Work Text:
He gets the report in the late evening.
It's high activity hours in Link Vrains, meaning a higher number of users affected.
He expected several things upon arriving. One of them, perhaps to his own foolishness, was not Playmaker.
He looks… well. For all Revolver can tell from his avatar and at a distance. There is no slouch to his posture, no longer looking like he's holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.
When he turns, like he sensed Revolver's presence, seeing his usual poker face is almost heartening when compared to the grave frown he was wearing the last times they met.
Playmaker makes the jump to the building he's standing on. It's not a small distance, but Playmaker leaps like he's skipping over a puddle. "Revolver."
"Playmaker." He looks out at the reason for his presence, buildings glitching, flickering, fading in-and-out in a grand eyesore of a display. It's all concentrated into one area, slowly spreading outward. Most users seem to have already evacuated, but there is a frustratingly large crowd of users at the edge, gawking at the scene. "Come to investigate?"
"I was in the area when it happened." Playmaker stares at the structures, how they seem to be torn between existing or not. "I got here not long before you. Did Zaizen contact you?"
Revolver hums an affirmative, feeling eyes on him but keeping his gaze squarely on the scene in front of them. "I was on the way when he did. He did claim it was an emergency, but looking at it… this is largely spectacle."
Playmaker makes a questioning sound.
He doesn't bother elaborating, simply pulls up his screens. The data from Zaizen and his own scanning is more than enough information to fix the issue.
A little assistance from the data storm blowing past won't hurt either.
His senses always get odd when he taps into this. The people on the streets below become little pinpricks of concentrated data waves, pulsing and wavering. Meanwhile Playmaker next to him is like a beacon, bright and powerful but contained. It's tempting, to reach out and nudge at him, to see how different this view of the digital world and its people would be with another like him. It needles at something inside him, buried deep and harshly, urging him to s p e a k-
He grinds it down, keeps a distance from Playmaker's mind much like the two meter gap between their digital forms.
He can still feel Playmaker's awe as the fluctuating buildings and flickering streets freeze in place, scatter into data and then start re-building themselves like they're programmed to do after sustaining damage after a little nudge to get the program going.
Having admin access does make his job easy, even if he does not necessarily need it.
After a last check that everything is in order, Revolver let's out a sigh and slips back into the normal view of the digital world. The users on the streets below gawk at the construction happening before their eyes, some even starting to cheer out of nowhere. He sends a quick notice to Zaizen that the problem is taken care of and all users caught up should now be able to access their accounts again.
"Did you use the data storm?"
The voice makes him startle, has him forgetting himself and looking in Playmaker's direction. It stops him in place, and he wonders when the other had stepped closer. Perhaps when he was concentrating. Internally he chastises himself; moving to another location beforehand should have occured to him, to avoid a situation like this.
He inclines his head, his visor covering one eye, and crosses his arms over his chest. "Just to fix the problem quicker."
"I didn't know you could use it like that."
There's something in his tone that rings alarm bells in the back of Revolver's mind. Contemplative eyes that feel like they see into his soul bore into him, like Playmaker had sensed the same thing Revolver did.
The notion left his innards twisting into tight, tight knots like they'd never untangle again and cause his demise.
(Wouldn't that be something.)
"You'd be surprised what the data storm can accomplish with a little ingenuity," he replies. He turns sharply on his heel, coat flaring out behind him, wonders at how he feels more at ease with Playmaker at his back, rather than anywhere his eyes can linger. "Goodbye, Playmaker."
On that parting note, he takes his leave.
Unknowing of the now calculating expression on Playmaker's face.
Ryoken would never admit the message makes him jump.
He didn't sleep well the night before, but the work continues and he'd been deep in forced concentration when the notification rings out in the empty room, deliberately loud to snap him out of these kinds of stupors.
There's only a handful of people he has set to that sound level, so he only takes a few seconds to blink the lights out of his eyes before opening the message.
My duel disk's programming is acting up. Would you mind taking a look at it?
He stares at the message. Wonders if he's hallucinating from lack of sleep. But no, the message and sender remains the same.
Why are you asking me?
Because you are very knowledgeable about tech and programming.
As are you.
I require assistance this time.
And you would trust me with your duel disk?
Yes.
