The famous (or infamous depending on who you're talking to) scoff fell from the CEO's lips as his arms folded across his chest.

“… Did I just say that out loud?” >.>

@/puzzledboi

       [ Ooc ] I think i’ve drawn yugi a total of four times and never in the same art style

Send in “Catwalk!” and an outfit you want to see my muse in to witness them wearing that outfit!

( detective pikachu was everything UGH )

A slight blush appeared on the blonde’s cheeks. “Uh  —  Um  —  Y-Yeah. I r-really do. It’s c-cute.”she commented.

Atem-- even before he remembered he was Atem-- was a master of acting, mask upon mask lest anyone see just how uncertain he was about everything happening around him. He was a self aware sort, enough that he can see the damage such things might cause and yet for all that he cannot quite stop himself. When it came to others he could muster useful advise, but it was easy to forget just how young he really was for all his soul was truly ancient. His mind, having spent so long in slumber, hadn’t really caught that memo.

For all of this Atem knew he must find a way to dismantle them, a war waged in himself that one day he would win though for now was a work in progress. It was a reminder that he, just like everyone else, was simply human at the end of the day. Flawed and imperfect; someone he does not feel quite deserve the elevated status people seem to hold him upon, yet that was part of the act was it not? He remembers well the lessons of his youth, that the embodiment of the great Ra must be as flawless as divine beast.

Wrestling with the thought he realises he might be nervous, that for all he knows his dearest friend will never reject him he doesn’t want to hurt him. Atem had called Yugi and their friends untold grief and whilst logically he knows he will not be blamed that is not what worries him, no. He’s not sure he has the words for the dull anxiety clawing at him.

Soft white linen clings loosely to him, v-neck exposing tight fitting gold choker as baby blue sash covers seam between shirt and pants. It was certainly a far cry from the black heavily buckled outfits of old, but those had never been his choice or preference. Palms wipe against cropped paints before he eventually knocks, forcing down uncertainty in the wake of the usual confidence he exudes as if it it second nature.

In the end it likely is.

“Hey,” he breaths softly, cocksure smile as head cocks in a warm sort of certainty. “Can I come in?” Seeming confidence fades then, shoulders relaxing as smile spreads into openhearted warmth. It was terribly good to see him.