(no subject)

[idonthaveityet]

Characters: Yami (idonthaveityet) and Varon (aussie_biker)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Varon and Yami conquer the courtyard in the name of the Dark Side, then tackle something a bit more serious, with a detour for gravity and replacing run-ons with strikethroughs. First part out of hopefully only two, and a bit late, set the Friday before break started.

Tumbling down the corridor, Varon was in the perfect seasonal mood. Finals were finished and the Dark Side-ness had lasted from early afternoon to early evening, leaving all exposed areas of skin numb, his jeans were soaked from melted snow -- and falling in it too much -- and he'd lost his gloves somewhere along the way, but they had accomplished their tasks successfully. Throwing the snowballs had proved hilarious, and even getting the lights up had been fun.

Now, tired, numb and mostly damp from snow, he and Yami were heading back to his room, so that he could keep his promise of educating Yami in the wonderful ways of Carnation Hot Chocolate.

Unfortunately, numb fingers didn't work well with keys. Mumbling curses, Varon twisted, and it finally clicked.

"Aha! The door now stands defeated. Enter, and watch out for anything on the floor."

Vanquished! Vanquished the door just like they'd vanquished the courtyard and for some reason that was hysterical, or at least Yami was laughing breathlessly, staggering into the room after Varon and wondering vaguely why he couldn't feel his fingers and lights! There'd been lights everywhere and it was dazzling and there was absolutely nothing wrong with anything at all and the snow and everything was perfect!

Everything was, or that was his story, because even falling right out of one of the trees -- took hours to hit the ground, somehow, and even that was hysterical -- hadn't seemed to dampen his spirits any. He'd stayed sprawled on his back in the snow shaking with laughter at all of it, stunned, and if what'd happened with Kaiba and Kamui in the asylum had been shock, this might be too, same sort of way nothing felt like anything, except that now everything was ridiculously amusing and he couldn't stop grinning madly at the memory of what the courtyard had looked like and everything was just brilliant.

And he was frozen and wet and his cheeks stung, all windburned, but everything was still hilarious for reasons he couldn't even begin to figure out. Tight hysteria, nervous laughter before the breaking point? Or just the fact that he'd never seen anything quite so amusing as Isis's car wrapped up in "godknowshow many x tinsel" until it was barely recognizable as anything but a shiny, sparkly mess of holiday-ness. Holiday-ness? Was that a word? Or maybe Varon's face after he fell had been funnier. Couldn't remember. Still beaming. Couldn't care.

Still unable to quit smiling; nothing had quite stopped moving since he'd spun round in circles and collapsed in the snow, and everything was a shimmering blur but that was absolutely okay because everything was normal now, and everything was fine, and he didn't have to think about anything except the courtyard lit up blindingly with thousands of little lights, and the stunning sound a snowball colliding with the back of someone's head made.

Slightly similar to the sound of Yami flopping down onto Varon's bed amidst the textbooks and disc cases scattered there, but only in the way it was somehow, in his snowblind mind, absolutely hysterical. Fun, everything was fun, and the pills were working again and the reason he'd asked Varon for help was so far out of reach, and everything was going to be okay, and he'd never move again because the dark side was safer than a cabinet ever could've been.

Except that Varon promised to teach him about this specific sort of hot chocolate. And Yami slid off the bed again, felt like he might roll like liquid off into a puddle on the floor, but stayed on his feet anyway. He liked holidays, he decided. Felt drunk, still vaguely numb, nothing had edges anymore, but that was perfectly all right with him.

"You." Focusing now, on Varon. "Hot chocolate. Educate me."

Varon switched on the kettle, grabbing the nearest can of Carnation Hot Chocolate, twitching at a rather formidable, suggestive sounding "You!". If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he'd just been told to get down on all fours. Not that "Educate me. Now." sounded any better, but there you go.

He coughed, hurriedly spooning in the powder and marshmallows, plucking one of the little dry marshmallows out of the can, "I'm working on it, just keep your spikes on, mate." he said, "Fancy a couple of dry marshmallows?" he asked, fishing some milk out of the fridge. "You aren't lactose intolerant, are ya?"

Yami blinked, finally pulled out of his haze, somewhat perplexed as to what'd made Varon flinch. Hadn't burned himself, as he hadn't turned the kettle on until after he'd twitched like that, and then that nervous cough was rather odd, but he could ignore that because, after all, there was hot chocolate, and a courtyard full of lights, and everything was good. Besides, whatever had Varon momentarily all wound up probably had nothing to do with him.

...Although it was kind of amusing to watch people tense up, get under their skin. Hadn't made Varon a target for that because he didn't argue with Varon, just played in the snow, but the question flickered through his mind of how best to make Varon squirm. Button issues didn't seem like they'd cover it, but there was always something to bait someone with. And Yami had a certain talent for finding it and using it for maximum effect. Antagonistic personality?

Which was an odd detour from the snow, and one Yami wasn't entirely sure he liked, because coming away from snow meant coming back inside to the thing he needed Varon's help with, and that wasn't good, and -- no, he'd lost it. Pity. He'd rather liked the dizzy whirl of everything being happy and fine and maybe he just needed more pills. It was getting late now, and they seemed to last less and less. He'd have to ask Shaadi if maybe he was reading the labels improperly. Sobered now. Odd.

"Not lactose intolerant, no." Tone of voice changed, dropped softer and turned more serious; Yami moved back over toward Varon, suddenly less interested in flopping down on the bed again. Hot chocolate wasn't important, not really; the room was, and he didn't want to think about that. "Marshmallows are fine, too."

Varon looked at Yami, slightly perplexed as to the sudden severity in his tone. Couldn’t be good, could it?

