Joey stopped drinking. It didn't happen all at once, and it certainly wasn't his own idea. Joey did it for him.

"You really should cut back," was Kaiba's idea of pillow-talk one night.

Joey quirked an eyebrow but didn't otherwise move, not even to open his eyes. "On what?" he mumbled when silence followed.

"Drinking."

Joey snorted. "Why should I?" He opened an eye to peer lazily at his bed companion. "And why do you care?"

"You can't technically give consent when you're drunk," he replied matter-of-factly.

Joey full-out laughed this time. He propped himself on an elbow so he could face Kaiba completely. "So you're afraid that you've just been taking advantage of me all this time?" He grinned, awaiting an answer he knew he wouldn't receive. Kaiba sighed softly and sat up, his back to Joey. He began re-dressing, paying the blond no mind. This disappointed Joey a little, but he quickly brushed the feeling away as he lay back down on the mattress. "'sides, who cares? It's not like I'll tell anyone." Kaiba tossed him a blank look over his shoulder. "Oh my God, you think I actually would tell someone."

"Yeah. And that would mean legal trouble for me. Not to mention the tabloids." Kaiba waved a hand dismissively.

"Screw you!" Joey said, punctuating it with a shove to Kaiba's shoulder, forceful enough to let him know he meant business but not enough to provoke him. "Why would I say anything? I gotta rep to protect, too, you know." He paused. "Hey, don't roll your eyes at me."

"You can't even see my face."

"But I know you." Joey put a hand under his head and closed his eyes, pretending to enjoy the ensuing pause in their conversation and instead listened to the shuffle of Kaiba's clothes. It fascinated him a bit that he could imagine Kaiba's every action by sound alone. He heard Kaiba walk to the bedroom door, stop, and turn.

"I'm serious, Wheeler," he said. "Remember what I told you."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

More silence. This goodbye thing had been getting longer and more awkward lately. Joey settled for a sardonic "Good night, your Highness," earning him a curt nod and slammed door in response.

Joey sighed. He pretended not to mull over Kaiba's words so that he could get some sleep, but he didn't go to the Pug the following night. Or the night after that. Or even that weekend. In fact, aside from the occasional beer with lunch or social wine, he didn't touch alcohol much after that conversation. The substance had sort of lost its appeal.

Unfortunately, not going to the Pug left him with a lot of free time, which of course led to ruminating, which of course he couldn't even soften with drink. He lay on his couch one evening, soaking up the cool air from the ceiling fan and reading some novel for the hundredth time. He wasn't really absorbing the words (not that he needed to; he could practically recite them). Instead, his mind wandered to the squeaky springs in the couch beneath him. He wondered whether he should just shell out the cash and buy a new one, but remembered with perfect clarity how grateful he had been a month ago to sink into its cushions as he was being rammed from behind.

He sighed and tossed the book onto the coffee table, as if doing so could negate that particular memory – or all of them, really. This whole ordeal was getting out of hand, as sobriety had been making painfully clear. What started out as mindless fun transformed into reliable routine, and even now it was on the verge of morphing again, though into what Joey (and very probably Kaiba himself) could not tell. Not that their sordid activities were not fun – on the contrary. It was just that, for all of the vigor and intensity they retained, they were losing the fury and selfishness that had started it all. In the place of malice was soul-sucking emptiness that left him spent physically and emotionally. (Actually, it was more apt to say that genuine concern for his partner – something he hadn't really felt before in engagements like this – had replaced malice, but Joey was loath to admit that.)

Joey suddenly determined that he was going to be productive. After all, anything beat sorting out his ever-complicated relationship (and how he despised the word) with Kaiba. If there was anything his father taught him, it was that one should pursue epiphanies at the bottom of a bottle. And, well, seeing as how that was no longer an option, he simply would not deal with the feelings. Not today, not ever.

So he swung his legs over the side of the couch and stood up. At least, he attempted to stand, until maddening, searing pain shot through his left foot and caused him to stumble back onto the couch. Clutching his foot in an attempt to will the pain away, he looked onto the floor to glare at the culprit: It was a key ring.

Forgetting his foot, Joey picked up the keys and held them up for inspection. It took a second to realize he didn't recognize them, and another four to figure out who they belonged to. He didn't have guests over often. He stood and walked to his kitchen, all the while turning the keys over in his hand as though memorizing their every groove. While he pulled out ingredients for a late-afternoon sandwich, he contemplated what to do with the keys. They didn't look important, like car or house keys would have, and clearly weren't used regularly enough to warrant adorning the ring with a keychain. Likewise, they did seem like they'd be missed – which only begged the question: why hadn't Kaiba inquired about them? Surely, if he realized they were gone, it wouldn't have taken the genius that long to figure out what had happened to them.

