Hi everyone, I'm back!! Phew.. college is MURDER, and it was a chore to find time to write this at all, LOL, but I did! This is a J/S songfic, and before you ask, yes, those ARE in the right order. It's dedicated to Firewing, who has at this time posted three marvelous stories that surpass my humble efforts in every way, shape, and form. I urge everyone to go read them and review; for some reason, people are missing out on these great works of art! Please, if you have time, read the stories and leave a little note. It would mean the world to both of us.

To all my NYA readers, Chapter 22 will be finished as soon as I get another moment to breathe... thank you all for your continued interest, though! I apologize a thousand times over for the wait, and I hope that you'll all forgive me when the chappie comes along! In the meantime, enjoy this!

Now, this is the edited version, as you'll see when you read. If you want to read the original version (be warned, the lemon is super graphic, and probably pretty bad too because it's my first), just let me know and I'll e-mail it to ya, okay? On with the fic, then!

Warnings: Mention of drug abuse, sex, child molestation/rape, profanity, maybe even OOC?

Disclaimer: Natalie Imbruglia owns the song, I own the plot, and whoever owns YGO owns the rest! Enjoy!

Butterflies

Joey's POV

There he is again. Quickly, almost unconsciously, I pop my last piece of gum into my mouth, almost forgetting to take off the wrapper first. Great thinking, Wheeler, I scold myself as the synthesized grape flavor assaults my taste buds. I hate the taste of these things, but chewing something is the only that will calm me down at times like these, and if I were to eat something every time I got nervous... well, being that I see him at least five times a day, I'd be a whale within the week. So the crappy, plastic-and-grape tasting gum it is, then.

I force my face into a defiant glare as those deadly, yet oh-so-entrancing midnight eyes pass over me. It's strange, the way he looks at me. Some days, there's nothing but contempt behind his glare, and others, he looks almost as though he's measuring me up, as one would a respected adversary, or a stranger. I chuckle under my breath, covering it up by snapping my gum loudly. I know how much that annoys him, and it earns me another of those strained, angry glances.

I live for moments like these, knowing I've gotten to him. Serves the icy bastard right, if you ask me. For all the times he's gotten under my skin, I deserve a chance to get back at him. My antagonistic side fuelled by that train of thought, I jog past him, snapping my gum once again as my knee clips his ever-present briefcase, sending it swinging slowly in his iron grip, and those crystal orbs narrow even more at me.

Nobody could ever guess by my behavior just how hard the butterflies are slamming into the walls of my stomach right about now. Now, and every other time I'm within sight of him.

It's terrible just how obsessed I am with him. If my friends knew, I'd be branded as a nut job for life, and sent off somewhere for the mentally challenged, as they're called now. Take right now, for instance. I'm sitting in Math class, watching the exasperated teacher try to explain trigonometry to a bunch of bleary-eyed teenagers, but my mind's not on the parade of shapes moving to the right of the blackboard. Oh, no, my ever-useful brain thinks it's imperative to conjure fantasy after distracting fantasy, all featuring the Ice King in various states of undress, compromising positions, or combinations of both. One of the latter, a picture of the great dragon completely stripped and bound to a crimson-covered bed by fur-lined leather bindings, dances across my mind's eye, and I can feel my body reacting in what my mind considers a far too positive manner to this newest daydream.

As hot as I consider these fantasies, though, they make me physically ill at times. I mean, this guy is my worst enemy, and probably straight as a damn arrow besides. I'm sure it's not exactly normal to want to drag him into the nearest janitor's closet so we can fuck like bunnies. Hmm... bunny ears might be a good addition to that last one... maybe one of those fluffy tails too...

I sigh, casually shifting my closed notebook to my lap. And Yug' can't figure out why I bother bringing the damn thing to class when I never write anything down... if he only knew, his hair would probably stand up even straighter on end.

I should really be paying attention... eh, maybe next time.

Seto's POV

I am the first one out of my seat at the bell, as always. About the only person more anxious to get out than me is the damn furless dog, but he's far too slow to even keep up with me most days. Today, however, with his typical poise, he slams right into my back, breaking my stride and sending himself to the ground.

"Watch where you're going, mutt," I growl, and he stares up at me blankly. It's not as though I really care he bumped into me, you must understand. It's obviously a bigger problem for him, being that I'm the one who's still on my feet, and he's sprawled out on the classroom floor with his books around him. No, I couldn't care less about the mishap itself, but I do have a reputation to keep up, after all, and that reputation dictates that I must react to this with my usual icy demeanor, instead of shrugging it off. Being a rock sure sucks, but at least it's familiar to me. Hell, I've been doing it ever since the old man went down to join all the other sinners in the inferno. What else do I know?

Not that I care or anything, of course, I tell myself as I push open the school doors roughly, walking quickly to my limo and getting in. I'm better off numb, at least with this life.

At precisely 9:04 PM, Domino time, I burst in the front door of my elaborate mansion, the noise of the door making contact with the wall and the whistling of the autumn wind breaking the quiet of the formerly still mansion. Mokuba, curled up in a blanket on the couch, gives a tiny start as his eyes crack open.

"Hey, Seto," he mumbles sleepily, and I toss my briefcase on the couch, flopping down raggedly in the closest chair. "What's wrong?"

"You're not going to believe this," I say, staring into the flickering fireplace. "They want me to take a vacation from the office! Me, Seto Kaiba, CEO of the damn company, taking a two-month vacation!! It's ludicrous!"

My little brother bites his bottom lip nervously, and I can see a private battle being waged behind his sleep-fogged eyes. "Well, big brother..." he replies, "..maybe that's not such a bad idea."

