Aria: Hello all! After a bit of a hiatus (damn that writer's block!), I've come up with a new idea for my favorite couple, Seto and Jou. For those of you out there who can't stand reading another Seto/Jou fic, well, I suggest you either leave now or do yourself a favor and gouge out your own eyes, because it isn't going to stop me from writing Seto/Jou.
Bakura: *grumbles* You stole my line.
Aria: *looks back* Oops. Sorry.
Bakura: *grumbles* Like anyone would find YOU intimidating.
Aria: Well...some people do.
Bakura: You're joking.
Aria: Yes. Anyway, here's my disclaimer. I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, and I probably never will. Unless those plans for world domination work out...
Marik: Shut up and write.
Aria: Okay, fine. The premise for this story is that even though it IS a Seto/Jou fic, there's no law saying it has to be a clichŽd Seto/Jou. Ergo, none of this Seto rescuing Jou from his horrible family life, etc. There's a lot of merit in some of those fics, but I'm not interested in exploring that option. Rather, maybe Seto is the one who needs to be rescued. After all, he was abused as a child, then had to take on the company all by himself, and, let's face it, the boy is so repressed it's amazing he can still function. So, enjoy. And beware high ratings for angst/suicide imagery/possible lemons.
Chapter 1 Routines
The wind whipped around him, dragging at his arms, his legs like a lover, teasing at his coat, pulling at his clothes. How easy to just fall, to let go into the loving cold wind, out and away and down and out and down...
"Oh god."
The sheets were tangled around his legs, wrapped securely around his waist. The silky feel of fabric was binding him, enfolding him---no. He levered himself up onto his hands, sitting up in the dark, and ran his hand back through sweaty, sleep-mussed hair.
Too hot.
No wonder he was having nightmares, in this heat. He could feel his heart just starting to slow back down, thudding heavily in his chest.
He disliked heat. It made him lose control. He much preferred things to be cold, calm, iced over and solid. He got up and walked over to the window, unlatched it, pushed it out and took a deep breath of the icy air that rushed in. He stayed in front of the window until he could feel his skin cooling, could feel his blood slow its mad rush through his body, felt his mind slow from its previous panic and return to the cool darkness.
He collapsed back on his bed and threw the sheets back over himself, cool, now, from air flowing over them. His eyes closed, and his breathing steadied. In the morning, it would be a fuzzy idea of something that might have happened in the deep of night, and he would give it no thought.
And he would give that dream no thought as well.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Wake up, the alarm shrieked, beeping away steadily louder and louder. He snaked his hand out from under the covers and searched blindly for the OFF button. He pressed it, and the room went silent. Blue showed sleepily between cracked eyelids as he looked over toward the alarm.
Six.
He moved his hand back under his pillow, wishing for time to turn back so he could sleep more, but when he looked again, the only change was that it was now 6:03 instead. He groaned into his pillow and shook himself up, supporting himself with one hand while the other rubbed his eyes and ran through his hair. He got up, padded across the room to his dresser.
Splash.
The cold water shocked him at first, as always, but he kept moving, exhaling clear bubbles of air into the blue pool water. One lap. Four laps. Ten laps. Sixteen. Twenty.
He hung by an arm at the side of the pool and checked the time. Almost six-thirty. He hoisted himself up and out, dripping and shivering even in the heated pool area, grabbed a towel.
Showered, dressed, and fully awake, he walked down the long hallway and knocked at a door.
No answer.
He knocked harder and opened the door a crack.
A muffled groan and the small clump of sheets and comforter flipped over. He smiled.
"Time to get up, Mokuba."
"No way," came the sleepy answer. "I've got another fifteen minutes. I think."
"Not a chance, little brother," he said. "Breakfast will be ready when you get up and get dressed. It's past seven already."
"Mmph."
He grinned and closed the door.
"You and your schedules," Mokuba said, adding a sausage to his plate. "I bet you have this place better run than most governments."
"Very probably," Seto replied. "But they only have to deal with the grand scheme of things, whereas I am faced with the near-impossibilty of getting you out of bed and to school everyday."
Mokuba grimaced at his eggs.
Stepping out of the car at the schoolyard, his coat whipped in the wind and he had a sudden sense of vertigo. The world tipped drunkenly before him, around him---his fingers tightened involuntarily on the handle of his briefcase and then---
It passed. He almost blushed, having been caught with such a weakness, but waved the driver away instead.
"Whoa!"
"What---!"
He was knocked off his feet and stumbled forward as someone tripped into his back. And judging by that yelp---
"Really, Wheeler," he said coldly, turning around and brushing his coat back into place. "If you can't control those huge feet of yours, you should learn to walk on all fours."
The boy flushed wildly. Heat, thought Seto with some amusement. See how it devours you, Wheeler. This is why you never are a match for me. That heat takes control...
He folded his arms and glared.
"Joey! Come on, we'll be late for class." He hesitated, glared back at Seto, and ran off to join his friends.
Seto almost grinned. It was just another part of the daily ritual. God forbid it skip a day.