"Right," he acknowledged, kettle clicking off. He poured the hot water into the mugs, leaving enough room to for him to add in the milk. With spoon intact, he handed Yami’s mug to him, "Keep stirring until those marshmallows disappear. Help yourself to the dry ones in the tub; they’re surprisingly addictive." he said, stirring his own hot chocolate, "Trust me, mate, CHC is heaven in a mug."

"Mhm." That was about as articulate as Yami felt like being at the moment. Stomach turned as his mood did; he wasn't particularly interested in drinking anymore.

Which was a pity. Asked Varon for help because Varon made him happy like snow did, focused him on things like fairy lights and tinsel, and made him laugh, and those were all good things, weren't they? And he'd expected that that'd be enough to buoy him up at least until they got back there. Anticipated cold feet and cringing as the inevitability of going back sunk in, not now, when everything should've been fine.

...Then again, everything should've been fine talking to Yuugi, and that'd been an unequivocal disaster, so maybe his frame of reference was just a bit flawed.

He stirred his hot chocolate quickly, just enough to mix the powder in evenly, took a token sip, ignored the difficulty he had swallowing. There. Set the mug down, popped one of the dry marshmallows into his mouth, managed to get that down too. Mission accomplished. He'd experienced the wonders of the mysterious CHC.

"I'm not thirsty," he said apologetically, eyes flickering up to Varon's. Blue. Hn. "Thank you anyway. I'll just wait for you to finish, and then you can help me?"

Varon was already halfway through his mug, gulping down the hot liquid to try and restore some semblance of heat. He’d almost forgotten what legs felt like.

However, his brain -- contrary to the popular belief he didn’t have one -- wasn’t numb, and he had 20/20 vision.

"It’s fine," he assured Yami. "So, you gonna tell me why you suddenly look like the snowman shrine was demolished or not?"

...No, Yami wasn't. Because there was absolutely nothing wrong. Because everything was fine. Because everything had to be fine. Because he wasn't supposed to show emotions on his face -- didn't usually, at least, not since then, except that maybe that'd been because he hadn't had emotions then? Wasn't supposed to have opinions? And that was ludicrous except that it wasn't entirely wrong either because he

He was entirely confused now, and didn't like it, and opted for staring back blankly instead of trying to sort everything, anything, out. "I don't know? There's nothing wrong."

To press for answers or not to press for answers. Varon allowed himself more thinking time by taking another gulp of heaven. On one hand, maybe he should be getting Yami to talk instead of clam up. But on the other, if Yami didn’t want to divulge anything, then he should be allowed that option. He paused, before draining the mug. He’d let it lie, or at least for now.

"Alright then," he said casually, dumping the mug into the sink and moving to his computer chair, dropping down on it. "So, what’s that favour you were after earlier?"

Maybe hot chocolate had not been a bad idea after all. Yes. Hot chocolate was a very good idea now. You couldn't talk while you were drinking. Even if the idea of drinking was currently mildly sickening, Yami was now finding it infinitely preferable to the concept of having to talk about going back. He could just pick up the mug again and start drinking, right, and if he was sick that really wasn't quite so bad because you couldn't talk while throwing up, either, could you?

Except that if everything was normal and everything was okay and everything was fine then he didn't need to do that to avoid talking because there was nothing to avoid talking about.

"It's nothing big. I just wanted your help cleaning out my dorm. We only have until Sunday, and I haven't been back in there" since it happened "...for a while."

Varon’s spidey-senses were tingling. Something still wasn’t quite right. Yami must have been in deep thought about something, his meds were wearing off, or he was finally starting to show signs of exhaustion. Whatever it was, and he would have quite liked to have found out, but as it was, he was going to have to put his curiosity on hold.

Varon shrugged. "Sure," he said cheerfully. "Ready whenever you are, Boss."

Well, that was mildly reassuring, there. Yami nodded, not smiling but no longer -- he hoped -- so visibly uneasy. Varon, after all. Only Varon. Varon, which meant snow and lights and mischief and the comedy mask to replace the tragic one. Except that Varon also usually meant that the awareness of the mask's existence faded away too, and he wasn't left peering out nervously through the eyeholes.

But it was fine! Really! Everything. They were just cleaning out a room. Wasn't as if there was anything about the room that should give him cause to go a bit pale or to play nervously at the cuffs of Noa's jacket. Which meant that, really, he should just ignore the fact that he was and that his mouth had gone dry, and be the person he was pretending to be, yes? And that would work?

And that had to work. And it hadn't worked on the phone with Yuugi, but it was going to work now because he didn't know what else it could do but work, because he couldn't afford for it not to work. Couldn't accept it not working.

Besides, it was Varon. Varon meant good things, not being afraid; had to cling to that idea. "Excellent." There. Steady and confident and entirely false but that was all right, really. "Do you have any boxes or anything? I've got a few left over, but most of it we just carried up from the car." Paused a moment; he hadn't considered the logistics of this, really. "It's all right, though, if you haven't. Most of it will be thrown out regardless."

Which made the question of why he was doing this an interesting one, why he was going back there when he -- but it wasn't as if it was a big deal! He didn't need a reason for doing this. This was normal! Yes! Normal. Excessively normal. Everything was all right, and going back to a room he'd slept in for weeks wasn't an ordeal. Really. Fine. Absolutely. Stop thinking and listen to Varon, yes. Ignore everything else, because there was nothing else to think about. Really. Nothing at all.

Varon thought for a few moments. "Yeah, should be," he said, sliding off the chair and onto the floor, peering under the bed. "Bingo." He reached under, fishing out some of the folded boxes. "How many d'you reckon you'll need? There's about five under here."

