A/N: I don't own Yugioh.
Many apologies to those of you who have been waiting for this chapter. I thank you for your patience^_^ Unfortunately, this chappie's kinda short (only about six pages), but I promise to lengthen the next one. Oh, and lately, I've been a Kingdom Hearts fan^_^ *yells to the world* Riku and Sora are the cutest couple ever!!! *gets trampled by riot of fan girls who have slightly different opinions*
BTW, I made slight alternations to the first three chapters….nothing big, just some rewording and spelling^_^
Thank you, Borath, for the notice about the huge paragraph incident^_^
~*~
METEOR GARDEN
~*~
Pharaohs were the all powerful, supreme rulers of the Egyptians, ne? They were even considered living gods, and the people fell to their every whim and will. In exchange, the rulers would offer the citizens protection, interpretations from the gods, and flourish Egypt. Yes….that was the life I had. Mind you, it wasn't easy, but at least I didn't have to play the role of a drudge and _COOK_!
My stupid "husband" is forcing me to prepare his stupid food in the stupid kitchen, using a stupid cook book salvaged from a stupid trash can! And before you ask, my favorite word is "stupid"! Why? It could be due to the possibility that I used to lead a glamorous life as a monarch with servants cowering at my feet. Nah….I'm _sure_ that's not it. Nope. What a silly, implausible thought.
OF COURSE THAT'S THE REASON!!!
I, for one, refuse to be ordered around! If it was my aibou asking me to cook, then I indubitably would. But this is Kaiba – the mean, old Grinch made of the strongest alloy ever discovered!
Here's an account of the iniquitous, Ra-damned situation:
We were returning home from the horrendous shopping incident (by which I was ignored, then nearly raped), with Kaiba was still nattering away on his cell phone. Now, I know this is lame, but if he likes it so much, then why don't he just divorce me and marry _it_? Anyway, before I even had time to settle myself into a chair for some well deserved rest, he so kindly bereft me of that pleasure. One cold glance, a pause on the phone, and "Make dinner."
Excuse me? I'm not sure I heard correctly. Thus, I stood, hunched between a sitting and standing position, staring at him. Let me tell you, the shock was overwhelming. Never in the five millennia of my life have I been ordered to do something so mediocre, so demeaning, so….abominable! It was as if someone took one of those loony toon hammers and whacked me on the head with so great a force that I shot through the ground and surfaced, not in China, but in Pluto! And the injuries weren't something you can heal in a hospital or by those cartoon miracles; how would you mend a damaged pride, hn? How would you banish humiliation? Ah, I see you have no answer.
When he realized I made no action whatsoever to carry out his command, the ubiquitous frown deepened. I watched with vacant curiosity as he walked briskly to his laptop, and – with one hand – keyed in a few words. Then, with an aloof expression, turned the screen in my direction.
I believe the hammer just took another good whack.
On the screen, in big, bold letters read: Make dinner. It's your job as a housewife, is it not? Be thankful I'm not making you wear a pink, frilly apron (though I'm tempted to).
Do I detect a sense of humor or a nefarious threat?
Still wedged between the dimensions of shock and wrath, my body idly staggered toward the kitchen, thanks to Kaiba dragging me (painfully) up by the shoulder and chucking me like some worn-out toy. (Dear Ra….that did _not_ sound right…..)
End of the story. Satisfied? You should be, for I am currently standing in the middle of the so-called kitchen that's larger than my bedroom, surrounded by half a dozen appliances that I never knew even existed.
And, of course, the sullied cookbook I rescued from the garbage can stood beside me. Yep, so desperate was I that the great king of games had to dig through spoiled eggs and putrefying banana peels in hopes of finding salvation in cooking.
Circumscribing myself between two counters, I twitched my nose in disgust at the putrid stench the book emitted. Attempting to inhale as little as possible, though I could have sworn my face was turning purple, I turned to a random page.
I hope this doesn't make me effeminate, but ew….I have chocolate pudding (or some sort of brown stuff) on my fingers. _Gross_!
Wiping the glop briskly on the edge of the counter, a sigh escaped me as I scanned the directions:
(1) MALAYSIAN OMELET (Telurdadar Biasa)
Malaysians serve this omelet in thin wedges.