I pin him down with an incredulous look that scares him more than any screaming fit ever could. "Whose side are you on, Mokuba?" I demand.

"Yours, Seto, always!" he says, and the force of his conviction drives him to leap into a sitting position. "Still, though, everybody needs some time off, and you haven't had any since... you took over the company, I suppose." Neither of us like to remember the unpleasant details that lead to that takeover, but his words have brought it all right back. I hate the fact that I was unable to shield him from that, but it was necessary if we were ever to escape the old man. I wouldn't change a single moment, but that doesn't mean I don't regret any of it.

Suddenly, a colossal fatigue comes over me, and my shoulders slump. God, I'm exhausted. When did I last get a full night's sleep? "Perhaps you're right, Mokuba," I yawn widely. "Get up to bed, okay? We'll talk more about this tomorrow."

I can see that he wants to talk about it now, but I know he's at least as tired as I am. "Okay, Seto." he nods obediently, coming over and kissing me softly on the cheek. "Good night," he calls over his shoulder, dragging the blanket along behind him.

After brooding a short while longer, I decide to call it a night. Unfortunately, no amount of tossing and turning is enough to put me to sleep, and I sit upright in bed, more than a little frustrated. What did I expect, though? I haven't been able to get to sleep on my own since...

Drowsily, I drag myself out of bed and shuffle over to the dresser, unlocking the bottom drawer and pulling out the brandy and some rather large pills. Contrary to popular belief, the reason I don't get enough rest is not because I'm a total workaholic. No, but ironically enough, another addiction is to blame. When my adoptive father died, I began to have recurrent nightmares that interfered with my functioning in more than a minor way. The shrink prescribed me some sleeping pills, but unfortunately, she started me off on something far too strong. I grew so dependent on them that I can no longer sleep even ten minutes without one, and now, for any kind of noticeable effect, I have to perpetuate their effects with alcohol.

Grimacing at the foul taste, I knock back a few of the caplets with the searing, thick liquid. I hate what I've become, needing drugs to achieve one of the most basic human faculties, but some nights, even I need some rest. Slamming the bottle down, I crawl back into the inviting silk bedding and wait for the darkness to blot out all conscious thought.

Just before I drift off, though, a question that I am thoroughly unable to answer floats through my mind. What am I going to do with all this extra time?

Joey's POV--Two weeks later

That can't be who I think it is... damn it, it is, and me without my gum! Crap... I never leave home without it if there's even the slightest chance that I'm going to see him, but I didn't think rich, snotty businessmen walked through this park, and it's too late to duck out of sight or run back to the corner store I passed a while back. Just as well; I don't think I have enough change in my pockets for a pack of gum anyway.

Ugh... he's spotted me. Here comes the glare... stupid butterflies are back again. Hey... wait a minute... why is he just walking by me? "Hey, Kaiba!"

He stiffens visibly, spinning around on his heel with a glazed look in his eyes. I laugh inwardly. Who looks like the puppy now, Kaiba? "What, you don't acknowledge me now?" I say it jokingly, hiding just how much it's tearing me up inside that he might not even insult me anymore.

I expect him to glare at me, utter some scathing remark, or maybe even spit at me. He did once, after a particularly vicious fistfight. I most certainly don't expect him to turn back the way he was going and walk away without so much as a second glance. My eyes cloud over; is this it? He won't even be in my life as an enemy anymore? "Fine, just walk away, like the rich fucking coward you are!" The vehemence of my words is a far cry from the helpless pain I'm feeling, but not even this most foul of underhanded insults is enough to make him look back at me.

A icy gust of wind blows through the park, and I clutch my jacket tighter around me as I watch him walk away. Rejection never stung so bad.

What is this that I feel for him? Something I think is hatred... a more-than-healthy lust, definitely... and something else, something that only he makes me feel. A need to be better, to be good enough. A desire for his attention, for his crumbs of acknowledgement, rare and small as they may be. God... sometimes, I would kill for just one kiss from him, and others, I want to tear him limb from arrogant limb. I hate this feeling, but at the same time, it sustains me.

Sometimes I think he does this on purpose, drawing me in and pushing me away. I worry about him, you know. He pushes himself so hard, and he doesn't really have anyone to vent on when it gets to be too much for him except for Mokuba, who he's too busy shielding to let into the fortress he's built around his heart. I used to say that he deserved whatever he got, but even if he wasn't the product of his own twisted hell of a life, nobody deserves that kind of existence.

I stare up at the sky blankly, flopping down on a nearby bench and interlacing my fingers behind my head. I wish... oh, I don't even know what to wish for anymore. Should I wish for him to love me, or at least open up to me? Should I wish for his happiness, whether that picture includes me or not?

"I wish that people weren't so damn stubborn," I mutter to the languidly moving clouds overhead, letting my arms fall to rest on the back of the bench as I sigh heavily.

Seto's POV

I stop as soon as I turn the corner, leaning against a particularly thick oak tree and slowly slinking down to rest on the dry grass. Why didn't I say anything to him? Normally, I find it a challenge to choose which insult to fling at him next, but this time, my mind went totally blank. I saw his confident facade, the billowing hurt rising to cloud his beautiful amber orbs, his shoulders slump ever so slightly as I turned to leave, and I did nothing but walk away. Why?

For the longest time, I've lived like an island and never questioned it, never wondered whether or not I could have something more. Then, he came into my life, my polar opposite. Where I was weak, he was strong. Where I was poor, he was rich, and where I had failed, he was a radiant success. He turned my entire perception of the world upside down without a clue, just by being himself, and I didn't even realize it until this moment, after I've wounded him more deeply with my silence than with any verbal jab.

