By Timberwolf220

-Imagination is sometimes cruel. It blinds us to the needs to others-

002 Cyborg


It was so hard to remind himself about the truth. He knew what would happen, he knew the consequences. He knew it was too good to last forever. He even knew every waking moment of his life, that one day, it would simply end. And that's that.

It wasn't paranoia. It wasn't fear. It was acceptance. Cursed, bitter acceptance, a drug he forced down his lips everytime he smiled. The drug was cool to his tongue and soon, he could ignore the taste, but everytime he had it, he wanted to smile and cry. Let the tears trickle down his cheeks into his lips and taste the trace of the drug of acceptance and the tinge of his salty rivulets.

Because it was so hard to remember. And it was so easy to forget. He hated that. It should have been the other way around, but it wasn't. So here he was, trying to bring himself in terms with the future, a future that seemed so grim and gritty before his other selfwas here, and will seem even more so when he leaves.

And when his fingers brushed against his skin, he had to repeat the mantra in his mind, 'He isn't real, he isn't real, this isn't real, none of this is real, and I'm falling in love with a ghost'

That was the plain undisguised truth that knocked on his door one night and he couldn't sleep. His other self had asked him what was bothering him, and he told him to dismiss it.

But he didn't sleep that night.

He wondered how Ryou did it. He thought about asking the pale-haired boy how he managed to restrain his emotions, how he never felt the oppressive touch of regret and self-loathing. How he fell in love and yet, acted so casual everyday. For himself, it was a trying task and he tries to smooth his feelings over by sorting out a dueling deck or fiddling with a new puzzle game.

And his other self to hold him, to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, would kiss his nose and laugh at some sarcastic comment flung at him, his eyes blazing, so warm, so bright, so alive.

It was so hard to believe that Yami, his Yami was dead. That he's been dead for over 500 years now. That the Yami he shared his heart, soul and mind with, was dead. Even if his eyes glow with happiness, even if he could smell the perspiration of sweat accumulating on his clothes, even when he could brush those golden imperial bangs of his sculpted face, Yami was dead. He was a ghost, torn between a past he could not understand and a present he wished he belonged to.

But in the dark hours of the morning, he would snuggle against the warm body next to him, and cling onto him like a lifeline. And if he listened hard enough, he could hear the steady drum beat of his Yami's heart. Or so he believed. But Yami didn't have a heart anymore, did he?

Sometimes, he believed that this is God's way of punishment of sin. It was such a double-edged sword, so intricate in structure that he had no doubts that God had conceived it. And yet, even if he held the double-edged sword in his hands, he would gladly bleed to death a thousand times over. Then he would have been a ghost too.

But Yami would have been angry. And beyond that superficial anger, would have been despair and anguish. For Yami to live with the feeling that he was responsible for his Aibou's death would have killed far worse than his simple death. Of course, death was rarely simple either.

He fell in love with a ghost. A person who he loved so strongly that every rule he built for his protection was thrown out of the window. But Love follows no rules except for the ones it sets for itself. It was a humbling feeling, becoming another one of Love's victims.

But there was pleasure in his memories. Deep-rooted pleasure he would never forget. And there was the togetherness, the bond that never stretched itself too far, but enough to be comfortable in.

But it didn't change the fact that it can never be. One day, the tombstone will be covered with moss and who would remember the Pharaoh who loved a boy? Or remember the boy who loved the person beyond the grave?

And he would remind himself everytime those fingers kissed his skin and stroked his lips, this isn't real, he isn't real, this is an illusion, he is a ghost, I love the ghost

His Yami would pause and ask, "Is there something wrong Aibou?"

And he would kiss his Yami's forehead in return and say gently, "No. Everything is as it should be."

And the bitter drug fell to his lips once more.


A/N: It always struck me as odd that people could write Yami/Hikari pairings and ignore the reality about them. Don't get me wrong, I like Yami/Hikari pairings, but they're not even alive, only souls drifting to finish their incomplete work. In fact, once Yami discovers his past, his work was complete and he had to leave. But it's hard to remember the reality of the situation and Yuugi felt it worst than the others in my opinion (which is my opinion, so no stupid flames okay?)

Saw 'Pygmalion' acted today. A recommended read if you haven't read/seen the play. Trust me, it's worth it.