2 C. mixed thinly sliced eggplant,
green bell pepper and onion
1 T. peanut oil
1 medium onion, minced
1 green chile, seeded and finely chopped (about 1 T.)
1 red chile, seeded and finely chopped (about 1 T.)
1 clove garlic, minced
2 T. peanut oil
4 eggs, beaten
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
Cook 2 cups vegetables in 1 tablespoon oil until tender; reserve. Cook chopped onion, chiles and garlic in 2 tablespoons oil in 10-inch skillet until tender. Mix eggs, salt and pepper; pour into skillet. Cover and cook over low heat until eggs are set and light brown on bottom, about 8 minutes. Cut eggs into wedges; spoon reserved vegetable mixture over omelet. Yields 4 servings.
I'm pretty sure I got lost after the word "omelet"…. Truthfully, I've never even heard of half these….these…._ingredients_. For instance, peanut oil – why the heck would peanut have oil?! Peanuts are nuts, for Ra's sake (hence the word "nut" in it)! Does the idiot who wrote this recipe realize how _long_ it'll take me to extract the oil (if any) out of the kitchen's eighteen jars of peanuts?! Geez….and the world was said to be modernized….
In the end, I managed to unearth a crumpled bag of Instant Noodles from under the sink. How it got there is still a mystery, but as least it's edible, right? I sure Kaiba won't mind the blankets of cobweb on the packaging….
I really should have given my royal cooks a lot more credit back in Ancient Egypt. Their arduous task should be recognized and rewarded….especially since they spent so much time bustling in the kitchen, preparing the glamorous royal meals. Why, I still recall the scrumptious wild geese we had every other day, and the dishes of mango pudding pinched with spices all the way from the Far East….
I digress.
The point is, if my cooks can make something so exceptional, then I – as their pharaoh – should be at least half as good. How false that theory is. I swear, I read the instructions on the back of the package! I did! I really did! You _have_ to believe me!
You do, you say?
Well then….I appreciate your trust in me (no matter how shallow it is)….but why the hell is the noodle on fire?! Even with my inexperience, I know full well that red flickering flames are _not_ supposed to be dancing on ramen, let alone in the foam container.
I must have looked like a circus elephant balancing on a ball (though I'm sure the elephant is far more graceful) when I attempted to smother the fire. Grabbing the first thing I saw (which happened to be a pot lid), I slammed it down on top of the noodles. This caused a chain reaction: the metal lid tore the container into an array of uneven strips, the ramen slithered down the marble counter, the soup flooded the ground in a sickle waterfall, and my sleeve caught on fire.
You heard right….one of those impish, insubordinate red fingers latched onto my jacket and spread like a soy sauce stain would on leather. I think I must have screamed, because Kaiba barged into the kitchen, gave me a once over, tore the now-existence fire extinguisher off the wall and put out the fire.
And drenching me in the process.
"What happened?"
It was not a question, but a demand. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I surveyed the confusion. A urine-like substance inundated the white tiled floor, and not about to ebb away too soon; scorched black cords hung from the counter like those millipedes I saw on the nature channel.
Oh, and my sleeve jacket was fried to a crisp (testified by layers of dark scabs).
"I, um, I was….," I mumbled the last part, "trying to make noodles."
How humiliating….the great king of games lost for words, and to his rival, too! If that blonde Joey or the obnoxious tomb robber hears of this….my life will be worse than living hell (as if it isn't already…..)!
Cobalt eyes flickered with brief amusement before the usual impassive business man settled in. "Apparently, you can't cook."
Way a go, Einstein. Did you just figure that out?
As if he heard my little inner comment, Kaiba added, "Of course, this should be expected from someone who's never lifted a finger."
I blushed as twin brows arched pointedly at me, but before I could make a protest, the oh-so-renowned cell phone popped out. Without a second glance at me, Kaiba punched in some rapid digits. I watched anxiously as a soft ring hummed through the air, half wondering if my "husband" was going to turn me in for destroying his kitchen. Or killing him by the means of burnt ramen. Or for being an inept cook.