Well. There's not much he can say to that kind of blunt honesty. At least that's what he's telling himself as he sends a reply, coordinates attached. He rises, stretches until his bones make a satisfying crack, runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to smoothe it down. He aborts the motion later than he should; no one is actually going to see his current state and he is fussing for nothing. He hastily makes his way to the chair he always logs into Link Vrains from.
Playmaker is there when he arrives, eyes on him before his avatar has even finished materialising. Nothing appears physically wrong with his avatar, but from here he can sense the odd fluctuations on the data waves coming from his duel disk.
"Playmaker."
"Revolver." Playmaker nods in greeting. "Thanks for coming."
"You said you had issues?" he asks bluntly.
Removing your duel disk while logged in now automatically logs you out, so Playmaker holds out his arm for Revolver to take a cursory look at it.
It is, to be blunt, a mess.
"How on earth did you manage this?" he asks, sincerely, with a touch of disbelief. He knows of Playmaker's skills, including those outside a duel. This looks like something a complete newcomer to technology could accomplish, not a seasoned hacker.
Playmaker merely shrugs. "Ai got careless."
There's an offended squawk from the disk, and the Dark Ignis makes its first appearance.
"You're blaming this on me?! Rude!"
Playmaker brings his arm closer to his body and gives the Ignis a sharp look that make him tense up, before wilting and grumbling unintelligibly to himself, arms crossed.
Revolver had wondered why the Ignis hadn't been present from the start, with his penchant for chatting, and now he knows why just by looking. His proportions are wonky, like he'd been stretched out and hadn't reformed properly. His head was narrower, arms too long and thin. They looked like moldy noodles.
He has to turn away and cough. He can feel Playmaker's eyes bore into the side of his head, zeroing in on the motion and sound that despite his own best efforts, still had the makings of a laugh in it.
"So the Ignis is affected by what happens with the duel disk?" he asks in a carefully even voice.
Playmaker nods, staring silently at him for a moment before looking down at his disk. "It surprised me too. It seems when an Ignis inhabits a duel disk in this fashion, they become a part of its integral programming structure."
"So any issue with the hardware includes them," he finishes the thought, intrigued despite himself. There was very little knowledge on how the Ignis would work with other technology in this way. It was not what they were made for, nor was there ever any attempt at that type of research when their fate was soon decided to be obliteration.
He dismisses that train of thought and focuses on the situation at hand.
"The Ignis can't fix it then?"
Ai huffs, offended. "Of course I can. But we've deemed this a team building excersice."
Revolver blinks, unimpressed.
Playmaker nods, unphased as ever. "I may be able to decipher the Ignis algorithm, but you know more about it than I do. You also have more experience. I've never encountered this kind of situation before, and I want to learn how to best handle it in the future without risking harm to Ai, were he ever incapacitated."
That stuns him a little. He tilts his head in questioning. "And you trust me not to harm him?"
There's a ghost of a smile pulling at Playmaker's lips as he responds. "Now I do."
At any point in the past, he'd have called Playmaker a fool. A naive one, for believing in someone with Revolver's track record.
But he doesn't have a leg to stand on, because he wouldn't do anything, not anymore, so he ignores the burning in his chest, and holds out a waiting hand without looking away from flinty emerald eyes. The ghost of a smile turns into a living one as Playmaker holds out his arm with the duel disk attached to it further. Laying his fingers on it feels surreal, something he'd never thought would happen other by force.
And yet here Playmaker is, offering the disk that houses the Ignis he fought so hard to keep, to the person who sought to destroy it for years.
The Ignis does not seem perturbed when he accesses the program, only a comment to " be careful with my delicate insides will you?" that he dutifully ignores.
His initial assesmement was correct; it is a mess. A tangled one too. Programs and viruses clashing into each other and interacting in such ways that makes it incessently hard to decipher what the problem is and how to sort it out.
They end up sitting down on a ledge, Playmaker's arm resting in his lap as he works. It's too close for his taste, and the way Playmaker is angled towards him has one leg brush up against his own, a contrast of white and dark green. He's not sure if it's intentional or not, but decides not to pay it too much attention with the knot of programs to get through in front of him.
If there is one thing about himself he could admit to with little issue, it's that he appreciates a challenge. Something that makes him think. The mess that is Playmaker's duel disk isn't too difficult, but it's enough of a head-scratcher that it keeps him focused. Having the goal be cleaning up the viruses rather than backing up everything in it before wiping the disk completely adds to it. The Ignis stays blissfully silent as he works, disappearing back into the disk and only making himself known by occasionally highlighting faulthy programs or broken code. It's surprisingly helpful, much to his disbelief.
