I know what it's like to feel hopeless. Most people wouldn't believe that, but it's not something I'd go around sharing either. I managed to make a name for myself. I managed to take the cards life dealt me and turn them into something great.

I don't know what it's like to lose everything. I could bounce back if I lost my company, but I don't think I'd fair well if I lost Mokuba. Any trace of emotion I have left stems from my love for him; without Mokuba, I would become truly heartless.

For those whose hearts aren't as damaged as mine, losing everything can do all kinds of damage. Some might go insane, but I think most of them would just shut down. There'd be some kind of mental or emotional overload that'd fry their brains or hearts respectively and they wouldn't be able to function, never mind know what to do with themselves.

What, then, do you think would happen to someone who lost their mother, father, and sister; had to move to a new home where they didn't fit in with anybody, not even the friendship-happy social circle of all things magical; and was possessed by a darkened entity that enjoyed taking control of his vessel and wreaking havoc upon not only those potential friends but his own body as well, constantly causing him to be hospitalized? Furthermore, after enduring years of the entity's reign and at last managing to be rid of him, what would happen to this severely damaged soul when he continued to be outcast by 'friends' who could not seem to decide if they cared about his existence or not?

I am not usually one to care about the wellbeing of others, nor am I one to offer comfort even if I know it's needed. However, when this boy of whom I speak showed up at my door one day, looking for all the world like an abused and abandoned puppy with his tired brown eyes swollen and red and his pale cheeks stained in memory of countless tears, something triggered deep inside my heart. Something old and cracked and hidden under a film of dust, obviously meant to be forgotten… that is, if this thing had a physical form at all (which, of course, it didn't). I did not know what that thing was then, but it mustered up a voice it didn't have and screamed at me and I knew the only way to silence it was to let him in.

Sitting here now, I've just realized what it was. It's been just over a month since that day and I haven't given it much thought, but for some reason just now, it clicked. That foreign feeling which made the small pit of warmth in my heart slightly larger was compassion. For a moment upon realizing this, I felt strange, but it makes sense. I may love Mokuba, but since our childhood I've rarely even shown him affection. Thinking back on it now actually makes me feel kind of guilty… but that's a problem for later.

A soft moan is coming from a distinct part of the room. I subdue my thoughts and look that way just in time to catch a frail hand lift and drop again. After a moment, the sheets begin to shift and a mess of white hair rises from the pillow. I can't help but smile, just a small one to reflect the admiration I feel while gazing at him.

His eyes are opening now, though I can tell by the way his lids flutter that they are still heavy. I have a sudden urge to kiss them for him but I know I shouldn't get close to him. He has a bizarre control over me which has gone unmentioned but, as time passes, I've begun to think he's no longer ignorant of his power. It's nothing supernatural, there's just something about him that changes me. If he sighs, I'll leave what I'm doing to ask what's wrong. If he stares, I'll tell him everything that's on my mind. If he emits a single whimper, I feel my years of perfected self-control come undone.

He's gazing at me through those hardly awake eyes, wearing a gentle smile that says he's content, but there's something on his mind. I wonder what he could possibly be thinking of already, even though I'll find out soon enough. He tries keeping to himself out of consideration – a trait, no doubt, which aided my surprising fall – but I've got a few tricks of my own to make him talk.

"Good morning," he says at last, after opening and closing his mouth in multiple failed efforts to speak. While his voice is pleasant as ever, it is even quieter than usual.

"Good morning," I reply before returning to my work. He is silent a moment so I glance back subtly. He's twirling a lock of hair between his fingers, staring at it intently. At last he sighs then quickly yawns, though I don't know it's intentional or not. I ask, "Is everything alright?"

"Hm?" he perks up and puts on a gentle smile, one much larger that says 'no, but I'm going to pretend it is'. To ascertain this he nods and says, "I just woke up; what could possibly be wrong?"

Realizing those were my thoughts exactly leaves no doubt in my mind that he's lying. I mimic his façade with a nod of my own. "I folded you r clothes for you, they're next to the bed."