My worries were confirmed – rather, not confirmed – by the curt sentence that shot of out Kaiba's mouth. "I need a large pizza with everything except mushrooms sent to the Kaiba residence." And then the call was terminated with a sounding snap as the phone was tucked away.
I was about to mock my partner on his wonderful manners (What? No 'please' or 'thank you'?") when the word "large" made itself known. It didn't seem likely that Kaiba would devour the _entire_ pizza by himself, with his lean….er, scrawny….figure and all….so, perhaps he's willing to share?
Clinging to that wisp of hope and praying to evade starvation, I did the only thing appropriate for the moment: clean the river of yellow and black mess. And although this was a huge dent in my pride, I found it better than to stare at the ground under a certain someone's glare.
So with that said, I grasped the nearest sponge and prepared to attack the urine-noodle concoction.
Except I never even had the chance to make a battle cry. Before the sponge could be stained, my hand was caught in midair by none other than Kaiba.
At my questioning look, he grunted, "Leave it. The maids will clean it up."
"Oh." It wasn't the most intelligent thing I've said, but then again, what possible response was there?
He's still holding my hand.
For a moment, my body seemed to have entered a malfunction state as Kaiba's long fingers clasped around my own. It was quite strange, actually. I had never expected someone as….aggressive (to put it lightly) as Kaiba to have such soft skin. Tissue soft. Baby soft. Those pale digits contrasted sharply against my dark tan ones, yet still gave the colors a calm aura, kind of like the abstract art in Domino's art museum. Meanwhile, the sponge sat quite contently between our palms as it publicized its joy with emotional tears.
The cool droplets from the inorganic object rolled down my arm, snapping my attention away from the sudden musings. Just as I opened my mouth to ask exactly why my hand was still seized, Kaiba immediately dropped it and turned away. The sponge fell to the ground none too kindly, voicing its pain with a loud 'splat!'
I watched, confused, as the brunette retreated out the kitchen door. It's probably my wild paranoia and imagination at work, but somehow, I don't think Kaiba would have held just anyone's hand.
~*~
The pizza came rather early – that, or my biological clock's due for a check up. After the hand holding incident, Kaiba and I seated ourselves at opposite ends of the table, unwilling to be conversational whatsoever. Well, the first part would have been true if the table hadn't been so ridiculously large. Really, how pragmatic is a twenty-foot long piece of wood in the middle of a room? Don't people realize that some diners may want to avoid other occupants at the table with desperate need, but still be in reach of the holy, sustaining thing called "food"? Obviously not. Or else I wouldn't be sitting six feet next to the only other person here.
A long time ago, I use to think that having short limbs gave me more agility, granted that there'd be no hindrance of clumsy, lengthy body parts. But now, I wish for my arms to be just a _tad_ longer so that I may reach the pizza box with as little contact with Kaiba as possible.
I don't know why….I was never this withdrawn, this reticent, this _shy_ around my rival. I have a sneaky suspicion the brief touch of hands had something to do with this, but it was simply a gesture for me to stop cleaning. Maybe the reaction was drawn from the fact that Kaiba touched me willingly? Of course, I could be wrong and most likely am; Kaiba – CEO of a multi-billion corporation – softening at the sight of his long-time adversary who he expresses the most enmity for? Right….you get my point.
Sighing inwardly (since sighing aloud would be considered bad table manners and gain attention), I bit into the everything-but-mushroom pizza. Funny….I never knew Kaiba had a dislike for mushrooms; personally, I think they're alright, though you wouldn't find them at the top of my food chain.
It's just like me to notice these little, irrelevant details. I highly doubt anyone, including Kaiba himself, would care if the CEO frowned upon mushrooms. As I swallowed and opened my mouth for another bite, yet another extraneous feature caught my attention: Kaiba had a smudge of sauce on the corner of his mouth. No, really, I'm not joking. The red paste just clung there, blending in with the rose colored lips. It was very enticing, the sauce or the lips, I'm not quite sure. Hold up….it must be the sauce since I'd need to see a therapist if I (or anyone, for that matter) found anything of Kaiba remotely attractive.
