Moneyshipping (Kaiba Seto/Kaiba Seto)

. . .

Nights alone were the worst.

Most nights found Seto working until the morning, or until he passed out at his computer screen—a sleep so deep that he did not dream, didn't even stir when Isono drew a blanket over his shoulders. Others, when Seto actually laid down on the couch or even the bed, found Mokuba sneaking through a door and burrowing his way under Seto's arm, dragging a blanket over the pair of them—probably from a bad dream of his own, or just a childhood desire to not sleep alone.

It was the nights when Mokuba was a friend's, or Isono was off, and Seto was alone in the house, that were the worst.

Those were the nights that Seto would find himself alone with the only person he couldn't stand the company of—himself.

He wasn't sure if it was dreams, hallucinations, or something else entirely. At the edge of sleep, he would see them—or rather, himself. A younger him, ten years old, eyes already closing off, lips already turning down into a scowl. A slightly older one, in a stupid red coat with fluffy trim that made him look like a fucking pimp, with a twisted grin that hid the shattered psyche beneath. Or worst, the mirror of himself, the him of now.

How have you changed from them? The mirror seemed to whisper, gesturing to the others, the boy with a heart gone cold, the teen with a smile grown twisted, the others in between. What makes you think you're any fucking different now?

What makes you think you're better?

I don't, he wanted to think back, but his thoughts felt frozen and choked. I'm...I'm not.

They'd circle him. Shadowy sharks of the past, just waiting for him to slip. Waiting for another mistake, another thing they could throw against him. Look at how you've failed. Look at how worthless you still are.

Those nights were the worst.

At least, until...until the last one showed himself.

The youngest one—himself, before the world had stolen what little love for life that he had, a young boy with a sparkle of excitement still in his eyes and hands still full of sand, the sand where he had built the sloping towers that had been the first KaibaLand.

The nightmare wouldn't stop until the youngest one took his hand. Looked up at him. Smiled.

Look, he would say. Look at all of the good things you did.

And then he would tug on his hand. Pull himself into the dream corridors of KaibaLand, of the mobs of dream children who laughed and chased each other. The buses from the orphanage that he had paid for their admission, eyes wide and sparkling to see the roller coasters, the dueling arena where they got to learn how to play, the swooping forms of the Duel Monster statues.

He would turn to himself and he would smile.

Look, he would say. We're already better, right?

Seto would wake up with tears in his eyes.

The nights alone could turn out all right, he supposed.

. . .

A/N: I cannot fucking believe this exists and that my own two eyes had to see it added to the list. Whatever. I did my best with this introspective shit. Returning to scheduled ships, next chapter is Monarchshipping (Atem x Yami Yugi).