Yami hadn't exactly thought about that one, either. How much was there in that room? After Marik his view of that room had been constricted to the image of that corner he'd been pressed into and after the doctor room had ceased to exist and he Probably not that much. After all, he'd not brought very much with him -- a bit of a rule. He didn't bring much with him anywhere he went. Didn't particularly care to examine what that said about him, at least not right now. Because that'd just add fresh implications of a problem he wasn't equipped to deal with any more than the question of why he slept curled up in a cabinet under the sink, and it'd be abnormal.

Save that issue for later, and be content with the idea that he knew a bit about the person he used to be, was play-acting miserably at now, and from that he could be sure that he wouldn't have brought much more than clothing and other necessities. No posters to take down, no CDs to pack away, no electronics aside from his laptop, a few books but nothing more than he could've carried himself.... And besides, most of what there was would have to be burned anyway, and what he didn't burn he had no intention of keeping, so that really didn't matter.

"Just one or two should be fine. I didn't bring much to begin with."

Varon gave a nod of acknowledgement, lifting two boxes and getting to his feet. "Alrighty then, looks like we're set to do this. Where are you going for the holidays, anyway?" he asked, dumping the boxes on the bed momentarily to yank his jacket on again.

Yami frowned. "I...."

Well. That was interesting. He didn't know. He'd expected if he opened his mouth, something would come out. Perhaps not something useful, but something. Except that, no, there wasn't anything coming out. Hn. That didn't really work, did it? In fact, very little seemed to be working right now. But that was okay. Everything was.

He shrugged, brushed the question off. "I hadn't really thought of it." He'd deal with the real question of where he was going -- Kaiba had said something about that before -- later. When he could afford to. "It's nothing. I'll find somewhere to go; always have."

Varon arched an eyebrow. "As long as it's not the streets. In fact, I demand to know where you're going to stay, so that I don't have to worry from Australia. There's still six days before I leave, which leaves six days for you to tell me in person that you have somewhere to stay. If you don't by the time I leave, then I want regular livejournal updates."

...That was unexpected. Yami just stared at Varon initially, trying to figure where the concern had come from. Because that was concern, right? There was very little ambiguous about the words 'worry' and 'demand.' And from the doctor Yami was used to the latter but hardly the former. And staring was good and normal, because it wouldn't do to have reason to stare at someone, wide-eyed and momentarily speechless again, only to look away because the eyes he met were blue. That'd be wrong, abnormal. Because blue eyes were normal, and more common than green ones, anyway. Certainly more common than purple.

And Varon's eyes weren't threatening, seemed open and honest enough, and they were a sort of nice blue. Sky in January, only not as grey and cold. Which Yami didn't mind at all, although he'd discovered that he rather liked the cold. Or just snow, the cold separate from that. Or just the whirl of fairy lights and snowballs and tinsel that Varon had dragged him into or he'd dragged Varon into; it was all sort of blurry as to how that'd happened.

Right, Varon's eyes were a good sort of blue, then, and concern was good too, because both of them made him feel safer and more secure, and that was something that he didn't have to set aside for later to worry about because pretending that wasn't there, wasn't abnormal, would've been just a bit more lying than he was capable of. Even in denial.

He managed a small smile, not entirely certain but there. "I'll be fine. And I will tell you, of course. I asked Kaiba what my options are already, and if he doesn't have something, I'm sure I'll find somewhere. I do have family here, after all." Glossed less than neatly over the fact that it was really quite unusual to consider going anywhere else but family for the holidays. But he'd deal with that later. Much later.

Varon blinked. Yami was staring at him. Strangely. Weirdly. "You. Educate me. Now." That quote was now permanently burned onto his brain. Looking right in his eyes. No, no, bad thoughts. Yami was...not that. Neither was Varon. No sir-ee.

Varon quickly looked away from Yami, instead focusing his gaze on the fact his arm was caught in his jacket. Mumbling under his breath, he wriggled his arm, thankful on some level for the distraction which meant less awareness that Yami was still staring at him.

Yami started speaking, and Varon heaved a sigh, finally getting his arm through the jacket to look up at his partner in Dark Side-ness.

Varon gave a quick study of Yami's smile. Wasn't quite reaching his eyes. Yami had been smiling properly earlier, when they were stringing up tinsel and fairy lights and throwing snowballs at people. That had been fun, a lot more fun than he'd had in a while. Yami had come down quickly, very quickly. Smile stopped reaching eyes and he stopped sounding like a five year old on Prozac.

"Yeah, great. I'd insist on you calling but...pretty long distance, y'know? Kaiba'll take care of you, since he already has been, eh? But...." Varon paused. Go down this trail or avoid it altogether. He didn't have his breadcrumbs today, after all. But still.... "Wouldn't it be best to spend it with your family?" he asked, "Remember, in the asylum, I told you about your brother's post? You've spoken since, right? He'll want you home, and your parents too, right? I know Christmas wouldn't be the same for me if I didn't have my family, although you might be different, but, y'know."

He stopped there. Probably not the best place to stop, since he'd let his mouth run off without his mind again, and his mind was fat and parked in front of a PS2. He'd hit two birds with one stone, and then shot both birds to make sure he'd done the job right. He'd mentioned the asylum, which he'd been careful not to do previously, and he'd mentioned Yami's family.

Now he could only pray it wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be.

Whatever Varon was dreading, Yami didn't give any appreciable reaction at first. Nothing much got an instant reaction out of him anymore, owing partially to the fact that he'd had physical reactions very much trained out of him by now, because why would the doctor want a plaything who reacted in any way but the way he was meant to? Most emotions more complex than sharp pain or shock took a moment to register, be absorbed, and then -- if they were allowed to or if Yami was capable of it -- outwardly manifested.