Quickly, I steal another glance at him following these words. Sure enough, his pale face flushes with colour as he reaches for the articles. He dresses his lower half under the covers and slips his striped tee over his mess of hair while still sitting in bed; only after he is fully dressed does he stand up. I do my best to not show amusement at this, just as I do not speak up when he begins straightening the blankets. Last night may have only been our second time together, but we have slept in the same bed enough that I know he feels obligated to make it himself if I am out of bed before he wakes. Likewise, I've learned that even during our relations, he is very shy about revealing his body.

The morning after we first made love, he was in the shower before I woke. I went in to join him, thinking it'd be cute, but the ordeal made him nervous to a fault. In order to help him relax, I washed his hair, scrubbed his back, then helped him dry off when we got out and carried him to the bed. Covering his freshly clean body in kisses, I whispered sickeningly sweet compliments about the slenderness of his frame, softness of his skin, and his stunning beauty. I said these things not knowing whether I believed them or why I felt so driven to boost his confidence, but it put a smile on his lips which made every kiss more enjoyable. Sincerity was evident as he thanked me and followed it with an apology, saying it wasn't anything I did that made him nervous, he simply doesn't feel comfortable being exposed. I promised to break him of that, to which he replied 'good luck'.

His hand is on my shoulder now; he leans in for a kiss which I contently accept. It's brief, but it's common to us; our kisses only last in times of comfort or passion. When we part, I return to my work and he stands over me, his hand unmoving from its place. He gazes across my desk then emits a light sigh.

"I'll be in the kitchen," he speaks like a child alerting a parent; another common occurrence between us, but for some reason it strikes me as odd today. He adds quietly, "if you need me."

There's a weight to his words that eats away at me slowly as he walks away, the mood punctuated by a ghostly feeling on my shoulder where his hand no longer lies. I complete my current project with the help of stress-induced ambition, leaving the room less than ten minutes after him. I make my way down the long staircase, using the time to compose myself and move less hastily; he may have awoken feelings in me that are unfamiliar, but I refuse to allow them to warp who I am. I make it to the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter, the slight feminine curve of his butt being pressed inward by the granite overhang. I catch my sights lingering there a bit too long as rusty doors in my mind open to thoughts of striding to him, taking him in my arms and kissing him like I'd never be able to again. A stirring in my pants warns me that my daydream is having side-effects so I dismiss my desires (though not without some reluctance) and switch my gaze. He's glancing out the window which offers a limited view of the foliage surrounding this particular side of the house. Long plants (that look like overgrown grass save for a few small, pink flowers) sway in an apparent breeze. Sunlight comes through the glass in thick rays that seem almost tangible as they hang suspended over the sink and stretch onto the counter beside him.

He's resting the bulk of his weight on one outstretched leg; the other bent at the knee and resting on his toes so close to the cabinets beneath the counters that, to an untrained eye, it appears as though his foot is resting against the stained-white wood. This detail would most likely be of no interest to anyone else but, to me, it's just another reminder of his consideration for my property.

He sips his tea nonchalantly without once shifting his gaze. Normally, he would hold his cup in two hands while not drinking it but today it's secured with just two fingers through the handle. There is a stillness about him that makes it uncomfortable to stare at the cup for too long. What troubles me most is not the cup, however, but his face – his expression unmoving and his eyes unseeing. Though he appears to be gazing out at the scenery, further observation shows me he is not really looking at all. Were we not certain that the Spirit of the Ring had been terminated I would swear they were conversing right now.

"Ryou?" I speak gently, as one who is approaching someone dangerous. I see focus fade back to his brown eyes, lovely they are despite their unfortunate colour, but it is a moment before he turns to me.

"Hello," he smiles, automatic and void of real happiness. The cup is lifted to his lips again but he hesitates, glancing at the drink briefly before setting it aside. When his eyes return to me they hold a hint of embarrassment which spreads to his smile, making it larger. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

I smirk. He must have seen his reflection and realized his hair was still unkempt. I walk over, slip a hand beneath his hair, cup his face and enjoy the warmth of his cheeks, then lean over, brush my lips against his ear and whisper, "yes, but you're my mess."

