A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I know. The update's delayed by a week and I'm so sorry for that. Gaah. College has begun. Oh noes. :gapes: Which reminds me, I really should write my E101 composition. Been delaying writing it for a number of days now. Ha-ha. Anyway, here's the chapter. I don't have anything else to ramble about. :laughs:

Btw, many thanks to Dragon, who checked for typos. Gosh. Never again am I going to type a chapter while I work on my homework. :gawks: I claim responsibility of any mistake that you will find here. There's probably many. Oh well... I'm going to follow the schedule now, I swear. Mondays are Update Days for Blood is Red. Btw, do you guys have any suggestions, any particular thing you want to happen in In Explanation? Barrie18, I'm asking you, seriously. Is that okay?

Read and review!

CHAPTER DEDICATIONS: barrie18, Tragedyluver, dragonlady222, kiki2222, Yami Val and Reblue Eyes (DRAGON!)


Chapter 4: Timed Ponderings

There was many a thing to be said about history. Just how valuable it is depends on the person—on a cynic, a believer, an apathetic, just a random bunch of people who are free enough to express their opinions on the significance of the past. For scholars, the only way to create a better future is to study the past and for that, history became a subject that even grade-schoolers learn; businessmen take advantage of this 'desire' to know what happened years, decades, centuries ago to promote their own products (for they are entrepreneurs, after all) while most students complain about the seemingly uselessness of such a complicated, memorization-requiring subject.

Seto Kaiba, as he met his rival's challenge with an equal determined gaze, didn't believe in it. It was enough that he had to study every country's history in order to forge better relations with people from different parts of the globe; however, to spend day in and day out wondering about the 'had's and the 'might-have-been's was simply ridiculous. What a waste of time; and yet, here he was bribing the King of Games into joining him for a history project. How ironic when said rival, himself, was so determined to 'know the past' and what-not until now; Yami Motou, Seto noticed, merely shook his head out of exasperation and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Should Seto dare think, he would say that they were acting as if they were dueling with the title at stake, as usual. Glares and smirks weren't new in their uncountable duel matches.

"You've resorted to bribing. I must say that I'm surprised by your sudden change of tactics, Kaiba." It was an observation that made the CEO childishly proud of himself, as if his rival actually complimented himself—no, as if he actually liked the fact that his rival complimented him. It even sounded like it was not made out of disdain or sarcasm. Then again, he couldn't blame Yami for saying such things. They were rivals, they do things the straightforward way and well… as far as his crimson-eyed rival was concerned, he never thought of blackmailing the other, either. Seto shrugged and raised an eyebrow at the King of Games. He smirked.

"I prefer the term 'negotiating'. You are smart enough to understand how important the project is for our grades, aren't you" the brunet challenged while the other merely raised an eyebrow back at him. Yami chuckled and decided to stand up. The curtains were pulled to the side moments after that. "I can assure you that I am smart enough to understand the significance of the project… the question is, do you understand just how much time you've wasted convincing me on a lost cause?"

Very few dare make a comeback to a Kaiba, especially to Seto Kaiba. Unless they didn't fear their job, their reputation or their lives, no one would question his decisions—anyone who needed proof can go to his company and see the many employees strive to gain his approval, or at least a nod. Yami found it pathetic: to be constantly afraid of someone just because he was the boss. But Yami wasn't a fool to think that Seto was not dangerous. Oh no, he knew his rival's abilities and he knew the other well enough to avoid driving the CEO to the edge.

"A 'lost cause'?" Seto questioned and stood up, too. He made his way to the former pharaoh so that their gazes met, their height differences standing out as Yami looked up to challenge him with a narrowed stare.

"I told you I changed partners. Is that too hard for you to understand, Kaiba?" Yami answered patiently—confidently—that it annoyed Seto inwardly. It was as if during a duel, Yami had drawn a trump card and he was smugly announcing Seto Kaiba's oncoming, inevitable defeat. Oh, how lovely. Seto glared at his rival and smirked, instead: "And I'm telling you that it just isn't possible—you changing partners, I mean. I believe I made it clear that you will be my partner," he replied, "If I have to threaten sensei with his job to have you as my partner, then believe me, I will." Why he insisted on having this crimson-eyed duelist to work with him escaped him. The image of that Katsuya working—and ridiculing himself even more (as expected from a pea-brained teenager) with the ex-pharaoh before him flashed in his mind. Seto shook his head. If there was a person in the world who can waste—and who had the right to do so—Yami Motou's time, it was his only rival.

