Author's Notes

Since my last Yugioh fic was just randomly written to get the idea off my mind, and served to prove that I'm no good for humour, I tried something altogether different. It's not even a song fic (though I can promise you there will be lots of them in the near future...)

This was inspired by some other very good fics. I think I remember their titles but can't find them any more on FFNet to make sure, so I'm just mentioning that I stole a few tiny ideas. So if anyone recognizes his ideas in there, I would love if he told me about it, so I could maybe find those wonderful stories again that somehow got lost...

I know he's normally not described as a phantom, but I think it fits better for my story.

Disclaimer

I own them all....in my dreams. Dreams are nice. I want to recreate them. For that I need to borrow those guys. Just for a little oneshot. I'll give them back afterwards. Unspoilt! I promise!

Phantom

It was there. I knew it was, there was no denying it. Ask me why I knew, I couldn't tell you. I just knew it. I wanted to deny it, you don't know how hard I tried. But when the protective veil of night's darkness surrounded me, it was there. I had denied myself any dreams for about six years, afraid of them turning into nightmares. I have no idea how I've done it but I've actually managed not to dream. Perhaps, I thought, this was the price I had to pay for those six years of nightly peace: all the dreams I had forcefully pushed away now forming one phantom presence to hount me at night.

I can't really describe what it felt like to have it there. It all being over now and having thought about it a lot I'd say at least some humans have a sense for it, like we have a sense for gravity. We don't think about it, we just know where the ground is.

In the beginning I couldn't even say where I felt that presence, it wasn't really coming from any direction. It was like air – it was there.

I was never scared of the phantom, its presence never felt threatening or dreadful. It was intriguing and mysterious, a shiver running down my back, not from cold or fear, but from a distant excitement that I never experience during daytime, except when I'm duelling. Though the excitement was even stronger.

It usually appeared when the sun settled. It came in the twilight hours, mostly, but sometimes later, when it was already long dark. It never came when my brother was around somewhere, it seemed to avoid any other human or even animal. It even avoided Mokuba's little cat.

And it didn't do anything than being there. At first.


The Phantom waited in a dark corner, spreading its darkness about the room so it couldn't be found. It knew it appeared as a shadow figure sometimes, when its surroundings were illuminated in very bright light. While the room was engulfed in darkness the little clock beside the bed ticked peacefully. Annoyed the phantom raised a shadowy arm, raised it only a tiny bit – and there was utter silence in the room. Satisfied the phantom settled down again.

It didn't know why the young inhabitant of the room always put the clock on again in the morning, or why he always tried to put brighter bulbs into his bedside lamp. He should know by now that the room wasn't going to get any lighter when the phantom was there.

Humans were strange, so the phantom had long decided. True, it had been human at a time, that much it could feel. But it didn't even know when or where, it only knew that it had been a long time ago.

It genuinely hated its disembodied existance but at the same time it was glad it didn't have to get used to all those new, modern things. It could stay a silent observer. Although its host always tried to lure it out.

But even its host was scared of it sometimes. Still he tried to make friends with it, having no other choise, since the phantom was there, in his mind, in its former prison now dangling from its host's neck, inside his very soul even. So he just surrendered his body to it now and then. Usually the phantom refused. It was scared of the outside, that strange, foreign world it didn't understand. It had only come out a few times, when its host was playing that little game that reminded it so much of something it couldn't remember.

Those little cards, they were talking to it, stirring hidden thoughts in its mind, where usually there appeared to be locked doors.

But even more than the cards one human face was stirring those thoughts, seemed to be pushing against those doors that it couldn't open by itself.

Those blue eyes.

Those strikingly blue eyes, filled with contempt and challenge.

Thus it had come. Had separated its mind from its host's at night and had come to find him. Had been sitting there and watching him go to bed, walk around the room suspiciously, trying to find the presence he obviously felt, but not finding anything when the phantom had simply settled down on top of the cupboard as soon as he was getting close to its favourite corner. Of course, if it had stayed he probably would have walked right through it. It was bodiless after all.

So he had gone to bed many times, restless at first but finally overwhelmed by sleep. And the phantom had stayed watching him sleep peacefully.