It's an appreciated moment of peaceful quiet and company. But he can tell Playmaker is gearing up for something, jaw working without his lips ever parting in his search for the right words. The other has never struck Revolver as the type to fill the air with small talk, so it must be something important. Perhaps the real reason he'd called Revolver out here.
What finally ends up coming out his mouth leaves him stumped for a whole other reason.
"How have you been?"
He blinks. Playmaker blinks back, ever composed. Images of cats blinking at each other to communicate flash unbidden in his mind. He's so caught off-guard he slips into his usual polite speech he purposefully avoids as Revolver. "Pardon?"
The flash of amusment (and warmth, how odd) in Playmaker's eyes is definitely not just his imagination. There's not even an attempt to hide it. "I was wondering how you've been. Discounting our last short meeting, it has been a while since… we last spoke."
That trail off spoke so much, it almost made him dizzy. Or nauseous. Despite the promises made to no one but himself, he answers.
"I have been well," he says, slowly. Playmaker is still giving him this imploring look, like he's parched and silently pleading for more than a drop of water. Or maybe that is just his own throat suddenly feeling dry.
He continues, albeit haltingly. "Link Vrains is stable, so the work is smooth-going. Nothing unusual has occured in the recent months. I… find myself with more free time than I know what to do with, some days."
He carefully keeps his face blank in the face of his blunder. Playmaker, thankfully, doesn't comment. He simply nods like he understands.
"It's the same for me," (and he looks too pleased by that, the idea of them sharing something), "I realised before that I don't really have anything I enjoy doing with my time. Once I had no interest, and then also no free time."
He manages to untangle a mess of code, his pace slowing down as their conversation keeps going. "But now there is both, I take it?"
Another nod, Playmaker's eyes looking far away, or deep inside. "I don't feel weighed down anymore. So… distant from the world." His face twists there, brow furrowing and a crease forming between his eyes before it smoothes out. "Right now school takes up a lot of my time however, so I don't feel pressed to find something."
"School is going well then, I take it?" he asks, carefully sounding out each word. The more they talk the more he feels like he's going to be struck down at any second. Yet the more words that flow between them, he both relaxes and grows more anxious.
Playmaker continues, oblivious to Revolver's inner turmoil. "I have to take remedial classes to catch up, but at my current pace I'm still set on graduating on time."
He's impressed, and tentatively allows the feeling. The pride feels unwarranted, however, and also too strange to analyze. "Is that so? Well done."
Playmaker's face lights up into a smile, or more blinks. It's small but undeniably genuine, softening his features so he looks so at peace in the world.
It makes his stomach roll, seeing it directed at him.
With a final yank, he removes the last of the malware from the duel disk. Playmaker blinks, like he'd forgotten what the real purpose of their meeting was. The Dark Ignis, now back to his usual appearance, stretches and cheers over his restored form.
"All done," he says, rising to his feet and staring straight ahead. "I ran a quick scan and there should be nothing left, but I would recommend a more thorough one later."
He makes to leave, focusing on keeping his steps even, when the sound of Playmaker rising to his feet and calling his name halts him in place.
"Thank you, Revolver." He's turning to face him before he can stop himself. Playmaker looks like he'd stopped in the midst of coming closer. "Can I contact you again?"
The breath he takes stutters, despite the digital world they're in. A breeze blows past, and he can feel the data material carried in its embrace. It makes Playmaker's presence only visible in the data storm peek through, like an inviting street light in the night.
It's like a tether, this pull he has in his chest, formed many years back, that he'd never noticed until the man in front of him reappeared in front of him once more, now grown and standing tall without his help. He wishes he could dig into his chest until it stops tugging him in Playmaker's direction.
He should shut this down, he tries telling himself. Cut it off like the bleeding limb it is so it can finally heal shut. But Playmaker is still staring at him, silent. Once again wearing that imploring look on his face.
If he runs into problems again, he tells himself. If he wants to watch Revolver work again. Not for anything else. That should be enough.
He has always been good at deluding himself.
"Do as you like."
He logs out, the sight of Playmaker vanishing in a blink, and he opens his eyes back in his home.
Ryoken lies there for a long moment, long enough for the sun to start rising outside, willing his pulse to slow its erratic pace.
