Author's note: I originally was going to have this chapter be full of etiquette examples, with Serenity's actions being full of mistakes to contrast with Seto's perfect dinning etiquette. But then I realized: I am probably the only person who has been through multiple dinning etiquette classes, so there would be no point. For those of you who catch it, Serenity being seated to the right of Seto is actually a position of honor.

Warnings: Joey says "Hell" Random!Mokuba, a long chapter.

Good news! I think I have a beta reader that will be joining me shortly. :)


The dining room is vast and dark, a perfect mirror for the distance between the four of us. Joey is already sitting down on one of the many chairs along the long table, resting his head on his folded arms. He still looks sickly and pale, and he barely raises his head to greet me with a weak smile.

It's one of the odd moments that Joey stays quite and I don't speak either. What could either of us say that hasn't already been put forward? At least Mokuba keeps chattering on about something involving seahorses and that "time with the nun, the narwhal, and the duct tape, ya know?"

Whatever it was, he clams up the moment Seto walks into the room.

Seto enters with no announcement, but we all can feel his presence. He has an effect on the entire atmosphere. With every step he takes into the room, the mood shifts and becomes more austere, stern, and nervous even. He carries himself like a king, or god – so imposing that even the auras bend to his will. He is accustomed to being respected and revered, and it shows in each imperious, stride. Does he ever relax? Is it possible to not be nervous and flighty in his presence?

His eyes sweep his domain. He scowls at Joey briefly.

You're not supposed to sit down before the host. Strike one against us.

Seto makes brief eye contact with me, before flickering his gaze up and down my body. My heart stops. I turn away from him, the blood settling across my face in a nervous blush. I'm bare to his scrutiny and can do nothing to hide my flaws. Unsurprisingly, he's in khakis and a wine-red button up and I'm in what he probably considers rags. I'm not up to the standards to even be in his presence, and I feel like my body fumbles for breath as I fidget with the hem of my shirt. I'm so stupid. I really should have dressed better. I'm sure I could have put something together if I had tried harder. I was just so tired and I wasn't thinking earlier. Just one glace has taken my breath. How can I endure these next few days with him?

He takes his seat at the head of the table. "Come. Sit." The dog comment from earlier is still a fresh wound and the short, strongly punctuated commands only increase the bitterness. I'm even more disgusted when I do what he says without how could I say no? This man is my salvation from the streets, I remind myself. I will jump through any hoop to make sure he shows mercy to us.

With shaking legs I try to obey. I aim for the closet seat possible, because I'm afraid if I have to walk any further, he'll notice my fear. My hands tremble as I pull out a chair.

"No," He grunts disapprovingly, scolding me like I'm a child. "Ladies to the right ,"

"Oh," Was I supposed to know that? I clumsily move to the opposite side of Seto. I feel like the entire world is scrutinizing my mistakes. Mokuba takes the seat that I just vacated, and Joey is seated to the left of him. My brother is so far away that I'm practically alone. The pink in my cheeks turns apple-red and I simply stare downward so I won't have to meet Seto's eyes.

The place-settings are beautiful, regal even. The plates are fine bone china and decorated with an intricate scroll design in burgundy and gold. The flatware is polished like diamonds. Everything is laid out on a crisp, white table cloth. Seto clearly refuses to be surrounded by anything less than beautiful or majestic. Then why, why am I here?

A server places a bowl of soup in front of me. I'm looking at a bowl on a dinner plate in the center, with two forks on the left, and two knives and a spoon to my right. There's a smaller plate towards the top left with a third knife, and towards the top right there are two glasses that look like wineglasses. There's also a tiny fork laid across the top of the pacesetting. I'm at a loss. What do I do with it all? I barely use this much flatware in a day.

I look at my brother. He's eyeing the place setting with a disgusted look. He picks up the miniature fork and looks at Kaiba through the tines. "What we eating here, Kaiba? Doll's food?"

Seto's glare is his only response.