Of course, showing emotions was somewhat of a muddy area when one didn't acknowledge -- couldn't be aware of -- their existence. And if anything Varon had said had sparked a reaction more dramatic than simple interest or mild confusion, it wasn't anything Yami was aware of. At least not at first. Perhaps not ever. If there was anything coming, he'd have to set a while and dwell and have the raw nerve touched again more firmly, and even then, it was anyone's bet whether that'd trigger something more intense or simply elicit a glassy stare.

For now, he just frowned again, not upset by any means but just momentary perplexed. Glanced absently past Varon at the door, puzzled over the idea that he should be going back to Yuugi. Yuugi...Yuugi was something he wasn't really quite sure how to handle anymore. Yuugi he knew deserved more than a brother who couldn't face the world and hid inside any space small enough that he could feel sheltered and got nervy if he looked at clocks or could just feel the hour approaching that the doctor would come and the doctor would

Yami's gaze drifted, fell somewhere near the carpet, though he wasn't really seeing anything at all. He rubbed his wrist -- when had that become a nervous gesture? And why was he feeling letters there that the doctor had bleached off? -- idly, trying to sort his thoughts out. Yuugi he loved; there wasn't a question there. Yuugi was so much more important to him than he could ever be, and Yuugi did want him to come home, apparently. And Yami trusted him when he said that because his mind couldn't process the idea of not trusting him, though Yuugi didn't (or hadn't; had it become past tense?) trust him....

But Yami couldn't face him. Not yet. Not now. Not like this. Because things weren't normal. Not yet. Couldn't face Yuugi until he was better at pretending, or if it was even possible, until things were. And that meant staying away now. That meant not going back for Christmas. That meant a lot of complicated things that Yami wasn't entirely sure he liked the idea of being the cause of, but it was better this way. At least this way the disappointment would be Yami not physically being there, as opposed to what would be unimaginably worse: Yami being physically there, but the brother Yuugi expected not being there.

Because the Yami Yuugi had known had evanesced the moment the doctor laid his hands there and and if there was a way to bring him back, Yami wasn't yet aware of it. Which meant that he had to find it. Which meant that he might have to stay away from Yuugi until he did. Which meant that he would find it, because he had no other choice. And he was so good at not having choices....

But. Varon. Glanced up from the floor, focusing outward again instead of inward, and locked onto blue eyes again. Because focusing on concrete concepts like blue eyes helped push aside the rest of the confusion. "I can't go to them for Christmas. Not so soon. It...." And Yami was never at a loss for words, except that just now, he wasn't finding any ready way to explain this all to Varon. Paused, bit his tongue, shut his eyes a moment, tried again:

"It's not as if I don't want to. But it's better this way for everyone involved. I'd rather Yuugi have to deal with me not being there, than have him have to realize that even if I'm there in person, I'm still not there. I'm not the person I was."

And those were not words he was supposed to have said, because they weren't supposed to have registered yet, because what were all these masks he'd created but ways of hiding that fact from everyone else? And Varon had his own particular mask that Yami would put on, one that felt more real or at least more natural than the others, but now it was gone somewhere.

"Does that make sense to you?"

But the question lingered in the air between them, and Yami didn't let it stay there, in focus, because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted a reaction. Small smile, not happy in the least but not sad either: diversionary tactic, because he knew what he said next would be latched on to. It always was, and if the focus was on how horrible it must be to be an orphan, then it was off the fact that Yami wasn't who he claimed to be, or even anyone at all.

He could almost laugh, except that lately when he laughed in this sort of mood it sounded rather unnerving, as seemed to be the case with any laughter that held no mirth. "Besides, my parents are as dead this Christmas as they were last. I'm sure they won't mind. We don't even celebrate Christmas anyway."

Looking in his eyes again. Must be a good reason, good reason that didn't involve what Varon was scared it might involve, because what would that involve?

Yami spoke, and stopped. He closed his own eyes, which meant he wasn't looking in Varon's eyes. Yami started speaking again, so Varon listened.

And in some abstract sort of way, he did understand. Made a lot of sense, strangely. More sense than "You! Educate me. Now!" because Varon still couldn't get those images out of his head. Bad images. And Yami didn't suit being a dom. At least not in this state, but maybe as he was. When Varon had returned from the asylum, he'd looked at Yami's past journal posts. Pegged him as confident, arrogant and self-righteous, although his heart was in it, and he genuinely cared about things. Like his brother going missing: perfect example. Like a dog with a bone, and standing up to people. He couldn't imagine this Yami so much as shoving a first year out of the way, something Varon did on a daily basis. Even more fun was skidding his bike to a halt beside the girls and watching them scream.

He pondered more of Yami's statement. This was the Yami that Varon knew, so on some level he didn't fully understand, but he got a pretty good grasp of the gist. Like Physics, he'd hated that in high school, but he had to take it. He understood the electrical currents, which was what concerned him most, but theories? No, he didn't understand those. He had honestly tried, but had accepted the bare facts as opposed to sorting it out in his brain and putting it into context. When he tried to suss out gravity, all he could see was his Physics teacher beneath an apple tree and the apple going whoosh, wham on his head. It kept him amused, but didn't offer him the deeper understanding his teacher told him he needed.

So, he made his own little childish understanding. To him, there was no force inside the earth pulling the apple to the ground, there was just the simple fact that you drop, you get wham.

And if Lady Luck was on your side -- and fate was something else Varon couldn't cushion safely in his brain -- then you got to hit your Physics teacher, who slapped rulers on your desk and interrupted the dreams with all the scantily clad models.