Some power it didn't yet understand kept it there. That power was stirring more than hidden thoughts, the phantom felt as if something inside it was growing, filling it with something light, fizzy and fluttering.

Furthermore, it felt a deep longing. It felt like that sometimes, when it saw something very beautiful or very new to its eyes, twice intensified since it had first had the chance to satisfy that longing through the body of its host. The longing to touch.

Touch the pale cheek or the dark hair. Touch those closed eyelashes to get as close as possible to the gems behind them.

Bitterness had filled it, knowing that longing would never be satisfied, since it was not willing to use its host's body for such scurrilous purpose.

But today was different.

Today the phantom had discovered something that made its disembodied mind spin with joy.

It had been able to touch its host.

When he had cried silently to himself, the phantom had settled down beside him, unable to resist the pity it felt, placing its hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

He had felt it. Hadn't been able to grasp its hand, hadn't been able to return the touch or see anymore of the phantom but a dense shadow, but he had felt it.

And the phantom was thrilled to no extent, thinking about all the things it would and could try once the captivating blue eyed human chose to enter his room, where it was impatiently waiting.


I stared at the ceiling and waited for sleep to come. It didn't. I wasn't tired, in fact, I was far from it.

There was excitement in the room, stronger than I had ever felt it before.

But I knew that whatever it had planned, the phantom wouldn't do it openly, for my eyes to see. So I closed them. Pretended to be asleep.

That's when I felt it moving. Towards me, the sensation of its presence getting stronger and stronger. Like focussing a ray of light, until the spot it's focussed on is burning.

I noticed I was covered in goosebumps, my body expecting that burn. Or would it be ice?

I didn't need to wonder long because finally I felt it. And it was both hot and cold. The touch of the phantom, like a soft finger, trailing down my cheek. I shivered, and the touch withdrew.

After a minute of lying perfectly still I felt it return. Tracing my features carefully. I didn't dare to move. I wanted it to go away, it made me feel strange, shivering with excitement, knowing that whatever was happening to me shouldn't be happening.

Was this real? Or just my imagination?

I couldn't help it, I had to know. I opened my eyes.

I thought there was a shadow, looming over me, hiding the pale moonlight. But when I set up, it was gone, leaving me with unanswered questions.


When daylight illuminated my room I usually pushed the memories of the night far away.

It's not that I didn't think they were real. It's not that I didn't want them to be real. It's just that I didn't want to think about it. It seemed so far away, and I knew if I thought about it, it would drive me crazy. I always wanted to know and understand everything, that's the way I am and I can't change it. When there's something I don't know or don't understand, I try to find it out. When there's no way to find it out I just avoid thinking about it so it won't drive me crazy.

There was no need to think anyway, the days were filled with work and duelling and caring for my little brother.

But the nights – the nights were a different matter.

As soon as I closed my eyes in my bed I could feel its touches. I found myself trembling and shivering, unable to control my reactions to the intensity of the sensation. It was touching my face, brushing invisible fingers over my eyelids, my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, my hair, my ears, my chin, my neck...and of course, eventually, after many nights, like a treasure, spared for a very special moment, my lips.

My lower lip, I discovered, is very sensitive to the touch and the phantom's finger lingering there made me feel a different kind of excitement, one I had never felt before in its presence. Sexual desire, so sudden it made my breath hitch.

It noticed, pulled back and vanished for the night.

And I knew, if ever it was to do that again, I wouldn't be able to restrain myself from doing something I would certainly regret later.


The phantom didn't know why it kept coming back to see him. It got out of its former prison more often now, duelling, even meeting its host's friends, sometimes. Also, allowed to share its host's mind, it was able to see the blue eyed boy a lot during daytime – he always seemed to mysteriously get into its host's way. Always fighting with that blonde.

And always duelling it – in its host's body, under its host's name of course.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to see him, to duel him. No, the phantom wanted more.

It wanted to watch him curled up under his sheets, looking vulnerable and peaceful for once. It wanted to listen to his calm breathing, or his soft pants whenever he seemed to subconsciously notice its presence very close to him.

