#typhoon event

“This storm is going to hit us hard.”

“So I’m hearing. They’re already closing down the airport...” Amelda muttered into his phone, free hand sifting through his hair. So, Siegfried couldn’t leave. Whether this was poor planning or intentional--whatever that meant--he wasn’t sure yet.

There Amelda laid, wedged between Siegfried’s arm and the rest of him, cheek embedded into the fabric of his shirt--utterly immovable and cocooned in a comforter up to his shoulders. Frankly, the coziest man alive, and for the first time in a while calm... if not nigh impregnable to prying Yugi’s and their kisses. Save, of course, for the small patch that prickled at the sensation of lips touching it.

There wasn’t a plan. Siegfried called him crazy--dragged along by the wrist where bruises would later bloom--although Amelda couldn’t hear him. It was an obstacle course no different than before, seeking somewhere to hide. Somewhere to run, even for a moment, that felt safer than where they were. Everything that was precious to him hinged on it, darting under shelter as the screech of twisted, broken metal flew past them.

In the few months Siegfried had known him, this was the second time--what was wrong with Amelda? The question repeated itself. He didn’t know. He knew the smell of gunpowder and searing metal as his father had, but for different reasons. Siegfried feared the sky only for its reality, but Amelda was lost to it completely, pressing himself flat against the building under which they took temporary refuge. It kept raining. Siegfried tried again to reach out to his partner, more afraid than he’d ever been and utterly useless.

“We can’t keep doing this. We’ll die!” Siegfried commanded hoarsely, praying that he wasn’t drowned out completely. “Amelda!”

Slowly, Amelda looked to him, a faint spark of recognition in his eyes, although faded. Confused. He mouthed something. A name, perhaps? Whose name? For all the noise and fear, Siegfried was desperate to hope that it was his, placing a numb palm against Amelda’s cheek. What’s wrong with you? Again, silent but genuine. Yet, there was no charming him out of this. Amelda flinched from the contact, finally releasing Siegfried from the iron grip that’d kept them moving.

“We need to go...” Amelda added, barely audible above the storm. Where was there left to run? They’d been running for so long. He was tired, and reality grew dim, surrounding them; Amelda’s duel disk activated. If there was no way out, then he would make one. The ending he’d seen so many times in so many nightmares had to change--and it was coming. Faster than the tempest howling past their lone hideaway and louder than sin, but it wasn’t immutable. Not this time.