been to share his identity, his family and friends, his life, with him.
Atem looked up again, and found that Aibou had apparently finished his walk. The game shop stood only ten meters away. Atem crossed his arms and hovered as Aibou picked up his pace just a bit, as if excited.
Strange. Atem didn’t think they had anything special planned for today. But he could have been wrong, or Aibou might just be hungry, so he shrugged it off without a word.
The bell above the door jingled as Aibou stepped inside, and Atem furrowed his brow. The shop was dark. But it was only the middle of the afternoon, and Jii-chan didn’t usually close up this early even on a Sunday. He remained alert while Aibou slipped behind the front desk and back into the rest of the house. Rather than climb up the stairs to his room, as Atem expected, he headed toward the kitchen.
It was still dark. Why was it so dark? Had Jii-chan closed the blinds? And why didn’t Aibou seem the least bit confused? Every one of Atem’s mental alarms was going off, and when Aibou stepped into the kitchen doorway only to find it just as dark as the rest of the house, Atem opened his mouth to tell him they needed to leave.
But before he could speak, the Puzzle flashed, and Atem found himself thrust into Aibou’s body.
He blinked. His eyebrows creased even deeper. He turned to search for the transparent figure at his side as he struggled to adjust to the sudden, unexpected switch. “Aibou, what are you—”
“Happy birthday, Atem!”
Atem jolted back, hands up in defense, as the lights flicked on.
And there were his friends. Jounouchi-kun, Anzu, Honda-kun. Jii-chan, and Bakura and Otogi and even Mokuba. All of them beaming and laughing as they formed a half-circle around the table, where a cake, decorated in bright yellow icing and crowded with candles shaped like Duel Monsters, sat in front of a pile of wrapped gifts. The whole kitchen, now that he had the mind to look, had been decorated with balloons and streamers, little bits of confetti strewn over the counters and the floor. Like Aibou’s birthday almost two months before.
He couldn’t get his tongue to work. His throat had closed up, but his mouth hung open, his eyes so wide they almost hurt. He looked back and forth between everyone in the room, all the smiling faces aimed at him.
Not Aibou. Him.
“Wha … what?” he forced out, in a more strangled voice than he had hoped.
Anzu laughed, but there was no mistaking the slight concern in her eyes as she put one hand on her hip and quirked her head. “What, don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday?”
Atem blinked. Then he blinked again, looking around, soaking it in, trying to get his frozen brain to comprehend.
“C’mon, say something, man!” Jounouchi-kun called, waving a hand in front of his face. “We spent way too much time working on this for you to just stand there staring. There’s cake and presents and decorations and cake!”
“I hope we picked the right kind,” Anzu added, her smile a bit uncertain. “Yuugi said he thought this was your favorite, but we didn’t want to ask you and spoil the surprise.”
Atem let out a long, shaky breath. “You all planned this? For me?”
Jounouchi-kun and Honda-kun exchanged confused looks, Bakura fidgeted, Mokuba raised an eyebrow, but Anzu’s eyes remained on him, softer than he had seen them in almost a year.
“Of course. After all, you … you haven’t had a proper birthday in three thousand years. And now that we know when your birthday is … we thought it was time to make up for that.”
Her lips curled up again, a fond chuckle slipping out. She shrugged.
“Well. Yuugi did. We just helped after he suggested it.”
Atem straightened. “Aibou?”
For the first time since everyone had jumped out and shocked him half to his second death, he felt Aibou fidgeting—or the spiritual equivalent of fidgeting—in the back of his mind. But before he could say anything, Anzu started shouting at Jounouchi-kun and Honda-kun for trying to taste the icing on the cake, and in seconds, he had been drawn into the party he could still barely believe was for him.
He blew out the candles for the first time in either of his lives—because they didn’t put candles on birthday cakes in ancient Egypt. He made a wish—though there was nothing to wish for. He opened his presents, one by one, with so much reverence that Jounouchi-kun lost his patience and shouted for him to just tear the paper off like everyone else. Anzu glared. Atem laughed.
Jounouchi-kun gave him a CD, as he had discovered how much Atem loved music a few months before, while Honda-kun had managed to find a very realistic figurine of the Dark Magician. From Anzu, Atem got a pair of boots he had been eying in the store a month ago—he insisted that they were too expensive, but she brushed it off and said that after paying for tuition and her ticket to New York, she had a little left off for splurging. Bakura gave him a miniature tabletop game, which he claimed to have gotten the idea for after Otogi showed him his gift: the latest travel-size version of Dungeon Dice Monsters. Mokuba insisted that his gift was from Kaiba as well, even if Kaiba refused to sign the tag, and Atem believed it when he opened the small box to find several first-edition, very rare Duel Monsters cards. Atem felt his eyes sting a bit when he opened Jii-chan’s gift and found not only a new board game, but two Sudoku books.
He had given Aibou two Sudoku books for his birthday since he was ten. Atem had to look away for a moment when Jii-chan said that Atem was part of the family, so it was his tradition now, too.
Atem stared at the last gift for a very long time. Everyone in the room smiled, almost smirking, until Atem turned over the tag to find “From: Aibou” in familiar handwriting on the other side.
Inside was a photo album. Tall, wide and thick, and overflowing with photos of tournaments and special outings and ordinary days, of Aibou, their friends, and Atem.
He allowed one tear, just one, to slip down his cheek before he swallowed the rest.
Then the presents were put to the side with excessive care—these were his presents, his, the only thing that had been his in years were the clothes and jewelry Aibou bought him last year, and Atem still considered them shared. Jii-chan cut the cake, pushing the first slice to Atem before handing out the rest. Atem had had cake several times before, but he swore, on everything he held dear, that this was the best he had ever had.
He ate it slowly, savoring each bite as he watched Jounouchi-kun and Honda-kun fight over who had the bigger piece, while Mokuba made sure that his slice had extra icing, and everyone else just laughed and chatted and enjoyed the party. It was so simple. It was so ordinary.
And it was for him.
“Do you like it?”
Atem was not the least bit surprised to turn his head and see Aibou’s transparent form projected at his side. Even though he had grown and looked more like a teenager now than the child he had once resembled, his large eyes still gleamed with excitement, hope, and anticipation.
And Atem felt his own eyes soften with every second their gazes met. “Thank you, aibou,” he murmured, out loud, even though he just as easily could have used the link. Everyone else was far too distracted—and loud—to hear him, and he wanted to make sure Aibou heard just how much he meant it.
Aibou beamed, his cheeks tinged with pink.
“Anything you think could be better?”
“How could you do better than this?” Atem asked, almost laughing at the thought as he glanced over at one of the most welcome, astounding sights he had come across in all his life.
Aibou shrugged.
“Well, if you want different decorations, or a different kind of cake,” he said, his head high again, his smile wider. “I never did get to ask you, after all. And we’ve got plenty more birthdays to make sure we get things right. This is only your eighteenth.”
He winked, and suddenly it clicked. Eighteen. Atem had died when he was sixteen. And though it wouldn’t be exact, it had been a few months more than two years since Aibou had solved the Puzzle. Eighteen years he had been fully aware and active. Eighteen years of life.
The first eighteen years of many, many to come.
Atem took another bite of cake, memorized the texture and the taste, then swallowed.
“Yes,” he said at last, smiling at his friends as they bickered and laughed, and at his Aibou, right by his side, grinning back at him. “We have plenty more to go.”