"It's a dessert fork," Mokuba directs toward Joey

I love my brother, I do. I always have. But how can someone be so embarrassing? Does he not know how Kaiba feels about us? Does he not care? Why is he only reinforcing our image as poor and ignorant? The idea of food has perked Joey up, and his rambunctiousness is back in full force. I wish I were closer to him so I could have given him a warning kick under the table. Embarrassment courses through me.

Noone speaks. The clank of ceramics is the only sound.

"You really went all out, didn't you, Seto? You didn't have to," I attempt to make conversation. At my house, we always spoke lively to one another, but the silence here is heavy and awkward.

Seto waves his hand in dismissal . "It's nothing much, a semi-formal dinner. We rarely entertain."

If this is a semi-formal, then formal is beyond my imagination.

"What he means is no one ever come visits," Mokuba says snidely, and I hear a tone of dejection in his voice. He clanks his spoon noisily against the rim of the bowl.

"Mokuba," Seto warns.

Mokuba grumbles at the scolding.

"All out? Eh, I hardly call soup "all out"," Joey splashes around the broth with his spoon.

"It's the first course," Mokuba answers.

"First? So like, there's more?"

Strike two, Joey.

I'm so stupid. How could I think this would work out? Seto, Joey and I are from three different worlds. You can't shove three different classes into one house an expect them to harmonize. I can see all the awkwardness of tonight stretched ahead of me like dark clouds on the horizon.

I occupy myself with the soup. It's not very appealing. It's milky white, like a cream based broth, but with chunks of something floating unappetizingly in it. Flakes of parsley and oregano float like refuge along the rim of the bowl. I don't want to say it, but it looks a little like vomit. There's only one spoon, so I pick it up. The soup tastes vaguely of chicken and potatoes. It's an odd taste combination.

I watch Seto take a bite. It's honestly the first time I've ever seen him consume something other than coffee or water, and its strangely captivating. It makes him more human somehow. Even the great Seto Kaiba has to eat, after all. But even though the action is mundane, he still carries himself with such a dignified air. The way he eats soup, he doesn't even put the bowl of spoon in his mouth, but holds it to his lips. It's amazingly refined, and would expect nothing less from him.

I notice Mokuba lifting up chunks of little dough bits in his spoon and letting them plop back off into the broth. "I don't like gnocchi" He whines.

"What's a gnocchi?" Joey asks.

Mokuba picks up another piece of dough with his spoon and shows it to Joey. "This."Bits of broth drip messily to the white table cloth. Seto clenches his jaw tightly as the drippy mess. He's plainly irritated. I wonder if he's regretting his offer of letting us stay here for the weekend. Not only are we classes below him, but Joey is corrupting Mokuba as well.

I'm glad when a man comes to my left and takes my bowl. It would have been impossible to pretend to like that soup any longer. The similarities between Joey's vomit from earlier and that soup were too uncanny for me to stomach. The server places a salad in front of me. I'm just glad it's something I can fully identify.

There are three forks to choose from. Two to my left and one laid out above the plate. I'm not sure what to choose. We used the spoon first and it was placed farthest away from the plate, so logic has it that we would use the next farthest utensil.

Mokuba is picking at his plate. He wrinkles his nose up at the array of vegetables.

"Eat your vegetables, Mokuba," Seto's words are demanding, but they're oddly brotherly too.

Mokuba just whines in response.

"You know what the doctor says. You have to eat them," Seto counters.

Doctor? My ears perk up. I didn't' know that there was anything wrong with Mokuba. Sure he's small, but he looks healthy. His cheeks are rosy and full. His eyes are bright. His hair appears long and healthy, if not a little wild, and his nose curls into a cute little button. Overall he appears to be a healthy, rambunctious pre-teen. Maybe he's underweight? It's hard to tell with all his long sleeves and baggy pants.

"What's it matter? He says I'm always going to be short anyhow,"

"Hey, now, they ain't a thing wrong with being the runt," Joey pipes up. "The smallest are the hardest to catch. This one kid I used to hang with, he was the smallest but he was our fastest runner. Nothing could ever catch him, not even the cop's mutts."

