#alt title: The Only Atem in The World

[kujakumai]

Wherefore Art Thou 5,010 words; Complete [AO3 Link]

Atem has come out the ceremonial duel not with death but with a life of his own, and with that comes questions, problems, paperwork. He'll need a checklist of things, a birthday, an address, a hometown, a last name. A weighty decision, a name. They already went through so much trouble getting the first one.

About being in the right-wrong body at the wrong-right time and the chances we never expected to get; about how I was always me and you are no one else but you, and we'll never be like that again, but there are still things we can share with each other.

Or: A story in which Atem writes some things down, gets a new shirt, and fails to buy eggs.

Sunlight. That was the first thing you noticed about the house, the way the Ishtar siblings had angled everything towards it, falling in through wide-open windows and flooding the kitchen, bouncing off golden antiques brought up from the tombs and settling over the plants Rishid left on counters and shelves. In a place with too much sunlight, where it radiated over the sand without end, this place welcomed it, as if there could never be enough.

The second thing that came to mind was that there was something off about it, like you couldn't tell when it was supposed to be. It was half in old Egypt and half in 1998, shiny modern convenience sitting next to remnants of the old ways. Artifacts and incense, videogame systems and new athletic shoes, crashing up against each other without rhyme or reason like a patchwork quilt, like an odds-and-ends drawer, like a warzone. Atem found it unpleasantly mismatched and a little ugly, but oddly comforting in a way he could not describe.

It wasn't big enough for an extended visit, but while they were all in Egypt the Ishtars insisted that they stay for dinner at least once—Rishid, they were informed, was an excellent cook. So Atem, Yugi, Jonouchi, Anzu, Honda, Otogi, and Bakura were all piled into the cozy too-small living room, strewn about couches and on pulled-in kitchen chairs, and even then a lack of space left Bakura cheerfully sitting cross-legged on the floor. Ten people, too many, laughing about nothing and everything, about Anzu's study abroad plans, Ishizu's work, Shizuka's health, and a brief tangent where Honda and Marik traded bike specifications in arcane mechanical terms that left everyone else out of the loop.

"Ateeeeeeem, you're so quiet." Jonouchi flopped onto an overstuffed chair that Honda was already sitting in, elbowing him in the face and squishing in over his objections. "This is your party!"

"Ah, sorry." He had been quiet, listening to the conversation without hearing it, letting everything wash over him.

"Leave him alone, he's busy." Anzu scolded. "Atem has to get those papers done for Marik, or we can't leave."

"Atem has time! He should relax."

They were all saying his name a lot, more than was natural. He suspected they'd all gotten together when he wasn't in the room and agreed to practice it so they could stop accidentally calling him "Yugi." So they tacked it on to the end of every sentence, Atem, Atem, Atem, a very old name in new voices that had never spoken it before, or maybe a brand-new name in old and safe and familiar ones, or both at once or neither depending on your point of view. They all kept saying it a little wrong, reflexively adding the shadow of a "u" at the end, not used to the foreignness of it. Atem knew he should tell them that wasn't quite right but he loved it, and every time he heard the way they said it it tugged at something in his chest and made him want to smile.

Atem was sitting on the couch next to Yugi. Because he could do that now, sit next to him, because he had a body. Because a day ago he and Yugi dueled, and instead of taking him away forever like everyone expected the doors opened up and spat him back out, flesh and blood all his own just like the day he died, and before he even knew what was going on he'd been tackle-hugged by four or five people and everyone was sobbing. So he'd walked back out into the world and the sunlight, a little dazed and on his own two feet. He'd left his crown and cape at the hotel, kept his earrings and his cartouche, and put on a t-shirt someone had hastily grabbed from a tourist tchotchke shop. It was bubblegum pink and had a cartoon sphinx on it, and didn't fit quite right because they bought it in Yugi's size.

Yugi leaned over his shoulder in a way that very real and warm and solid and definitely not incorporeal, which Atem somehow never expected no matter how many times it happened. "What's it say?"

