This is the crossover yaoi from hell (or heaven, depending on how you look at it).

For Ryo! My favorite bishounen banging hers! That's friendship.

Plenoptic

Love, love is a verb

Love is a doing word

Fearless on my breath

Gentle impulsion

Shakes me, makes me lighter

Fearless on my breath

-Massive Attack

"…Zero. Yuki and I are going to 'end.' We are the last of the purebloods. With our death, the time of our kind will end. Only those of mixed blood shall remain."

No. He didn't want to see this. He was tired of dreaming this. Tired of having to relive it again.

"I've left you enough of my blood to last a year. Do what you must, Zero. Destroy the rest of the level E's. End the threat to humanity. Allow those vampires willing to cooperate to coexist with the humans. Those who refuse…you know what to do, hunter that you are."

No more. No more of those sad dark eyes, no more of that pitying look…

"Yuki's last wish was that you find happiness, Zero. Close this chapter of your life. Move on. Take what time I've given you to finish the job your parents left you with. But after that…you'll have to find someone with blood potent enough to sustain you."

Kaname had smiled then, lifting Zero's chin, wiping his tears.

"Shh, love. It's alright. Live, Zero. Take out all of your rage and your grief on the curse the purebloods have left, but then you must move on. Find another. Start anew."

He didn't want 'another.' He didn't want anything new. He wanted Kaname. Just Kaname.

"I love you, Zero. I do. It's all for you, don't you see? It's not too late for you, believe it or not. You can still find something happy. Something away from all of this…"

Gentle fingers brushed the tattoo on the side of his neck. A hand tangling in his hair, a mouth on his, kissing him for the last time.

Please. Please, no more.

"I have to go, Zero. Remember what I've said. Move on.

"Forget about me."

"…Asshole."

Zero Kiryuu sighed, running a hand through his hair before surreptitiously sipping from the flask he'd hidden in his coat. It was hard to get away with having containers of alcohol in public in Japan, but he made do. It had occurred to him, initially, that blood might look reasonably like tomato juice or fruit juice, but he couldn't bear the thought of putting all he had left of Kaname in a water bottle. Carrying it in a flask like some common boozer wasn't much better, but at least it was a nice one. It had been Haruka's, at one time, and was emblazoned with the Kuran family crest. A handsome piece. And it was all that was sustaining a hunter who was dangerously close to dropping to level E.

Said hunter returned the flask to his coat, withdrawing a small black notebook in its place. The worn pages were full of names, all crossed out with dark ink—all but one. Japan was his jurisdiction, and for the last nine months he'd been systematically wiping out every known Fallen human within its borders, including some unknowns along the way. He'd been methodical, almost robotic. Cross had implored him to take a break several times, but Zero found that he couldn't stop. He couldn't rest. He couldn't eat. All he could do was hunt, and slowly drink away the last of Kaname's blood.

He had three months left.

The hunt was easy this time. It was a newly Fallen. Its kills were messy, its trail easy to find. Zero waited for nightfall before following it, staying stealthy, tracking it unopposed. He actually caught sight of it a few times—it had been a human male, maybe in his thirties or early forties. But it was just a thing now, blind with bloodlust, and only growing hungrier. He followed it leisurely, savoring the hunt, almost amusing himself with taking his time. This was all the control he had left, the lifespan of this one monster. He couldn't control Kaname and Yuki, or Aido and the others when they had gone off to "acclimate" to their new lives, or the Hunters' Society when they told him to finish up in Japan. But he could control how long this one pathetic Fallen lived.

It darted into a side alley, senses aroused, and Zero followed, withdrawing the Bloody Rose from its holster at his hip. It had caught a scent, found a girl walking home alone. She didn't scream, but Zero heard her panicked footfalls as she ran, heard its lithe movements, slithering like a snake.

The retort of gun fire was sharp and loud in his ears, louder than normal, even over the strange thudding of his heart. The level E rounded on him, fangs beared, and lunged. It was younger than he'd thought, faster and more unpredictable. Teeth found his shoulder, bit through his heavy coat and found flesh. He saw and smelled blood—his, mingled with Kaname's, all he'd ingested in nine months—and then he squeezed the trigger.

He filled the last level E in Japan with as many bullets as he had left.