Right. Time to apply theory onto what Yami said.

Yuugi is sitting under a tree. Yami is an apple in a tree. He used to be green, and is now red. If Varon were to ram his bike into the tree, then the apples would fall off the tree. Yami apple would hit Yuugi on the head. Impact of Yami apple would give Yuugi a concussion, and that's not what Yami apple wanted. Yami apple is different from what Yuugi knows, and what Yuugi doesn't know gives him concussion and an overnight stay in hospital. With scantily clad nurses.

Okay. Yami was talking again and Varon hadn't had time to answer.

Process new speech.

Orphan.

Don'tpitydon'tgivepitypityisBADheobviouslydoesn'tNEEDpity!

He was slightly unnerved by the fact Yami said it in that tone. Varon knew for a fact he'd fall apart at the seams if his parents died, but maybe Yami lost them as a child, and so held no true, deep emotional understanding for them, and so was able to fob off their absence with such a careless quip.

Wait.

'...don't celebrate Christmas...'

"You don't celebrate Christmas?!" he yelped, jumping back, "You can't be serious! Japanese people celebrate it, but they have KFC, which still counts since it's still poultry, or it should be. Maybe that's why they have KFC instead of McDonald's. Anyway. Recovered from shock. Shame about your parents. Still, they'll probably be kicking back on a cloud or something eating chicken legs."

He stopped talking. Too callous? Surely Yami wouldn't take offence? It wasn't a bad or a wrong thing to say, was it? After all, it insinuated they'd gotten into heaven instead of falling headfirst into the pits of Hell to play Butt Monkey for The Big Red Guy. Alright, yes, that was offensive. Definitely wouldn't be saying that to Yami.

What religion was Yami, anyway? Buddhist, like most other Japanese people? What happened in the Buddhist afterlife? Reincarnation, wasn't it? Yes, he was sure the Religious Education teacher had said that, because Varon had piped up at the mention of 'Japan'. He'd wanted to come here since he was a kid, with all the shiny, new, state-of-the-art technology released years before everywhere else in the world. He loved nothing more than emailing his friends over in Australia about the latest technology to come out, or how he'd gotten whatever was latest over there in Japan for about a third of the price it had been in Australia.

He missed his mom and dad, though. Why didn't Yami? Varon didn't even have a theory he could apply to that. On a fundamental level he knew Yami didn't particularly seem to care because he didn't know them, and if they'd died just a year ago he probably would have cared a lot more.

Then again, Varon didn't have siblings. Yami did. Yami had his little brother, so in an adverse way Yugi was like Yami's mother and father rolled into one -- very compact -- package. If Yuugi died -- God forbid, God forbid. Varon hastily rapped his knuckles on wooden bed post -- then Yami would feel the same way Varon would feel if he got a phone call tomorrow saying, "Sorry, mate, but your parents copped it in a car accident. Yeah, had to skid to stop for a sugar glider flying past the road and went careering off the cliff, SPLOSH into the water. Sugar glider's alright though."

Short of hunting down whoever gave him the phone call and running them over repeatedly with his bike, Varon had no idea how he'd cope. He knew that one day, his parents would die, but maybe by then he'd be more emotionally equipped to deal with it. Not that he particularly wanted to deal with it.

The only person he knew who'd died had been his Grandma Aggie, who died when he was 2 from lung cancer. Smoked like a chimney and lived to 53. Varon didn't even have memories of her, and the strange, haggard looking old woman with the waxy skin and cigarette dangling from her lower lip didn't mean anything to him at all, even if his father couldn't quite look at the picture right.

That must be it. Yami was very young when they died and so held no memories. Varon would've pried, but he didn't feel it would have been appropriate.

"Uh, so." he coughed, "Ready to roll, partner?"

Was Yami, actually...?

"Of course."

Because that was the right answer, and anything else would've implied that there was a problem, and there wasn't a problem because Yuugi needed a brother without problems and so that was exactly what he would have. It'd just take a while. And Yami was more than willing to wait, if that was what it took, but not to stop going in that direction. No matter how many walls he ran into, or how much what the doctor had done seemed to point towards there being a very large problem indeed.

And things were going to be fine. It was only a room. Nothing more. Four walls, and a floor, and a small window. That was it. Nothing to be concerned about, nothing to care about. Nothing to make him nervous, and nothing to inspire sort of trepidition he was now trying to convince himself he wasn't feeling. Because if it was just a room, then it shouldn't make him feel this way, and there was no room for question about that 'if' anymore.

And if there was no room for if, then there was no room for any of the -- wait. Partner?

That was odd. He'd called Varon that, of course, and Varon him, and he wasn't entirely sure when that'd started or who'd been the one to start it, but there it was, after all. But that wasn't a word he was supposed to use with Varon, because that was what he called Yuugi. Aibou. Partner. Very simple, and very accurate. He didn't remember when that'd become Yuugi's nickname to him, but it'd been ages ago, and it'd stuck. And he hadn't noticed until he'd heard Varon say it that he was attaching the label to someone other than his little brother.

Should he be concerned by that? Was that a bad thing?

...Not in and of itself. There was more to it than that. More complicated things set into motion than just the fact that Varon had appropriated a pet name reserved for Yuugi.

Namely, the fact that he hadn't called Yuugi that in longer than he could remember. It was further back than the doctor would let him remember. And that was something the old Yami did, the old Yami whom he tried to emulate but never had quite right, but knew he had to keep trying to pretend to be, because if he didn't, then where would that leave him? And he didn't have a choice; he needed to come out of this the same.