Seto addresses Joey for the first time since dinner started. "Don't" He puts a strong stress on the first word "encourage my brother to follow your insanity. He won't be running from the cops,"

I hate that the first words between Joey and Seto has to be so hate filled, but I think Joey caught his own mistake, because he doesn't bother to argue with Kaiba. He turns to Mokuba "What I'm saying is, eat your veggies. Grow strong! Be fast!,"

Ironically, Joey's own salad hasn't been touched.

I'm captivated by the exchange. Everyone knows Seto and Mokuba are attached to each other, but this conversation about vegetables and doctors—It's so normal. It's like a conversation that any family would have. When I was home and not being wheeled off to some various hospital or doctor, mom would come home late from her shift at work and we'd have dinner sometimes as late as 11 at night. We'd sit around and exchange stories about school, work, doctors, friends, television, anything really. That's what's happening here, between Seto and Mokuba to a lesser degree. Familial bonding over food holds true in a multi-million dollar estate just like it did in mom's humble little blue tiled kitchen, just like I imagine it would even in the tiniest, most rundown apartment building.

The server comes by again, removing the salads and placing the main course, but I'm feeling a little full already.

It's steak and potatoes.

It's so normal that it actually flusters me for a moment. I must be starting to lose it. Am I the only one who thinks this is the strikingly ordinary? In a house where everything is so museum-like that I'm afraid that just my breath with contaminate the walls, There's something comfortingly boring about the cut of marbled steak, and the baked potato snuggled in aluminum foil. It's so familiar, so normal considering the abnormal circumstances in such an extraordinary place

I glance around. Am I the only one that things this is odd? Joey's already scooping out the insides of his potato; the aluminum lay discarded and crumpled at the side of his plate. Mokuba looks a little confused, but smiles like it's a treat to be treated with commonality.

"Now this is what I'm talking 'bout," Joey says around bites of steak.

"I figured that your type liked meat. Is it rare enough for you?" Seto slices through his potato. He eats so neatly, whereas my brother shoves forkfuls into his mouth like it's a free-for-all.

I hear a potential for an insult, but Joey doesn't catch it. Maybe he's so overjoyed about having a full plate of quality food in front of him that he lets it slide. Maybe it wasn't an insult at all. Maybe he meant it sincerely.

I take a bite as well. I never knew steak could taste smooth. It's sweet with a slightly tangy after taste."Food's good," I say. It's a lame attempt to break the silence with something other than my brother's loud chewing. There's more awkward clanks of silverware against porcelain.

"Chef Lerouche trained with Massimo Bottura. As you can taste, he's great with Kobe Fillet."

When Seto speaks of casually of foreign cuisines and world class chefs, I realize something. This isn't something Seto would normally eat. Given a choice, he would be dinning on some hard to pronounce entrée with French or Italian origins. This meal was for me and Joey. Seto knew Joey would want steak. Seto knew it would be something I'd be comfortable with.

So Seto did think about us. My brother's wrong. Seto can be nice. Joey may hate me for this, but I find myself beginning to trust Seto. He may not be teddy-bear cuddly and warm, but he does care.

I feel like a little kid who's discovered a fascinating secret. I'm not sure why, but I've discovered there is more to Kaiba's than that jerk whose known for being a ruthless duelist and unforgiving boss. There is a Seto Kaiba at home: the one that talks about doctor appointments and plays parent to his brother and is hidden from the public eye

The dinner passes with little conversation. With the exception of Mokuba's occasional chatter, we in eat in uncomfortable silence. And when the desert comes, an orange-chocolate mousse cheesecake – I have to push it away mostly untouched.

Seto stands up abruptly. Mokuba stands up as well. I'm confused. What invisible cue did I miss? Seto starts to leave with Mokuba close behind him. Joey looks up from his plate, his mouth stuffed full of food. "Wha-?"