He hadn't actually expected there to be a second time. Disregarding the sentient AI he always had on him, Fujiki Yusaku was an accomplished hacker in his own right; there was little reason to expect a repeat of the ridiculous predicament he'd found himself in the last time they'd met. Even that was suspicious, and Ryoken still believed there was some ulterior motive behind it. The 'how' and 'why' remained a mystery to him however.
But, he figured, there was no reason for the same situation to repeat.
He should have known better. Whether as Fujiki Yusaku or as Playmaker, the man never failed to catch him off-guard somehow.
"What in the heavens happened to you."
It's not even a question, but a baffled statement he needed clarification on. Because something had very clearly happened.
This time, the effects were not limited to the Ignis. Playmaker's avatar, if you could even call it his avatar at this point, had its colours altered to a strange neon with a glaring brightness. The green suit had gained a camo pattern.
Even the message he'd recieved had been garbled, half spelt in code rather than real letters. It had left him concerned enough to drop everything and head over to the location he'd been sent. And he was faced with-
This.
If he has to control his facial muscles more than usual, no one would know but him.
Playmaker shrugs, walking up to him, every movement leaving after-images of himself in reverse colours of his already obnoxious new colour scheme.
"I would ask how you've managed this, but I assume you won't give me a straight answer this time either."
Playmaker pauses. Revolver tils his head, confused. Playmaker parts his lips to answer-
-and out comes a garbled, horribly compressed song pitched like old-school Nightcore.
It's so abrupt, so absolutely absurd, that it bulldozes Revolver's composure so thoroughly he snorts on his uncontrolled laughter. It's disgraceful and impolite, and has Playmaker lighting up like a sun peeking through storm clouds.
He turns away, tries to muffle his chuckles into his glove and regain his shattered composure. Playmaker for his part, despite having just done an exceptional reenactment of a cetain blue cartoon alien from movies he watched as a child, is not respecting Revolver's attempts at shielding his mortifying reaction from prying eyes. No, he's leaning in closer in an apparent attempt to catch a glimpse of his face.
Their eyes meet on accident, the small distance between them surprising him and also rooting him in place. Playmaker's eyes are the most obvious thing that remained unchanged from Fujiki Yusaku; the same startlingly clear green that shone with intelligence and nonchalance despite the fervor behind them Revolver was intimately familiar with.
Now, with his virtual make-over, his eyes were still green, but the pupils were a startling red, and the sclera of one eye was black. Despite the shocking change, you couldn't mistake whose gaze was looking out of them.
It was the first time Revolver had seen them shine this way, though. With-
With…
adoration.
Revolver startles upright. He coughs into his fist, backing up and putting some distance between them. Playmaker lets him, that look smoothing out into his normal stoic expression, but with a small quirk to his lip that's decidedly satisfied. To Revolver's knowledge not even a hard-earned victory in a duel has managed to put such a look there.
The Dark Ignis decides to make his appearance in that moment. He wasn't unaffected either, though this time it was merely a colour change, his usual black and purple replaced with white and yellow-ish green. The now blue eyes are quirked up in amusement, clearly enjoying this more than last time.
"Hilarious, right?" The Ignis gestures at his partner. "As you can see, Playmaker-sama is a bit vocally challenged at the moment. So this kind and benevolent Ai-sama will speak in his stead."
Playmaker sighs, without making a sound, thankfully. Revolver hasn't built his composure back up enough yet to take another round of Nightcore.
"I assume you desire my assistance again?" he says, amusement only barely leaking through his words.
Playmaker nods as the Ignis starts talking. "Honestly even we're surprised! We didn't think it'd be this bad, and I know Playmaker didn't plan on being unable to talk-"
The Ignis jolts to a stop, wiggling like a shiver ran down his back. Playmaker is staring down at him, eyes flinty and face carefully blank, and when the Ignis looks back he raises a single, sharp eyebrow.
Revolver watches with amusement as Ai wilts back and stutters back into the conversation, hands flailing in a very human manner.
"A-anyway, it's a pretty big mess! A totally unprecedented and unexpected one! Yep. Complete surprise. So Revolver-sensei, we would really appreciate you doing us a solid."
Ai regains his wits enough to pretend lowering his voice, as if Playmaker couldn't hear everything he said. "Frankly the thought of being seen with this guy when he looks like this is embarrassing. You get me right? So help me out here, you kinda owe me after all."