The tomato concoction still hung stubbornly to the other's pale skin. Soundlessly, it was laughing at me, crying out, "I'm closer to Kaiba than you are!" Well, guess what, you man-made, undeserving, red mush. I don't want to be near that arrogant bastard anyway!
And I must have some serious brain problems if I'm arguing with an unanimated object.
But it's just so frustrating to have that drip of red stare at you! Sure, I could look away and mind my own pizza, all the while indirectly admitting defeat to the sauce for not being able to retaliate for its taunts. Or I could take a napkin and wipe that silly paste out of existence and save my breath.
Kaiba fixed me with an odd stare, and for a moment I thought he had overheard my plan for sauce annihilation. When his gaze didn't waver, I asked, "What?"
"Why did you do that?"
"Do what?" Besides threaten tomato sauce.
Cobalt eyes practically opened a portal to Antarctica at that question, as if whatever I did was the most obvious thing in the world and I was just playing dumb. Instead of answering, Kaiba glanced at my hand. Following his gaze, I found….oh.
Wadded up in the center of my palm was a tissue. No, that's not the disturbing part. It was the red stain _on_ the tissue that created the shock. I blushed and suddenly found my plate very interesting; this wasn't the first time my body has betrayed me.
When Kaiba didn't receive an explanation, he simply returned to devouring the rest of the pie. This lack of demand for reasons left me slightly bewildered; you'd think someone as persistent as a CEO would chase you to no end until his curiosity's been satiated.
Shrugging and silently thanking whatever god for this streak of luck, I deemed it best to continue on with dinner.
~*~
(1) The omelet recipe was from a web page (URL forgotten….gomen); I do not own it.
~*~
YK: Sorry the chapter's short….I guess it'd be considered half a chapter. *promises the next chappie will be twice as long* The next scene just didn't seem to fit in with the pizza plot….Oh, and about the whole pizza and sauce thing. This was never in the original plan; I just added it in for fun^_^
~*~
Next time:
-Yami is forced to learn the waltz
-Seto takes Yami out for dinner^_^
-New character makes an entrance (guess who!)
-More intimate moments :)
Many apologies to those of you who have been waiting for this chapter. I thank you for your patience^_^ Unfortunately, this chappie's kinda short (only about six pages), but I promise to lengthen the next one. Oh, and lately, I've been a Kingdom Hearts fan^_^ *yells to the world* Riku and Sora are the cutest couple ever!!! *gets trampled by riot of fan girls who have slightly different opinions*
BTW, I made slight alternations to the first three chapters….nothing big, just some rewording and spelling^_^
Thank you, Borath, for the notice about the huge paragraph incident^_^
~*~
METEOR GARDEN
~*~
Pharaohs were the all powerful, supreme rulers of the Egyptians, ne? They were even considered living gods, and the people fell to their every whim and will. In exchange, the rulers would offer the citizens protection, interpretations from the gods, and flourish Egypt. Yes….that was the life I had. Mind you, it wasn't easy, but at least I didn't have to play the role of a drudge and _COOK_!
My stupid "husband" is forcing me to prepare his stupid food in the stupid kitchen, using a stupid cook book salvaged from a stupid trash can! And before you ask, my favorite word is "stupid"! Why? It could be due to the possibility that I used to lead a glamorous life as a monarch with servants cowering at my feet. Nah….I'm _sure_ that's not it. Nope. What a silly, implausible thought.
OF COURSE THAT'S THE REASON!!!
I, for one, refuse to be ordered around! If it was my aibou asking me to cook, then I indubitably would. But this is Kaiba – the mean, old Grinch made of the strongest alloy ever discovered!
Here's an account of the iniquitous, Ra-damned situation:
We were returning home from the horrendous shopping incident (by which I was ignored, then nearly raped), with Kaiba was still nattering away on his cell phone. Now, I know this is lame, but if he likes it so much, then why don't he just divorce me and marry _it_? Anyway, before I even had time to settle myself into a chair for some well deserved rest, he so kindly bereft me of that pleasure. One cold glance, a pause on the phone, and "Make dinner."