Atem offered him the two or three pages he was holding. "You can read it if you want, partner." Was it weird to still call him partner? Partners in what? They weren't in the same body anymore, so they couldn't duel together, exactly. Should he call him something else? If he stopped saying partner, would Yugi notice? Would he be hurt? What was the better word, then?

"This is a lot of info." Yugi's eyes traced down the page. Not so much a form as a handwritten list. Name, date of birth, place of birth, address, parent's names, blood type. "Marik really needs all this?"

"Yes. The more the better." Marik was sitting on the floor, eating nuts out of a bowl on the coffee table and trading cards with Bakura. "You can make up the stuff you don't know, just try to keep it believable." He looked up and gave them a mischievous smile. "Or don't. Go wild, if you want. I'm just putting it on paper, if you get stopped at the airport because your expertly forged new passport says you're three thousand years old, it'll be on you."

"I think," Otogi noted, from the opposite end of the couch, "if you're inventing a whole new identity from scratch, you're obligated to include at least one thing that's a little crazy. For fun."

"Exactly."

"Please don't listen to anything Marik says." Ishizu Ishtar was dressed more casually than any of them had ever seen her, but she carried herself with a practiced grace that always somehow emanated authority. She walked in with a silver tray covered in mugs of something, and held it out to Marik with a look that wordlessly communicated the ancient sibling art of I did this part, now you do the next.

Marik made a face, but stood up and started passing out drinks, and as he walked by Atem caught his own distorted reflection in the polished surface, which startled him because he looked exactly like he was supposed to look and not like Yugi Muto. Same hair, certainly, but not much else. An inch and a half shorter, because Yugi had grown but he hadn't, broader shoulders, not as skinny, warm brown skin. It shouldn't be that weird, just to see himself in the mirror. He'd has his memories for a month, even if the body was new. He knew what he looked like.

Tiny little discrepancies in his new existence, like someone secretly moving all the furniture in your house two inches to the left. A thousand irritants too subtle to notice, too minute to bother complaining about. Food that tasted a little wrong because he was used to someone else's tastebuds, the abrupt change in eyeline that made all his friends slightly the wrong height, the sound of his own voice in his ears, now lightly accented, because his head still knew Yugi's perfect Japanese but his new (old?) mouth wasn't practiced with the sounds. He'd picked up a phone this morning and stood there for thirty seconds like an idiot, waiting for muscle memory to kick in, until he realized that it wouldn't and had to search and press each button in a way he knew was slow and wrong. The weight of the puzzle was conspicuous in its absence. He was so used to it hanging from his neck and resting against his chest that the lack of it was odd, an empty triangular space where something should be, the way you suddenly notice background music when someone turns it off.

Ishizu sat down with perfect posture, somehow made a displaced wooden kitchen chair look elegant. "If you do have problems at the airport," she said, "call me first. I know people at the embassy."

Rishid leaned casually out of the kitchen doorway. "You won't have problems." he said, a spatula in one hand, his Japanese polite and careful. "Marik's work is good. We have never had issues." He smiled. "Easier than god cards."

"My papers are real," Ishizu said, with the tiniest smirk, "but you don't have time for that, pharaoh."

Jonouchi half-stood up and reached over and snatched the papers out of Yugi's hand. "So how far didja get?"

"Hey!" Yugi objected.

"Dude," Honda squinted at it from next to Jonouchi, "did you write anything yet?"

"I was thinking." Atem said, not at all defensively.

Jonouchi reached over to a side table and grabbed a pen, and clicked it. "C'mon, let's get this done with." He skimmed the page and seemed to pick at random. "When's your birthday?"

"19th of—" he started, automatically, before realizing midsentence that it was not the sort of date that anyone could use. "Shemu Epiphi." he finished, out of momentum.

Jonouchi did not write down "Shemu Epiphi," or anything like it, and just looked at him blankly, pen at the ready, awaiting clarification. Atem did not have any.

"Low water," added awkwardly, was the best that he could do.

Ishizu threw him a life raft. "That would be in the summer. Somewhere in July, I would think."