It wanted to feel his shivers and his soft skin when it touched him, and to smell that dreamlike scent of his.

It had noticed that its sense of touch had become stronger. It could feel itself feel the contact now. And it knew for a fact that the dark haired boy could feel it.

Why it liked this so much, it couldn't explain. Why it craved a reaction, it didn't understand.

It only knew, when it finally got that reaction, it was overwhelmed by a new emotion. Desire. Desire that a bodiless being shouldn't even be capable of feeling.

It had set up a kind of rule of the game for itself. – Explore a new part of his face every night. Then go through the already explored parts and add the new one. It had chosen those sinfully beautiful lips as the final goal. And it had noticed that the lower lip seemed to be the most sensitive spot on his face, for it made him catch his breath in his peaceful sleep.

That had fascinated the phantom immensely. Made it try again next night, to maybe relive that extraordinary, sinful sensation.

What it got was far more.

As its finger slowly caressed his lower lip, he uttered a shocked gasp and his blue eyes flew open. Having been lost in sensation, the phantom found itself all of a sudden face to face with a very awake teenager. Both stared, too stunned to react.

The phantom felt as if those eyes had laid an enchantment on it, forbidding its every movement. His breathless whisper seemed loud as a scream to them both.

"What are you?...."

But the phantom had at last recovered its senses and had fled, leaving the boy in empty darkness.


I thought I had frightened it away. I was strangely sad, feeling lonely during the nights without those gentle touches.

But you don't lose a phantom that easily.

Three nights later the presence returned to my room.

Four nights later the touches returned. Whisperingly soft at first, but soon growing more confident. I kept my eyes closed, relishing the tenderness of brushing fingers.

But the phantom didn't leave it that way, it got bolder. Instead of its fingers I felt delicate hands, cupping my face, trailing down my neck, even straying slightly under the t-shirt I wore for sleeping. Quite a few times my eyes opened in surprise and I saw its dark silhouette bent over me. It didn't go away anymore. In fact it didn't mind.

And when insistant hands were joined by hungry lips and the t-shirt was occasionally lifted or even removed to provide better access and more pleasure, I was watching the phantom openly, marvelling at how its contours seemed to get clearer every time.

I found my thoughts drifting to the night's darkness during work. I found myself already looking forward to the evening in the afternoon hours. I felt a bit guilty, I knew it wasn't right. But I didn't care.


After the phantom had passed those few lonely, fearful, guilt-ridden nights inside its former prison, it knew it had to get back to the boy. It couldn't stand the loneliness and the cold. Watching its host's sleeping face was nothing like watching the blue eyed boy's. It didn't try touching its host. Firstly, because it knew that was even more wrong, secondly, because it knew he wouldn't feel like the other duelist.

It realized it had grown addicted.

Seriously, dangerously addicted.

Because, even after it had come back and resumed its touches, it still craved more. And slowly it submitted to its desire.


There were nights where my past was catching up with me, certain events bringing up old feelings and fears again. I didn't want hungry caresses those nights.

And, fortunately, that wasn't what I got.

The phantom could feel when I wasn't in the mood, could feel my dejection and anxiety. Those nights I felt arms around me, holding me, keeping me safe.

I had never really experienced something like that before. Of course, Mokuba had hugged me a lot, but I had always been the protector. Now it was me who felt protected, felt cared for, fell asleep in secure arms. Sometimes I could even hear small whispers of comfort in my ear, although I wasn't sure if it wasn't just my imagination.

That was when I realized how much the phantom meant to me.


Sweet the nights seemed to the phantom during which it was just holding the distressed boy.

It loved to give comfort to him, even more than it enjoyed giving comfort to its now dearly beloved host.

But even sweeter were the nights of desire, the nights of heated skin and breathless whimpers. The louder the boy's moans grew, the more did the phantom want him.

It kissed and caressed, trying to increase the sounds of pleasure even more.

But it stopped itself before things could get more than fierce kissing and caressing.

It was afraid because it knew both of them were slowly but surely losing control.