Joey sat down at his kitchen table to eat his lunch, all the while regarding the key ring as though it held the secrets of the universe. Briefly, he contemplated what the keys might be to – a private safe in Kaiba's office? a safety deposit box at a bank for the ultra-rich? a mysterious and seldom-used closet? – but the possibilities were endless. Instead, he focused on ways of returning the item to its rightful owner. He could always text him, but that just seemed horribly impersonal, as though the act undermined the importance of the keys' purpose. Besides, texting had almost exclusively been relegated to propositions for...other kinds of meet-ups. Returning lost belongings hardly qualified.

So Joey would call him instead. He swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, chased it down with water (because even the occasional beer seemed too much these days), and whipped out his phone. It was with muscle memory that his fingers found the number he was searching for, and his thumb hovered over the "Call" button for a moment – all that he needed, of course, to psych himself out. What if Kaiba didn't pick up? What if he did? What if he laughed at Joey's display of concern, then hung up?

He stared down at his phone a few more moments, and flung it on the table with a frustrated sigh. He wiped a hand over his face and, before he could lose resolve again, leapt up from his seat to don a light jacket and the first pair of sneakers he could find. He grabbed both his and Kaiba's sets of keys – ignoring the heavier-than-usual weight in his pocket – and left his apartment. Joey didn't dwell on the direction he walked in, or that he knew exactly where Kaiba would be after only glancing at the time, instead choosing to pay attention solely to the mild bustling of the neighborhood around him. Shopkeeps were idly sweeping at their storefronts. Kids were hopping off of buses and running eagerly down the sidewalks. A few passersby were walking dogs or chatting to their companions, going nowhere in particular.

It was all wonderfully mundane, and for a second, Joey felt himself integrated into the backdrop of the typical weekday afternoon. Gone was the perpetual sense of impending doom deep in his gut as he and his friends struggled to save the world yet again. Gone, too, was the monotonous grind of school all day, work all evening, eat, sleep, repeat. In their stead was lazy ideation about his future, his potential. It wasn't nearly as depressing an internal dialogue as he thought it could be, and certainly not as dark as his musings at the Musty Pug only a few months ago had been. He thought back on that night with morose familiarity, distantly remembering it as the Night Things Changed. It was the night when...

Well...

Joey blushed reflexively as images of his and Kaiba's first night together flitted across his mind in rapid succession. He found it strange that, after all they had done together at this point, he would be embarrassed by simply recalling the acts. It reminded him briefly of teenagers stealing their first kisses, copping their first feels, insistent in wanting to satiate their desires but humbled by the reactions of their partner. Would they enjoy it? Push away? Ask for more? He chuckled. Ah, the splendor of dating.

But this was different. He and Kaiba weren't dating, they were just fucking. Besides the repetition, it was not the same thing. Immediately, for no reason whatsoever, he remembered snapshots of fingers through his hair in the closest Kaiba could get to a caress; of himself willfully electing to change angles to heighten his rival's pleasure; of not-intense, not-bruising, almost-sweet kisses; of the wayward glances they had sometimes shared that conveyed a half-veiled emotion akin to curiosity. Joey screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts, the images, everything, absently tightening his grip around the keys (both sets) in his pocket. Since his thoughts could not be trusted on their own, he endeavored to think of nothing at all. He merely drank in his surroundings, trying (and inevitably failing) to return to his earlier feelings of normalcy and belonging. His resolve didn't weaken when the Kaiba Corp tower appeared around a corner. Joey purposefully strode over to it and walked into the lobby. He didn't even falter when the front desk security officer looked him up and down (twice) in disbelief when he announced that he was Seto Kaiba's guest.

No; it wasn't until he was on the long elevator ride up to the top that he began second-guessing his choice of pastime activities. If his stomach was in knots over the possibility of being humiliated/rejected (he hadn't decided which was worse, or which would actually happen, or if they were even distinguishable), then heavens only knew what (presumed) death he was marching to by attempting this in person.

Nonetheless, the elevator doors eventually dinged open, and he walked out of them and to the imposing pair of wooden doors at the end of the hall, his footsteps having lost the energy from his earlier roaming. He ignored the secretary's desk completely as he bypassed it, and she said nothing to him as he passed. He only registered a quick, calculated motion (she pressed a button) before hearing a click from the doors – his cue to push them open.

The large office, painted orange by the setting sunlight, was empty, save the lone figure in the center of it all, half hidden behind a computer screen. Joey had seen the office before – on a night of particularly daring spontaneity – so he spared the chic, though sparse, décor merely a glance before approaching the desk. He was almost relieved when Kaiba didn't look up from what he was doing to regard him, though he began to find the lack of attention increasingly annoying. When his hips touched the edge of the desk, he cleared his throat.