"It is not." Marik objected. "That has to be May or June. Early June."

"I'm sorry, Marik, do you have a degree in Egyptology?"

"No, but I—RISHID! Epiphi is early summer, right?"

"I cannot hear you, I'm cooking!"

Ishizu curtly gestured at Jonouchi to continue. "We will do the math later."

"Alright, easier one." Jonouchi resumed. "Place of birth?"

"Nowe." he said. The name rolled easily off his tongue. Capital city, on the river's east bank.

Jonouchi clearly did not recognize the name, and didn't write this one down either. He shot a glance at Ishizu.

"That's here." she corrected, or perhaps merely offered. "Luxor." She gave Atem what he was sure was supposed to be a reassuring smile. "Of course, in the interim it was Thebes, and in the Old Kingdom before your time they called it Waset, and there are several other..."

Jonouchi nodded and scribbled something on the page, and Atem felt weakly like he should object, because he wasn't born in Luxor, and this city was new and strange to him, and it wasn't the right answer. The right answer didn't exist, though, not anymore. There were only the ruins of what had once been right answers, crumbled to dust and built over by strangers, studied by experts and marveled at by tourists.

It wasn't wrong, it just wasn't right either. How he and Yugi kept bumping into each other because they didn't expect to both be corporeal, how the Ishtars' decor was confusingly out of time yet entirely correct, how he was alive and with his friends a day after everyone expected him to die and how the whole place smelled like food and sounded like laughter and it was supposed to be for him but for some reason he wasn't happy, how he mostly felt strange and tense and like he was doing everything wrong. A pervasive sense of not-rightness, all over his skin.

"Alright! Making progress! Next up is the easiest one of 'em all, name. First is Atem, aaaaand..." He paused. "What's your last name?"

Atem thought about this. Technically as pharaoh he had six names, none of which would sound normal on a birth certificate. "That's not really how it worked."

"You gotta have a last name, Atem."

"I don't know what to tell you. That's not how we did it." He smiled. That's what you're supposed to do, when you're alive and with your friends and at a party and everyone is staring at you waiting for an answer, is smile. Smiling always helped, when you didn't know what to say.

Yugi was thinking, and he leaned forward and tapped the back of his foot on the bottom of the couch. "I guess you can just pick something?"

"If you want to be boring, you can just choose something common." suggested Marik. "Omar, Sayed, Hassan. There's a ton of Hassans."

"He wants to be a Japanese citizen though, right?" Bakura piped up. "If he doesn't want to stand out, he could be a Satou, or a Tanaka."

Discord erupted. Suddenly everyone had a suggestion.

"I think he's going to stand out regardless..." "Just use your dad's name, maybe?" "He doesn't look like a Sayed." "Atem...puzzle? No, that's stupid." "Something related to pharaohs? Lots of names that mean king." "Takahashi sounds nice." "How about—" "What if—"

In the midst of the fracas, new names dueling on all sides, Yugi had his own polite suggestion, offered from right next to his ear. "You could always be Muto." he said, with a tiny shrug, like it was nothing. "Grandpa already thinks you're his grandson anyway." he added, with a smile.

The discussion continued but Atem froze and felt his mouth dry up, the world still moving while he stood still, and all of it turned to noise.

Names were still being thrown across the room but somewhere between "Kamiya" and "Qadir," Rishid poked his head out of the kitchen again. "I hate to interrupt, but I'm short an egg. Could someone run to the corner and—"

Atem stood up a little too quickly. "I will go." he announced, in the solemn tone of someone volunteering for a dangerous quest to save the realm from evil and not going down the street for a minor kitchen staple.

"You...sure, Atem?" Marik never added the phantom u. He pronounced it like he'd been doing it all his life. "We can make someone else go."

"Or you could go, Marik." Ishizu remarked.

"Nah, I'm good."

Atem was already extricating himself from the living room. "No! It's fine. I need the fresh air. And it's nice to see more of...Luxor." Keep smiling. No problems.