Yami's eyes landed on the blue-eyed executive before him; he grimaced.

"We'll be together in the next life. I'll make sure of that"

Funny, Seto Kaiba sounded like his priest. They weren't making the same declarations, defying fate and all, but they sounded the same as if they were twins or better yet, two pieces of a soul. Frankly, it amazed and at the same time disturbed Yami. Comparing his azure-eyed, sympathetic cousin of a priest with his rival? Seriously, what was wrong with that picture? Perhaps Yami needed to sleep it off. "You will do no such thing. Don't you get tired of all the threats you constantly make?" Surely threatening people with their jobs is not that easy as the CEO made it appear.

"Don't you get tired of offering a hand when I don't obviously need it?"

It was a question that both of them knew Yami wouldn't answer. It was simply ridiculous to rebut after that. And Seto knew ho important it was to Yami. It made him feel like he had a purpose. Everyone needed to have one, or so a Catholic priest once told him; as if he didn't have to be Yugi Motou's shadow all the time. The King of Games used to be Yugi, sweet amethyst-eyed teen that he was, until Yami gained a body for his own and took what was rightfully his. But beyond that, what was he except a past-less Yugi-look alike? Perhaps it was Yami's desire to create an identity that separates himself from his 'hikari' that made him help others so much… and if he doesn't learn when to stop, it might just be his downfall.

Seto felt Yami's gaze fall on him and wondered where his analysis of the crimson-eyed teen came from. Where the hell are his thoughts leading him to nowadays, in the first place?

"When do you plan to work on the project?" Yami conceded with a sigh, unaware of the line of thought the billionaire was cursing at that moment. He expected the other to grace him with yet another smug 'I-get-what-I-want' look; and apparently, he was mistaken. What met him was an admittedly accomplished (but grateful?) stare from the brunet.

The CEO raised his wristwatch to check the time, that perpetual frown plastered yet again on his face. "Now," he replied. It was too late to go back to class, even more to convince both he and his rival to at least catch up during lunch break. What was the purpose of such decision when he was just going to read another book during classes? Why waste the entire day on stuff that both of them already knew when they could finish the project ahead of everyone else and bid each other goodbye until their next rematch? He watched Yami get his jacket and schoolbag.

On the way to the mansion, while the spiky-haired duelist got a sense of déjà vu at what was happening between the both of them, Seto Kaiba's thoughts grazed memory lane—a seemingly forgotten road, treaded upon back then, neglected, one's ancient history that he purposely never bothered to uncover. His attention fell on two small kids by the street, waiting for the stop light to turn red so they can cross, the taller kid holding the shorter one's hand. They looked like they were brothers; and whether he wanted to or not, Seto started thinking about the possibilities of him and Mokuba looking like that when they were young… and orphaned.

Were their eyes full of hope, full of a want to be nurtured and cared by loving parents? They were so foolish to think that beyond the gates of the orphanage was a couple who was willing to take care of the both of them—as kids who have individual potentials and not because Seto, who was once the 'chess wizard with no surname' was a genius who every parent is dying to have. It annoyed him whenever he thought about it: seeing one couple after another frown and shake their heads as if the mere sight of gray-eyed Mokuba staring up at them painted such a pitiful picture. Well, Seto and Mokuba never really needed them, did they? God, remembering those things infuriated him. "Kaiba?" Yami had looked at him with a serious yet utterly confused gaze, and Seto shut him up with a glare. Apparently, it wasn't enough because the King of Games persisted even more, "Your mansion? It's that way, remember?"

Had his intentions been away from actually buying the supplies that they needed for the project, Seto Kaiba would have looked not only like a smug idiot but a foolish one, and in front of his rival, nevertheless. It would be humiliating, should that happen; and obviously, it didn't because the CEO had everything planed. They were, as the Porsche sped away, farther and farther from the Kaiba mansion, headed to another city where the supposed supplies can be purchased. He raised an eyebrow at the glaring crimson-eyed duelist. "If you actually think that I don't know the way to my own mansion, then you're more of an idiot than I now see you as. Do you really think that I'd forget something as simple as that, Yami?" He questioned. An insult had never been a new thing in his life, especially when it was simpler to hurt other people than to feel it.

