Little Star

Chapter Four.

"I'm surprised you're out of bed."

"Unless you have painkillers on you, shut up." Nausea and a headache give me a spine.

Surprisingly, Kaiba – Seto Kaiba – reached inside of his suit jacket, extracted a thin leather wallet, and with his elegant fingers drew out of that a small foil packet. He tucked the wallet back inside with one hand and tossed the packet at me with the other.

It was so unexpected that small glint of silver almost went over the balcony I was leaning against. I'm not the best at catching things even in my good moments, let alone when I have a glass of sprite in one hand. "You are a lifesaver."

"They're only ibuprofen."

I quickly popped out the two little white tablets and downed them with my drink. "Anyway, if I didn't get out of bed, this two thousand dollar dress he bought would have been sitting forlornly in the wardrobe."

I bit the inside of my cheek. Not a spine. They turned me into a bitch. Though sometimes it can be the same thing, I suppose.

Kaiba's expression didn't even flicker. He turned and leaned with his back against the carved marble edge of the balcony, slouching, propping himself up with his hands. He stared into the ballroom I had my back to.

We stood like that for a few moments, in silence. I watched the cars and their bright headlights going up and down the street. They moved like points of light on a long, wriggling caterpillar. He watched the dancers in the ballroom, probably fluttering as I had last seen them in their bright dresses, making light-hearted comments - hoping to impress whoever they were commenting to.

"He's still schmoozing that software developer."

I glanced sideways at Kaiba's profile, pale and glowing in the darkness, like it managed to absorb all of the lights that leaked from inside. Was he trying to reassure me that Duke hadn't noticed my absence?

"I'm sorry about last night," I said, eventually.

"I'm sure you are," he said, looking down at me. He seemed amused. Seto Kaiba, laughing at my expense. Well, laughing inside. The outside didn't show more than a quirk of those pout-ready lips.

"You know what I mean."

"I'm sure it was Mokuba's fault to begin with."

My forehead creased. "You sound sure about a lot of things. Actually, I was the one who invited him to work."

"Mokuba in the workplace can be extremely hazardous," he said solemnly.

I laughed softly and he looked away, back into the ballroom, as if he was surprised I'd actually found him funny.

I shook my head. "I should have guessed you'd be here."

"Yes, well, my deep emotional attachment to the crusade against deep-sea net trawling is well-publicised."

I think I sprained something down inside to prevent myself from bursting out laughing, for two reasons. Firstly, because laughing at Kaiba's stoic media persona might offend him. Secondly, I ain't no twittering fangirl; I didn't have to laugh nervously at everything he said. Anyway, I wasn't sure if he was only so funny because my head and stomach were both still swimming – lovely, synchronised patterns. Anything to distract myself.

"Working yet?"

"…Sorry?"

"The painkillers," he said patiently.

"Oh. Nope."

"You could always try some of the vodka punch, instead."

I took a deep breath. "If you mention any kind of alcoholic beverage again, I think I'll be sick." Here I had been thinking maybe he wasn't pure evil.

"We do seem to be crossing paths a lot lately." Kaiba pushed off the balcony and stood facing me.

"I'm not stalking you," I assured him. "I would have been facing the executioner's block if I hadn't come."

"Yes, well, you are photogenic." He stared at me.

I couldn't tell if was a compliment or an insult, or both. He had practically just called me a trophy girlfriend, but there was no hidden tone to his voice. It was husky and honest.

I toyed with the straw in my glass – now empty. "I did owe him…"

"Why?" Kaiba said, his tone surprisingly aggressive. "Because he bought you a dress?"

His face was blank, but I'd wager mine wasn't. I think it was wide-eyed and glaring.

"No! Because I stayed out all night and didn't call him!"

"Did he wait up for you?"

"No."

"Did he call your phone?"

"No."

Somehow Kaiba had gotten closer to me. He was standing looking down into my eyes. I placed one hand over my stomach, uneasily.

"Did he even notice you weren't there, before he woke up to go to work?"

"What's your problem?" I shouted suddenly.

His reply was awfully calm in contrast. "I want to know why you're doing with my brother."

I blinked. "…What?"

He stared at me, almost impassive, a hint of blue fire steadily burning behind his eyes.

I began to blush for no reason other than his scrutiny. Then an idea occurred to me. My jaw dropped and flapped for a moment. "I already have someone to buy me ridiculous dresses that cost as much as my tuition, Kaiba!"

I tried to flee but he was standing in the way. I brushed against his jacket - it smelled like cinnamon. He grabbed my arm.

"Let go!"

"I apologise."

"I said let GO!" I yanked my arm, almost wrenching it out of its socket rather than his hand.

My head throbbed from the shouting.

He stiffened and slowly released me. I looked up – the other ball-goers were staring at our balcony. All three hundred of them, including the one photographer with exclusive rights to the charity gala. He was now furiously snapping his shutter release, looking far more excited than he had earlier shooting me, Duke and the benefit's organiser.

Ah yes. My date. He pushed through the crowd in his black suit. The blood red colour of his shirt suddenly seemed to leap forward, ominous, and I shrank slightly. Duke's eyes were furious and green.

"Serenity?" he said, his voice much calmer than he looked.

"I'm sorry," I stammered, hating myself for it. "We were just talking."

He bit his lip and I knew he was actually biting down on some very unhappy words. Probably along the lines of This guy brings you home at six am and now you're grappling with him on a dark secluded balcony and shouting in front of photographers! What are you thinking, Serenity? They were the words I was shouting at myself, inside.

