I couldn't watch you hang.

That much is true. He couldn't have borne the loss without an incalculable shame that would have made it impossible to face Yuugi. Though...the words may as well have been taken out of his own skin, for how they ached.

He reaches a hand up to his throat, to where the skin was still marred from where he'd been punished for his transgressions by Helios during that game. It doesn't ache so much as his abdomen anymore, distended with the poison that had settled inside but not been digested. Still, he'd rather draw attention to those bruises than the fact that he was still having trouble with the damnable cake.

Quiet whispers tickled at Kaiba's ears, but he did not heed them. The words were unintelligible anyway. The sounds were merely auditory hallucinations of a sort that he could ignore

(mostly)

as he glances around, catches sight of the clothing that had been left for them.

There. A shirt. Go on then, why don't you change? I will not look.

He isn't in the mood to speculate, actually, how the clothing got there. The fever is broken, but that's only step one, isn't it?