I can see it all so clearly now; wanting to be the best at Duel Monsters, my need to see him lose time and again... it was all because I couldn't accept that someone had achieved a better life than I had where it actually mattered. He has friends, a relationship with his sister that is leagues beyond mine with Mokuba, no responsibility, a beauty all his own, and for all his tough airs, his innocence. How I envy him all of that... especially the latter.

I push this train of thought into the back of my mind, derailing it before it can make me lose my nerve. There'll be plenty of time to feel guilty once I've accomplished what I came to do, but I refuse to allow anything, including Joseph Wheeler, to distract me from what I swore I would do today.

Resolutely, I push myself to my feet, dusting my trench coat off. Time to face this, the same way I do everything; head-on, fearlessly. What have I to lose, after all, but my mortal soul?

The wrought iron gate creaks softly behind me as I enter the mausoleum, final resting place for all those who bear the cursed surname 'Kaiba'. It's quite far removed from the rest of the graveyard, so there's no chance of my being disturbed or worse, overheard. My secrets are between me and the dead, not some ignorant passers-by, and as long as I have a say in it, that's how things will remain.

I move to the end of the aisle, trying not to look at the spaces reserved for Mokuba and I. Seeing our names and birth dates etched in that stone always sends shivers down my spine; I hate being reminded of my own mortality, but I especially loath being reminded of his. It's hard to believe that same carefree child that idolizes me, that leaps into my arms when I come home from work and kisses me good night will one day be lying here beside me, his earthly remains slowly decaying into nothing. I don't even want to think about it.

Steeling myself, my fist clenched painfully, I turn to face the varnished oak coffin to my left. After all these years, I can still see his body, laid out in this same violet-lined box. He was sent off like a damn king, all royal blue and purple, when what he really was at his core was lower than dirt. Yes, he built Kaiba Corp out of the ground, but the measure of a man is not his results, but the path by which he arrives at them.

Gozaburo. Even now, the name sends a spike of nausea straight to my gut, a lance composed of equal parts fear and rage. I destroyed him myself, crushed his throat and threw him from his ivory tower for good measure, but it wasn't nearly enough to undo the years of pain and damage he caused me and my brother, to a much lesser extent. At least Gozaburo's life, I was able to protect Mokuba from, if not his death. It was the easiest choice I ever made; my brother's happiness for my own.

I had hoped it would all end once he was dead and buried. I had hoped that Mokuba and I would be left alone to heal, perhaps even to grow, but unfortunately for us, life's never easy. I was duped into taking over Kaiba Corp, seduced by its power and prestige, and my little brother was left by himself, surrounded by servants and false friends. He learned not to trust very quickly, and while I recognize the need for someone in his position to be slightly jaded about human nature, I wish it hadn't had to come to that.

My own life was another matter. Try as I might to forget it, the details of my dark past would not leave me alone. By day, I worked myself to the bone trying to meet the demands imposed upon me by the joint taskmasters of school and work, and by night, I relived my private hell with Gozaburo. Every painful beating, every harsh reprimand, every savage rape... I lived through them all every night in my dreams, waking up drenched in sweat, only to curl up with a pillow and await the sunrise anxiously, when it all would begin again. Days became weeks, and weeks turned into months... after a particularly bad stretch of the worst nightmares yet, I bit the bullet and went to the psychiatrist who got me hooked on those sleeping pills. Ever since, I have been running away from the memories of Gozaburo by any means necessary; burying myself in work, most of the time, and blotting out the real world with the pills at others. It's worked fine, until now.

Now that I'm on vacation from work, supposedly relaxing, I find there's nothing else to hide behind. I'm taking more and more of the pills, spending most of my free days in bed with the brandy and a supply of the caplets on my nightstand, knocking myself out again as soon as the last dose wears off. How long before I give in, and OD? No more; it ends here.

"You can't hurt me anymore," I growl, clenching my fist ever tighter. "You're dead and gone. Your body is rotted, your soul tortured in Hell. You have ceased to exist, Gozaburo Kaiba, and I have survived you. All that you tried to do to me; the beatings... the slander..." I can feel my voice thickening. No... I've got to be strong this time. I open my mouth to speak, but I can hardly bring myself to recall the image of him tearing at my clothes, beating me into submission, and taking me until I cried, screamed, begged him for mercy, much less put the wretched experience into words.

Wake up, Kaiba, the rational part of my brain orders sternly. If you're going to get through this, you've gotta bury it with the old man. I know this; I've told it to myself time and again, but I just can't do it. God help me, I can't get past this! After all the years of running away, it's grown too big for me to face alone.

"Damn you!" I shout, slamming my fist down onto the oaken casket. It doesn't budge, and I fall to my knees, forcing myself not to cry. I can't do what I came to do; put my skeletons to rest with him. I'm so alone, so overwhelmed, and there's no one I can turn to... no one at all...

Suddenly, it comes to me, like the ray of hope shining out of the darkness of Pandora's Box. I drag my sleeve across my face roughly once, and storm from the mausoleum, heading down the hill, back to Domino. The gate slams shut behind me, but I'm already too far away to hear it, and too far gone to care.

Joey's POV

I'm sitting on my old couch, my feet up on the hopelessly filthy coffee table as I dig out another tasteless hunk of ice cream from the now-lukewarm container in my lap and stuff it into my mouth, the metallic taste of the spoon blending with the positively repugnant flavor of processed sugar and chocolate flavoring to create a wholly disgusting product. It dulls the pain and the worry, though, so I guess it's not all bad.

My dad's out for the time being, probably at some seedy bar again, squandering his paycheck. I can pick out at least ten things in this place that that money could go a long way towards improving, or even replacing in some cases, but I learned long ago that picking a fight with my father about his alcohol problem is a sure invitation to being beaten so badly that it would be impossible to hide from anyone the next day. So I do the best I can with what I have, and close my eyes to that which is beyond my meager power. No point in reaching any higher.

