voices,  muffled.  vision,  blurred.  STRANGE  --  he’d  been  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table  one  minute,  spearheading  the  discussion  and  delegating  tasks  for  the  latest  KAIBACORP  project,  and  the  next  ???  he’s  on  the  ground,  surrounded  by  medical  officials  with  bundles  of  equipment,  shoving  UNWELCOMED  fingers  and  tools  and  words  in  his  face.  seto  wants  to  tell  them  to  get  the  hell  away...  to  give  him  a  moment  to  BREATHE,  so  that  he  may  return  to  the  hefty  workload  awaiting  him  at  his  desk  ;;  the  urge  is  very  much  there,  but  the  ENERGY,  on  the  other  hand  --  oh,  does  he  STRUGGLE  to  conjure  up  even  a  slither.

          the  more  he  fights  himself,  the  more  he  drifts.  the  color  flees  from  his  face  --  he’s  fighting  a  LOSING  BATTLE  (  a  losing  WAR  ),  but  an  illness  is  not  so  easy  to  conquer,  like  insomnia.  there  WAS  no  equal  balance  between  work  and  relaxation  for  him.  doctor’s  orders  were  mere  SUGGESTIONS  to  him,  and  ones  he  (  so  very  foolishly  )  neglected  to  adhere  to.  everything  was  a  damned  competition  to  him...  a  way  of  securing  some  pitiable  victory,  as  he  needed  to  prove  to  someone  (  likely,  himself  )  that  he  WASN’T  SICK,  OR  WEAK.  yet,  as  he  awakens  in  the  hospital  --  a  setting  that  has  become  sickeningly  familiar  to  him,  as  of  late  --  he  knows...  K N O W S...  he  has  lost  yet  again.

                             the  beginnings  of  a  curse  nestle  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  alongside  something  along  the  lines  of  a  DEMAND,  for  the  doctors  and  nurses  to  RELEASE  him.  his  voice  is  HOARSE,  though,  absent  from  lack  of  use  and  an  even  more  limited  vitality  ;;  thus,  he’s  only  able  to  let  out  a  weak  groan,  as  he  halfway  sits  up  in  bed,  scanning  his  surroundings  before  exhaustion  riddled  sapphires  land  on  his  hand.  another  one  rests  within  his  palm--------  WARM,  ‘pon  further  inspection,  and  the  further  blue  eyes  travel  up  the  length  of  the  arm  to  determine  the  owner,  the  louder  his  pulse  begins  to  thrum  within  his  ears.

      Y U G I.

Send 💕 for my muse’s reaction to finding out that yours has a crush on them: [ ACCEPTING ] -

          “ m-me!? “                 the water basin he’d been using for chores loosened from his grip, clanking to the ground beneath them with a loud B A N G ! ! ! had the noise not been so deafening, it was likely he would have continued staring at the young prince, vermilion wide and tanned lips agape— EVIDENCE of the shock that had overtaken him.                         he scrambled to retrieve the fallen container, apologizing endlessly for his clumsy slip-up. it was customary to bow, out of respect for one’s master, and bow, he did ( to follow said custom, yes, but also to hide the burst of color that had painted his darkened features ). this had to have been some type of joke - a prank, certainly, that was part of tehpian culture, and he just so happened to be the targeted servant for this occasion.                                 … and yet, a large part of him silently dared to hope that the revelation held some truth.

        what had he even gotten so enraged at? or, rather, whom?

            yugi?                 himself?

         a mixture of both, not that he was willing to openly admit it. he much preferred to place the blame on anyone else but himself in cases like this, for it made it easier to patch the wound and brush off the pain like specks of dirt from a spotted blouse. he would ignore the sting of his eyes, or the worsening knot that had embedded itself within his throat, lodged there incessantly with no intentions of closing up shop anytime soon. he wouldn’t let this damned sickness reduce him to a feeble, emotional mess--- it was already stripping him of his once healthy physicality, and would be hard pressed in taking anything ELSE from him, despite already knowing his present outlook was bleak.

                    it was a conversation he simply wasn’t prepared to have ( and, likely, would never be ). how does one come to terms with the fact that he is slowly withering away, soon to be a lifeless pile of bones beneath several layers of fine soil? even worse, when loved ones are involved-------- it was not something he could simply headline the newspapers with, or announce at the next formal gathering after clanking a piece of silverware against an almost emptied wine glass. he wasn’t announcing marriage, or a big business break...

                                 he was dueling with death now, and thus far, the cards were not playing in his favor.

                                  he’d departed from yugi’s home in a rushed frenzy, having slung his signature coat over his shoulders after scooping up what little belongings he had brought--- sans his phone, unfortunately, upon which he uttered a profane curse before turning on his heel to return to the duelist’s front door. easy as it would be to simply swallow his pride and craft another custom cellular device, there was always the constant fear that, should he be away from the rectangular device for too long, he may miss something vital ( particularly from the youngest kaiba brother, who was the only one he cared to keep in dedicated contact with ).

