Seth wrapped his arms around the lithe, feminine form in his bed, pressing his lips to hers as they found solace and comfort in each other's arms. Here, in his bed, they could both love and be loved without fear of judgment or scorn. They shed their clothes without shame. Heat, flesh, lips, skin. Labored breathing, straining muscles, ecstatic moans. A bite and a kiss, a laugh and a cry. The sum total of it all was an absolute and unconditional love strong enough to last for thousands of years. But in those moments, Seth's blue eyes were content to watch Kisara's naked, sleeping form, just cherishing her very existence.

Seto Kaiba awoke with a start, letting out a groan of frustration almost immediately. It had been months since he, Yugi, and the others had returned from Egypt. At the time, he'd denied the past life regression, the reincarnation, the magic, the spirits, all of it. If he was forced to give an honest answer, now, he would be saying something quite different.

This was the third time this week alone he'd had this dream, only to wake up all hot and bothered in his lonely bed. It was three in the morning, but he got out of bed anyways and immersed himself in a freezing shower, trying to cool the heat his dream had aroused in him.

He stood there in the shower as the cold water sprayed against his scarred back. Thanks, Gozaburo, he thought bitterly. He would never stop hating his step-father, no matter what Yugi said to him. Yugi couldn't possibly understand what Seto had suffered at the monster's hands. Mokuba condemned Seto for his undying rage as well, but he couldn't understand either. Seto had always hid Gozaburo's abuse from his younger brother, not wanting to frighten or upset him. He hadn't told him then, so how could he possibly tell him now?

Those memories were ones he'd rather forget entirely, annihilate from his mind so that he could live without the tyrant haunting him at every turn.

Even as he wished to erase those memories, new ones from a past life were surfacing in his subconscious. Ones that were equally upsetting, but for an entirely different reason. As far as he knew, Kisara hadn't been reincarnated in this time. All he had of her was the blue eyes white dragon. Did this mean that his bed would remain lonely for the rest of his life? He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had loved her then, and that he still loved her now.

This realization, coupled with the fact that she wasn't here with him and could never be here with him, dealt a blow to his heart with palpable force. Seto fell to his knees as he began to sob, the cold water starting to numb his body. Here, he could be vulnerable, because he was completely alone. This was the only place it was safe to cry, where nobody could hear him even if somebody was around at this time.

Yes, he wished that he had never learned about Kisara. Then he wouldn't be hurting so much now, waking up with an intense ache for her that would have to be either repressed or satisfied with his own hands. This was getting tiring. Seto had trained himself to be as emotionless as humanly possible, and he'd done so out of necessity so that he could survive Gozaburo's brutality in one piece, but these memories of Kisara were as sharp as surgical knives, tearing open his emotional wounds and making him bleed out all of the love he still felt for her.

Being alone had never before been so hard on Seto. He wasn't sure if he could hold out against temptation for much longer. As a rule, he abstained from one-night stands, prostitutes, and night-clubs. For one thing, he needed to set a good example for Mokuba. For another, he needed to keep his own reputation in good condition. A good reputation, once lost, is never fully restored. For a third thing, he was not of a sordid disposition. He simply didn't enjoy lasciviousness for its own sake. Yes, one-night stands would allow him to be physically vulnerable with a person and not have to live with the consequences or ever see the woman again, but they were risky things and, quite frankly, not worth the trouble he'd have to go to in order to keep them secret from his brother, his employees, the press, the public…

Seto sighed as he stood, feeling as if his heart had just endured a beating akin to the ones Gozaburo had inflicted on his body. Gozaburo and Kisara, both dead, still tortured him through his memories. One teased him with past pleasure, the other taunted him with past pain. It was all weakness, in Seto's eyes: needing someone's love like that, to the point where you were crushed by their death, and lacking the physical and mental abilities to put an end to your own torture. Yet here he was, and his lover and abuser were both long gone.

If only there was a way to wipe them both from his mind. He'd be so much happier if he could. He'd probably be able to have a better relationship with Mokuba if he could, too, since he wouldn't feel the need to be so cold, to hide his feelings, to block all emotions and desires that didn't directly relate to his business and work.

Seto couldn't go back to sleep now. He was awake for good. When he'd dried himself off and dressed, he sat at his desk and opened his laptop. He sat there staring blindly at the screen for five minutes without doing anything, then closed his laptop again, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. He couldn't go on like this.

It was too early in the day for him to drink alcohol, so that meant it was time for him to get coffee. Seto was not alcoholic, not by far, but sometimes a glass of fine wine in the evening was enough to stave off these disrupting dreams of his. What he wanted almost more than anything else right now was to drink that glass of wine now and just go back to bed. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and what he needed was restful sleep, not more memories of some long-distant happiness he could no longer have, or nightmares of a pain he'd long since put to an end.

He stood and went downstairs to the kitchen, brewing himself a cup of strong black coffee before taking his mug with him to sit on the veranda. He faced the east and drank his coffee, spending the next two hours watching the oh-so-gradual death of the night.

5:30 a.m. Time for him to head to work, and spend another day in denial. As much as he tried to bury the past, it seemed to uncover itself and latch onto him with a vise-like grip, keeping him from moving forward. Always move forward, never back. That was Seto's philosophy. It was the way of life for a shark, and it worked just great for the ocean's top predator. For the millionth time in his life, Seto wished that he didn't have a heart, that he couldn't feel pain, that he could erase his own memories, that he was somebody else.

Then he banished the thought. No more wishing. There was work to be done.