Since returning to the afterlife, Atem has kept a papyrus note with Seto's contact information — one he never used, and never explains why. When Seto finally comes to him instead, an old rivalry gives way to something neither of them has words for yet, until Atem finally says the thing he's been avoiding since the day he left.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 視線を外す
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
—and something in his heart creaked.
Lately, Atem's time spent lost in thought had been growing.
More accurately, it wasn't quite thought — his awareness simply drifted, blank, more and more often.
"Hey, other me."
Yugi's voice called him back, and his awareness returned with a start.
He didn't even know himself what he'd been doing. That kind of thing had been happening more.
Footage of a press conference came up on the TV screen.
A familiar company logo caught his eye. In front of it, a man was saying something in fluent English.
A low, composed voice, crisp diction.
At that familiar voice, Atem lifted his gaze with a start, and found himself unable to move.
Text scrolled across the screen.
"KaibaLand USA Project Announcement."
He had no room to follow the meaning of the words.
He didn't need to see the content to understand. He already knew the man had flown to America chasing a dream.
And yet, neither his eyes nor his ears would leave the television.
In a distant country, moving through the flow of the living world's time, living as if it were only natural, talking about the future — his rival.
There wasn't really anything in particular to say. But somehow, he wanted to talk to him.
He hadn't noticed that Yugi had been watching his back, this whole time.
How long had it been, since Atem stopped looking away from the television?
Yugi had tried, more than once, to call out to him, and each time, in the end, gave up.
He understood that this silence wasn't something words should interrupt.
One night.
A note was quietly set down on the desk.
"...As soon as you can, okay."
Leaving only those words, Yugi withdrew, deep into himself. This wasn't something to press further.
On the note left behind: that man's name, and a way to reach him.
Atem looked down at it, unable to move for a while, then traced the letters gently with a fingertip.
The texture of the pen's indentations felt strangely real.
The note's existence stayed, always, somewhere at the edge of his mind.
Even so, Atem simply couldn't bring himself to make contact.
If he dialed, he felt something would end. If he heard that voice, he felt there'd be no going back.
And yet the day of departure kept approaching, without mercy.
Counting down the time that remained, the deadline slipped, little by little, through his fingers.
Just before it ran out completely, Atem picked up the device, the note with the contact information in one hand.
Since returning to the afterlife, Atem had gone about his duties as king, plainly, without much feeling.
Judging, decreeing, praying, watching over the cycle of souls.
Roles that had once been simply natural to him.
In the midst of that time, the faces of people from the living world sometimes crossed his mind. His partner, Yugi, of course, and his friends too.
But none of it tightened around his chest anymore — it had become a distant memory, a quiet nostalgia set gently at the corner of his heart.
One day, while writing in his private chamber.
Without meaning to, Atem found his hand moving across a small scrap of papyrus at his fingertips.
Once he'd finished writing, his fingers stopped. What was written there was that contact information — the same thing he'd stared at so many times, back in the living world.
It looked almost too much like the note he'd had in the living world.
The size, the shape, the placement, even the crease from where it had been folded and unfolded in hesitation — all identical.
Atem let out a small laugh of breath and quietly folded the papyrus.
And rather than disposing of it, or burning it, he decided to keep it in his private chamber.
Atem had interfered in the living world only once.
At the very moment the world was about to be completely swallowed by darkness.
His appearance there had been brief, and what he'd managed to do had been only a little.
He'd exchanged a few words with Yugi.
"What did you say to Kaiba?"
At the sudden question, Atem shook his head.
"No, I didn't say anything in particular."
"...Then why's he so tangled up over it."
The tone was somewhere between scolding and worried, though it didn't sound like blame, exactly — more exasperated, more concerned.
Atem didn't answer that.
Looking around, there were people lying unconscious.
And among them was Seto, who had just been fighting only moments before.
A body that didn't move. Quiet breathing. Still, alive.
Atem looked down at that, silently, then looked away.
Without calling out, without touching him, without seeing anyone but Yugi, he decided to return to the afterlife once more.
"Aren't you going to see Kaiba before you go?"
"...He'll be fine."
He answered that, and turned his back.
Somewhere, he thought it was himself who wasn't fine.
The afterlife stirred.
Deep in the silence, ripples unmistakably spread.
He knew at once that someone had intruded.
"So he's come."
That was all he thought.
If he thought any further, he felt something might spill out, so Atem stopped thinking.
He cleared everyone away, let no one near, and waited alone in the throne room.
Eventually, the air shifted. Seto appeared.
A figure unchanged from the one in his memory — the same straight-backed stance, the same sharp gaze.
Only, he looked, somehow, just slightly pleased.
Atem rose to his feet.
"...You really came."
What rose to his lips was the smile of a rival. Natural, the same as always.
But inside, his heart was terribly complicated, and he had no idea what to say.
He couldn't find the words.
Atem stood facing Seto.
There was, certainly, something he wanted to say. There should have been something he wanted to ask, too.
But he didn't know what it was.
The instant he tried to put it into words, it seemed to lose its shape entirely. No proper words could be found.