Yami nonchalantly shrugged. "Can you blame me for thinking about it? After all the speeches you made about the insignificance of the past and forgetting what were unimportant in your life?" Yami answered back before leaning suggestively on the CEO's shoulder, and whispered, "Believe me, if I were an idiot, I would have thought that you were one, too."

Seto rolled his eyes at the comeback and pushed his rival away. What was it with Yami and invading his personal space anyway? "We're going to get our supplies. This is the least you can do for wasting my time," he told the other. He heard Yami chuckle and he stole a glance; was it something he said?

"Wasting your time, Kaiba?" Had you been reasonable enough as anyone would—but quite frankly, you aren't—you would have left me alone when I demanded my own space. Obviously, you think it's better to just waltz into my room unannounced and force me into doing this project when I already have a partner of my own," Yami smartly replied with a satisfied smirk. "Besides, why should we have to get them from another city when you, being the 'great Seto Kaiba' and all can easily have them delivered?"

"If you haven't noticed, we're running out of time. I do not have time for your silly word games," the CEO wisely answered. This round belonged to Yami, he admitted to himself; and one look at Yami told him that the other knew that. "If you don't want to work on the project, then just say so. I don't need you anyway."

Now, now, Seto Kaiba, where did all the 'I'm not working on the project without you' crap go? Shut up.

There must have been something Seto Kaiba said that sounded wrong because right after his rather callous statement, the silence once again reign in the air. Yami shook his head, gave a huff of air then turned to look outside the window as if there was something interesting outside. Well, the CEO didn't find anything interesting about anything outside the car at all, so what could have caught the ex-monarch's interest? Not that he cared; oh no, not at all. "Fine, give me my part of the project and drop me off somewhere," Yami's meek answer cut through the permeating tension. It was as if a knife had just been plunged into the chest wall, grasping and attempting to stab the heart. Or, it must have been the gravity of the duelist's words that was making the brunet feel this way. How peculiar.

"'Drop off somewhere'? I have no intention of doing so."

"Well then… there's a bus stop there. I'm sure sensei will understand when I pass my project beyond the deadline."

"You will do no such thing."

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Why should you?"

Yami shook his head and sent his rival a withering glare. It was probably made out of exasperation, or plain annoyance; but he really didn't care anymore. Somehow, though he was confident that he had heard just about every insult Seto Kaiba was capable of throwing at him, this one was new… and off. It was out of conviction: the declaration that he needed no one else. It must have hit a nerve, or whatever the idiom was, and it must have meant something to him because he stopped responding, right? But as he looked at the azure-eyed, overbearing duelist, he realized that it wasn't even about him being Seto Kaiba's rival. It was because no matter what he did, the CEO will flatly refuse his help. It was a matter of pride between them—as if everything was still a game, as if this was still a duel that the brunet oh-so-badly wanted to win at.

"Because you don't need my help," the King of Games challenged.

"Of course I do." And there it was, the trap that Seto got himself in. His eyes widened a bit before narrowing in its usual appearance. He glowered. Being bated was something he didn't appreciate. A trap meant losing: to bigger, bulkier boys in the orphanage, to Gozaburo's endless seemingly unanswerable riddles, to his father's challenge that he unwillingly inherited because of a death—losing to everything that would and should matter to him as Seto Kaiba. It was a metal cage that would prohibit him from gaining what he wanted and from maintaining what he had achieved. So, frankly, it wasn't new that he never did learn to appreciate admitting that he caught himself in his own spun web. If there was anyone in the world who had the right to bait him—not that such person ever existed—it would have been someone who mattered to him more than Mokuba and his company. What were the chances of said person existing? None.

Seto felt familiar carmine eyes land on him for the umpteenth time; and wondered what the stare this time meant.