Revolver quirks an unimpressed eyebrow, catching Playmaker's eyes to see him doing the same expression. Ai clearly noticed too.
"Hey! No ganging up on me!!" He wails, throwing up his tiny fists. He slumps down over the duel disk. "Oh I can already tell you two are going to be insufferable. My future is a hell of my own making. I've helped steer us there. Playmaker you are so lucky I love you."
Revolver catches Playmaker's minute flinch, the way his eyes stutter and his shoulders tense. Ai also freezes immediately after the words have left him, cringing in what looks like guilt, tilting his eyes to sneak glances up at his partner without looking at him directly.
The air hangs heavy around them, charged with something unknown to him.
"Shall I take a look then? With the state of you I'd rather get started soon, less we be here all night."
The air clears, and he gets quick twin nods. He ignores the grateful look both Playmaker and Ai gives him.
The Ignis fills the air with chatter as he sets to fix Playmaker's virtual vocal box first. Revolver half-expects him to retreat once Playmaker speaks his first real words of the day. But he sticks around even as he gets to work to the rest of the texture mess of Playmaker's avatar, chiming in during their once again tiptoeing conversations. It's not the worst thing in the world.
Regardless, he makes a quick retreat once all the bugs are taken care of. The ocean air he carefully gulps in just barely soothes the cavity behind his ribcage, air tasting of salt and seaweed brushing its sharp edges.
It's fine.
"You can't log out?"
Playmaker, in his usual show of concern and eloquence, nods and says; "I seem to have bricked my duel disk."
Revolver blinks. He can't do much else. He's nearing a state of flummox. The lack of sleep is not helping, his mind too haunted by green eyes, careful smiles and a closing distance, to find the rest he sorely needs.
"Is Ai alright?"
He registers the slip-up as soon as the words leave his mouth, just as Playmaker's eyes gain this shine to them and his expressions brightens, turns warm, despite no obvious facial muscles changing position. Part of him wishes to cringe, another that sounds suspiciously like his father is sternly berating him. Both are easier to ignore, these days.
"Are you worried?"
"His primary residence is the duel disk, is it not?" he bites out, averting his eyes from the display projecting Playmaker's image, despite how he knows it will look.
"It is." Playmaker confirms, but he does not look concerned. "Ai's fine. He wasn't in the disk when it bricked, so he's taking the time to stretch his legs, or so he claimed."
How an AI could stretch its legs was a topic he had no interest in. Revolver sighs, now used to the pattern presenting itself. "And am I correct to assume you desire my presence?"
"Always." Playmaker says, quick and certain like he hadn't planned on saying that out-loud, so blunt it was nothing but honest. It rattles both of them, sending them into an awkward silence before Playmaker coughs in a unmistakable show of embarrassment. It almost rattles him as much as his slip-up to see. "And I would like you to look at my duel disk, yes."
He didn't even deny it.
'If the Tower of Hanoi or Lightning wasn't enough to kill me, then Playmaker just might.'
Playmaker sends over his coordinates. Revolver bids him goodbye for the moment and cuts the communication. After a couple fortifying breaths, he sets out. The travel time should be enough to build up his defenses for whatever Playmaker could throw at him.
He really, really should know better by now.
The area Playmaker was in was designed for Speed Duels, its hexagon structures and platforms spaced apart for an open design. The walls and sky all a pleasant light blue, light spilling from up above and code swirling in streams. Currently it was empty, Revolver passing a mere few fellow duelists on their own D-boards, occupied with their own duels.
Playmaker had found a corner of the area, high up and away from prying eyes. There was no ledges or platforms for them to sit on here, so he was sitting down on his own D-board, one leg listlessly swinging back and forth until he caught sight of Revolver. He stands up, face brightening to the point a small smile showed, and Revolver barely caught himself from returning the gesture.
"Revolver," he says, as always, in lieu of a greeting.
"Playmaker." He touches down, walks the remaining distance. "No outward effects this time?"
A shake of the head. "None that I've noticed. I just can't log out."
Revolver hums. "May I take a look?"
Playmaker holds out his arm before he's finished speaking.
Despite there being no outward signf of a problem like before, the inside of the duel disk is a complete mess. The simple act of accessing anything was a hassle, much less resolve it. It was nothing short of a miracle Playmaker was still logged in with the state his duel disk was in.
It made his suspicions too difficult to ignore.
"It's a structural mess as usual."