He quietly moans my name, twisting away from my lips and into my touch, then turning the other way and attempting to decrease our proximity. I rest my free hand on the countertop, caging him, and he looks up in confusion. "Se…"

I claim his lips before he can speak further and feel his body tense in response. He doesn't try to escape so I snake my arms around his body, hold him closer and kiss harder. He emits a single whine and lifts his hands to my arms, gripping them tightly but giving no indication of acceptance or rejection. My normal personality is frustrated by this and tells me to give up, but the beating of my heart which becomes painfully heavy when I'm aware of it is enough encouragement to keep trying.

I break from his lips and lean in to kiss his neck, making him twist, gasp and blush. I whisper his name and he draws in a shaky breath, guiding his hands up to my shoulders and gripping them instead. I cradle his body in one arm and lift the other hand above his chest, pressing my thumb firmly against his collarbone and rubbing from his shoulder to the center.

He cries out my name and digs his nails into my shoulder, but I hardly mind. When he realizes what he's doing his hands snap open and lift to my face, tilting me away from his neck and guiding me into another kiss. This one is gentle and he emits a whine of protest when I press harder. Deciding it's enough that he's responding, I allow my drive to settle and give him what he wants. When we part this time, he wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head against my shoulder, stray locks of unruly white hair brushing against the high collar of my shirt. (I never thought myself to be a ticklish person, but when we are unclothed and my neck is not protected from his mane it can be quite difficult to ignore).

"Are you busy?" he asks quietly, then buries his face against my chest and mumbles, "You should be working right now, shouldn't you?"

I touch the back of his head and attempt to smooth the stray locks while offering comfort. "I can afford a short break, especially for you."

He shakes his head and moves away from me. "I'm going to brush my hair. You should get back to work."

"Ryou," I sigh finally, "why won't you talk to me?"

He casts a thoughtful look aside then turns back. "I'll meet you in the bedroom. You'll still be working there, right?"

I nod. I don't tend to roam the house when he's here unless I have to, but as of late he's around more than not. "I'll be waiting."

I find it easier to concentrate now, knowing that he's willing to speak his mind. I don't notice how much time goes by before he returns to the room, hair freshly brushed and fluffed into its normal shape. It's gotten longer since we first met and he's spoken of cutting it once but a certain pride wouldn't let him. I teased him by saying his long hair made him look more effeminate, but all the more beautiful. He blushed and never told me if I'd offended him but he hasn't mentioned cutting it since.

"Seto," he speaks in the 'we need to talk' tone reserved for wives and girlfriends (or, in this case, very pretty boyfriends). I save my work and move to the bed, sitting on the edge and giving him my full attention. He remains standing. "You've always been honest with me, right?"

I quirk a brow but quickly nod. "As long as we've been together, at least."

He nods slowly, processing this and seeming content with the answer. "So, no matter what I ask now, you'll tell me the truth, won't you?"

His way of speaking makes this neither a question nor a demand, but a simple as fact statement. I resist smirking as I don't want to send the wrong message. Still, I can't hide this truth from him, "I don't know, Ryou. I'd like to say yes, but I can't promise anything."

"I expected as much," he replies calmly enough, then remains quiet a moment. When he speaks again, I can hardly hear him. "I'm not ready to ask you this yet, you know. I'm only doing it because you asked me to."

I hesitate, wondering if I should change my mind, but at this time it seems pointless to prolong it. "Whatever it is, it's bothering you, Ry. How do you know it won't get worse?"

"The answer will come in due time," he says quickly, nodding to ascertain himself then shaking his head just as quickly. "I just don't know how long that will be. That is what's bothering me."

"Does it have something to do with us?" I guess; his hands clench into fists, answering for him.

"I can handle it," he says defensively, talking to himself more than me. "I like our relationship. I like being mindful of your personality and your business, I like coming here even when you're not. I like knowing you'll make time for me even when you can't, and I like that we make things work even though we don't interact much."

"Ryou…"

He takes a shaky step toward me, smiling despite the sadness in his eyes. "I like everything about us, Seto. I like the way you treat me and the way I treat you. I've even grown to like Mokuba!"