XXX

The distinct sound of a door slamming close broke through Seto Kaiba's dazed, seemingly preoccupation. His fingers paused midway form typing another code for a program as his eyes landed on the digital clock beside the computer. It was 7:48 P.M.; and it was late enough to tell him that the program he was supposed to finish had been the subject—the only one—of his thoughts for three hours (and counting…). The history project lay conspicuously beside the computer as if, when he accidentally glanced at it, reminding him that he had a partner on that assigned task. He turned around, found an unoccupied sofa and Seto realized that his crimson-eyed rival of a partner was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn it, Yami," Seto growled in frustration as he automatically promised to give Motou 'a piece of his mind'. He immediately saved the progress he had with the debugging program then left. Where he was going, in a vast place such as his mansion, he didn't actually know.

Hallways in the Kaiba mansion were and had always been dimly-lit, ever since he could remember. They were like tortuous pathways in a labyrinth, like serpentine roads that lead a traveler to dead ends. Gothic architecture had been a thing of the past, or so Seto learned during on of his forced history lessons; and yet, one look at his hallways would contradict that statement. Then again, these—from ancient to porcelain vases, lush red carpets and mahogany foundations for the ceiling, golden chandeliers—weren't his at first, were they? Gozaburo Kaiba, as much of a bastard he was, still knew his art…and apparently, he liked the eerie feeling that went with this kind of architecture. Seto grimaced and remembered upon seeing the bloodless post now how hard the impact was as his head collided with to that very same seemingly obelisk. Black and red blended well.

"I won't do it again, I won't—"

"You are being punished. Take this as a man, you pathetic little boy!" Then there was the wall again. Was it really a wall? Through the dripping blood, Seto couldn't see anymore. His tears fell even when he wasn't supposed to let them fall; and he knew what to expect for disobeying such 'simple' rule. It was a good thing that only he and his stepfather was there. Good thing Mokuba was still in school.

"When I say you're not allowed in that brat's room, you do not ENTER!"

Nine-year old Seto's vision was swimming as he hit the table. The vase had rolled over the furniture into the floor and broke. What was the feeling of desperation? Of wanting things to simply end? To not care about anything else but the suddenly inviting presence that is death? The young boy closed his eyes in pain.

"Pathetic little boy!"

Whether Yami Motou lived in darkness or not for millennia, Seto could care less. As memories of a haunted childhood plagued the CEO, he realized that three millennia could have been torture for a sane, breathing being; however, if it provided a sanctuary from the pain he chose to experience—because he can't blame others for what happened to him; it was his choice, his decision to be hurt like that—Seto probably would have taken it.

"Nii-sama? It's Mokuba." A phone call.

Then again, was a sanctuary really a welcome idea?

Darkness was stifling. It held no meaning; a void that anyone could have easily filled up but instead, forgotten. The feeling of nothingness, of that nagging feeling that wherever one looks—whether from the east to the west, or from the north to the south, from one direction to another—the only thing that would greet him was the cold, crashing feeling of blackness. Black was a color, a neutral one, yet it always looked heavier. It was as if its blackness symbolized darkness and how it crashes on someone like a tidal wave that was meant to destroy everything on its path. Imagine suffocating on that same 'wave', on the same flood day in and day out, one month after another, countless passing years that time seemed to not exist anymore. Imagine that feeling fall on your shoulders and be forced to carry a burden like Atlas does with the earth.

Yami hated the darkness despite having been named after it. Three thousand years were long enough for him to lose his sanity; no one can survive millennia in a world devoid of anything. And on that particular moment when time began to interweave with forgetting, when that same entity—that one thing that was more important than all the riches in the world, or so people said—didn't seem to matter anymore and one stops counting how many minutes, hours, days, months and years have passed, one realizes that he slowly loses his memories and humanity as well. Such a dark, morbid truth; a pessimist's happiness (oxymoronic, true, but it didn't matter—not to Yami) but it was the piece of fact that he had come to terms with in the thirty-minute break he allotted himself.

Before him was a thick, hardbound history book, one that was supposed to hold an overview of all the past's records. It was supposed to help him remember and provide the information that he needed for his project; however, a glance told him all he knew. After a chapter, after a block of words that held no particular importance to him, Yami Motou finally accepted that his mind was as pitch black as the Shadow Realm. He shut the book and sighed. It was probably time to go back to the other study room, as Seto described it before.

The ex-monarch headed to the door and was about to open it when the door opened, revealing an irritated CEO.

