(A/N: Applies to theme #14 'Death'. The basis of this goes to callitcruel on LJ -- she once wrote me a piece wherein Bakura compared himself quite eloquently to death. This is the beginning of a mini story arc/triad, if you will, and the next two follow this one in sequence.)

"He's compared himself to Death before, you realise."

Noa looked up, slightly startled at having the silence broken by such an unusual – and unspecific – phrase. "Pardon?" He asked tentatively.

"Bakura."

So detailed. "Oh." Noa fell silent. After several minutes, when Seto offered no more in the way of explanation, he queried, "Why?"

Seto started to reply too quickly, exasperation evident in his tone. "I don't," – he paused, evaluating his choice of words – "care."

Noa could see through that easily enough. Seto didn't have a clue as to why. Well, that was fine. Now, choosing whether or not to pursue that particular matter or to attempt to puzzle this out on his own. It was unlikely that he could, upon reflection, as he'd hardly known Bakura long enough and had only heard some small notions of his peculiarity. Then again, there was no reason for Seto to be interested in discussing it with him.

Well, he could try. "What does he say?"

Seto had already put Noa from his mind and glanced at him with the look of one who feels they are eternally being interrupted with trivialities. "Pardon?"

"What does Bakura say, comparing himself to Death?" Noa clarified, attempting to sound more critical than curious.

"I don't have time for this." Seto muttered, continuing to type and refusing to look at Noa again.

"Seto. You're the one who knows. Tell me." He didn't say please, but it certainly sounded like he might have.

Seto sighed loudly and shoved his chair away from the desk. He stood and walked over to the window, giving his fiercest glare to the out of doors. They didn't seem to be terribly impressed, but Noa was willing to bet that wasn't the reason Seto laid an arm against the glass and rested his forehead on it, closing his eyes. He wasn't trembling, not really – he looked tired, and it had happened very suddenly. "He talks about… being pale. How white is the colour of death. How he's seen Death before."

Was that all? Noa scoffed, "If that's all –"

"You don't get it." Seto snapped, whirling around, "You haven't heard him." The next was not something he'd normally lay claim to, but in this situation, he really didn't care. "You don't know him."

Noa was taken aback. "… Then why say something? Why even mention it?"

Seto smirked. "You love him, don't you?"

Noa felt himself flush. It was impossible to hide that, but still he tried to deny what it implied, "N-no, I –"

"Forget it." Seto cut him off, shaking his head slightly as he went back over to his computer. "Just leave it."

And that left Noa shaky, nervous, and utterly confused.