Title: Impossible Dreams
Author: Ceresi
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Drabblefic.
The office was the perfect image of serenity; dust motes floating through the air, books and binders neatly arranged on shelf and desk. Sunlight from a dying day poured through the window and over the carpeted floor.
The door opened, admitting two young men. Distorted shadows sprawled across the floor as one went to the desk, as the other crossed his arms and hovered near the exit.
"What is the meaning of this, Kaiba?" the second boy asked. Orangish light flared over his cheekbones and bizarre hair, left his eyes shadowed. He was distinctly ominous, like an ancient king, maybe.
"The question is, what do you want?" Kaiba leaned comfortably against his desk, anything but relaxed.
"What do I want," the boy repeated. It wasn't a question.
Kaiba nodded.
In a deeply thoughtful voice, the boy said, "I would like it if Joey passed his next Chemistry test."
A moment of silence followed this; Kaiba moved to speak, but he continued. "I would like it if Tristan stopped humming that obnoxious song; and if it stopped getting so cold. Maybe my history teacher should retire -- yes, I would like that. And --"
"Shut up," Kaiba snapped, his eyes flashing. "This isn't a joke. Tell me what you want."
The boy's eyebrows rose in idle amusement. "I just did."
"What you want from me!" Kaiba's fist came down hard on the desk, rattling a small photo in it's frame (a boy, violet-eyed and black haired, grinning wildly, a blur of stripes and yellow vest). "You've saved my life too many times for common courtesy. I want to know --"
"Ah," the boy said, finally understanding --
"-- what you want from me! Tell me now so you can leave."
"I don't want anything from you." The boy half-smiled. "I didn't save you so that I could blackmail you."
Kaiba looked disgusted. "Stop being coy," he snapped. "No one does anything for free, you're clever," he spat the word like an insult, "enough to realize that."
"Am I?"
Kaiba growled.
"Fine." The boy crossed half of the distance between them; his eyes flared crimson as the light caught them. "You want to know what I want from you? I want you to live."
Taken aback, Kaiba lifted his chin, but said nothing.
"Just to live. Change nothing. I want you to look after Mokuba, to invent your holograms and your dueling equipment. I want you to build your theme parks, and live." He paused. "Live. That's not too hard, is it?"
Kaiba bristled at the condescending tone. "What game are you playing?"
"Nothing," the boy said. He turned to go.
"You're a fool," Kaiba said slowly. The boy stopped at the door, back stiff, eyes wide and almost . . . unhappy? "If you think that this will win me over to your side, turn me into one of your insipid little friends -- a fool." He paused; a lazy, wicked smile crossed his face. "I don't like you. I never have. And one day, I will humiliate you utterly in defeat, and take every one of your most powerful cards from you."
The boy looked over his shoulder at him. Derision and contempt dripped from the sneer, the aloof posture -- the boy's gaze lingered on his hands, his long legs, the fringe of his hair, his blue eyes.
"We all need our impossible dreams," he said, voice low and almost melancholy. He left.