A firm knock on the door jars me out of my reverie, and I groan under my breath, lowering the television. The only visitors we ever get are bill collectors, and I really don't feel like dealing with one of those right now. They're always so nasty, I usually fight fire with fire and let my old man take care of them. If that's not an option, I just pretend we're out. They usually go away after a while, unless they hear any noise. Then, our doorstep suddenly turns into a campground.

After ten minutes of sitting quietly, though, the knocking hasn't abated, and taking my half-melted snack with me, I stomp over to the door. Don't these people have families to spend weekends with? I ask myself, taking another mouthful of the ice cream for courage as I slide back the chain lock and fling open the door. "This had better be..."I begin, my voice garbled, but instead of the cheap suit and horn-rimmed glasses that bill collectors usually favor, entrancing midnight eyes fill my sight, rooting me to the spot.

I gulp down the ice cream quickly, wincing as it hits my stomach with the force of a roundhouse punch. Hello, butterflies.

"Well, mutt, are you planning on inviting me in, or would you like to see how many flies you can catch with that open mouth first?" His tone's obviously meant to sound elitist, but if you ask me, the redness around his eyes and the not-so-confident way he's leaning against the doorframe tell me all I need to know about his current state.

Setting the ice cream down on the nearest flat surface, I step back from the door and wave him over to the couch. I watch him glance around the apartment strangely, as though he had just been transported to another world, before he nods and settles himself down in the place I just vacated. Fumbling with our ancient and nearly shattered remote control, I turn off the television and sit down next to him, making sure to keep an entire cushion as neutral ground between us. All those visits with the social worker weren't completely wasted; I did learn some counseling protocol, and I have no doubt in my mind that, for one warped reason or another, that's what he's here for. "What brings you here, Kaiba?" I ask softly, and his eyes search mine for any sign that I might be patronizing him or something. Satisfied that I'm not, he sits back, staring at the positively sickening linoleum.

"I needed to talk to somebody." he admits at length, and I nod slowly.

"Not that I'm not flattered and all, because I am," I reply, "but why me? I mean, aren't we like... enemies, or something?" Enemies... that's a laugh. The last time I really meant one of those insults... actually, I don't remember ever meaning a single one. There's enmity for you.

He scoffs at my elementary reasoning. "You're right," he says, "but who else was I going to turn to? Yugi? Ryou? Tristan? Heaven forbid, Tea?" He shakes his head and chuckles at the last part. "Like it or not, mutt, you're my last resort."

I almost mention Mokuba, but catch myself just in time. Of course he wouldn't burden his little brother, whom he 's sworn to protect, with his own problems. What brought the whole thing on in the first place, however, and does it really matter at this point? "All right, Kaiba, I'll listen," I say haughtily, pretending that I'm doing him a favor when it's very much the other way around. "One condition, though. I want you to drop the act." He looks at me strangely, pretending to be unsure what I'm talking about. "You heard me. The 'I'm superior and invincible and nothing can ever touch me' act. Not that I can't see right through it," I wink, "but it does get tiresome."

He gives a sigh that's really more of a shudder, and his shoulders slump as he folds his hands in his lap, eyes fixed on me. The tragic beauty of that gaze alone makes me want to keep him, makes me want to be beside him forever, but I push that train of thought into the scrap heap. "There we are," I say, throwing one arm carelessly over the back of the couch. "Whenever you're ready."

The sapphire-eyed dragon next to me licks his lips nervously and runs a hand through his short auburn locks. Never seen him do that before. God, I wonder if that hair's as soft as it looks, or if he tastes as good as I've imagined... Mentally, I slap myself. He's here for help, nothing else. Be glad he's letting you have that much. "I..." he begins, shaking his head. "Today, I went..." Another shake of his head. "Gozaburo's grave..." A roar of frustration shakes his entire frame as he slams his fist down on the coffee table, spilling the ice cream all over the place. "Goddamn it! Why is this so hard?"

In a heartbeat, I find myself next to him, my hand in his, not even noticing the brown liquid pooling on the floor. Just another stain on an already unspeakable rug. "Hey, relax, okay?" I whisper, and his gaze locks with mine. I do my best to keep my gaze soft and unthreatening, and eventually, those azure eyes flick down to our hands, clasped on the couch between us. I fully expect him to tear his away, but to my infinite surprise, his grip tightens around my fingers almost painfully, and when he looks up again, his eyes are clouding over with unshed tears.

"Thank you," he says. "Not that I deserve the time of day from you..." He smiles sadly, and I find myself returning the gesture with what I consider a vacant grin. "I'm so sorry for before."

I wave his apology off with my free hand. "Don't worry about it," I reply. "You're obviously going through a lot of shit right now." I cock my head to the side a bit, much like the puppy he's always comparing me to. "Still want to talk?"

He nods quickly, as though afraid he's going to lose his nerve, and his grip on my hand remains strong. A surge of desire courses through me, but I beat it back with a wave of reason as he begins once more. "I went to Gozaburo's grave today," he manages to get out, and I nod. Complete sentences, there's a start. "It was the first time since..." he swallows hard, and I fight the urge to finish his sentence for him. "...since I killed him." Noticing my quizzical look, he shakes his head vehemently. "I don't regret that, you must understand. Not one second."

I nod in assent, motioning for him to continue, and another shudder passes through his body. "I went there today to put some old demons to rest," he continues. "But I couldn't... I just couldn't..." He trails off, and I suddenly become conscious that his grip has cut off circulation in my fingers. Small price to pay for holding Seto Kaiba's hand, if you ask me.