Atem escaped before anyone could say another word, out into the evening air. The desert didn't hold heat, but it was the end of summer, so it was only pleasantly cool. He was mostly looking for a place to breathe. After a block or so of wandering while looking very much like he knew what he was doing, because nothing in this city was where it was supposed to be anymore, he settled for a quiet bench under a date palm where there weren't many passersby.

And he managed to breathe.

He had lungs now, to breathe in. His own lungs, without borrowing. He tried to calm his antsy heartbeat and it didn't work very well.

Breathe. You're alive now. It is a good thing, to be alive. You are alive and everyone is so happy to see you.

He just hadn't been expecting it, was the problem.

"You can tell us if it's too much, you know." Atem nearly jumped out of his skin when Yugi spoke, appeared from nowhere, nearly silhouetted against the sunset. "It's okay. You've only been back for a day."

"No!" Smile. "No. I'm fine." He almost said "partner," and then didn't. Of course Yugi noticed. Of course Yugi went after him. Yugi, always after him. Yugi, always behind him, always standing just out of view.

"I wish you wouldn't lie to my face." There wasn't any malice in it. Yugi said it plainly, merely politely stating a fact in that incisive way he did. When did that happen, that Yugi stood up so straight and spoke so plainly? He tilted his head and gave him a small, sweet mile, the one that seemed to say You are not as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are. You get away with it because I let you.

Atem tried not to let a muscle in his face move, or show the way the words pierced right through him. Sometimes talking to Yugi felt like getting caught.

"Can I sit down?"

"Of course." Atem moved over.

Yugi sat down and bumped against him, in a way that continued to be very warm and solid and he should be getting used to that why isn't he used to it and why does it surprise him every single time stay cool stay cool stay cool.

Evening was turning into dusk and porchlights and windows were flicking on, yellow spots across the neighborhood. He and Yugi sat in silence.

On instinct, he mentally reached out Yugi in the way he always did, linked hearts and minds, and instead smashed facefirst into a brick wall in his own head. There wasn't any way out of himself. No other heart, no second voice or presence to be detected. Just his own thoughts, bouncing back at him over and over again when he least wanted them. He was so used to their peculiar sort of cohabitation, Yugi's thoughts drifting at the edges of his own, Yugi's memories crystal clear, Yugi's joy and Yugi's grief and Yugi's rage, tangled together until he lost track of what belonged to who. That was all gone now, had stopped abruptly at the start of the ceremonial duel. Whatever was going on in Yugi's head now was fraught and unknown to him. He put a hand up to his chest, instinctively, but there was no hefty chain to grab, so instead it wrapped around the much smaller cartouche, pressing the hieroglyphs into his palm.

"Sorry." Yugi looked up at him, sheepish. "I keep thinking things at you. None of that works anymore, but for some reason I keep expecting you to answer. It's weird, right?"

"I was thinking the same thing."

Yugi laughed, short and bright. "We have to get better at talking to each other."

"We do." He nodded, watching the sunset. "But some things are harder to say out loud."

Yugi considered this quietly. "They are," he said, "but we have to try."

More silence, easier this time. It was starting to get cold. Wind ran through the grass.

There are a lot of things, in fact, that are very difficult to say out loud. Many of them can arise from a situation wherein roughly 24 hours ago you were going to die, or more accurately that you asked your friends to kill you, and they did, because that is what they thought you wanted, because that is what you insisted you wanted. That you were a weight around Yugi's neck who did not belong in this world and whose time had long passed but now the chain was broken and you suddenly had a whole future in front of you that no one had told you was an option before and you have no idea where it goes or what happens next.

Atem was usually very good at knowing how to say things. He knew how princes were supposed to speak, and then learned how kings are supposed to speak, and then how friendly ghosts and great duelists were supposed to speak. None of those scripts fit anymore, and he didn’t have one to fall back on. He had assumed he would be dead by now and therefore had not written one. Another empty space where something should be. Now he had, what, another 70 years? That sounded like a very long time. He didn’t know of a script that went on that long and no one seemed set to provide one.