Excuse me? I'm not sure I heard correctly. Thus, I stood, hunched between a sitting and standing position, staring at him. Let me tell you, the shock was overwhelming. Never in the five millennia of my life have I been ordered to do something so mediocre, so demeaning, so….abominable! It was as if someone took one of those loony toon hammers and whacked me on the head with so great a force that I shot through the ground and surfaced, not in China, but in Pluto! And the injuries weren't something you can heal in a hospital or by those cartoon miracles; how would you mend a damaged pride, hn? How would you banish humiliation? Ah, I see you have no answer.
When he realized I made no action whatsoever to carry out his command, the ubiquitous frown deepened. I watched with vacant curiosity as he walked briskly to his laptop, and – with one hand – keyed in a few words. Then, with an aloof expression, turned the screen in my direction.
I believe the hammer just took another good whack.
On the screen, in big, bold letters read: Make dinner. It's your job as a housewife, is it not? Be thankful I'm not making you wear a pink, frilly apron (though I'm tempted to).
Do I detect a sense of humor or a nefarious threat?
Still wedged between the dimensions of shock and wrath, my body idly staggered toward the kitchen, thanks to Kaiba dragging me (painfully) up by the shoulder and chucking me like some worn-out toy. (Dear Ra….that did _not_ sound right…..)
End of the story. Satisfied? You should be, for I am currently standing in the middle of the so-called kitchen that's larger than my bedroom, surrounded by half a dozen appliances that I never knew even existed.
And, of course, the sullied cookbook I rescued from the garbage can stood beside me. Yep, so desperate was I that the great king of games had to dig through spoiled eggs and putrefying banana peels in hopes of finding salvation in cooking.
Circumscribing myself between two counters, I twitched my nose in disgust at the putrid stench the book emitted. Attempting to inhale as little as possible, though I could have sworn my face was turning purple, I turned to a random page.
I hope this doesn't make me effeminate, but ew….I have chocolate pudding (or some sort of brown stuff) on my fingers. _Gross_!
Wiping the glop briskly on the edge of the counter, a sigh escaped me as I scanned the directions:
(1) MALAYSIAN OMELET (Telurdadar Biasa)
Malaysians serve this omelet in thin wedges.
2 C. mixed thinly sliced eggplant,
green bell pepper and onion
1 T. peanut oil
1 medium onion, minced
1 green chile, seeded and finely chopped (about 1 T.)
1 red chile, seeded and finely chopped (about 1 T.)
1 clove garlic, minced
2 T. peanut oil
4 eggs, beaten
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
Cook 2 cups vegetables in 1 tablespoon oil until tender; reserve. Cook chopped onion, chiles and garlic in 2 tablespoons oil in 10-inch skillet until tender. Mix eggs, salt and pepper; pour into skillet. Cover and cook over low heat until eggs are set and light brown on bottom, about 8 minutes. Cut eggs into wedges; spoon reserved vegetable mixture over omelet. Yields 4 servings.
I'm pretty sure I got lost after the word "omelet"…. Truthfully, I've never even heard of half these….these…._ingredients_. For instance, peanut oil – why the heck would peanut have oil?! Peanuts are nuts, for Ra's sake (hence the word "nut" in it)! Does the idiot who wrote this recipe realize how _long_ it'll take me to extract the oil (if any) out of the kitchen's eighteen jars of peanuts?! Geez….and the world was said to be modernized….
In the end, I managed to unearth a crumpled bag of Instant Noodles from under the sink. How it got there is still a mystery, but as least it's edible, right? I sure Kaiba won't mind the blankets of cobweb on the packaging….
I really should have given my royal cooks a lot more credit back in Ancient Egypt. Their arduous task should be recognized and rewarded….especially since they spent so much time bustling in the kitchen, preparing the glamorous royal meals. Why, I still recall the scrumptious wild geese we had every other day, and the dishes of mango pudding pinched with spices all the way from the Far East….
I digress.
The point is, if my cooks can make something so exceptional, then I – as their pharaoh – should be at least half as good. How false that theory is. I swear, I read the instructions on the back of the package! I did! I really did! You _have_ to believe me!
You do, you say?