Seto said nothing, only shoved a Duel Disk toward him.
Atem took it, as naturally as if it were the obvious thing to do.
The duel continued for several rounds.
There was no meaning to winning or losing anymore, not like before. Only cards moving, the field changing, time flowing.
"Next."
The instant he saw Seto readying his Duel Disk again, something slowly soaked into Atem's chest.
Something that had once been simply natural, in the living world.
An equal, merciless, inescapable relationship — a rival.
That, right here, right now.
Atem didn't ready his Duel Disk.
He only stood there, staring blankly into Seto's eyes.
"Hurry up."
The voice reached him, but his body wouldn't move.
—He's here.
That fact suddenly took on a sharp reality, and something, quietly, gave way.
Before he knew it, Seto had lowered the arm holding his Duel Disk, and was standing right in front of Atem.
And, saying nothing, he was watching him with an expression Atem couldn't quite read.
Atem didn't understand what that expression meant.
Unable to even ask, only returning his gaze, Seto reached out a hand.
His thumb traced beneath Atem's eye. Wiping — no, more like confirming.
At that instant, he was forced to understand, whether he liked it or not.
He'd been crying.
Atem caught his breath, without meaning to.
"I..."
That was all that came out as sound; the words that should follow, still, couldn't be found.
Whether excuses, or explanations, were even necessary — he didn't know that either.
Only one thing was certain.
He couldn't fight right now.
"Today's already..."
That alone made clear that it meant the end of the duel.
Atem looked away and tried to leave.
But Seto followed. Whether he had a reason or not wasn't clear.
"I'll run some analysis for a while."
Saying it in his usual tone.
In the end, the two of them walked together toward a room.
The fact that he'd been seen crying was starting to weigh on him, belatedly.
The tears had already receded, but he had, undeniably, cried, and it had, undeniably, been seen.
"Awkward" didn't begin to cover it.
Even back in the room, Seto said nothing.
No sign of settling in to relax. He didn't touch on what had happened, but he stayed.
Atem didn't know what to say. As if unable to bear the silence, he told an attendant to prepare tea.
He set a steaming cup in front of Seto.
"Well... take your time."
He said only that and sat down across from him.
Seto lowered his eyes to the cup.
"Yeah."
Nothing more.
Only the fragrance of the tea slowly filled the room.
Seto sat for a while, saying nothing.
He didn't reach for the tea, only gazed at the rim of the cup.
Eventually, his low voice fell.
"Atem."
At the sound of his name, Atem snapped back to himself, startled.
Only now did he notice his thoughts had drifted off somewhere.
Without lifting his gaze, Seto went on.
"If there's something you want to say, say it."
—Something I want to say.
Atem searched for words, but nothing at all came to mind.
There was something in his chest, but it still refused to take shape.
Left with no choice, he answered as if fleeing.
"...You first."
Hearing that, Seto's mouth curved up, just slightly, at the corner.
"Am I supposed to talk? You want to hear about everything, from the moment you vanished, up until now?"
His tone was flat.
There was no trace of anger or accusation in it, but Atem lowered his eyes. On that point, the fault was his own.
He'd left the living world without a word, without leaving anything behind.
"That... I'm sorry."
No further words followed.
Seto's expression didn't change, even at that apology.
Instead, his fingers moved.
"So, what's this."
Held between those fingers was a small scrap of paper.
A worn, creased papyrus, with contact information written on it.
Atem's chest tightened, quietly.
It should have been in his private chamber.
He'd sometimes stared at it without meaning to, and had left it out.
Seto only glanced at the numbers written on the paper, then looked back up.
"You disappeared without a word. But you could have contacted me, if you'd wanted to."
Faced with the facts laid out plainly, Atem had nothing to say.
Just before leaving the living world, he'd picked up the device, gripping the note tightly.
But, in the end, he hadn't been able to make the call.
He had no way to put that into words, right here, right now.
Silence fell.
Seto kept the paper between his fingers, watching Atem.
There was nowhere to run. And yet, he didn't feel accused, or cornered, either.
Atem finally let out a breath.
"...I couldn't."
No reason, no excuse. Because he didn't understand the reason himself.
As if receiving those words head-on for the first time, Seto looked at Atem and set the paper down on the desk.
His fingers withdrew, and the paper settled quietly, as though its role had ended.
"Couldn't, huh."
Murmuring it low, as if turning the words over, Seto lifted his face.
"Then... can you now?"
At that single question, the air shifted. As if sealing off every escape, leaving only one path remaining.
Atem caught his breath.
Something creaked, deep in his chest.
The days in the afterlife, his role as king, the quiet that had become ordinary.
All of it seemed, for an instant, about to lose its meaning.
The words wouldn't come, right away.
Seto crossed his arms, waiting for Atem's answer.
Atem kept his gaze down, clenching his fists.
He hadn't been able to.
Back then.
But he didn't think it was fine to leave things as they were, either.
"...I don't know."
Atem said it, as if wringing the words out.
"Whether I can or not, I don't know. But..."
