In a dim kitchen in the living world, Kaiba goes over each plate in turn — what Atem ate, how he reacted, which of them he liked. He intends to carry all of it with him.
In the afterlife, Atem wakes from a dream he misses, and finds the memory of taste still on his tongue. Two promises are holding: one not to keep the other waiting, one not to change.
Then a shadow falls into the quiet air, and the distance between them closes for the first time with no one watching.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 04 ふたりの時
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor_yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
In the dim kitchen, Kaiba stood alone.
When he lowered his eyes to the dish in his hands, the dishes and sweets and fruit that Atem had been pleased by — their tastes, their scents, the pleased face — reproduced themselves.
That one, and this one.
With the very faintest smile at his mouth, Kaiba called back each reaction in turn.
What reaction he had shown to the toasted savour of ta'meya, to the sweetness of cake, to the freshness of fruit, to the sting of spice.
Each of them overlaid with Atem's smile, and cut warmly into him.
He was now somewhere these scents and tastes could never be tasted again.
That was precisely why Kaiba had decided to gather up each plate carefully in memory and carry them to the afterlife.
The taste of this world. It was the proof of a life lived in the living world.
And it was also the residue of the love he had poured into Atem.
The cards in preparation for what came next were coming together. One of them: to cross over to the land of the dead, to the afterlife, while still alive. He was about to play this card.
With the faintest lift at his lips, Kaiba murmured one last thing.
"I'll take all of it with me. Nothing forgotten. For your sake."
The afterlife.
In the stillness, Atem woke.
He had been dreaming a dream he missed.
When he closed his eyes, deep in his chest that toasted smell, that sweet scent, that freshness he had tasted in the living world came vividly back.
It was the memory of the taste of this world that Kaiba had given him. The memory of being alive.
Plate by plate, hand and foot, what Kaiba had left behind as though to say, remember this.
Each sensation that spread across his tongue woke the sense of being alive.
Even in the afterlife, Atem's body and heart were resuming, little by little, the happiness of the living world.
By the power of the memory of taste, and of the affection, that Kaiba had spun.
I won't keep you waiting. He had said that.
I will not change. He had sworn that.
A faint smile surfaced.
There was nothing in front of him, but deep in his chest a warmth had filled.
"So this is the taste of this world."
Atem's world had quietly begun to be reborn from the seeds of happiness Kaiba had scattered.
The two of them were not living in the same world.
But the memory of taste and the warmth in their hearts connected them like an invisible thread.
Kaiba pictured Atem over a new plate; Atem felt Kaiba's gentleness inside his chest.
Physically apart, their hearts and memories were certainly touching. There was a promise. There was a vow.
That alone filled the space between them with a quiet happiness.
Into the quiet air of the afterlife, one shadow quietly fell.
"So this is—"
Kaiba's voice was low, and yet it gave off a definite presence.
He had arrived at last. The boundary between the living world and the afterlife. He had crossed the dimension.
Atem looked up.
In the quiet of the afterlife, a warmth spread suddenly deep in his chest.
It was that toasted smell, that memory of sweetness, tasted in the living world. The memory of being alive.
And then, appearing before him, a figure he had missed.
"Kaiba…"
Surprise and joy mixed in his voice.
A presence at last before his eyes again, across a span of time that felt both short and long.
Kaiba smiled faintly.
"I've kept you waiting, Atem. Are you unchanged?"
At the edge of the words lay the memory of the taste of this world — the recollection of the taste he had gone on and on giving him.
Atem's voice was slightly hoarse, and a thin film of tears stretched across his eyes.
"I'm still myself. I haven't… changed."
Kaiba nodded slightly and held out his hand. The reverse of their parting at the airport: it was Kaiba who gently touched Atem's hand.
Atem closed his own around it.
"Taste it once more, in front of me. The taste of this world."
The distance between them was closer than it had ever been.
With no one watching close by. The two of them alone.
The same as that time: a kiss lasting only an instant.
Konpeitō pushed into Atem's mouth, fingertips touching, sweetness spreading.
The temperatureless air of the afterlife filled, too, with a warmth woven out of memories of the living world.
It was the moment when the seeds of happiness Kaiba had sown at last came into flower.
Atem's room, with bright light coming in. Kaiba had several dishes in his hands.
"Open your mouth."
On every dish, a mountain of sweets.
So that the tastes he had been pleased by in the living world could be reproduced, even a little, a kitchen had been installed in the next room.
But it was a living-world kitchen through and through. No — with equipment far in excess of what cooking required, it had the look of a laboratory, and it had also become the place Kaiba arrived when he crossed the dimension.
Things were sent through, or finished there, or in some cases made from nothing. The dishes and confectionery prepared that way.
Atem was astonished that he would go this far, and exasperated, and a smile came to his mouth.
"…This is that sweet scent."
Ta'meya to the Kaiba mansion's recipe, the taste of sweet desserts, fruit sent through.
All of it woke memories of the living world.
Kaiba watched in silence.
Each time Atem tasted another mouthful, he felt a small fire of satisfaction light deep in his chest.
Having confirmed that he was pleased, he sat down beside him.
Atem was eating away, absorbed.
"Kaiba… this really is good!"
"That is the taste of this world."
The air of the afterlife was supposed to have no temperature, and yet warmth overflowed between them.
Even as the night deepened, the two of them quietly layered time, as though confirming each other's presence and the memory of the taste of this world.
Sitting side by side, holding hands, talking of nothing much. Peaceful time.
As though recovering, one by one and slowly, the time they had been apart.
The seeds of happiness that had flowered were now, in the afterlife, about to reach full bloom.