"What demons, Kaiba?" I hear my worried, thin voice asking.

He looks up at me, then promptly back down again. "My father.. Gozaburo..." he sighs, and I can tell he's fighting tears again. "...he used to beat me, call me a worthless good-for-nothing bastard if I was anything less than perfect..." He interlaces his fingers with mine, and I'm grateful for both the respite and the closer contact, though the knowledge that there's more to the story that he hasn't said hangs between us. I wait patiently, holding his hand gingerly, as though he's made of porcelain. If you ask me, he's far more precious than that junk.

"He also..." Every word is a trial for him now, but he's facing it bravely. That's our Kaiba; strong to the last. "Oh God, Joey..." his voice has dropped to the lowest whisper, but I don't miss his first use of my name in what I consider forever. "Every day for almost three years..." he murmurs, and his grip once again becomes tighter than a vice. I squeeze back, trying to bolster his strength with some of my own. "God, Joey, he raped me. Over and over again..." A great sob is torn from his lips at this revelation, but no tears follow it. Just how tough is this man? "I offered myself..." he explains, his eyes frantically searching mine for something that I can't identify. "...offered myself to save Mokuba... he doesn't know..." Suddenly, he lets my hand drop and leaps to his feet, and I follow suit, terrified that I've done something wrong.

"Kaiba..." I start, but he holds up a quivering hand, and I stop. I can only imagine what that must have taken out of him, revealing that secret after so many years.

"Don't..." he growls, and I find myself genuinely scared. "Don't you dare pity me! Who are you, a fucking gutter rat? How dare you judge me! I am the great Seto Kaiba! I... I am..."

I force myself to ignore the erratic tirade, moving forward and taking his hand again. He doesn't stop me this time, and gradually, the shaking subsides. "Please, Kaiba..." I beg. "Let me help you."

He scoffs and twists out of my grip. "Why?" he demands. "Why would you want to help me? Why in the name of fucking Almighty Christ would you give a shit about me?"

"Because I love you, you fucking baka!" My own outburst shocks me, and I cover my mouth in surprise as his eyes grow wider than I've ever seen them.

"You're lying," he stutters incredulously. "You're a fucking liar! Who could ever... who could ever love this?" He gestures to himself, and I know he means his body, his tarnished soul. "Who..." he begins again, but I cut him off at the pass.

"Me." I growl as I pull him down by the lapels of his trench coat and drink the fury right from his lungs.

I awaken a few hours later to a muted ringing noise that I immediately recognize as my cell phone. The pup's still knocked out, but his breathing patterns have returned to normal at least. With an exasperated sigh, I kiss his cheek, crawl out of his sleep-loosened embrace, and dig around in the mess on the floor for my pants, tugging the insistent machine out of the left pocket and turning it on.

"Yeah?" I mutter, sitting down on the edge of the bed. I'd forgotten about the post-coupling soreness, but as painful as the lances shooting up my lower back whenever I stand are, they're so worth it.

"Seto? Where have you been? You promised you'd be home for dinner, but you never showed! Is everything alright?" Mokuba sounds absolutely frantic, and I glance at my watch. The ornate timepiece tells me that it's somewhere around seven-thirty, and dinner's usually around five... damn it, I slept longer than I intended. No wonder he's worried.

Wait a minute... slept? Without the pills? Without the brandy? I actually fell asleep without any kind of aid? Joyfully, I kiss the blond puppy next to me, my tongue delving into his mouth. He responds as best he can without fully waking up, and as our lips part, he rolls over, snoring softly. Not only that, but I don't remember having any nightmares... but that must mean my crazy plan worked! God, who would have thought after all those shrinks, all that medication, what I really needed was to let someone into my life and give everything they had to help me fix it. I owe him so much, and he hasn't a clue. How ironic.

"Seto, are you still there?" My little brother's voice jars me out of my reverie, and I yawn silently before replying.

"I'll be home soon, Mokuba." I say, massaging my lower back clumsily. "I apologize for keeping you waiting."

"Where are you, big brother?" he persists, and I roll my eyes. Sometimes, the kid can get annoying, and I really don't feel like telling him the real reason I'm late. Not the most appropriate form of sex ed, that's for sure. "I'll send the chauffeur to pick you up."

"That's fine, I'll walk." Two steps toward the bathroom is more than enough to make me revise that decision, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stifle a grunt of pain as I pitch forward, bracing myself on the nearby dresser. "On second thought, send the car to Joey Wheeler's place. I'll be waiting outside in fifteen minutes."

"Joey's place?!" His voice demands explanation, but I don't have the time or the will to indulge him right now.

"Yes, Mokuba." I confirm with finality. "Good-bye."

"But, Seto!" is all he manages to get out before I snap the phone closed and resume my painful journey to the bathroom to get cleaned up. On my way there, I pass his father's room, the door half closed and cheap liquor bottles littering the floor. Thankfully, he's not home for whatever reason; had he found us together, I doubt even I would have been able to explain it away. Of course, from what I've heard of him, he probably wouldn't be lucid enough to realize what was going on in the first place.

At first glance, things definitely look grim. Fifteen minutes is definitely not enough time for the shower I sorely need, so I run a nearby washcloth under warm water and proceed to wipe what I can away. The rest, I resolve, will have to stay, at least until I get home and into a nice, warm bath. That wouldn't be so bad, but I know Mokuba's going to be doing his best imitation of an Inquisitor once I get through the door, which means pacifying him before doing anything else. Not such a great thing.

Returning to the bedroom, I separate my clothes from his and dress hurriedly. The last item is my trench coat, but I decide to leave it where it is, wrapped around my newfound lover. He needs it more than I do, and besides, I can't bring myself to disturb his rest.