Blue eyes flicked up at him before returning to the screen. "What?" he asked, almost tonelessly.

Joey rolled his eyes and dug around for the keys and deposited them unceremoniously on the desk, halfway between the both of them. "Found those," he said flatly.

Kaiba paused his work and picked up the key ring, turning them over (sort of like Joey had done earlier) before recognition alighted his face. He turned slightly to open a drawer and threw them inside. "Thanks," he replied and returned to the screen.

Joey felt his eye twitch. That was it? "You're welcome," he mumbled. He was partly relieved to be rid of the other's possessions, even more so since the return didn't end in the humiliation he imagined, but another part of him had expected – almost wanted – more. He tried to chalk it up to his being conditioned to indeed do more when he and Kaiba were usually alone in a room together, but even that didn't feel quite right. Joey turned to leave, thought better of it, and walked over to an armchair instead. He leaned against it and folded his arms, watching his silent companion type away for a few silent moments.

"What're you doing?" Joey asked, rather conversationally, he thought.

"Work," Kaiba said without missing a beat. "Why are you still here?"

Joey shrugged. Why, indeed.

"You got what you came for," he continued, gesturing towards the drawer for meaning. Then, he stopped working and turned to fully face Joey. "Or were you expecting more?" He raised an eyebrow in an expression that was a startling cross between lascivious and condescending.

Were it any other night, Joey would have succumbed to the subtle seductive pressure emanating from the other side of the room, but now he just felt irritated. Insulted, even. "I was just making conversation," he mumbled, looking pointedly away from the desk.

"We haven't spoken in weeks before you show up out of nowhere, and you're here to just make conversation." Kaiba rolled his eyes. "Forgive me if I don't buy it."

Ignoring the subtext of the word "spoken" (because, seriously, when was the last time they had had a real conversation that didn't immediately result in or from hooking up?), Joey was about to adamantly defend his altruistic need to return the lost keys and keep him company when he caught himself. Why did he have to defend himself? Why didn't he just leave? Why did he think it unfair that Kaiba believed Joey had only appeared to solicit him? That Kaiba couldn't believe it when he said he wanted something else (more)? After all, he didn't want anything else. Did he?

"Fuck it," Joey said, frustrated at his inner turmoil. He threw his hands up in a weak gesture of defeat and again made for the door. He hadn't even touched the knob when Kaiba's voice called out again.

"Since you came all this way," he said, "you might as well stay. I'm almost finished here, and afterwards I can thank you properly."

Joey swiveled around, Kaiba's candor throwing him off a bit. He could practically imagine the other wink flirtatiously (although he didn't and probably never would). He wanted to resist the proposition a little more, argue the principle of the matter, but before he could even figure out just what the principle was, too much time had already passed to pretend that he hadn't been thinking of the offer. So he walked back over to the desk and leaned against it mere inches from where Kaiba sat. Kaiba smirked and mouthed the words "Thought so," before returning his complete attention to the computer.

The ride back to the manor was still. Not only had they not talked (which was actually pretty customary), but they didn't even indulge in any PDAs. Joey had kept his hands clasped in his lap, unsure of what else to do with them if he couldn't/wouldn't run them over the brunet's thighs in mild distraction. He wasn't even entirely sure that he wanted to be doing that and thought it best not to think about it.

Kaiba, on the other hand, had remained focused on the road, sending Joey furtive looks every now and again that paled in comparison to the intensity of the expression he had worn to get Joey to stay in the first place. He had looked once at Joey's hands, but said nothing about what they were doing – or, rather, what they weren't doing - so Joey tried to pay it no mind, too.

When they entered the manor, Joey crept silently behind Kaiba, astonished at the latter's utter lack of sneakiness to avoid piquing the morbid curiosity of –

"Mokuba's staying with a friend tonight," Kaiba said without turning around. Joey pushed aside the squirming feeling that coiled around his gut at practically having his mind read in order to get excited about what the fact conveyed. They could be as loud as they wanted, and his face warmed at the notion.

The pair continued deeper into the manor until they reached a salon. They had barely entered it when Kaiba rounded on the blond and gently backed him against the wall. Slowly, he closed the distance between them, catching Joey's lips in a delicate, though insistent, kiss. The contact sent tingles through Joey's body, eventually settling like a familiar weight in his core. However, the sensation didn't shoot to his groin like it normally did; instead, it swirled in the pit of his stomach. Before he could think too hard about what that meant, Kaiba pulled away.

"Thank you," he murmured, barely audible save for their proximity.

"For what?" Joey asked, his mind still foggy from the kiss (which was unusual because by now his senses would be honing into every minute detail so he could focus on getting the both of them undressed as quickly as possible).