Duke swallowed, then flashed a white-toothed smile at the room. "Hey, you know what they say about a redhead's temper."

A few people giggled. The tension seemed about to dissipate, gawkers almost ready to go back to their own conversations, when he offered a long flute to me. "Here," he said amiably. "I bought you a glass of champagne, sweetheart."

My stomach lurched. I had time to mutter, "Ohmygod," before my hands flew to my mouth, and I flew past him, my dress billowing – knocking the glass he held, in the process. From the corner of my eye, I saw the champagne arch onto his shirt – as I ran I heard the glass shatteron the floor.

Like a very sick Cinderella, I traversed the large hall in seconds and launched myself into the ladies' room.

I don't know how long I'd been sitting in the cubicle with my forehead pressed against the clean, cool partition wall. I'd been huddled on the floor for a long time with the jade green skirts of my dress pooled around me. I listened to the women come in and out, chattering and fixing their already-flawless make up.

Every time I thought about standing up and trying to regain my dignity, the fabric of my dress reminded me of Duke's eyes. Just remembering about how angry they'd looked made me feel a little queasy.

But my stomach felt better when it was empty – even my head began to feel better, after a while, although certainly not due to the painkillers - they hadn't had enough time to be digested. It wasn't really the hangover that kept me in there. It was the thought of walking back out where several hundred people could whisper about me as I walked past, and assess me - and one of them with a camera could try to turn his little photo spread into a narrative with a nice 'after' shot for its conclusion.

The lush bathroom wasn't a bad place to hang out. Complete with ornate gilded mirrors and maroon velvet seats – a vaguely French ornamental style, too opulent, yet comforting; like being enveloped by some kind of extravagant bower. I didn't even mind sitting where I was; it was immaculate. Certainly better than the alternative.

It wasn't Duke that came to find me.

The women outside my door shrieked and I heard their high heels tapping across the floor like the rat-tat-tat of tiny, ineffectual guns. Then there was only one set of heavy footsteps. The chunky soles of a pair of boots, almost masked by long formal pants, appeared at the bottom of my door.

It swung open. I stared stubbornly at his shoes.

Unfortunately, Kaiba thwarted my plan by crouching down. "Your boyfriend left."

I sighed, and met his blue gaze. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"Well, someone had to tell you to stop waiting for him to come and rescue you."

"I'm not," I snapped.

"I see. And exactly what are you doing in here?"

I felt my jaw stubbornly set itself.

"Did you plan to hide until morning?"

"What are you doing here?" I countered. "Did you decide to come and rescue me instead? Do you have some kind of hero complex that drives you to repeatedly bail me out of things?" My tone was biting.

He stood. He was a tower in a black suit. I squinted up at him.

"If you must know, I came to apologise."

"You did that already."

"I don't recall you accepting."

I sighed. "Fine, apology accepted. You can go away now."

He remained standing in front of me. I pushed myself off the ground and waited for him to step aside. He did, and I walked out of my small rectangular safebox.

"Coulda offered me a hand up."

"You didn't need one," he observed dryly.

"You know what, Kaiba – " I saw his face reflected in the mirror. Its expression was too smug.

"What?"

I stopped to fix one of the pins that had come loose in my red hair, tucking a stray curl back into the high bunch.

Then I matched his gaze once more. "If you want to hang out with your brother, maybe you should do more than just WORK with him, and not waste your time accusing me of luring him away for the sake of your precious money."

An open look of surprise blossomed onto his face. It gave me the courage to continue.

"For your information, I happen to LOVE my boyfriend and I don't ASK him to buy me things, he does it because he wants me to look nice and he's very busy so he needs his sleep!"

It came out more rushed than I'd intended. It came out less confident that I'd intended.

"You – "

"And if I was hanging out with your brother on one single night it's because he's a nice guy and he seemed lonely and so was – "

I was flushed again. I waited for the inevitable consequences of my outburst. Nothing seemed to be happening, so I bent over the sink and splashed my face with water, trying to calm down. No horrifying wrath descending upon me while that happened.

I dried my face on one of the soft towels provided. Still nothing. I looked back up.

Kaiba didn't seem angry. He had a thoughtful expression on his face. It merely served to reinforce the secret theory of my teenage years: that he had somehow deprogrammed himself of real human emotion. (Of course, teenage me also secretly told myself that the one emotion he had left behind was a lust for redheads. Oh Serenity, your firey hair has reawakened my cold, dead soul!)

The faucet behind me was dripping. I hadn't turned it the whole way off.

I don't think anyone can figure that man out. If I'd somehow hit a sore spot, it was more due to anger and luck than any psychological analysis. I already felt bad for saying it –maybe the perky, optimistic Serenity isn't entirely gone.

"I'll give you a ride home."

Is it possible that everyone else out there is just as messed up as me?

"Okay."

I silenced the noisy tap, and met Kaiba at the door to the ladies' room. To my surprise, he guided me out in front of him, his hand touching lightly on the small of my back as I passed him.

In that moment, he murmured something: "Who would tell you that you needed an expensive dress to look good?"

A peace offering, maybe. Or perhaps the cynical bastard just prefers tacky French maid outfits.

AN: Blah? Serenity seems entirely OOC in this chapter, huh? But there are reasons for her being the way she is (other than extreme hang-overedness) which hopefully will come through as my story goes along – speaking of which, sorry for the delay. No promises about the speediness of the next chapter. To those who read and reviewed the last one, I adore you. Hope you can live with the angst in here rather than the hijinks of the last chappy.