A sick thud, and then it was on the ground. Dead. Zero stood motionless, staring down at it, watching the blood leak from its body onto the pavement. There was a roaring in his ears, had been since Kaname died, but now everything suddenly went quiet.

The world spun. He felt his knees hit the pavement, but didn't feel any pain—couldn't. The only pain in the world was the pain of losing Kaname. Zero closed his eyes.

For the first time in nine months, he went to sleep.

"Were you in love with him?"

He looked sideways, frowning. "In love with who?"

The blonde shifted restlessly, curling a little deeper into the blankets. "…With Atem."

He groaned, throwing off the blankets, putting out his cigarette in the tray at his bedside. "Jesus Christ, Joey."

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I!"

"Just answer the question!"

A heated moment, glaring at one another, blue eyes on brown, and then he yielded with a sigh.

"No. No, alright? I wasn't."

"You swear?"

"Joey!"

"Swear!"

"Yes! I swear I wasn't in love with fucking Atem! What the hell is this about?"

Joey scowled, turning his gaze away. "You've been all…mopey since he left."

"I'm always mopey. I'm me."

"I mean, like…I dunno. Apathetic. At least get mad every once in a while. Or call me an idiot, like you used to."

"Fine. You're an idiot. Happy now?"

"That's not what I meant."

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Then what do you mean, Joey? I'm not a mindreader, I don't know what the hell you want from me."

"I want you to love me." It was mumbled, but he caught it, and it irked him.

"What the hell do you call this?"

"There's a difference between sex and a relationship, jackass."

He scowled darkly, and lit up another cigarette. "I thought you knew what you signed up for."

"…Yeah, well. So did I."

"…that cool?"

Screw him. Screw Joey and Atem and the lot of them. Hadn't he been saying that this whole time? When did he stop listening to himself?

"Bro? Is that cool with you?"

"Hn?" Seto Kaiba snapped from his reverie, blinking at the keys being swung in front of his face. Mokuba sighed, pocketing the car keys and crossing his arms.

"I said I'm going to the game shop. Is that alright?"

"To the—oh. Right. Yeah, sure, whatever," Seto muttered, scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face. His cheeks felt cold to the touch. How long had he been standing there, staring out an open window like a dumbass? Worse—like a heartbroken girl. Eugh.

"You okay?" Mokuba questioned, keeping on his heels as his older brother pushed off the window frame, stretching and heading back toward the kitchen. "You seem out of it."

"How many cups of coffee did I have this morning?"

"I dunno, two?"

"My minimum for functionality is three."

Mokuba rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. Why don't you just call you-know-who if breaking up is wigging you out so much?"

"Didn't you have somewhere to be?" Seto demanded, scowling darkly as he poured himself magic number three. "And why the hell have you got the keys?"

"I'm driving," Mokuba replied. "Duh."

"You can't drive, you're, what, twelve?"

"I'm sixteen, jerk," Mokuba laughed, spinning the keyring around on his finger and smirking at his older brother. Seto made a grab for the keys, only to have Mokuba jerk them out of reach. The kid had shot up in the last six months. It seemed like only yesterday he'd barely come up to Seto's waist, but now the top of Mokuba's scruffy head came level to his nose. An impressive feat, considering Seto Kaiba's height. The thought sort of made Seto miss the loveable little kid who had hung on his every word and worshipped the ground he walked on. Those days seemed happier, somehow, even with the madness that had surrounded them.

"Seriously," Mokuba was saying, ignorant of his older brother's nostalgia, "call Joey. It sucks seeing you like this, all mopey and crap. Or you could go fire someone, that always puts you in a creepily good mood."

"Get out of here," Seto retorted, smothering a grin at his brother's snark. Mokuba offered up a mock salute before heading out the door, whistling tunelessly as he went.

The smile faded quickly once Mokuba had left, and a sigh left him. Mopey? What am I, ten? He'd been a pissy little girl when Joey was around, and he was no different now that his idiot ex-boyfriend was gone. He doubted calling the moron and dredging up all that bad blood was going to make him feel any better.

…Maybe he should fire someone. The payroll felt a little too full. The economy was in the tubes, money was tight, right?...It'd never work. He doubted he could fake monetary problems and keep a straight face. He was the goddamn Batman of Domino City.