Well then….I appreciate your trust in me (no matter how shallow it is)….but why the hell is the noodle on fire?! Even with my inexperience, I know full well that red flickering flames are _not_ supposed to be dancing on ramen, let alone in the foam container.
I must have looked like a circus elephant balancing on a ball (though I'm sure the elephant is far more graceful) when I attempted to smother the fire. Grabbing the first thing I saw (which happened to be a pot lid), I slammed it down on top of the noodles. This caused a chain reaction: the metal lid tore the container into an array of uneven strips, the ramen slithered down the marble counter, the soup flooded the ground in a sickle waterfall, and my sleeve caught on fire.
You heard right….one of those impish, insubordinate red fingers latched onto my jacket and spread like a soy sauce stain would on leather. I think I must have screamed, because Kaiba barged into the kitchen, gave me a once over, tore the now-existence fire extinguisher off the wall and put out the fire.
And drenching me in the process.
"What happened?"
It was not a question, but a demand. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I surveyed the confusion. A urine-like substance inundated the white tiled floor, and not about to ebb away too soon; scorched black cords hung from the counter like those millipedes I saw on the nature channel.
Oh, and my sleeve jacket was fried to a crisp (testified by layers of dark scabs).
"I, um, I was….," I mumbled the last part, "trying to make noodles."
How humiliating….the great king of games lost for words, and to his rival, too! If that blonde Joey or the obnoxious tomb robber hears of this….my life will be worse than living hell (as if it isn't already…..)!
Cobalt eyes flickered with brief amusement before the usual impassive business man settled in. "Apparently, you can't cook."
Way a go, Einstein. Did you just figure that out?
As if he heard my little inner comment, Kaiba added, "Of course, this should be expected from someone who's never lifted a finger."
I blushed as twin brows arched pointedly at me, but before I could make a protest, the oh-so-renowned cell phone popped out. Without a second glance at me, Kaiba punched in some rapid digits. I watched anxiously as a soft ring hummed through the air, half wondering if my "husband" was going to turn me in for destroying his kitchen. Or killing him by the means of burnt ramen. Or for being an inept cook.
My worries were confirmed – rather, not confirmed – by the curt sentence that shot of out Kaiba's mouth. "I need a large pizza with everything except mushrooms sent to the Kaiba residence." And then the call was terminated with a sounding snap as the phone was tucked away.
I was about to mock my partner on his wonderful manners (What? No 'please' or 'thank you'?") when the word "large" made itself known. It didn't seem likely that Kaiba would devour the _entire_ pizza by himself, with his lean….er, scrawny….figure and all….so, perhaps he's willing to share?
Clinging to that wisp of hope and praying to evade starvation, I did the only thing appropriate for the moment: clean the river of yellow and black mess. And although this was a huge dent in my pride, I found it better than to stare at the ground under a certain someone's glare.
So with that said, I grasped the nearest sponge and prepared to attack the urine-noodle concoction.
Except I never even had the chance to make a battle cry. Before the sponge could be stained, my hand was caught in midair by none other than Kaiba.
At my questioning look, he grunted, "Leave it. The maids will clean it up."
"Oh." It wasn't the most intelligent thing I've said, but then again, what possible response was there?
He's still holding my hand.
For a moment, my body seemed to have entered a malfunction state as Kaiba's long fingers clasped around my own. It was quite strange, actually. I had never expected someone as….aggressive (to put it lightly) as Kaiba to have such soft skin. Tissue soft. Baby soft. Those pale digits contrasted sharply against my dark tan ones, yet still gave the colors a calm aura, kind of like the abstract art in Domino's art museum. Meanwhile, the sponge sat quite contently between our palms as it publicized its joy with emotional tears.
The cool droplets from the inorganic object rolled down my arm, snapping my attention away from the sudden musings. Just as I opened my mouth to ask exactly why my hand was still seized, Kaiba immediately dropped it and turned away. The sponge fell to the ground none too kindly, voicing its pain with a loud 'splat!'
I watched, confused, as the brunette retreated out the kitchen door. It's probably my wild paranoia and imagination at work, but somehow, I don't think Kaiba would have held just anyone's hand.