Seto barely turns around."I take coffee in the sitting room. You may join me."

"That means you gotta come," Mokuba attempts to whisper.

"But I'm still eating!" Joey whines.

Regardless, We all make our way to the living room. This is the only room that looks common. There are very little frills here. It's supposes to be a modern look I suppose. The couches are low and plush, with pillows in shades of brown, tans, and whites. One wall is red brick. The other has huge windows facing the romantic setting sun.

"You're slow," Seto states flatly. "Are you coming?" He's already sitting down in an arm chair and that same gray-headed servant places a tray of cookies and a coffee pot with cups on the padded coffee table.

"Sorry," I mumble. My brother sits on the corner of the couch, the seat that puts the most distance between Seto and himself. I sit down as close as possible to Joey.

Mokuba plops down on the floor at our feet, and reaches for the cookies and mugs on the coffee table. He grabs a thermos-mug that looks almost bigger than him. He takes a huge drink and comes back up with a milk foam mustache. He giggles towards me and Joey.

"Whoa! That's a big mug of coffee for such a little guy," Joey comments.

Mokuba grimaces. "I wish. Big brother won't let me have coffee. It's hot chocolate,"

"It's bad for your health," Seto doesn't notice as Mokuba sneaks another cookie.

"Yeah, but you drink it 'round the clock," Mokuba sits cross-legged and uses his socked feet to balance his tall stainless steel mug. "You drink too much coffee. You know that means you're addicted. Caffeine's a drug ya know,"

"Caffeine isn't a drug, it's a vitamin, for me at least," Seto muses. He's staring out into space. At first I thought he was staring through the window at the stripped sunset, but now he seems to be focused on nothing in particular. He stares with a sort of vacancy and I feel a spark of connection. The vivid, fanciful colors of the evening sky tends to cause nostalgia and day dreams for me as well. "And stop with the cookies. You'll give yourself a sugar-high,"

I'm not sure the cookies should be the only thing Seto is concerned with. Mokuba guzzles down huge gulps of sugary hot chocolate. I can imagine the sugar shock creeping into his brain.

Joey stretches besides me, a full body extension starting from his toes and ending in his raised arms. He leans fully against me, his weight almost seeming a bit too much against my small shoulders. But still his physical presence increases the bond between us. I remember how his strength, his comfort and just the fact he is my brother, makes me willing to put up with a few minor embarrassments His strong presence keeps me calm, and there's so much the two of us need to figure out..

"Big brother used to have green hair," Mokuba says, completely indifferent as he nibbles on his sixth cookie.

All eyes turn to Mokuba. I thought it was quite before, but the off-the-wall comment stuns us all. Did I hear that right? The change in mood of the evening was enough to induce whiplash. Seto just glares, but Joey responds the best "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Shut up, Mokuba," Seto's comment makes me realize that I did hear right. Seto purses his lips. His face is scowling, but his eyes are light and sparkling with humor.

Joey smiles. "What? I gotta hear this,"

"He used to have green hair," Mokuba repeats, grabbing for another cookie.

"It wasn't that green," Seto replies. I can see a smile creeping on his face. It's not a full smile, but a tiny grin is the best the world will ever get from the stern upright man. I didn't know he could smile. Coffee, comfort and a full stomach intoxicates him. He's not relaxed: we are still too alien to see that happen. But he's not playing the dictator anymore.

"It was really green," Mokuba shot back. "You could have been mistaken for a highlighter,"

"Whoa, that's pretty damn green. What'd you do, dye it to get back at your family or something?" Joey and Mokuba are feeding off or each other's energy. Despite the age difference Joey and Mokuba are surprisingly – and disturbingly – alike at times. "I always knew you were a rebel!"

Seto says nothing, so Mokuba continues. "You really shoulda seen it! It looked radioactive," Mokuba is starting to exaggerate more and more. The processed sugar fuels his wild gestures and bright eyes.