A quick glance at my watch shows I have eight minutes until the chauffeur is scheduled to arrive. Hunting around his room for a pen and paper, I tear a sheet from his completely blank school copybook and jot down a quick note to him.

Joey,

Sorry, but I've got to get home, Mokuba's worried sick. I'll be back as soon as I can get away; until then, I'll miss you every second. Later, Pup; rest well, you've earned it.

Love, Seto

P.S.: Thank you, for everything.

I fold up the sheet of paper, replace everything as I found it, and set it down beside him on the bed, where I'm sure he'll notice it as soon as he wakes up. Stroking his silky hair one last time, I walk slowly from the room, closing the door behind me as I leave. I don't hear the breeze from the open window gust through his bedroom, don't see it blow the note into the crack between his nightstand and the side of his bed as I leave the apartment and limp almost imperceptibly to the elevator. There is no way I'm doing stairs in this condition, I tell myself as I hit the call button and wonder how in the world I'm going to explain everything to Mokuba.

Joey's POV

I reach out sleepily for him an hour or so later, but my questing hand meets only empty air. Frowning, I pat the now-cool sheets, murmuring wordlessly as my eyes crack open just the slightest bit. I half expect to see him smiling at me, but instead, only the complete chaos of my room and the billowing curtains meet my roving gaze. I sit up, rubbing my eyes slowly, and look around.

"Seto?" I call out, and I notice my movement's dislodged his trench coat, which he's evidently turned into a makeshift blanket for me. Surely, he wouldn't leave without it, would he?

No answer comes, though, and as I glance around the room, I notice that only my clothes are left on the floor. A spike of fear digs into my chest, and I take a deep breath as I retrieve my boxers, sliding them on as I slip out of his coat. A quick examination of the apartment confirms my worst suspicions; he's gone, probably has been for some time.

"Okay, don't panic," I tell myself. Something probably just came up... if that's the case, he must have left a note, right? I laugh out loud at my own stupidity, my lack of faith in the man I love. He probably left it in the bedroom, someplace I'd be sure to find it, and I missed it while I was jumping to the wrong conclusion. It makes perfect sense, and my heart is lighter by far as I practically skip back into the room, and spend the next twenty minutes tearing it apart, searching for the note I know he must have left. I dig through drawers, tear off the bed sheets, root through the pillowcases. I even check behind the dresser, but all to no avail.

With a strangled sob, I fall to my knees, leaning against the cheap chest of drawers that my dad picked up third-hand at a yard sale a few years back. He said he loved me... I know he loves me... but why leave like that, without so much as a word or a by-your-leave? A voice in the back of my head warns me against jumping to conclusions again, but I crush it beneath a wall of cruel logic. There's only one explanation, as far as I'm concerned... he obviously regretted what we did, and he's not man enough to face me and tell me so, so he just leaves like a thief in the night.

You know that's not who he is, the voice begins, and I tug at my hair in frustration.

"I don't know who the fuck he is!" I shout, my voice echoing off the walls as I storm into my father's bedroom, taking his gun from its place beneath his pillow and checking the magazine. Three bullets... perfect. I'll only need one.

The cold steel drives home the reality of what I intend to do, and I swallow hard, a strange taste in my mouth. I recognize it finally as a mixture of things, as I shuffle half-dazed into the living room; his sweat, my own blood from biting down on my lip too hard, and most overpowering of all, whether real or imagined, the salty tang of his essence...

Crying out again, in anger this time, I jam the gun into my mouth, allowing the taste of iron to blot out all the rest as I glance at the clock. If I don't hear from him in one hour, I resolve, I'm pulling the trigger.

After all, what is life worth without love?

Seto's POV

I try my best to walk upright and with a regular stride as I ascend the front steps of the manor, an impossible feat made harder by the fact that I've just spent the last twenty minutes sitting down in a limousine that, quite frankly, needs new shock absorbers in the worst way. Eventually, weathering the concerned glances of the chauffeur the entire way, I make it to the double mahogany doors, only to realize that I've left my keys in my trench coat. Sighing, I ring the doorbell, and within ten seconds, the portal swings open to reveal my little brother, looking up at me with questioning eyes. I so don't need this right now.

"Spill, Seto." he says as soon as I'm inside, and I lean back on the door for support, trying to look casual. Oh yeah, definitely forgot about the post-coital pain. "Where have you been?"

"None of your business." I reply, growling deep in my throat at the muted lance of pain that shoots up my spine as I take my first step onto the staircase. How the Hell am I ever going to get up the whole damn flight?

"I know you were at Joey's." he presses. "Were you two fighting again?"

"No, we weren't." I almost chuckle to myself at the sheer understatement of these words.

"Then what were you doing?" Damn it, the kid's pushy. Why can't he just drop it?

"I've told you, it's none of your damn business!" His eyes widen; this is the first time I've ever sworn at him. For a moment, he looks as though he might back off, but then that stubborn glare's back in his eyes, and he clears the stairs between us, blocking my path.

"You're not going anywhere until I get an answer, Seto!" We both narrow our eyes, our formidable wills clashing, and I clench my fist around the banister almost hard enough to break it. He wants an answer? Then that's what he'll get.

"Fine, you want to know?" I sneer. "I was fucking him! Or, more appropriately, he was fucking me." The look on his face is something I can't quite identify. Surprise, definitely... disbelief, perhaps... disgust, even? "Was that what you wanted to know, or would you rather I went into more graphic detail?"

He looks down, then back up at me, and now disgust, not surprise, is the predominant emotion. "You... you're gay?!" he shouts, and I cringe at the thought of the servants overhearing before I remember that they're all gone for the night. "You're gay and sleeping with Joey Wheeler?! How long has this been going on?"