There were no clouds in this part of the desert, almost never, since there was never any rain, so the sky was clear and endless. More empty spaces, this one too big and dark to look at without getting vertigo, too much to look at at once. It seemed like it could swallow someone whole.

"There are endless options." He blinked at the sky, not looking at Yugi. "And it's so important. You only get one. How am I supposed to know what to do with it?"

Yugi smiled. "It's just a name. You can call yourself anything you want. It's up to you." He added, "You get two, technically."

"The first one is already done."

"Then that should narrow it down, right?"

"Anything that I want." he repeated, but he said the words reluctantly, like describing a pain he didn't want to trouble everyone by complaining about. He closed his eyes, as if tired. "I was never expecting to have to make the choice."

"I guess it is a lot." he said, looking down. "Sorry if I upset you earlier. You don't have to be a Muto if you don't want to." He was pretending not to be a little sad. "It was just a suggestion. I know you have your own name, and family."

Atem scrambled to ensure that Yugi didn't feel like he'd done something wrong. "It's not that." He struggled, again, in the search for the right words, a feeling that continued to be alien in its frustration. "It's not about that."

Yugi looked at him, curious, waiting for an explanation.

He didn't know how to explain it. That he was trying not to impose. That was all he'd done, for years, was impose on something that wasn't his, and Yugi had quietly let him and Atem didn't want to anymore. That Yugi let him have everything, and it wasn't right. He did not want to be the reason Yugi didn't stand up straight, and he was trying to find the right way not to be.

There had to be a way, for him to live and for them to be different. There had to be a balance, a way for him to be here and for Yugi to stand on his own, a way for them to sit together and be alone in their own heads, a way for them to share so much and be such different people, a way for them to rely on each other but in the right way, in the way you're supposed to, and not the way where they become each other's crutch. There had to be a way, because he couldn't be here and alive if meant that Yugi was going to keep standing in his shadow, because if there wasn't a way he would have to leave, and he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to leave. He never wanted to leave. How do you say all of that, though? Where do you even start?

Well. Out loud, maybe.

Yugi stood up off the bench and stretched, watched the strangers walking down the street. "You don't have to go back with us, if you don't want to." he said, his back still to him.

"What do you mean?"

"We all just kind of assumed." Yugi wasn't looking at him, quiet and plaintive. "This is where you're from, right? If you decided you wanted to stay, we wouldn't be mad at you. You should do whatever feels right." Yugi Muto's brave face, a shallow fake-cheer Atem knew very well, how Yugi swallowed fear the same way he covered up spiked accessories.

"No!" He said it a little too fast, a little too loud. "I told you, I want to be with you forever." He felt very stupid, saying that so loud, like it was obvious, a cheesy promise from years ago.

Yugi looked back at him again and smiled, relieved.

"It's just that I—" he started, attempted, still no script, he hated not having a script, looking like an idiot fumbling through uncharted territory.

Yugi waited.

"...We can't be," he said, "the same person."

Yugi wasn't expecting this answer, and after a moment of surprise he seemed to think it was a little funny. "That's what you're worried about?"

"You don't need me to take your place." he insisted. "It is yours, and I won't take it from you. You have to stand on your own."

Yugi glanced at the ground and murmured to himself, thinking. "Not in my place, and not in front." He sighed. "Can't you stand next to me?"

"What?"

Yugi's smile, sheepish, uncertain, polite, but always with more determination in his eyes than most people expected. "I don't want you to be me. We're not doing that anymore." Yugi stood up straighter, resolute. "I'm Yugi Muto, and I'm no one else but me." he recited, a day-old quote and a tongue-in-cheek imitation, and not a bad impression either. Atem felt a deep twinge of embarrassment hearing his own words thrown back at him. "And you're Atem! The only Atem in the world." He reached out a hand. "But if it's okay, I was thinking we could be Yugi and Atem together."

Atem took it, hesitantly, and let Yugi pull him off the bench, with more strength than he expected from Yugi, but there it was. Solid and strong and mutually corporeal.