Classes bored him. He typed through the day, handed in assignments, answered questions, but his mind was elsewhere. His business. His brother. New and interesting insults for Wheeler. He laughed to himself. A dig for every occasion. Like Hallmark cards.
Then he got the message, and a cold wind seemed to sweep the room. The vertigo was back, only this time it wouldn't leave, wouldn't leave him alone. He fought it, tried to stop it but the feeling of falling was too strong and he---
Message
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.com
From: diamente@dragongame.net
Re: problem
You're in trouble. Alice has hit the bottom of the rabbit-hole, the honey-moon is over, they're playing hardball. Get out while you can.
And a link. A link to a breaking story about the company---his company---about fraud, about insider trading, about money, about power. Not about him, personally, but if he wasn't the company, then who was he?
Mokuba. What would this do to Mokuba?
He called up the company schematics on his computer, sent a message to every employee and consultant he could think of. He had to get to the bottom of this before the press did or---
Or what? He'd be ruined? Wasn't he already ruined? Even if it wasn't true---and he knew it wasn't, because, after all, he was KaibaCorp---the media would grab onto it. The company would be tarnished. Everything he'd worked for, ever, was being systematically shot down.
The messages sent, he closed his computer and stared blankly ahead, his mind going down and around in never-ending circular thoughts.
He almost didn't notice when someone tripped over his out-stretched legs.
"Whoa---I---ow!" A thud. He noticed that his shins hurt, and he looked down, bemused. Joey sat on the floor, a look of first---panic?---in his eyes and then the usual fight flooded him with a flush. He stood up, towering over the still-seated Seto, ready to fight.
He still stood there, surprised, when Kaiba swept his computer into his briefcase, stood up, and walked quickly away without a word.
No way. No way was he going to let that arrogant prick get up and walk away after all the insults, all the fights. He ran after Kaiba, grabbed his shoulder.
"What, just going to walk off? No insults? No fights? Can't think of anything? Cat got your tongue, Mr. CEO?"
The look of fear in his eyes struck him deep. He felt it pierce like ice---it was getting hard to breathe. His ribcage felt too small. Those blue eyes fascinated him. He took a step forward, Kaiba took a step back.
He watched warily as Joey got closer. Closer. The heat was there, it would burn, he was unprotected. The last thing he could deal with was a conflict between them---he feared he wouldn't be able to win.
And he had to win.
Didn't he?
"Kaiba..."
He fled.
Aria: Okay, so...comments, please? I realize this is kind of a weird story so far, but please bear with me. I have the feeling it will have a lot of editing before it's done. Suggestions, comments, critiques are very welcome. Flames, however, I will use to heat tea-water. You've been warned.
Bakura: *grumbles* You stole my line.
Aria: *looks back* Oops. Sorry.
Bakura: *grumbles* Like anyone would find YOU intimidating.
Aria: Well...some people do.
Bakura: You're joking.
Aria: Yes. Anyway, here's my disclaimer. I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, and I probably never will. Unless those plans for world domination work out...
Marik: Shut up and write.
Aria: Okay, fine. The premise for this story is that even though it IS a Seto/Jou fic, there's no law saying it has to be a clichŽd Seto/Jou. Ergo, none of this Seto rescuing Jou from his horrible family life, etc. There's a lot of merit in some of those fics, but I'm not interested in exploring that option. Rather, maybe Seto is the one who needs to be rescued. After all, he was abused as a child, then had to take on the company all by himself, and, let's face it, the boy is so repressed it's amazing he can still function. So, enjoy. And beware high ratings for angst/suicide imagery/possible lemons.
Chapter 1 Routines
The wind whipped around him, dragging at his arms, his legs like a lover, teasing at his coat, pulling at his clothes. How easy to just fall, to let go into the loving cold wind, out and away and down and out and down...
"Oh god."
The sheets were tangled around his legs, wrapped securely around his waist. The silky feel of fabric was binding him, enfolding him---no. He levered himself up onto his hands, sitting up in the dark, and ran his hand back through sweaty, sleep-mussed hair.
Too hot.
No wonder he was having nightmares, in this heat. He could feel his heart just starting to slow back down, thudding heavily in his chest.
He disliked heat. It made him lose control. He much preferred things to be cold, calm, iced over and solid. He got up and walked over to the window, unlatched it, pushed it out and took a deep breath of the icy air that rushed in. He stayed in front of the window until he could feel his skin cooling, could feel his blood slow its mad rush through his body, felt his mind slow from its previous panic and return to the cool darkness.
He collapsed back on his bed and threw the sheets back over himself, cool, now, from air flowing over them. His eyes closed, and his breathing steadied. In the morning, it would be a fuzzy idea of something that might have happened in the deep of night, and he would give it no thought.
And he would give that dream no thought as well.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Wake up, the alarm shrieked, beeping away steadily louder and louder. He snaked his hand out from under the covers and searched blindly for the OFF button. He pressed it, and the room went silent. Blue showed sleepily between cracked eyelids as he looked over toward the alarm.