Because if he didn't come out of this the same person he'd come in, then that meant that something had Happened. And if something had Happened, that meant there was something wrong. That meant that something had been done to him, that he'd let something happen to him and of course he'd let it happen because really, how could he have been so pathetic as to not be able to fight the doctor off that he couldn't undo, and it was all just....

He wouldn't accept that. Yuugi's brother was not dead. Parents, yes. Brother, no. He might be lost somewhere, and if there was a way to find him, then Yami didn't have it yet, but he was going to find it somehow because he wouldn't allow for anything else but the same Yami he'd been before to come back. Because he didn't want to be broken and if he could come back just the way he'd left then that would mean he wasn't and that all of the rest of this just never happened and he'd never have to think about it again because it all meant nothing.

And if everything was going back to normal, then he'd deal with this room like it was nothing, because it should've been nothing to him. It was nothing to him. Because he wasn't going to allow it to become anything, wasn't going to accept that there was anything wrong, because that would be losing and after the doctor, after the forfeits Yami was never going to lose again. Even if he didn't trust himself to be able to do anything but.

And that meant no being scared, and no thinking about Yuugi and the damage there left to repair, and no acting as if he was damaged, either. Because he wasn't. Not at all. Because he didn't want to be.

Did that make Varon a means to an end? That was an ugly thought, but Yami paid it no mind, moving towards the door without giving Varon a second glance. He'd moved on already. The rest of it was irrelevant. He had to go back to that room, clean out the things that no longer belonged to him he no longer wanted (because it had to be that, because it had to be a simple, idle, childish 'I've grown tired of these things' than a skin-crawling memory that he was powerless against and could only purge this way) and leave as if none of it affected him.

It wouldn't affect him. Couldn't. Small, impersonal command gesture, 'Follow me,' before he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Yami didn't give a second thought to the arrogance of the movement or the disregard it implied because it never occurred to him, and he refused to give a second thought to anything involving Yuugi's nickname or the room. Everything was normal, and everything would continue to be normal, and he would come out of this like nothing had ever happened.

He had to. There wasn't any other option left. The only choice he had was to start walking towards the place he'd thrown himself into the doctor's arms to wanted nothing more than to escape, and he made it. Funny how easy it was to make his footsteps sound confident. The game was all in the refusal to look back -- on any of this.

Varon floundered a little, suddenly feeling a little twinge of insignificance, but quickly pushing it away and grabbing his keys, exiting the room and closing the door, locking it to the sound of Yami’s receding footsteps.

Yami had acted weird since they arrived here, in Varon’s room. More so since the visit to Yami’s room had come up. Varon wasn’t so dense he didn’t realise there was something about the room setting Yami on edge; he just didn’t know what it was.

Since he figured he’d find out soon enough, he didn’t question, as he slipped his keys into his jacket pocket, following Yami at a slow pace. Yami was currently giving off the ‘Man-on-a-Mission’ aura, and Varon wasn’t inclined to disturb it.

Definitely something about the room. But what? Did he share it with anyone? Varon had his room to himself, so Yami might, too. Varon’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought, gnawing on his lower lip, something he’d always done when he thought, like people with beards stroked them, or at least his father did when he had the beard. The beard had been a disaster. He’d grown it when Varon was eight, and eight year old Varon was a most spoiled Varon. So, he pulled on the beard at every opportunity, until his father gave in and shaved it off again.

Perhaps taking a similar approach in the way of finding things out from Yami. Pulling constantly at a figurative beard until he started spilling details. Like, why was the room an issue? Why did he stare into eyes?

Varon stepped up the pace, going into a small jog to catch up to Yami, settling into a walk beside him. He glanced at the other.

"Hey, Yami? Are you...all right? You look kinda...put off, if you know what I mean."

Yami stopped in mid step at the question, wrenched out of the pattern -- and they became more and more repetitive, of course, as that was the only way to reinforce things and that was how the doctor had reinfored, slow and repetitive touches nonstop until he had absorbed them as a central part of his existence, so he knew it worked and worked well -- of thoughts he'd been locked into.

He knew exactly how 'all right' he was, and lied without hesitation, "I'm fine."

Because he knew he had to be fine, and if he had to be fine, then he would be fine, and that made whatever he was just now completely irrelevant. Except that what he was right now was miserably sick, because something wasn't going right; nothing ever went right this way; he felt ill. He wasn't supposed to go back; he wasn't ever supposed to go back; should've asked someone else; should've done something else; should've begged someone to take this all away and not

Yami did not beg. He Not for certainly anything in the begged world, and the absolutely not to doctor take something away quite from him because he was prettily too weak to handle though, it. Everything didn't was fine, and he? everything would be fine, Begged and he had to and stop being sobbed this pathetic, this and weak, and just pleaded deal with it. Now, and before it got any most worse. Couldn't of handle it getting any all, worse. Had he to be better gave for Yuugi, for himself. in.

And he started walking again, ignoring pointedly the fact that he'd begged Kaiba -- the lines were blurred even now as to how sincere he'd been or what mask he'd been wearing -- before, and in incoherent fragments of thoughts he'd begged Marik not to force him to -- and that'd been shivers and tears and whimpers he'd tried to bite back, but it'd been begging still, and all that meant was that he was pathetic as well as weak, and didn't he know, didn't he really know, at the core of it all, that if he'd had to he would've begged Varon to come with him too?