"I'm glad you didn't really have to go." Yugi said. "If you left because of me, I don't know what I would have…" He trailed off, frowning.

"…Let's go back." Atem said, gently. "Before they worry about us."

And Yugi and Atem set off for the night, together and apart.

"What about the eggs?"

"...I don't have any money."

"Atem! What were you going to do?"

"I would have figured something out, partner."

--

"ATEM!" There it was again, that phantom u. Jonouchi was standing up as tall as he could make himself, face bright beet red in the way it got when he knew that whatever he was about to say was horribly schmaltzy and embarrassing but was going through with it anyway. Oh, god.

Atem smiled. "Yes, Jonouchi?"

"We were talking while you were gone." he said, crossed his arms, standing brazenly in the middle of the Ishtars' living room. "And I just wanted to, well, that you should know, maybe, thaaaat..."

"Spit it out, idiot!"

"Shut UP, Honda!" Jonouchi hissed, and you could hear at least three people snicker.

"I wanted to say," he continued, "that as a token of our friendship, and our unbreakable bond as duelists, if you really needed a name," he said, "You could be a Jonouchi. If you wanted."

"I am honored." he said, with the utmost gravity. "I will keep that in mind."

And Jonouchi nodded at him, and he nodded at Jonouchi, and this was all either of them needed to say.

"Um," Bakura started, politely raising his hand as if asking the teacher to call on him, "I pulled up the site I use to name role-playing characters and searched by etymological root, and I got a bunch that have meanings I thought you would like."

"And we," Marik said, with an arm around Otogi, who tolerated it with an awkward smile, "told him which ones were awful and made him cross them off the list until only the good ones were left."

"Thank you." he said, and meant it. "Anyone else?" he asked, as a joke.

Anzu looked like she wanted to say something, but when his eyes fell on her she just blushed. "It's not urgent. You'll think of something."

"He'll figure it out." Honda said. "We already almost died getting the first one. I think he can handle the next name by himself."

"I will." he said. He again reached up reflexively to touch the puzzle, but there was nothing there, so instead he just let it rest on his chest, which was his and no one else's, even if that still felt a little wrong. He would get used to it. He could.

Ishizu, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, sensed an end to the conversation and promptly intervened. "You know, you can all eat dinner as soon as you're ready. Any time now."

--

Somewhere around two in the morning, a couple of hotel rooms sat empty because everyone was having too much fun to leave the house once it got too late and the adults did not have the heart to kick them out. Instead Honda and Jonouchi had fallen asleep in one chair, curled up in a position they would both be very embarrassed about when they woke up in it tomorrow morning, which they would not do until after Otogi took photos; Anzu and Atem were both using Yugi as a headrest, close on either side of the couch; Otogi held a throw pillow and snored. The only ones left standing, Marik and Bakura, were still playing cards in the half-light until eventually ever so softly Marik asked, "So is he really just...gone?" to which Bakura smiled vacantly, opaquely, and did not answer except to put his deck back together, mid-game, and say he was going to bed.

Eventually the sun rose over the Nile, but there was no palace and no pharaoh for it to shine on, because there hadn't been a king of this country since 1952. Instead it fell through the windows of an ordinary house and on a very ordinary boy in a pink t-shirt, who wasn't a king of anything but just another exhausted teenager in a pile, drooling a little and holding tight to another ordinary teenager who bore a faint resemblance to him. When he woke up he would realize that he had no idea what he was going to do that day, and that was scary, but probably fine; and very soon he would go home and meet grandpa, properly as himself, and not realize until a few days in that he had been saying "home" and "grandpa" automatically and no one had tried to correct him, not once.

That would be in a few days, though. Today they would visit tourist traps, and buy a shirt that fit him better, and hand Marik a stack of papers, to which he would chew on the end of his pen and nod before returning less than an hour later with an ID and a birth certificate, and a copy of the left leg of Exodia as a freebie.

--

M U T O , A T E M 7 / 2 7 / 1980 KAME GAME 4-1-8, DISTRICT K.C., DOMINO-CHOU