Six.
He moved his hand back under his pillow, wishing for time to turn back so he could sleep more, but when he looked again, the only change was that it was now 6:03 instead. He groaned into his pillow and shook himself up, supporting himself with one hand while the other rubbed his eyes and ran through his hair. He got up, padded across the room to his dresser.
Splash.
The cold water shocked him at first, as always, but he kept moving, exhaling clear bubbles of air into the blue pool water. One lap. Four laps. Ten laps. Sixteen. Twenty.
He hung by an arm at the side of the pool and checked the time. Almost six-thirty. He hoisted himself up and out, dripping and shivering even in the heated pool area, grabbed a towel.
Showered, dressed, and fully awake, he walked down the long hallway and knocked at a door.
No answer.
He knocked harder and opened the door a crack.
A muffled groan and the small clump of sheets and comforter flipped over. He smiled.
"Time to get up, Mokuba."
"No way," came the sleepy answer. "I've got another fifteen minutes. I think."
"Not a chance, little brother," he said. "Breakfast will be ready when you get up and get dressed. It's past seven already."
"Mmph."
He grinned and closed the door.
"You and your schedules," Mokuba said, adding a sausage to his plate. "I bet you have this place better run than most governments."
"Very probably," Seto replied. "But they only have to deal with the grand scheme of things, whereas I am faced with the near-impossibilty of getting you out of bed and to school everyday."
Mokuba grimaced at his eggs.
Stepping out of the car at the schoolyard, his coat whipped in the wind and he had a sudden sense of vertigo. The world tipped drunkenly before him, around him---his fingers tightened involuntarily on the handle of his briefcase and then---
It passed. He almost blushed, having been caught with such a weakness, but waved the driver away instead.
"Whoa!"
"What---!"
He was knocked off his feet and stumbled forward as someone tripped into his back. And judging by that yelp---
"Really, Wheeler," he said coldly, turning around and brushing his coat back into place. "If you can't control those huge feet of yours, you should learn to walk on all fours."
The boy flushed wildly. Heat, thought Seto with some amusement. See how it devours you, Wheeler. This is why you never are a match for me. That heat takes control...
He folded his arms and glared.
"Joey! Come on, we'll be late for class." He hesitated, glared back at Seto, and ran off to join his friends.
Seto almost grinned. It was just another part of the daily ritual. God forbid it skip a day.
Classes bored him. He typed through the day, handed in assignments, answered questions, but his mind was elsewhere. His business. His brother. New and interesting insults for Wheeler. He laughed to himself. A dig for every occasion. Like Hallmark cards.
Then he got the message, and a cold wind seemed to sweep the room. The vertigo was back, only this time it wouldn't leave, wouldn't leave him alone. He fought it, tried to stop it but the feeling of falling was too strong and he---
Message
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.com
From: diamente@dragongame.net
Re: problem
You're in trouble. Alice has hit the bottom of the rabbit-hole, the honey-moon is over, they're playing hardball. Get out while you can.
And a link. A link to a breaking story about the company---his company---about fraud, about insider trading, about money, about power. Not about him, personally, but if he wasn't the company, then who was he?
Mokuba. What would this do to Mokuba?
He called up the company schematics on his computer, sent a message to every employee and consultant he could think of. He had to get to the bottom of this before the press did or---
Or what? He'd be ruined? Wasn't he already ruined? Even if it wasn't true---and he knew it wasn't, because, after all, he was KaibaCorp---the media would grab onto it. The company would be tarnished. Everything he'd worked for, ever, was being systematically shot down.
The messages sent, he closed his computer and stared blankly ahead, his mind going down and around in never-ending circular thoughts.
He almost didn't notice when someone tripped over his out-stretched legs.
"Whoa---I---ow!" A thud. He noticed that his shins hurt, and he looked down, bemused. Joey sat on the floor, a look of first---panic?---in his eyes and then the usual fight flooded him with a flush. He stood up, towering over the still-seated Seto, ready to fight.
He still stood there, surprised, when Kaiba swept his computer into his briefcase, stood up, and walked quickly away without a word.
No way. No way was he going to let that arrogant prick get up and walk away after all the insults, all the fights. He ran after Kaiba, grabbed his shoulder.
"What, just going to walk off? No insults? No fights? Can't think of anything? Cat got your tongue, Mr. CEO?"
The look of fear in his eyes struck him deep. He felt it pierce like ice---it was getting hard to breathe. His ribcage felt too small. Those blue eyes fascinated him. He took a step forward, Kaiba took a step back.
He watched warily as Joey got closer. Closer. The heat was there, it would burn, he was unprotected. The last thing he could deal with was a conflict between them---he feared he wouldn't be able to win.
And he had to win.
Didn't he?
"Kaiba..."
He fled.
Aria: Okay, so...comments, please? I realize this is kind of a weird story so far, but please bear with me. I have the feeling it will have a lot of editing before it's done. Suggestions, comments, critiques are very welcome. Flames, however, I will use to heat tea-water. You've been warned.