And suddenly he was fascinated by the concept of what'd happen if instead of continuing down the hallway he just lunged at Varon instead, bitescratchclawed at him for still being here, witness to all of this, and he didn't even know why, but his head was all full of the image of Varon's head cracking against the wall, because he had no idea if he could best Varon in a fight, likely his disturbing newfound tendency, early Christmas gift from the doctor, to stop resisting at a moment's pressure would cancel out any element of surprise, but he could get enough force into a sudden movement to send Varon sprawling, or shove him back against the wall, and would he bleed, back of his head cut from the

Yami blinked, stared at Varon again, repeated half under his breath, "I'm fine," shook his head as if that would clear the image -- broken jaw, that was it, trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, or maybe he could just fall and fall and fall, end over end, out a window or anywhere, really, and snap and shatter when he hit the ground -- and Kaiba would approve of that idea, yes, of hitting someone else instead of letting yourself be hit?

Except that Yami rather liked Varon, and would probably mind him being hurt, and didn't really want to hurt anyone. The doctor removed that concept cleanly, incisions so professional and smooth. And Varon wasn't the thing Yami wanted to destroy, not now. Because Yami didn't want to destroy anything. Because there was no creeping, twisting black mess of fear and frustration and filth because he couldn't be clean again, not now gathering like an oily sludge in the pit of his stomach and

"Fine," he murmured distantly, turning and starting to walk again. It wasn't much further now, was it? And everything was under control. His fingernails bit into his palms.

When Yami had stopped walking Varon had, an impending feeling of doom falling over him. He shouldn’t have asked. He normally had more sense not to ask. Damn his concern.

"I’m fine" wasn’t a suitable answer for Varon. "I’m fine" made it easy to fob off not being fine. What did people say when they were angry? I’m fine. Varon did it. His friends in Australia did it, even when they were contemplating how that jock would look with his head in a toilet bowl. And the answer to that universal question was good, very good. Varon tried and got off with a three day suspension.

Yami stared at Varon. Again. But different type of staring. The kind of staring that suggested that Yami was, at any given moment, going to pounce and eat Varon’s brains. Or, you know, just rip out his entrails and play jump rope with them. Varon swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat, one instinct screaming at him to defend, and the other telling him just to back off and crawl into a hole. Pride wouldn’t allow him to let anyone play jump rope with his entrails, but it was Yami, so he didn’t particularly want to have to defend, because he wouldn’t try and would just end up giving Yami a bit of exercise before his feast of brains.

Yami stopped staring, and Varon recovered the ability to breathe. The barely audible "I’m fine" was now said with more emotion to it. Well, that settled it. Yami wasn’t fine. Repetitive use of phrasing; ploy to convince.

Again. Very quiet, "Fine," and Yami was walking again.

Varon’s chest heaved as he exhaled some air, torn between going back to his room, his nice, safe room, and avoid any pending conflict with Yami, or follow anyway, since he did, after all, promise. He didn’t go back on his promises. And there was something about the room that was affecting Yami, and so it must have been a bad thing. There was some reason Yami was like this, and it tied in with the room or was the room. Varon had agreed to help Yami move things, and so he would. It was loyalty.

He started after Yami again, keeping a few paces behind him, pressing his bent arm into the flat boxes, pinning them against his side, deciding that it would be best just to keep his mouth shut for the time being. Don’t speak until spoken to. Good boy. Had to be quiet and good for the priest that visited, or when Great Grandma visited, or when it was the run up until Christmas and he had to be a good boy or Santa wouldn’t come. Just shut up, do what you're told, and you won’t end up in a nasty situation you can’t find a nice way out of.

Yami, on the other hand, had never been brought to heel the same way. Before the doctor, anyway. Spoiled, perhaps, or at the very least sheltered, he'd never been told to shut up, or made to think he had any reason not to state his childish opinion on whatever he cared to. Being good meant watching Yuugi so that he didn't get himself into trouble, and being reasonably compliant when told to clean his room or stay put somewhere; it never meant thinking he had to be silent or submissive.

That approach groomed a defiant, arrogant little creature, perhaps, but that hadn't ever really been a problem. Discipline came when it was necessary, and stung and could be bitterly resented, but Yami had been adaptable, and set to learning from his mistakes in earnest. Good intentions and a generally pleasant temperament went a long way toward avoiding punishment for his pride, and the ideas fostered in him weren't ever ones of checking himself to avoid upsetting other people, or keeping his mouth shut, or caving in and letting people just take from him, but always things like 'take care of your brother' and 'don't get into too much trouble,' and that'd built something so entirely different from what he was now that it was hard to map a comparison.

But Yami wasn't thinking of that now, was only thinking of each step he had to take to go forwards, because the past was a closed book to him. It was something he wasn't able to touch anymore, and couldn't know again until after everything was sorted out. Until he had back the person that he'd been. Because he was something wholly different from the boy who'd grown up with the childlishly idealistic conviction that he could change the world if he set out to, and that meant that those memories weren't his. They belonged to someone else, someone infinitely stronger and better than he was now, and he was going to find that person if it killed him.

And would it? He really didn't want to consider that possibility, because he wasn't even entirely sure what he was thinking anymore. Everything was warped and recursive and confused. And everything wasn't allowed to be, which just meant that along with every wall he went headlong into, he'd come up against paradox as well. And there was no way of sorting this one, was there? Except that if he was trying to masquerade as Yuugi's brother, then he'd have to keep going. Regardless. Didn't matter what he came up against, because he had no other option.

Had to keep telling himself that, repeating it endlessly, because if he said it enough times, it wouldn't matter whether it was true.

And there it was. The door. Room. End of the hallway. They'd come to it, finally. And it was just like any other door, and there was no reason to stop dead at the sight of it instead of taking the last few steps. Except he did. And where that left him was anyone's guess. He gave up trying to figure it out.

Yami stopped, so Varon stumbled to a halt, blinking. There was still a few steps until they reached the door, and Varon assumed it was the door, since another few steps and they’d be hitting wood. Also, the fact Yami was staring at it the way a vampire would a crucifix was a bit of a give away.

