No.

That frustration again. For all the times they kept insisting that 'he' did something, his stomach churned, his chest felt hot. It was always 'he was this' or 'he was that'.

Yuugi shattered him.

Yuugi was his enemy.

Yuugi was someone else's enemy.

Yuugi was the spitting image of a King.

Yuugi was, Yuugi was, Yuugi was--

"I didn't do that to you. Whoever did that to you, that was not me.

"We're not enemies.

"We barely know each other.

"We're two people who are stuck here, and you happen to know a version of me that may exist somewhere."

He wanted to run to him. He wanted to comfort him, to chase away that unfocused fear in his eyes, he...

Sorry, Kaiba.

Yuugi gently touched his shoulder, so, so close to him.

He was so small, smaller than what Kaiba would have remembered. His baby fat was thicker, rounder, even the scars on his arms and neck crisscrossed around and tried to harden him.

"Kaiba." He whispered, "Kaiba...Kaiba, you need to breathe. You can't hold your breath like that or you'll pass out."