I Dreamed A Dream

Originally going to be a one-shot, but I decided this needs a few chapters.

Possibly some random tense changes. I tend to do that accidentally.

Warning: This fic contains shonen-ai, naughty words more likely than not, and has characters that are not mine. Obviously, this is so, or else this fic wouldn't be in would it?


Kaiba Seto sits on the grave, impatiently looking around. Why had they told him to come here? Of all places, they asked him specifically to sit on his grave. Well, not to sit on his grave, exactly, but Seto always felt better when sitting so close to him. Yuugi did not like it, but what did he care about Yuugi's opinion?

The letter had said some strange things. Something about rebirth, something about love and a whole load of crap about Jounouchi. Yet, here he was, waiting. What had it been about that letter that had convinced him to come? He did not know. But anything even slightly about Jounouchi made him feel like crap, and he wanted the feeling gone. Now.

It has been months. He has managed to avert the sad mourners that want to envelope him, even Yuugi, Honda and Anzu. Can they not understand that he does not want to dwell in his memory? Seto would much rather never have met Jounouchi, and never have to feel this burning pain in his chest, every day. But they are the type to say At least we got to know him.

Seto just wants this nagging thing gone. He is not in control when he is mourning, and he likes control. He controls his company, he controls his lackeys, and he controls himself. Except, lately, Jounouchi's been controlling him, with his death.

"Damn you, Jounouchi. Just get back into your grave, and stop interfering with my life!" He slams his fist into the dirt, and decides, quite suddenly, that whatever whoever sent the letter has to say to him, he does not want to hear it. He pushes himself up, and spins around, brushing some dirt off his coat.

And bangs head on into someone. "Fuck!" He exclaims, looking up to glare at the stranger and ask him exactly what he thinks he's doing? But all the words that were on the tip of his tongue a second before run back, screaming, down his throat, and hide somewhere in his intestines, never to come out.

"Hey, Seto," Jounouchi says quietly, his voice rather raspy, and grins his lopsided, easy-going grin. Seto just looks at him, wide-eyed and for the first time in his life, scared out of his mind with terror.

"You are dead," he answers, his voice shaking, no matter how steady he tries to make it. He balls his hands into fists in an attempt to stop himself from shaking.

"Do I look it?" Jounouchi looks down at himself, a happy glint in his eyes, and a lets out a small laugh. Instead of saying more, he reaches out with a cold—he's so cold—hand and takes Seto's. Seto finds himself stiffening, but he does not pull way.

"You feel it." Seto does not want the apparition—because that is all it can be—to come any closer.

It does anyway. It chills Seto's very soul to feel Jounouchi's breath against his neck, after spending so much time convincing himself that he will never feel such a thing again. A small gasp escapes his lips without his permission, and he feels himself getting irritated at such a lack of control.

"Kaiba Seto, you have no idea how much I've missed you . . . " Even with skin so cold, Seto cannot help but enjoy the feelings that his nuzzling gives him.

"No!" Seto cries, suddenly, his brain finally catching up with him. Katsuya Jounouchi is dead. This strange creature in front of him cannot be Jounouchi because the real one is underground, dead as a doornail.

Jounouchi's eyes fill up with shock and hurt. But he looks so real. How can someone create the emotion and passion Jounouchi put in everything he did? How can someone recreate those golden locks and constantly fall into his eyes? Yet, somehow those features and actions are there. As Jounouchi leans over again—to kiss him?

Seto pulls away from him completely and turns away. "What are you?" He hisses at him. He doesn't want to look at Jounouchi anymore. It makes his heart beat faster than usual just seeing him—or his image—again, and his hands are sweating, and he hates it. He hates looking at him because he loves it so much, and he's missed it so much.

"You know what he is. He's your lover, Katsuya Jounouchi." He spins around, and Jounouchi—no, the creature—is gone. In his place there stands a tall man in a black suit. He's standing so perfectly still, Seto almost misses him.

"Katsuya is dead," he replies stiffly. Steady, Seto, steady. Don't let him convince you otherwise. You were at the wake, you were at the funeral. You saw the crying friends and family, the taut expressions and puffy eyes.

"He's only dead because you want him to be. But-" he pauses, and a small chuckle is heard. "If you desire otherwise . . .there are ways to bring him back." Neither of tehm move. There is no need to. This stranger seems to know him enough so that he can guess what's going on in Seto's head. Doubts are fluttering around his brain, and he knows that this man is wrong, based on every bit of logic Seto has. Yet there's a tiny bit of him that wants to believe this man. You know, the same part that would like to believe in fairies. So, apparently, it's a very small part.

"That's impossible."

"Really?" He's gotten closer. How? Was Seto so occupied with his thoughts that he didn't notice the man moving? It doesn't seem likely. He's the attentive sort. "Says the man who has managed to make virtual creatures real."

"But they aren't. You can shut them off with a switch of a button. Real, live beings don't work that way." He crosses his arms over his chest. This conversation is over.

"Neither do emotions." This man is annoying. What gives him the right to speak of Kaiba Seto like this? Like they are more than mere strangers. He has nothing to speak to him about. Without another word, he spins around and begins to walk away.

