YGO Drabble [Theme #21: Belief] -- Room Of White
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He never doubted what was real.
The fights. The duels. His deck, his monsters. His Millennium Puzzle. His other self.
All of it, beyond a fraction of a doubt, was real.
But sometimes he would dream of horrible things.
Him, strapped down on a bed in a room of blinding, unrelenting white. So white it almost burned his eyes when he opened them. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. But he could see.
See the men and women in their white suits. See the tables of needles and vials. See a woman, an oh so familiar face, staring from the other side of a glass wall. This glass wall had other faces too. They didn't have names - but they were there, like spirits from another time, watching him. Waiting for him. Waiting for him to do something.
Waiting for him to wake up.
He had these dreams countless times. They often came to him when he was sure he wasn't asleep. It was always the same one, too. Like a reoccurring vision. Like a reoccurring nightmare.
He hated these dreams. He hated the faces in them. He hated the way they made him feel. So he decided to stay asleep.
In his reality, he was doing anything and everything he could to leave those dreams behind him. Fighting side by side with his best friends. Saving the world. Becoming a hero. And never, ever being alone.
That was his life. That was real.
And so was his other self. He could feel him, the strong, commanding presence inside himself that never went away. That he never wanted to go away. He was his rock, his comfort, his energy -- his life. His brother and best friend. The "he" that he could never find in himself, that he had always dreamed of being. What he couldn't be, his other self became for him. What he was too weak and timid to do, his other self was more than strong and confident enough to accomplish. He was all he could ever want…and he was a part of himself.
He was what made him so sure that the life he was living was real. With every gentle brush of his domineering hand, with every one of his rare yet rich chuckles that escaped his lips, with every loving look that passed his eye, he became more and more real. His long arms wrapped around his waist was what kept him grounded when he felt like he was breaking into enough pieces to swallow the myriad parts of his Puzzle. His deep voice, which was often so imposing, so threatening in the face of his enemies, was always soft and soothing in his presence, putting all his worries to rest with a few sweet murmured nothings. He was always there to hold him up. And he was always there to love him when he couldn't love himself.
But then he had to go.
He left with a smile. Not a single tear fell from his crimson eyes as he kneeled down by his partner's side. There is nothing to mourn, he whispered into his other's ear, reading his mind as he always had. You are now strong enough to face those nightmares of white on your own. You don't need me anymore. You never really did.
He knew the time had come for him to face those dreams of white. He had tried so hard to hide from them for so long. But one can't live in such fantastical realms forever and hope to survive.
So his other self walked out.
And he woke up.