               “shit...” 

        with a harsh swallow, and an intake of breath harsh enough to rouse a series of crippling coughs from his thinning form, he curled his slender fingers ( the very same ones that had gripped yugi’s form not too long ago with such intense emotion ) into a trembling fist, and lightly rapped at the door.

                    “i forgot my phone - open up, yugi.”

         There’s something absolutely criminal about being forcefully woken up at such an early hour, though the other servants seemed to care little for his well-being, and more about making him suffer as they barked at him to hastily rise. The silverette was still in the early stages of learning their language, but he’d long since figured out how to say ( and interpret ) the commonly used ‘wake ups’ and ‘hurry ups’ that were verbally force fed into his poor, ailing eardrums every morning, day in and day out.

He had nothing against his Master, but Nayru’s Love, could the shorter male not tend to himself in the morning? Even Ganondorf hadn’t forced the now tanned shade to assist him in tugging on his garments in the morning, and the redhead had not only been his Master, but had CREATED him - prince or no prince, this was simply ludicrous, though, without this role as the other’s servant, he likely would have been far worse off had he remained in Hyrule ( or, dead, rather ).

                                      The thought helped him to rise and prepare himself for the long day ahead with a smidgen of ease, though it didn’t keep him from yawning what felt like a dozen times as he knocked upon the door to his Master’s room, figuring the shorter male had already risen and was waiting to be served. 

                                     The sun warmed an already kissed hand, extended towards the skies, much the same as his gaze. Knowing the same sun rose atop the peaks of Death Mountain in a land he hadn’t realized he’d missed so terribly until now... when the loneliness had begun to sink in, gripping him and leaving him feeling heavy - he hated it here, not because of his Master ( who treated him kindly, TOO kindly ), but because he had left everything he’d known b e h i n d.

                    His forest friends, his home, his garden... his artwork, his herbs and spices, and the random assortment of things that had snagged his interest that he had picked up amidst one of his many early morning strolls, which likely still rested upon the shelves of his empty and cold home and within the dark beds of the chests against his wall, which had not been opened since his time away.

                    -- sadly, it was likely he would never have the chance to curl up beneath his blankets again, in HIS clothes, with HIS tunic slung atop the chair HE had built, sitting at HIS table and... Nayru, Hyrule ( and everything he knew and loved, despite what little he’d had ) was but a distant, painful memory - could homesickness kill? Were he to attempt to escape back to where he once was, perhaps not COMPLETELY happy, but happi(ER) than he was here... would he be caught? Punished?

          K i l l e d?

                    He could feel it... the headache, that is, that was definitely a product of these troublesome thoughts. Groaning as he turned over atop the stone, having chosen to take his break outside ( or, what he assumed was his break, given all the other servants had dispersed to secure food for themselves ), he lay upon his stomach and leaned his head into his arms, deciding to wait until his Master came to fetch him before he moved another inch.

                                  “  of  course,  but…  master  not  well?  “  to  fulfill  his  request  would  be  no  issue.  really,  dark  was  HONORED  the  young  prince  always  chose  HIM  to  be  at  his  side,  much  to  the  displeasure  of  the  other  servants  who  had  come  before  him.  the  silveret’s  intention  had  not  been  to  replace  the  other  servant’s  positions  at  the  top  of  the  prince’s  preferences,  but  in  comparison  to  his  LAST  master,  dark  couldn’t  help  but  attach  himself  to  this  kindhearted  boy  who  asked  nothing  more  of  him  than  was  necessary.

           rosy  cheeks,  however,  were  a  sign  of  sickness,  and  dark’s  immediate  response  was  that  of  CONCERN  for  his  superior.  “  is…  ah…  “  what  was  the  word  for  RED?  he  should  know  it  –  they’d  rehearsed  colors  and  numbers  so  many  times  since  he’d  been  here,  but  even  after  months  of  familiarizing  himself  with  what  was  a  VERY  different  language  from  the  hylian  tongue,  he  still  struggled,  “  blu–  no,  r-red!  your  face.  am  very  worried.  “  and  court  tended  to  drone  on  for  so  long.  it  was  not  his  place  to  suggest  that  his  master  rest,  but  at  the  very  least,  dark  would  keep  a  careful  eye  on  him  in  the  event  something  changed.  

         “  is…  h-honor?  mmm…  honor,  yes…  to  help  you,  master.  i’m  glad  can  trust  in  me.  “  dark  shines  him  a  warm,  GENUINE  smile,  and  grabs  for  the  shorter’s  hand  with  both  of  his  own.  “  i’m…  thankful  for  this  kindness.  so  happy  to  be  at  your  side…  forever,  i’m  hope?  “