"It is normal to miss him. And, just a bit of advice, from one genius to another—well, never mind, I've thought of a more inventive way of giving it to you." Seto would turn around and give the man a glare, but he knows that the strange won't be standing there anymore.

So he walks home in silence, abandoning his chauffeur and limo for a quiet, thoughtful stroll. His chauffer sits there for about three hours before going home, incidently. Seto doesn't even give the poor mana thought, unfortunately.

What can he make of the events that had developed? He cannot forget about it, just as he cannot forget the linger sensation of soft lips on his skin. The memories are making his pulse race, but he forces himself to think logically. It is physically impossible for anyone to bring the dead back to life.

The man had also mentioned KaibaCorp's virtual technology for a reason. He must mean he has a virtual method of doing such a thing. But any company—or man, if that is the case—that has the ability to do anything even close to what he's suggesting, would be rich. Why would he need Seto? No one owes him any favors because Seto is rarely kind enough to do anything to justify a need for a favor.

But Seto allows himself to briefly pretend he will listen to the man's offer.

The Jounouchi that the man creates won't be the man he's grown used to. It may be close, but there will be flaws. After all, he's simply programming, in the end. Is Seto desperate enough to accept that?

Damn this angst. Damn, damn, damn. Once again he wishes he could purge Jounouchi completely from his memory. Then he could back to his life, hectic as it may be, without this weight on his shoulders all the time.

Mokuba is sleeping when Seto walks into the mansion. Or at least he better be, Seto thinks to himself, if he knows what's good for him. Seto settles himself into an armchair in the nearest room, and makes an attempt to just relax. He wants to give himself a pat on the back for lasting more than thirty seconds sitting still, doing nothing.

Maybe he should go out, take another walk.

And do what, exactly? Think some more about the absurdity that had suddenly become his life? No thank you. He could always drown himself in liquor. That always seems to work on the television shows people watch, right? He's about to walk to the kitchen when he realizes he doesn't have beer. He had only begun to buy it in the first place because of Jounouchi—and obviously there was no need for it anymore.

"Arrrrrrgggggg," Seto growls as he stalks upstairs. Sleep sounds nice. Sleep sounds perfect, in fact. That is, if he can get any at all. Maybe some good luck will come his way and some axe murderer will cut him up in his sleep.

LINE

It's the next morning. Barely. If you looked at the horizon you'd see just about half the sun. That is, if you're even looking outside the huge window in your office, which Seto is not.

He's typing furiously, making sure he beats down any thoughts that are not work-related. If thoughts about Jounouchi and a tiny inner Seto were to have jousting match, Seto would probably cheat and shoot a rocket at the Jounouchi-thoughts in his near-crazed desire to defeat them. Once again, though, that isn't the case.

The little inner Seto is simply beating the Jounouchi-thoughts with a stick.

"Someone is here for you." His secretary's voice sounds shaky. It hasn't been shaky since that first month and half she'd spent at her job.

Seto isn't stupid enough to ask himself the typical, Who could it be. And then be shocked as he opens the door and sees who it is. He has a pretty good guess who it is and he is determined not to be shocked. So when he pushes open the big double doors leading into his office angrily, and has to swallow a gasp in surprise, he's annoyed.

He's more shocked, though, than annoyed, though. Because he realizes why his secretary was so shaken.

Picture this: For months on end, a handsome, charming, clumsy guy regularly visits your boss's office, and comes out with his hair ruffled, and his eyes a happy sort of glazed. Then ka-blam he's dead. Then, boom, he appears again—after the funeral and everything—right in front of you. Would you run away screaming, or shakily announce to your boss he has a visitor?

You would run away wouldn't you? But she didn't. That is why she is Kaiba Seto's secretary—and has a nice car—and not you.

"Hey," Jounouchi grins as he swaggers over, hands in his pants pockets, and hair a usual mess. "Did you have a good night's rest."

"Get out of here," Seto hisses at the apparition. It's not an apparition, and Seto knows this. But what does he care? Apparition is a good word for a man who should be dead.

Jounouchi frowns, and slumps over slightly, his unconscious habit when his self-esteem is lowered a tab. "What? I haven't done anything."

"You're not Katsuya, and you know it. You're not the puppy." Seto cannot believe he let those embarrassing words out of his mouth. He's not blind, he sees people 'subtly' pausing to watch the show. Oh god, the puppy? That was a private phrase. Stupid, stupid virtual thing.

"You know, if you're going to act like a prick, I'll just leave. I didn't come here to be insulted." He really does look annoyed. Can he do that? Jounouchi turns his back on Seto, but only briefly. He looks back at Seto, his eyes still angry. "Oh, yeah. He told me to tell you, that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Then off his goes, and Seto is left standing there, confused, angry and angst-filled . . .again. Damn, damn, damn.

He looks at his secretary, and mutters through clenched teeth, "I need cookies." Then he rushes back into his office before she can respond. The saddest part about the whole affair is that the secretary doesn't even have to ask. She picks up the phone, calls up Seto's favorite bakery, and makes the usual order.