~*~
The pizza came rather early – that, or my biological clock's due for a check up. After the hand holding incident, Kaiba and I seated ourselves at opposite ends of the table, unwilling to be conversational whatsoever. Well, the first part would have been true if the table hadn't been so ridiculously large. Really, how pragmatic is a twenty-foot long piece of wood in the middle of a room? Don't people realize that some diners may want to avoid other occupants at the table with desperate need, but still be in reach of the holy, sustaining thing called "food"? Obviously not. Or else I wouldn't be sitting six feet next to the only other person here.
A long time ago, I use to think that having short limbs gave me more agility, granted that there'd be no hindrance of clumsy, lengthy body parts. But now, I wish for my arms to be just a _tad_ longer so that I may reach the pizza box with as little contact with Kaiba as possible.
I don't know why….I was never this withdrawn, this reticent, this _shy_ around my rival. I have a sneaky suspicion the brief touch of hands had something to do with this, but it was simply a gesture for me to stop cleaning. Maybe the reaction was drawn from the fact that Kaiba touched me willingly? Of course, I could be wrong and most likely am; Kaiba – CEO of a multi-billion corporation – softening at the sight of his long-time adversary who he expresses the most enmity for? Right….you get my point.
Sighing inwardly (since sighing aloud would be considered bad table manners and gain attention), I bit into the everything-but-mushroom pizza. Funny….I never knew Kaiba had a dislike for mushrooms; personally, I think they're alright, though you wouldn't find them at the top of my food chain.
It's just like me to notice these little, irrelevant details. I highly doubt anyone, including Kaiba himself, would care if the CEO frowned upon mushrooms. As I swallowed and opened my mouth for another bite, yet another extraneous feature caught my attention: Kaiba had a smudge of sauce on the corner of his mouth. No, really, I'm not joking. The red paste just clung there, blending in with the rose colored lips. It was very enticing, the sauce or the lips, I'm not quite sure. Hold up….it must be the sauce since I'd need to see a therapist if I (or anyone, for that matter) found anything of Kaiba remotely attractive.
The tomato concoction still hung stubbornly to the other's pale skin. Soundlessly, it was laughing at me, crying out, "I'm closer to Kaiba than you are!" Well, guess what, you man-made, undeserving, red mush. I don't want to be near that arrogant bastard anyway!
And I must have some serious brain problems if I'm arguing with an unanimated object.
But it's just so frustrating to have that drip of red stare at you! Sure, I could look away and mind my own pizza, all the while indirectly admitting defeat to the sauce for not being able to retaliate for its taunts. Or I could take a napkin and wipe that silly paste out of existence and save my breath.
Kaiba fixed me with an odd stare, and for a moment I thought he had overheard my plan for sauce annihilation. When his gaze didn't waver, I asked, "What?"
"Why did you do that?"
"Do what?" Besides threaten tomato sauce.
Cobalt eyes practically opened a portal to Antarctica at that question, as if whatever I did was the most obvious thing in the world and I was just playing dumb. Instead of answering, Kaiba glanced at my hand. Following his gaze, I found….oh.
Wadded up in the center of my palm was a tissue. No, that's not the disturbing part. It was the red stain _on_ the tissue that created the shock. I blushed and suddenly found my plate very interesting; this wasn't the first time my body has betrayed me.
When Kaiba didn't receive an explanation, he simply returned to devouring the rest of the pie. This lack of demand for reasons left me slightly bewildered; you'd think someone as persistent as a CEO would chase you to no end until his curiosity's been satiated.
Shrugging and silently thanking whatever god for this streak of luck, I deemed it best to continue on with dinner.
~*~
(1) The omelet recipe was from a web page (URL forgotten….gomen); I do not own it.
~*~
YK: Sorry the chapter's short….I guess it'd be considered half a chapter. *promises the next chappie will be twice as long* The next scene just didn't seem to fit in with the pizza plot….Oh, and about the whole pizza and sauce thing. This was never in the original plan; I just added it in for fun^_^
~*~
Next time:
-Yami is forced to learn the waltz
-Seto takes Yami out for dinner^_^
-New character makes an entrance (guess who!)
-More intimate moments :)