"I don't have to account for my actions to you!" I meet his outburst with equal fury. How dare he question me, after all I've done for him. How dare he! "In case you have forgotten, Mokuba, I am your older brother. It is you that must explain yourself to me, not the other way around!"

He scoffs, and that sound cuts me to the core. "Brother?" he sneers, exactly as I did a few moments ago. "I'm not related to any faggot whores!"

My hand flashes out before I even notice what's going on, and his small body hits the stairs with a hollow thud. "You pitiful whelp!" I say, his words having stirred my rage to the boiling point. "Just who the fuck do you think you are?" He doesn't answer, simply looks at the red carpet that lines the staircase, and I pull him up to my eye level angrily. "Come on, Mokuba. You're old enough to dish out insults of that caliber, you can answer a simple question." He continues to ignore me, and I give him a rough shake. "Come on! You had quite a bit to say a few seconds ago."

His head comes up, and with the speed of a viper, he spits in my face, the thick liquid running down my right cheek slowly. I drop him to the ground once more, and he realizes the magnitude of what has just transpired. "Seto..." he begins, his eyes tearing and his cheek flaring red where I hit him.

"Get out of my sight." I growl, and when he doesn't move, I whirl around, my eyes mere furious slits. "Get the fuck out of my sight, now!!"

He nods, runs back down to the ground floor, and takes off toward the living room like a scared rabbit. Still shaking with rage, I brace myself on the banister and continue my painful climb.

I need a hot bath... and a drink.

The door to my room locks with a hollow click as I retrieve the pills and booze from the dresser, limping into the adjoining bathroom and running the water as hot as I can get it. Setting the items down on the rim of the spacious tub, I strip quickly, looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror. My hair is an absolute mess, my body covered in minute scratches and bruises, and the crafty, self-assured glint all but gone from my eyes. For once, though, seeing myself completely naked, I don't think of Gozaburo. I think of him, my golden angel, my savior. Why he would want something this tarnished, this broken, I have no idea, but a gift like this, you don't question.

I sink into the steaming pool, wincing as the water makes contact with my wounds. I've run it deeper than I usually do, so the water comes up to my chin, and I slide completely under the surface with ease, feeling the clear liquid cleanse my physical body. If only it could galvanize my soul thus, I'd be set for life.

Under the water, in the complete silence, thoughts come easily. I see images of Mokuba, of our past at the orphanage, games in the park, Christmas mornings and birthdays. I see Duelist Kingdom, Battle City, Yugi and his friends. I see the shadowy specter of Gozaburo, its former power and majesty stolen by my last act of ultimate defiance. Finally, I see him, Joey, his eyes glittering as he laughs at some joke or other, scratching his head with a pencil as he puzzles out a particularly difficult math problem, the passionately angry glares he used to give me every time I passed. I see his honey orbs filled with concern for his friends, for me. I see the loving, unsure way he stared into my eyes as we made love this afternoon, the sublime perfection of his body. The remembered taste of his lips, his touches, as fleeting as a phantom's, assault my senses, and with a gasp, my head breaks the surface of the water. The depth of my feelings for him overwhelms me, and I do the only thing I know how to in this situation; shake out a few pills and pour a glass of brandy.

As I pop the caplets into my mouth, I know that swallowing them would mean not only blotting out the world this time, but a sure death by drowning. I think of Mokuba, the hate and disgust twisting his innocent features. I see myself slapping him, see him tumbling to the stairs. I see Gozaburo, hear his insults, feel his cold, clammy hands against my skin, despite the heat of the water, but these last few memories are faded, just like the rest of him.

I raise the glass to my lips, sniffing the pungent liquor. He tried to help me, did his best. I'm just not strong enough to stick around here, not like this, not as I am right now. Forgive me, Joey. You'll be better off giving your love to someone who won't waste your time on a hopeless case.

Just as I'm about to tip the liquid into my mouth, though, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, and the image stops me in my tracks. I feel like he must, on the outside looking in on myself. I see a pitiful shadow of a man, desperate for relief, desperate for a change. I see someone who's given up, who's had enough of his uphill battle. But I see the good things too; the inner strength that's kept me going this long, my not-inconsiderable physical beauty, my heart out on my sleeve, bleeding for him from a host of wounds, and I remember seeing all this and more reflected and multiplied in his all-consuming gaze. If I do this, I'll never see him again. He may never recover. I can't. I can't!!

With a roar of anguish and resolve, I throw the glass into the mirror, shards of crystal and mirrored glass dripping brandy littering the tiled floor. Spitting the pills out with contempt, I lift myself from the bath that was almost my coffin, ignoring the pain, and dress as fast as I can, picking up my spare set of car keys from the dresser as I leave. The need to see him again, to hold him in my arms and to be held in his consumes me, and my foot is pressing down on the pedal even as I turn the ignition, making the expensive car rocket out of the garage and onto the streets of Domino with a squeal of burning rubber.

Any cop who dares try to give me a ticket, I growl as my hand clenches down painfully on the wheel and the speedometer pushes 110 miles per hour, is going to wish they had never heard of a speed limit.

Joey's POV

The clock's pushing fifty-three minutes when I hear the elevator bell go off for the fourth time since I've started my painful vigil. I know I shouldn't be getting my hopes up, but still, my heart beats just the slightest bit faster. A scant few seconds later, the door swings open to reveal my azure-eyed dragon, his hair matted down to his head and his clothes completely disheveled. His face, at first merely worn and tired, rearranges itself into an expression of unadulterated panic once his usually quick mind registers what's going on.