Night by night our passion play got hotter. I was breathless with desire before we had even started and I was moaning uncontrollably when we stopped – when it stopped. It seemed to be afraid to give me too much pleasure, to make me lose control.

But I wanted to lose control. I had always clung to control during all of my life, but now I wanted nothing more than to lose it. I wanted pleasure. More, and more, and more.

So I did something completely out of my nature. I begged.

"Please"

I told the phantom, desperately arching my lower body to show it exactly what I wanted. It was motionless with shock for a second, then I heard it groan softly.

Eager to hear that sound again I demanded forcefully,

"Please, more!"

It hissed with barely controlled desire, but I wanted not only me but both of us to lose control. Thus, knowing it was above me, I thrust upwards.

This time the groan was helplessly loud, sending shivers up and down my back. That was when sweet passion took us both and carried us away on a wave of pleasure.

On a strange but unyielding impulse I found myself whisper weakly,

"I love you"

The phantom stayed silent and still. Then I heard the soft answer,

"I love you too"

And a few moments later I reached my climax, crying out softly in pleasure so intense as I had never felt before.


The phantom was deeply troubled that night, when its sweet lover was falling asleep in its arms. It knew it had made a mistake. This shouldn't have happened.

It knew what it had to do, but it made its soul ache deeply. It didn't know how it could survive this, after all that had happened, but it had to be stopped. Right now.

It just hoped he would survive it.


The next night I felt the phantom sit on the edge of the bed, for whatever reason keeping a distance. I waited patiently, feeling that it had something on its mind. I wasn't suspecting it was anything bad, not after what had happened the day before. Maybe it had finally decided to tell me its name or origin.

What it finally said was more than shocking.

"I can't stay. I have to leave now."

"What?"

"I can't stay. It would hurt you"

"No, never. You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me except for my brother."

"But that's the problem. I'm not great. I'm a bodiless shape. You can't give your love, your life to a bodiless shape. You have to find a human to love you."

"I don't want a human, I want you."

"It seems I wasn't meant for you. I can touch you, but you can't touch me. You can't see me. I can't live with you. And it's not right for me to claim you my own. You must find a real love. A solid love."

"So did you lie to me?!?"

"When I said I loved you? No."

"Then stay! Please!"

"I'm sorry. So very sorry."

"No...don't!"

"I'll take care of you, even if you don't see me. I'm not as far as you think I am. And if I ever get a body of my own, and if you haven't forgotten me then, I'll come back. Farewell."

"Stay!!!"

A terrible loneliness lingered in my room.

Left me crying with fury. I had done everything I had forbidden myself. I had let down my guard and my facade, begged, surrendered, grown attached, believed, hoped, offered myself. And in the end it was for nothing. Because it wasn't meant to be. Life had kicked my ass again.

This time no one was there to dry my tears.


Many, many fading nights later Seto Kaiba heard a knock on his door. He got up from his armchair to see who was visiting him this late at night.

"Yuugi"

"No, Kaiba. I'm not Yuugi"

"Yes, I know, you are the other Yuugi, the ancient pharao of the Millennium Puzzle, using Yuugi's body. The old fairytale."

"This isn't Yuugi's body. It's mine"

"....."

"I got my own body"

"...Impossible!"

"You can trust your eyes. I'm real, it's real. You can touch it....See?"

"Yu..Yuugi...let go of my hand..."

"Call me Yami. That's what the others do"

"Ya......What are you doing here?"

"I made a promise once.....I wanted to see if you had forgotten me."

"..........."

"Have you?"

".......I.....I always knew...."

"What did you know?"

"That it was you....I could feel it. I just couldn't believe it."

"So you....remember me?"

"How could I not?"

"And.....would you....still let me in?"

"laugh I never could stop you back then"

"smile So you forgive me for leaving you?"

"No, of course not. How could I forgive all those lonely nights? But I know why you were doing it and that you only meant the best. And maybe it was the best, even if it caused me a lot of pain...."

"I'm still very sorry"

"I know. And now you can make it up to me"

"I would do that gladly."

"Yami?"

"Hm?"

"Please....?"

Kissing fiercily they reached the dark and inviting bedroom.