He got that far, and the words caught again.
Seto's gaze didn't waver.
"But?"
The voice urging him on was low, quiet.
Atem finally lifted his face.
"You're here. And that..."
His throat tightened. If he kept going, he felt something would break, decisively.
Seto neither affirmed nor denied that silence.
"I..."
He opened his mouth, quietly.
"I have no interest in cornering someone I don't know can answer."
He paused a beat, then let out a breath.
"But I don't intend to leave it, either, at 'couldn't.'"
Seto stood and came to stand in front of Atem.
Close, but not touching.
"Choose. Right now, do nothing — or—"
He cut himself off for an instant.
"—look at me."
Atem's heart gave a hard, heavy beat.
Not a duel, not his duties as king.
Only the choice to look at Seto.
The answer hadn't come yet, but his gaze, at least, didn't waver.
Atem looked straight back into Seto's eyes.
And after a while of silence, without looking away, he said:
"...I'll stop looking."
Seto's brow moved, faintly.
"I've watched you, this whole time. ...I want to stop just watching. I want to choose."
His voice was quiet.
But this time, he wasn't running.
"If I get to choose — this time, you look at me."
Seto was quiet for a moment, then huffed a laugh through his nose.
"Don't give me orders. You think you're a king or something?"
At those words, the taut air eased, just slightly.
The tension drained from Atem's shoulders. He let out a small breath.
"I am a king, you know."
His tone was almost just remembering the fact aloud.
Seto looked steadily at that face. Not bravado, not a bluff.
"...You're a troublesome man."
Murmuring it low, Seto closed the distance, just a little.
Atem, this time, didn't look away.
"Fine."
That single word settled something.
"I'll look. I'm not running. No analysis, either."
Seto's gaze caught Atem straight on.
Not as king, not as rival. As one person.
"Don't look away either."
Atem nodded, slowly.
Words weren't needed anymore.
What passed between them here wasn't a promise.
The silence of the afterlife felt, somehow, as if it had gained warmth.
Atem reached out a hand, without meaning to.
Even knowing he was there, he couldn't feel it as real without touching him.
The instant his fingertips touched the edge of Seto's coat—
"Don't move."
At the low voice, his wrist was caught.
Pulled before he could resist, his vision closing in, and in the next instant, he was held within Seto's arms.
Embraced. Enclosed.
At a distance that said, unmistakably, "here" — warmth slowly seeped through.
Atem, without meaning to, let the tension drain from his body. He couldn't find a reason to resist.
Close to his ear, he could hear Seto's heartbeat. Steady, strong, quiet.
"...Don't make a face like you're relieved."
An exasperated voice.
"Letting your guard down, in a place like this?"
It should have been sarcasm, but there was no push to it, no distance.
The arms didn't loosen. Atem let his forehead rest against Seto's chest.
"...I'm not relieved."
"Then what."
"...I feel like I've come back."
The instant he put it into words, he surprised himself.
Not as king. Not as any role. Just — being here.
Seto said nothing.
After a while of silence, he finally opened his mouth.
"Is that all you wanted to say?"
The tone wasn't interrogating.
This time, it left no room to run, no time to stall — a quiet question.
Atem stayed silent for a while, and lightly gripped the fabric of Seto's clothing.
He knew it was a childish gesture, but he didn't stop.
"I'll listen. Say it."
And then, at last.
The words caught in his throat came spilling out.
"—I wanted to see you."
That was all.
After the long silence, the truth he'd finally allowed himself.
Seto's arms tightened, just slightly.
"...That took quite the roundabout way to say."
His voice was low.
But there was no mockery in it.
Atem closed his eyes.
"Yeah."
Ever since the living world. Quite the roundabout way, indeed.
Even so, right now, not as king, not as rival — as the result of his own choice, he was here.
The night deepened, uneventfully.
The words didn't increase, beyond that.
Seto's arms didn't pull away, and Atem didn't rise, either.
Neither of them moved, only their breathing slowly overlapping.
The silence of the afterlife ran deep, with no sound marking time the way it did in the living world.
Even so, the night was, unmistakably, passing.
Atem, eyes closed, counted Seto's warmth. The heartbeat against his chest. The weight of the arm around his back. The faint sense of fingertips shifting, just slightly.
Touching. That alone was enough.
There was no need, now, to be a king, no reason to be a rival.
"...Not sleeping?"
Seto's voice fell, low.
"If I fall asleep, I feel like I'll disappear."
At an answer far too honest, Seto said nothing.
Only, the strength in his arms grew, just slightly, stronger.
Eventually, the sky of the afterlife began to shift, pale. A faint dawn.
But unmistakably, a color that meant "morning."
Atem slowly opened his eyes.
The world hadn't changed.
Seto was still there, too. The warmth of his touch was still there.
"...Morning's come. That doesn't mean anything's ending, though."
Seto's words were flat, plain.
Atem let out a small breath.
"...Yeah."
That alone was enough.
Nothing exchanged, nothing promised — only, together, they welcomed the same morning.
That alone.