Kaiba chuckled. "Mind as sharp as ever, Joey," he said sarcastically.

Joey was still deciding on whether he liked hearing his name fall from Kaiba's lips when he felt hands slip under his T-shirt. Without thinking, he grabbed them to stop the action, to stop the sensations. Suddenly, it was all happening too fast.

"What's with you tonight?" Kaiba asked, tilting his head to the side ever-so-slightly in intrigue. Joey looked up just in time to watch the concern in his eyes slide behind the usual façade. He opened his mouth to answer the hanging inquiry, but couldn't find the right (or any) words. Kaiba scoffed. "Wait, don't tell me. You're not in the mood?" he guessed.

Joey said nothing. He dropped the hands he was steadily growing more aware that he was still holding (why hadn't Kaiba said anything about that?) and averted his gaze. "I told you I was just making conversation," he challenged. "You didn't believe me."

Kaiba took an almost imperceptible step back and folded his arms. "Then why are you here?" He shrugged. "Why did you even bother coming to the tower?"

"Been asking myself the same," Joey muttered. Suddenly returning someone's lost property didn't seem like such a good excuse anymore. "Guess I was lonely." He smirked mockingly as his eyes flicked back up, daring the other to tease him.

"If you wanted company, all you had to do was ask," Kaiba replied with a smirk of his own. "But you didn't. For weeks."

There he went again; if Joey didn't know better, he'd think Kaiba sounded like a jilted girlfriend for all he talked about how long it had been since Joey text him. He looked up completely, a defiant gleam in his eyes. "And what if I wanted something other than sex?" he said. He didn't expect a response, only to put Kaiba off a little.

"And do what? Stay up late talking and braiding each other's hair?" He rolled his eyes.

"So what if we did?" he asked with a shrug, not taking the bait. "Except for the braiding hair part," he added as an afterthought.

"You have friends for that."

Joey wiped a hand over his face – he was doing that a lot lately, he noticed. "You don't –" he sighed. "You don't get it."

"What's to get?" Kaiba said, reclining on the arm of a nearby couch. "You're asking me for something I can't give you." When Joey didn't respond, he continued. "This –" and here he gestured between the two of them – "started for one reason, and one reason only." Again, he was met with silence, and again he was the first to break it. "You hate me, remember?" he asked experimentally.

Joey sniffed drily. "Yeah, and the sky is blue," he said, then added softly, "except it's kind of...not anymore." He watched Kaiba, waiting for him to do something to break the ensuing stillness that had rose up between them. Determining that he wouldn't get a response, Joey walked forward instead, standing just before him and folding his arms, too, as though mirroring the pose.

"So…what are you trying to say?" Kaiba said finally.

Joey shrugged again. "That I don't hate you. Not anymore, not really." He waited, in vain, for the reflexive lurch in his stomach and urge to gag to negate the words, but they never came. He laughed to himself. "I guess we've just done this too many times."

"So, then the deal's off," he replied, inflection ending somewhere between statement and question.

"Come on, you don't still hate me, do you?"

The silence itself was affirmation. "Then why are we here? What's left?"

Joey blushed and began stammering out an explanation before he had even thought the words through. "I mean, we can still sleep together, that's nice, but I kinda just want to talk sometimes, you know? I just like being around –" He was interrupted by a rather chaste kiss, and he was relieved at being absolved from continuing that train of thought aloud.

"It was a rhetorical question," Kaiba said quietly when he pulled away.

Joey rolled his eyes. "Talk about overreacting," he mumbled. "It's not like I said I lov–" Another kiss, and this time Joey was more frustrated than relieved.

"You really didn't need to finish that sentence."

Joey sighed and hung his head a little. His thoughts dwelled on the word he was about to say, and he felt eternally grateful that he hadn't uttered it, after all. "Okay, then, I'll just –" And yet another kiss. This one lasted a bit longer, and Joey felt his stomach yet again tighten into a quivering, radiating knot. He poked his tongue out a bit in search of the other's warmth, but Kaiba pulled away too soon. Joey blushed reflexively, embarrassed and immediately annoyed at having been made to feel embarrassed. "God damn it, Seto, will you let me finish a sentence." It wasn't until he noticed Seto struggling to keep a slight smirk from his face that Joey caught what exactly he had said, and the red in his face deepened. Joey cleared his throat. "So, what do we do now?"

Seto stood up and looked around, as though the answer would suddenly appear on the walls. "You hungry?" Before Joey could answer, he shook his head. "Of course you are. What do you want, then?"

Joey tapped his chin in thought. "Pancakes," he said finally.

Seto raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You want breakfast this late?" Joey nodded with an impish half-grin, and Seto merely sighed and led him out of the room. "Fine, breakfast it is," he called over his shoulder, "but no more four letter words."