Coffee cup number four passed what remained of the morning in relative quiet. It was Sunday—Mokuba was out, the maids were out, the cook was out, hell, even Roland was at home. The silence was unsettling. A year ago, he would have relished the peace, gotten some work done, enjoyed the solitude. Now the quiet was unsettling, and he sort of missed the company.

"Crap. Crap, crap, damn it all to hell. And crap again." He was either growing up or getting soft. Or both. And he couldn't decide which scared him more.

It was just past noon when he made himself leave the house, passing over his car and pulling the bike out of the garage. It was a Yamaha R6, a little outdated, but he loved the thing. She really opened up on the highway, purred like a kitten when he pushed her to her limits, like she enjoyed the challenge as much as he did. And when in the hell, he wondered to himself, throttling down the sidestreets, out of the main traffic, did he start referring to a motorcycle as a 'she'?

Maybe because a 'she' could keep him company, and a bike couldn't?

He stopped the bike for no particular reason, kicking down the stand and pulling off his helmet with a little more ferocity than was absolutely necessary, and then he stood there on the side of the street, feeling frustrated and pent-up, like an electrical current with no outlet.

Joey hadn't been wrong. Not exactly. Seto had never loved Atem, had never even considered that he might, but he did...need him. Not as a lover or as a friend, but as a rival. He needed something to give him the traction to keep him grounded, something to fight against, something to force him to be better. Living in a world without the spiky-haired punk was like living in a world without friction, and eventually he was going to slip off an edge and just fall. It made him feel bored and irritable and useless.

Yugi was still around, he supposed, but the kid never put up any fight, never tried to hit back. The departed spirit was the one Seto had beef with, and no matter who Seto swung at now, their rivalry would never be resolved. He'd hated Atem's constant opposition when the insufferable jerk was around, and now that he was gone, Seto desperately wished he'd show his smug face again—if only so he could clock him. Just once.

"…Dammit."

He lost track of how long he sat on the sidewalk, sulking and feeling generally like a sullen little kid. He wasn't especially fond of this part of town—a lot of weird folks skulking about, the kind he worried about Mokuba getting involved with sometimes. That aside, it smelled weird. Sort of rotten and rusted, like an unkempt garage. Like blood.

…Like blood?

"The hell…?" He turned himself around, frowning, looking up and down the sidewalk. There wasn't a wounded animal or something staggering around. He checked his wheels—no evidence that he'd unwittingly hit something. He wondered if, in his stupor, he'd trodden on a rodent underfoot, but his shoes were clean.

Feeling a little idiotic for searching for whatever smelled like a dead deer, he had a poke around the road, nudging a few garbage bags aside to see if maybe there was a raccoon hording something disgusting underneath. There were several alleys heading off the sides of the road, and against his better judgment he started looking around those too.

What if I find a body?

…Holy shit, what if he found a body? He hadn't seen a dead human being since he'd pushed his bastard of a stepfather out a tenth-story window (not that he really considered Gozaboro Kaiba a human being now, if he'd ever). Hey, Mokuba, what did you do today? What, me? I found a dead body. No big deal.

The scent was strongest in the third alley he searched, and as he made his way down the street, it only grew stronger, until only his iron will kept him from gagging. He'd always hated the scent of blood. It brought back the worst sorts of memories. Still, he pressed on, curiosity getting the better of him—especially when a shape began to form along the left side of the alley.

Seto stopped in his tracks, one hand covering his mouth and nose, eyes watering, stunned. The figure was clothed in black, and the alley was unlit, on the wrong side of the sun, but he could tell it was a male. He took a cautious step forward, and his stomach writhed when something splashed.

Slipping one hand into his pocket to grip his phone tightly—the police generally liked to know about corpses—he inched forward, ever cautious. He had no reason to assume the guy was dead, and if he wasn't, Seto Kaiba was sure as hell not about to get knifed in a creepy back alley. That would just be too hysterically pathetic.

"Hey," he said, extending a foot to nudge the guy's leg. "You alive or what?"

No response, not that he'd been expecting one. More or less sure that he was not in immediate danger, Seto crouched down, tilting his head to try and get a look at the face beneath the black hood. What he saw first was a shock of silver hair. The head was leant forward, chin on chest, which moved while Seto watched.

"Damn," he muttered, withdrawing his phone and flipping it open to the keypad, thumb hovering over the emergency number—when the guy's hand shot out, seizing hold of his wrist. Seto, to his credit, didn't cry out, if only because he was too startled to do much more than stare.