"Next time you leave, be courteous enough to tell me, will you?" It was bad enough that Seto had to go through so many unwanted memories while looking for the former pharaoh, but to go through quite a number of rooms and face the fact that he had yet to find the duelist was beyond time-wasting. It was downright infuriating. He met Yami's gaze and was admittedly surprised at the neutrality in the usually lively crimson-red eyes. What was wrong with Yami?

Yami shook his head. "Do you even have plans to finish our project, Kaiba?" He waited by the door, waited for the CEO to realize that he was not in the mood to play Seto's game, whatever it was, and as the brunet stared at him, the former pharaoh merely sighed in response. Surely Seto knew just how ridiculous what they're doing right now is? Yami had tried calling Yugi at home; with Grandpa staying with a friend for a week, they were basically on their own. It would be pretty irresponsible of him to just focus on his project and ignore Yugi altogether, wouldn't it?

"Did you call Yugi?"

It was exactly what he was thinking about. Had Yami been paying extra attention, he would have noticed that the CEO no longer stared at him as if he was the bane of the other's existence. Instead, he would have found out that the anger had dissipated into an overwhelming desire to know just about everything about him. But no, Yami was too distracted to 'pay extra attention'. The duelist reached for the doorknob and gestured for his blue-eyed partner to lead the way to wherever they were going. He figured that he might as well finish the project to spare more time for petty attempts in recovering his memories.

"What's it to you, Kaiba?"

Seto shrugged. "If you don't want to, then don't. I don't really give a damn. Come along," he answered and headed back to where his laptop and other things were. He could feel every falter and hesitation in Yami's steps, as if what he had just said actually made sense for the crimson-eyed teen. The doorbell snapped him from his brief musings; behind him, Yami's eyes widened before catching up with the hurried executive. Seto opened the door only to meet Yugi's sheepish grin and Anzu's perplexed expression. Why the girl was perplexed was something Seto Kaiba refused to bother about—now, the question is, why was Yugi here? He turned around and met Yami's gaze. "Yami?" He asked, knowing the King of Games had an idea about his aibou's uninvited presence in the mansion. "Yugi, what are you doing here?" the spiky-haired teen asked of his light.

Yugi sighed, "I'm going to spend the night at Jou's. Will that be okay, Yami?" he asked, unaware of the scrutiny he was placed into. Seto Kaiba frowned. "Of course, aibou. I forgot to bring my keys, though; can you lend me yours?" Yami replied.

The amethyst-eyed Motou nodded and handed him the keys before soon, saying goodbye. Seto heard his rival sigh before facing him. "I'll see you tomorrow, then, Kaiba," Yami told him. He walked past the CEO and reached for his schoolbag when he was pulled back. Seto's hand latched on his wrist, gripping it and pulled it near to his chest. "Didn't you hear what your aibou just said?" Seto asked the former pharaoh, who merely glared at him and tugged at the captive hand.

"What can you possibly demand of me now, Kaiba? I need to go home!" Yami pulled his hand away and met the brunet's stare. The King of Games was already making his way to the door when he heard a quiet whisper of his name break through the stillness of the room.

"Yami."

The duelist stopped and met Seto's gaze, aware of the reluctance and other warring emotions that were reflected on those bright, azure eyes. Yami couldn't help but see Seth in Seto Kaiba's eyes, and he shook his head to clear his mind of such thoughts. Finally, as their eyes met, red clashing with blue as if to symbolize how two different personalities wove themselves into one singly thread, their gazes narrowed at each other, Seto's lips thinned into a grim line.

"Have dinner with me." Seto's voice was clipped, but Yami didn't bother to notice that. All that mattered was the subtle order… and the fact that he should know better what the answer to such 'question' is. Their faces weren't that far from each other now, their breaths ghosting each other's lips. When had they gotten so close? The former pharaoh's brows furrowed in confusion before shaking his head; this was ridiculous. He was not even aware of the same puzzlement that was plaguing the CEO—not that he had the time to ponder about that. "Yami?"

XXX

A/N: One final note, the angst starts next chapter. :grins: Don't forget to drop a word!

Preview:

"What use is the past when you don't live for the future?"

"You don't understand."

"Trust me, Yami, I will."