Playmaker absently hums in response. He'd sat back down on his D-board, as usual gazing up at Revolver's face rather than down at his disk. Despite technically being above the other and accessing the virtual guts of his duel disk, nothing about this situation made Revolver feel superior. Not inferior either. It was an odd feeling. Not a bad one either. Feeling as equal to someone as he did to Playmaker was…
"Playmaker," he says, deciding that anything other than bluntness would get them nowhere by this point. "What is your goal here?"
Playmaker twitches, a barely there motion. The careful stillness that follows is more telling.
He continues. "I know your skills very well. As well as the skills of your comrades. The chances of this situation ocurring once is low, but not zero. But three times is-"
He stops. Looks at Playmaker, who is for once not staring a hole into his very being. There's a tenseness to his frame that spoke to a nervousness that was so out of place on him, Revolver almost didn't recognise it.
"I was going to explain myself, this time." Playmaker's voice is low, words spoken carefully, like they have a worth in gold. "I figured you'd catch on. But I didn't expect you to humor me until this point. I might… have gotten a bit carried away because of it."
Revolver is still holding his duel disk, and Playmaker takes one of his hands with his own, gently interlacing their fingers like he's afraid of being rejected. Revolver couldn't slap his hand away if he wanted, frozen in place and thoughts rushing in nonsensical patterns.
"I did get the viruses and malware on purpose. I apologize for decieving you, but after seeing your work on Link Vrains, I thought; this way you might not brush me off or leave so soon. We might be able to talk. So I decided; three tries, to get to know you better, to better our relationship, and see where that takes us."
Three times.
'What a fool I am.'
Revolver sighs, almost groans. He stands straight and proud but succumbs to his human urges and hides his already half-covered face behind his hand. The one not currently held by Playmaker. The hold is so careful and gentle he could easily break it, but the warmth seeping through his glove may as well be iron for how it keeps his hand in place.
"Playmaker-"
"Don't." The stern desperation cuts the voice right out of his throat. "Just- Let me finish first. Please?"
He can do nothing but nod numbly for him to continue, still hiding his face behind his hand. He felt like a coward, but if he bared his face any more, he feared he may just utter something vicious and run, run, run, just like before. And for once in his life, he couldn't do that, not to this person.
"After I got Ai back, I set three goals for myself." Playmaker proceeds to count off on his free hand. "One: Get my life in order so I can graduate high school. Two: Find a hobby or interest to fill my time. And-"
Playmaker laces their fingers together proper, holding tight. His eyes find Revolver's own, despite them being half covered by his fingers and vizor.
"Three: I wanted to get closer to you."
It sends a jolt of something through him. It also feels a bit like being stabbed. Again, he waits for something to happen. For the ground to collapse under them, for Link Vrains to glitch out and take them with it. Something always, always happens, and yet-
"I know you don't think it's a good idea. I think there is something keeping you back, that you're not telling me." Playmaker looks down at this, at their entwined hands. The sight turns his expression firm once more, and he looks back up. "I want to respect that. I really do. But I don't want to deny my own feelings either. And it might be arrogant of me to think this, but I don't think they are unrequited."
It's odd, how there are moments where he can't quite breathe, even in this virtual world.
"I-" he starts, stops, feeling so out of his depth he might as well be drowning where he stands. He buries his face further in his hand, feeling his vizor dig into the skin, feeling like a child. Maybe that's why for once, he feels like being honest, fears he might rip apart from the inside if he pushes it down as usual.
"Every time my life has changed- every time something dreadful has happened, it is because of you."
Playmaker's face falls, and like he's diffusing a bomb, Revolver returns the hold Playmaker's hand has on his own. His voice is rough against his throat.
"It has never, ever been your fault. But every time I have chosen you over anything else, my life has fallen apart. People I hold dear have been hurt."
Playmaker's expression is troubled, but his eyes are shining with cautious hope.
"So I can't help but fear… that the same will happen again. If I let you close, if I- if I chose you like I've done before, history will repeat. But it will not just be me who suffer the consequences."
Because it hasn't only been him, before. Yusaku, smile extinguished over weeks and months. His father, returning home but forever asleep. His father, dying.
Ryoken alone has never been enough collateral.
"You don't deserve that," he finally says. Breathes like he has to preserve what precious oxygen he has. His hand finally falls from his face, feels his shoulders slump minutely. He may be a side-step away from a breakdown, but his pride refuses to let it show. "You deserve better. There is nothing I can give you."