"Joey...?" he says softly, and I nod around the barrel of the handgun still jammed into my mouth. He takes a few quick strides forward, but I flick the safety off, stopping him in his tracks.

He raises his hands in surrender, and I can tell he's fighting to keep them steady. "Please put the gun down, Joey." he whispers, and for a moment, I toy with the idea of simply pulling the trigger. After all, he left me alone after our first time, without even a note. How much can he possibly care about me?

Still, the sheer desperation in his eyes would be impossible to fake, and I remove the gun from my mouth, placing it against my temple instead. "You promised," I growl.

Now confusion, as well, has been added to the torrent of emotions swirling around his features. "Promised... promised what?" he asks, shaking his head, sending drops of water flying across the living room. And he calls me a puppy...

"You promised to be there when I woke up. You weren't." Recognition flicks through his eyes for a second before they narrow in contemplation. "Do you know how it felt, Seto, not knowing where you were, if you were okay..." I pause for a moment, catching my breath. "If you still loved me?"

A single tear makes its way down my face, and his own eyes misting over, he kneels before me. "Joey... God, never, ever, doubt that I love you. Please, Joey..." he exhales, shuddering with the effort of keeping the tears at bay. "I owe you everything; all that I have, all that I am, my entire future, I owe it all to the love we share." Twin trails of clear liquid slide down his face, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Please don't do this, Joey." he begs, a sound that is most definitely strange to my ears. "You're all I've got left." As he finishes, the tears overcome him, and he turns his face to the floor as a heart-wrenching sob pierces my anger and shatters it into a million pieces.

Before I know what's going on, I'm on the floor with him, the gun set down on the couch, forgotten. I wrap my arms around him, my love, my dragon, my Seto. My lips brush his, and he returns the kiss hungrily, pulling me to him and stroking my hair fervently. Our eyes meet as we break for air, and I detect an overwhelming relief in his sapphire depths.

"But, Joey... the note..." he manages to get out between breaths.

"What note?" I reply, just as breathlessly.

He gets up from the floor, taking me by the hand and leading me into the bedroom, where he begins to paw at the sheets frantically. "I left it right here..." he mutters, and the realization comes in the form of a breath of wind that stirs his still-moist locks. Growling in frustration at the entire misunderstanding, he pushes my nightstand to the side, leans down, and hands me a folded up sheet of paper. "This note," he says, and his voice is lower than a whisper.

Guilt tears at my heart as I unfold it and read the words, written in his perfect hand. I've doubted him, doubted his love, scared him half to death because I didn't trust the man I loved to love me back. Throwing the paper off to the side, I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my face into his creamy skin, kissing him apologetically. "I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry, Seto." A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it back defiantly. "I'll understand... if you don't want to see me again." I sniffle plaintively. "I wouldn't want to be with anyone who didn't trust me either..."

He holds me out at arm's length, stroking my face with the back of his fingertips. "There is nothing to forgive, my precious puppy," he sighs, leaning down to kiss me.

I turn away from his incoming lips. "No, Seto... it's not okay.." I whisper. "God, I actually doubted you!"

He silences me, a tapered finger coming to rest on my mouth, swollen from so much repeated friction. "I don't care." he pronounces firmly. "I love you, love you more than anything, and your guilt only serves to show me just how much you return that sentiment." He smiles sadly at me. "You saved me, from Gozaburo, from myself... just another reason why I want to keep you forever, my sweet Joey. One among many." He comes in again, kissing me lovingly with just the barest hint of his questing tongue, and this time, I don't turn away. Rather, I feel my guilt and anger melt into nothing, simply fading away, as I break our kiss and nuzzle his shoulder, licking at his neck playfully.

"If you're going to keep me forever, you'd better make a trip to the pet store. New puppies are pretty high maintenance..." I nip at his throat. "...and a real bitch to break in."

He laughs at the pun, and I can feel the vibration against my lips as he threads his hands through my thick blond locks.

"Oh, I don't know about that last part," he says, sweeping me off my feet and onto the bed in the blink of an eye. "In fact, I think I'll rather enjoy it."

"We'll see if you change your tune later, Master," I laugh as I pull him down with me.

Seto's POV

I don't hear the rusted mausoleum gate close behind me, nor do I hear the eerie wind whistling through the cracks in the mortar. Without a morbid thought in my mind, I stride confidently up to Gozaburo's casket, resting my hand on the oaken lid. He's hardly anything, dust and bones, and I'm still here, with a life that's better than I ever dared hope it could be.

"You always said you were stronger than me," I scoff. "I pity you, poor deluded soul. True strength isn't measured in dollars, or successful mergers, or how many people you can control. It comes from love, knowing that someone would do anything for you, and knowing that you would give your life in a second for their happiness. I should know." I chuckle. "That's what it took to defeat you, once and for all."

It was so simple, in the end. All I had to do was let the walls fall away, let someone in, and everything just fell into place. Only one piece of the puzzle was missing, the one I had tried to begin with. "I hope you can see me now, while you burn, you bastard. I hope you see me with him, watch me share your fortune with him, hear every sigh and scream that pierces the silence of your Ice Palace. I hope you can see me, and know just how happy I am, despite everything you tried to do to me. I hope it makes Hell that much more painful."

Having said my piece, I walk confidently to the gate, holding it open and letting the wind stir the dust in the mausoleum. I won't be coming back here; construction of my own grave site is already well underway, and I have no other business with the not-so-dearly departed. So, with a sarcastic bow, I turn on my heel and walk back down the hill to the car, where my lover waits patiently.

"Goodbye, Gozaburo," I call over my shoulder, letting the wind carry my voice back to the stone coffin. In the end, it was just that easy.