"…Don't…"

"Don't what?" Seto demanded weakly, lowering himself onto his ass and staring in bewilderment at the coughing figure. It was a wet cough, and something red hit his shoes. Don't puke, do not vomit, dammit. "Don't call an ambulance to get over here and save your ass?"

"Can't," the figure hissed, breath hitching.

"Can't what?"

"…Save…"

Zero leant his head back against the wall, coughing blood. He was so thirsty. Where was his flask? Kaname's blood…he needed his pureblood's gift…

The sun moved directly overhead, and struck the head of the man kneeling in front of him. Zero narrowed his eyes against the shine from the brunet hair, warmth spreading through him. Kuran's hair had looked like that in the sun, hadn't it? That dark brown, suddenly lit up with light, had been just as beautiful, had run with highlights of gold…

Zero reached out, reached, sighing quietly when he felt soft locks between his fingers, a smile crossing his face. "Kaname…"

Priestess Isis had loved Seth. She had watched him grow from a reckless youth of fifteen to a towering pharaoh, a man she was proud to know, a man who had ruled Egypt with kindness and love. They had been inseparable during the days of his rule. She was his closest advisor and friend, and she had loved him like a brother. He'd died a young man, and it had destroyed her. Nothing had been the same once Seth was gone. Nothing.

Ishizu Ishtar could never claim to be the priestess herself, but she knew the woman's ancient memories as vividly as she did her own. And that was why, when she received a phone call and a grudging request to come to the Kaiba mansion, she went. All she saw when she looked upon that sad young man was Seth, and her heart went out to him. Ishizu could deny Seto Kaiba nothing. If he knew that, he didn't take advantage of it—this was the first time he'd ever asked her for help.

"I didn't know who else to call," he sighed when he let her into the house, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry for dragging you away from work."

"It's no problem." She looked at him, at his weary stance and his tired eyes. "What's happened? You look awful."

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I found a body."

"…You found a body."

He beckoned to her, and she followed him up the plush stairs, horribly confused and more than a little nervous. He led her into a guest room and stood beside the open door, indicating the inside with a grimace.

"I don't know what to do."

Ishizu halted on the threshold, staring into the room, her mouth open. There was a boy on the bed, bare from the waist up, eyelids fluttering with each ragged breath. There was blood everywhere—on the sheets, in his silver hair, covering his pale skin.

"Gods," Ishizu breathed, approaching the bed slowly and sinking onto it, reaching out to brush the boy's fringe from his forehead. He felt clammy, fevered. Sweat matted his hair to his brow. "What happened to him? His shoulder…"

"No idea," Seto said tightly. "I was going to call an ambulance, but he stopped me."

"And you listened?" she demanded, the tiniest bit hysterical. She swept her dark hair behind her ears. "I'm amazed he's not dead already. Look at the blood, Seto! He needs a doctor!"

"He doesn't want to see one, he made that clear," Seto replied testily. "He said he couldn't be saved."

"So why call me?"

"I don't know," the young man snapped, coming to stand at the foot of the boy's bed. "I don't know, alright? Just…do something, Ishizu. I don't care what."

She released a long, low sigh, eyes tracking up and down the youth's prone form. "He's not bleeding too badly now," she said slowly. "We need to get him cleaned up, first off. Pack the wound with sterile gauze and antibiotics, sew it up and dress it."

"Just tell me what you need."

They spent ten minutes putting together a list, Ishizu ticking off items on her fingers and Seto nodding, mentally tracking the calls he'd have to place.

"We'll need an IV unit," the museum curator said. "Can you get that?"

"Please. Who are you talking to?"

"Without anyone asking questions."

He considered, tapping through the contacts on his phone before nodding suddenly. "Yugi. His grandfather was home sick with pneumonia two months ago, the hospital had him on an IV unit to keep his fluids up."

Ishizu lifted an eyebrow. "Yugi will want to know why you need it."

"Then I'll tell him. Kid's good with keeping secrets, he's had enough of them." He looked down at the unconscious young man on the bed and frowned. "You really think we can save him? I don't know the first thing about treating traumatic injuries. I don't think I'd know where to start even if I did."

"Neither do I," she sighed heavily, "but you called me, so I'll help. We'll do what we can."

More to come.