"It wasn't that bad," Seto finally saves him. His voice is devoid of anger, but trimmed with an edge of humor "It was a mishap with the pool chlorine. It hardly became that bright,"

"Highlighter! Highlighter!" Mokuba chants teasingly. He hops up, circles around Seto's chair and wraps his arms around his brother's neck from behind. "Are you mad, Big Brother?" His voice rises in falls in cute sing-song patterns.

Seto stares straight ahead and gives a fake scowl. "Go to bed, Mokuba,"

"Fine have it your way," Mokuba turns on his heels with a false "hmmph," and starts to march out of the room. He turns back half way and calls back to Joey, "Hey, come here. I got pictures!"

Joey stands up and runs after Mokuba "All right!"

And with my brother and Mokuba scampered somewhere else, the silence settles back on the room. Then I realize that I am alone with Kaiba.

I stay as still as possible and avoid eye contact. I wrack my brain for an excuse to leave the room. Bathroom? Unlady like. Sleepy? It's seven o'clock, too early. Seto says nothing, seemly quite content with his cup of coffee and whatever thoughts are going inside his head. A vacant amusement plays across his face as he stares into the distance, and it draws me like a moth to flames. I wonder what thoughts are in his head.

Is he thinking of his younger days with Mokuba? It's hard to envision Seto as a child. After all, children are supposed to be wide-eyed and innocent, whereas Seto is defined by his sharp tongue. But at one time, he had to be carefree and happy. I don't see how his childhood could have been anything but happy. As the oldest son of a multibillion dollar tycoon, he had to have been doted on and spoiled. My vivid fantasies place him and Mokuba tumbling down the stairs on Christmas morning in their matching pajamas. I see the two of them as nothing but cotton-candy sweet and angel pure.

"You're a good big brother," I say.

Seto shuts down any openness that he had with Mokuba a few minutes ago. The half-smile from ealier shuts off like a switch. "Someone has to do it," he shoots back.

I sit in silence for a second. I saw his human side earlier, but was it just my wild imagination? I complemented him and he shunned it. My cheeks burn pink. I think I could actually start to be angry with him. He apparently wants to be known as heartless if he won't even take a complement for his ability and affection with his brother.

"Uh.. thank you," His voice breaks my flustered train of thought. He says it with timidness in place of his usual confident demeanor. He speaks so quietly that I'm not even sure I was supposed to have heard it.

I smile back. "Mokuba's a cute kid,"

He chuckles a bit. Not a real laugh, but more of an amused grunt. "Don't tell him that though. He thinks because he's twelve he's a bit shot," He's yet to make eye contact with me. He stares absentmindedly into his cup of coffee.

"It's true though. He's adorable. I've always thought blue eyes were adorable,"

Kaiba does that odd laugh again, and I look up at him. I think it's first time we've made real eye contact. He has blue eyes: beautiful, dark, and shimmery like the ocean. I knew this, somewhere in the back of my mind. He has a half smirk on his face, and I wonder if he realizes how stupid I feel.

"Well," Seto places his mug down on coffee table and stands up. "I have to get to work,"

"H-huh?" I stammer. I can't believe how frazzled I am, from brief eye contact. His intimidation is limitless, and I'm just a stupid little girl. He's already partly out of the room when I manage to squeak out: "It's Saturday,"

"A pile of proposals and resumes don't know it's the weekend," He calls back over his shoulder. "The chef leaves in an hour, and comes back in at 6am, but you're welcome to help yourself in the kitchen in the meantime."

Then I realized. There are two of him. Seto is the man who plays parent to his brother, talks about doctor's appointments, and drinks coffee to late and is utterly and plainly human.

And to be human is to be fragile. And the people of Kaiba Corp, won't accept someone fragile.

Then there was Kaiba. This is how my brother knows him. This is how the world knows him. This is the strong as stone, lose and you die mentality that manifests when he needs control. Control over what, I'm not sure.

Ah. I'm a fool for complexity. Mai called me a hopeless romantic. But romanticism doesn't change the truth. Right?

Right?