Playmaker is frowning thoughtfully, absorbing everything he's heard. It's something Revolver can appreciate about him, how he takes in everything he hears about others so seriously. If he decides it's important or not is another matter.
He wishes Playmaker wouldn't consider everything about Revolver as important as he appears to do.
Playmaker stands. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding genuinely upset. "I can't imagine how that feels. To me… you've always been a source of comfort and strength." His face screws up determination, and it almost bowls him over. A trepidation not too unlike the one he felt staring down that same expression across the duel field washes over him. "I waited ten years to see you again. To know your face, your mannerisms, to learn your voice again. I don't care if it takes time. I'll wait another ten if that's what it takes. So can't we try?" Playmaker's voice softens here, his thumb brushing over Revolver's glove. "If there's anything I've learnt this past year, it's that happiness is worth fighting for. A bright future will always be there, so long as you reach out for it."
The cavity in his chest seem to echo with the sound of his heart. It hurt, even as it sang.
This is a bad idea, he tries telling himself. There's no way this could end well. It will all come crumbling down, like always.
But Playmaker is looking at him with resolve painting every line of his face, and the eyes looking at him are silky soft. All his reasons and resolve seem to crumble in the face of it. He has no cause to stand behind, other than his own piece of mind, especially when Playmaker is so careless with his own.
And he's always at his weakest in front of Playmaker.
"…I can't promise anything." The light of Link Vrains has nothing on the way Playmaker's eyes brighten. "But if you insist to continue causing damage to your own property just to converse with me, I suppose I have to indulge you. And…" he dares meet Playmaker's eyes, refusing to say more without facing him head-on. His hand is still held hostage, the will to extract it beyond him right now, so he tightens his grip like it will help him get the words out correctly. "You are many things, Playmaker, but… I will say arrogant is not one of them."
The way Playmaker's eyes widen to stunned circles, before turning soft like sweet cotton candy will flash behind his eyes for years to come. Same as the genuine smile, warm and serence as a bonfire in the night, that flits over his lips.
"It will take time," he warns, a paltry last-ditch effort to sway the most stubborn man he has ever met.
"We have time." Playmaker retorts, smiling. Then the smile shifts to something like amusement that quickly raises his hackles- "We're stuck here until we fix our disks, after all."
The words make him freeze. The invisble force keeping their hands connected seems to have vanished for how easily he rips his hand free to reach for his duel disk.
He's met with a frozen interface and a blue screen.
Slowly, he looks back at Playmaker. "Explain."
Playmaker at least has the decency to look bashful, shifting where he stands and flexing his hands. "I wanted to be sure you couldn't run from me again."
"By bricking my duel disk?"
"It was the most efficient solution."
He can't even muster a response to that. He tries, but nothing comes to mind, other than the dawning horror that the Dark Ignis may be a worse influence than he ever imagined. This sounds like their exact type of hare-brained scheme
Or maybe this is just a part of Playmaker, of Fujiki Yusaku, he has yet to encounter.
Revolver does not admit to any thrill coursing through him at the idea, or the continuing ones over getting to know them all. He still has an encounter with his fated rival to survive. That is now looking to last much longer than he prefers.
The sigh he lets out is carefully controlled. Control, composure, it's all slipping out of his fingers. This day has been too long and too full of tumultous events.
Playmaker does his best attempt at a beaming smile. When he takes Revolver's hand again, he lets him, with merely a single raised brow.
He just barely manages to suppress a jolt when Playmaker presses a kiss to his fingers. Even through his gloves, he can feel the warmth from his lips. He feels the shape of his smile.
"Thank you." The words aren't uttered out-loud, but carried by the digital waves, heard by no one but them.
Revolver stares at him for a moment too long, before swiping his hand back. He turns on his heel, coat flaring out behind him, resolutely not looking at Playmaker, who falls into step beside him.
"Next time, can we meet outside Link Vrains?" Playmaker asks.
Revolver tsk's. "Ask me again after we've found that Ignis of yours and he has fixed our duel disks. It's the reason he's not here, is it not?"
Playmaker doesn't respond, but Revolver feels he doesn't have to look to know there's a smile on his face.
He's carefully measuring his steps so he doesn't outpace Playmaker completely like his body wants to. The knot in his chest doesn't unravel, but it seems to loosen, the longer they walk side-by-side.
One step at a time. Maybe that will be enough.