"Here, then?" Varon asked needlessly, just for something to say, as he still had the little cloud of doom from Yami’s last stare floating above his head. Now, to be quiet and just wait. Let Yami sort out whatever issues surrounded his room, and then just help him with the stuff and then he’d make Yami come with him somewhere, to do something, preferably something distracting and fun. Although short of finding more trees and more fairy lights, Varon was ever so slightly stuck for more ideas. Take Yami into town? Go to the arcade, or something? Games were good; he didn’t know a guy that didn’t like games in some form, particularly arcade games. Go to a bar or something? That could be a bad and a good thing, depended on how well Yami handled his drink.

He looked to Yami, having to fight to keep his mouth shut, rocking on his heels as he waited.

Didn't have to wait long, as the sound of his voice had jarred Yami's world just a bit, was enough of an interruption to distract him momentarily from the fact that he was frozen -- to remind him that he was still in the hallway, yes, and that the door was ahead of him, and that he was very much still in the process of accomplishing something. And that he had to continue, or he'd fail. And that he wasn't allowed to fail again, at anything. Even if he might be just a little terrified of what he'd find behind that door, and even if the doctor's whispers in his ear were still as vivid in memory as anything Kamui had physically done to him. Darling whore, utterly useless except for one thing, and he knew what that was....

"Here."

And he hated how small his voice had become and how he wanted Yuugi here, or Kaiba, or anyone because he was no longer certain or even just the tiniest bit remotely approaching convinced that that he could do this. And it wasn't fair -- this room shouldn't mean anything, wasn't allowed to mean anything, couldn't mean anything!

But screaming and kicking and sobbing wasn't going to change this, and he wasn't sure he had the will to anyway. Hadn't that been the first thing to go? Huddled in the corner, shivering, shuddering, thoughts all a wash of jagged fragments he couldn't connect into coherent ideas, flinching under Marik's touch but without even the ability to properly cry or push him away or anything; everything violent replaced with choked back whimpers and trembling and that was pathetic beyond words, and by the time the doctor was through with him, even whimpering and trembling was beyond him. And there was nothing left.

And what did he do then? He didn't know, and he was no longer even entirely sure, and he wanted someone to do this for him, wanted someone to take this away from him, remove all the responsibility he had to get through this, make it all right not to be normal, make it all right to be just weak and just scared and just a thousand kinds of not okay anymore, but that disgusted him, because if he couldn't do this, if he couldn't get through this and get rid of this weakness and bring back the person he'd been in the first place, no scars and no impression left, then what hope was there?

Except that that was his plan now, and there didn't seem to be very much hope in it, either.

There was, however, determination, and that was what'd carried him this far. It'd take him further. He just needed to keep moving. Keep doing something. Even if there seemed to be very little he was capable of doing, and very little chance left that any of this would work as he'd wanted it to, as it had to. Except he still wasn't moving, staring at the door like somehow everything would change if he just stared long enough, wanted it badly enough, and....

And he didn't know what to do.

Yami still hadn’t moved. Just a quiet "Here." and that was that. Varon glanced at the door. Exactly the same as every other door in the place, only the number was different, and inside would be different too, a reflection of the owner. Like Varon’s room was messy and scattered with junk, which reflected the fact that Varon was unorganized, a lazy ass, careless and...okay, he didn’t really know what it reflected other than lazy ass gamer, but your room was yours. It was supposed to be a place of welcoming and sanctuary, not something you stood outside of and stared at in terror.

Varon looked between the door and Yami. Short distance, and Yami didn’t seem particularly inclined to cross it anytime soon. Varon took a deep breath, turning to face Yami and clamping a hand down on his shoulder before he flinched and didn’t.

"Alright, mate. Something’s freaking you out about the room, and I don’t know what it is, and I don’t think you’re going to tell me, but I’m not stupid. Whatever it is, it’s something huge to you, and I won’t question it, but I’ll...I dunno. Go along with you. Can’t think of anything to say that isn’t corny like "I’m with you" or "I’ll help you get through this," or some other crap you’d find on a cheesy soap, but hey, the sentiment’s there, believe it or not. I haven’t known you long, but I consider you a friend. So, I’ll try and help if I can. If you want me to bugger off back to my own room and leave you to it, just say so. I might be inclined to ignore you or I might go, but...just, yeah. D’you wanna do this...room thing?"

He could have cringed, to be honest. Didn’t like doing corny stuff, unless it was for a date. But Yami came out of an asylum, and Varon could make the embarrassment sacrifice if it was going to be some help to Yami.

But Yami was beyond hearing now, beyond everything. Beyond being affected by speeches. Varon was here, yes, but the only thing that sunk in was that his hand was on Yami's shoulder, and that he'd asked a question. Did Yami want to do this?

And the answer was clear and came without hesitation. "No."

And the reality of the situation was also clear, and Yami was full up with it now, no room for anything else. If this was what he'd come to, and this was what he had to do, and Yuugi needed a brother that he couldn't be unless he managed to pull this off, and he needed to be the person he had been or else he'd be left falling apart, and anything less than a perfect, flawless recovery, than shutting the door on this forever like it'd never touched him, meant that something had Happened, something irreparable....

Then what Yami wanted no longer mattered. Had it ever? He was a pawn now, with only one direction to move, caught up in the machinations of something more powerful than he could resist in this state. Power he aspired to, maybe, needed to have in order to call this finished, but until he went forward, he couldn't hope for that. Which meant there was really only one option, and there only ever had been this one.

He took his step forwards, one movement, end of a pawn's reach, and opened the door.