I chuckle at this, remembering how the two would dance around one another during Ryou's first visits; Mokuba switching from curiosity to frustration, Ryou alternating nervousness and embarrassment. It was annoying, but quite adorable, I must admit.

I stand as he nears me and touch his cheek once more. "You've yet to state the negatives, Ry."

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around my neck. "It's not right, you know? It's not…"

I give him the kiss he's begging for and he returns it eagerly. I make a small noise of surprise as he's never been forward, even the first time he admitted he liked me. He expected to lose me forever, but not to be kissed. This isn't right, though. He's trying to distract me.

He takes a nervous step forward, pushing me off balance and seating me on the bed's edge again. Our kiss is broken and I see the nervousness in his eyes. He glances at my computer then steps back. I grab his wrist causing him to jump in surprise and snap his gaze back to me.

"What isn't right, Ryou?" I pull his arm around my waist and rest a hand in the small of his back. He looks down at our bodies, blushes, and struggles to be free of my grip. Tears have formed in his eyes now and tiny, glistening water droplets cast aside. I pull him closer forcefully, surprising him again, and claim his lips in a firm kiss while wrapping my arms around his frame and holding him tenderly. He does not return or deny my kiss, nor does he try to stop the water that is now streaming down his pale cheeks.

I break from the kiss and stare into his eyes, mustering what emotion I have to show my concern. I caress the side of his face and touch the tip of my thumb to his lower eyelid, brushing the water away just for more to spill in its place. His cheeks are tainted pink and warm to the touch.

"This isn't right, Seto," he chokes. "I should be grateful for what we have and leave it at that."

"You are plenty grateful," I manage a smile, kissing him softly before brushing loose bangs from his eyes and continuing, "this may be my first relationship, but I'm sure you're the best boyfriend anyone could ask for."

His tears stop and his eyes scan me intently, but I'm not surprised. Lines like that aren't native to my repertoire. He softens, either deciding I mean it or reading my amusement as something else.

"I don't have much confidence," he says needlessly before adding, "but I have to agree with you. Everything I've done for you from the start has been effortless. I haven't been trying to impress you."

I smirk and jostle him a bit, "that makes you all the more valuable to me, you know?"

His nose wrinkles, a typically unattractive act that somehow makes him even cuter. "You say it like I'm one of your robots; programmed to your liking and replaceable in the event of a malfunction."

I shift further onto the bed, dragging him into my lap as I do so. He blushes and adjusts his legs so he's kneeling, effectively straddling me. My body reacts to this (as it is wont to do) and he bites his lip nervously in response. I take the opportunity to grasp his hips and lower my lids seductively.

"I wouldn't do this with one of my robots."

"Naturally," he replies. I steal a kiss before he can continue and once more he surprises me by allowing it and hugging me. He leans forward, pushing me back until I'm supporting myself on my arms.

His lips part slightly and his soft tongue peeks through, prying gently at my mouth. I moan softly and allow him entrance, feeling his lower body react to my response. Not usually the one in control, he moves slowly and unsurely. I encourage him by laying back, draping my arms over him and caressing his tongue with my own. He emits a soft gasp before returning the touch and our kiss becomes passionate.

His hand slips under my shirt and suddenly he's hesitating again. He breaks away from our kiss and looks deep into my eyes, his expression one of utmost seriousness.

"Seto," his fingertips dance on my stomach thoughtfully. "How do you feel about me?"

I prop up on my elbows once more and consider his question. Offering a gentle smile, I brush my hand to his cheek. "You're the most important person to me," I smirk and add, "other than Mokuba."

He smiles, but it's weak and his eyes are dark. "You love Mokuba, don't you?"

"Of course I…" the words spill from me before realization hits. I swallow hard, suddenly finding my mouth very dry. "Ryou…"

Once more the soft brown is covered by a translucent film. He resists blinking in an attempt to prevent the wall of water from cascading down his cheeks. "I should go. I'm just distracting you."

He climbs off me and steps to the floor, leaving me to my stupor. It's not until he passes through the doorway without looking back that my senses return and I leap from the bed to follow him.

"Ryou, wait!"