Chapter Thirteen

'Casual' proved more difficult for Seto to put together than he'd expected. His closet was lined with racks of slacks, dress shirts, and blazers in every shade imaginable. He had drawers of ties and designer socks, rolls of leather belts, and stacks of expensive shoes and loafers.

It wasn't until Mokuba came in to see what was taking so long did he make any headway. From the back of his bureau, Mokuba found a simple black long sleeved-shirt and, hidden among the rows of slacks, as if on purpose, a single pair of black jeans. It hadn't been until Seto looked at them did he remember the items even existed. It was an outfit Mokuba insisted upon many years before, back before he'd begun his transition into moody teenagerhood. To Seto's surprise, it all still fit, though the jeans were a bit tighter than he would have liked.

At least if they ended up ruined, he wouldn't be out much from his wardrobe. Mokuba would surely insist on replacing them, but that was a bridge he was not willing to cross at that moment.

Mokuba, however, had taken the 'casual' recommendation more literally. Oversized T-shirt, loose pair of blue jeans, and worn-out sneakers Seto swore he'd thrown out… twice.

"So you two gonna neck the whole time and leave us kids to do all the work?" Mokuba asked.

Seto's hands gripped the steering wheel. He considered not answering the question as he scanned the townhouses, looking for the number on the address she had texted him. It was a pleasant little neighborhood, much better than the one she'd been in before. Calm and quiet, with the homes constructed in geometric shapes in varying shades of beige and brown grouped in three by two squares. Each one had a garage, a balcony on its second floor, and neat lines of shrubbery along the edges.

Seto turned into one of the two parking spots across from Kisa's townhouse, his embarrassment a simmering heat around the base of his neck. There was a moving truck parked outside the house, blocking the driveway. The rolling back was open, revealing an assortment of boxes, furniture, and other household items. There was movement inside, but it was too far back and too shaded to see who was there.

Mokuba rolled down his window, letting in the thick summer wind. "We ain't blind, you know. Rin asked where Kisa was and we turned around to find you two hold up in the back like a couple'a horny teens."

"I'm well aware of the state of your eyes," Seto said. "I'm here to help just as much as you are."

"Right, and you guys aren't gonna sneak off the first chance you get."

"I don't believe I asked your opinion on my sex life."

Mokuba jerked a shoulder. "I'm just sayin'. She's hot, yeah. She were my age I'd probably chase her too."

"That I didn't need to know." Seto switched off the car and got out. "Though I don't understand why you have a problem with the situation all of a sudden. You seemed perfectly content to tease me about it yesterday morning."

Mokuba followed suit. "That was before you guys decided to ignore us half the time. It's embarrassing."

Kisa emerged from the truck and Seto had to swallow whatever response had been on the tip of his tongue. Tight navy leggings hugged her lower body, its waistband just below her belly button. A black crop top clung to all the right places, leaving her midsection bare. Her hair was tied back and sweat glistened on her collarbone.

Seto's desire licked at his insides, then noticed what she was pulling from the back of the truck.

"Holy shit!" Mokuba exclaimed.

Seto didn't have the mind to chastise his language, not when Kisa was easing a motorcycle larger than her down the ramp. Chrome and leather, with pops of red and gold flames along its tank. The beast felt too large for her relatively slight frame and he imagined her looking more like a doll on a tricycle in the driver's seat. Then he remembered their last night in Berlin, how she had proven him unimaginative in his assumptions of her character. Her tattoos had been a pleasant surprise, as had been the passion and power she wielded, not just on stage, but in the bedroom. The thoughts sent a burning coil of tension tightening in his core. A desire he was becoming all too familiar with.

Kisa heeled the kickstand in place and let the machine stand on its own so she could wave them over. Mokuba tried to look like he wasn't in a hurry to stand in its presence, but the distinct awe with which he ran a hand over the supple leather seat betrayed his excitement.

"This's sweet," he said. "She yours?"

Kisa grinned. "Sure is. Finally got released from customs last week. Had her sitting in storage until I had a garage for it. You won't believe how expensive it was to get her shipped overseas on short notice."

Seto let his eyes wander her frame. "I can imagine."

She returned the favor with a smirk. "I told you I had wheels. Hey, Mokuba, you mind going inside and getting the girls? I think they got distracted."

Mokuba rolled his eyes. "Gross."

"Says the guy who was making eyes at my sister yesterday." She jerked her head towards the house. "Go on."

He flushed, but said no more as he headed, stiff-shouldered, into the house.

Seto didn't watch him go. "You're more skilled with him than I am."

"I've just had more practice." She stepped around him, close, but not too much. "Nice."

"I suppose this is what it feels like to be examined like a piece of meat."

"I would know."

She pressed against his side, the bare flesh of her midsection against his arm where he had pushed the sleeve up to his elbow. He felt the gentle tickle of her fingers trailing along the back of his thigh.

"I love your ass in these," she said. "You should wear them more often."

Yearning sizzled to a gentle burn.

"I'll consider it." Seto took her wrist and pulled her hand away. "I would stop before you make me do something reckless again. Too many eyes who know me out here."

Her voice lowered, thickened. Her head tilted up in a tempting invitation. "Maybe I like you reckless."

Her hand twisted in his grip. She locked their fingers together. Tingling fire and gooseflesh. The air seemed to hum with attraction. He wanted no more than to taste her lips again, to feel the slide of her skin against his.

Sensual. Addictive.

"They're doing it again!"

Seto jerked back. Rin stood on the small porch, hands on her thin hips and looking very proud of herself. Mokuba and Miku stepped up behind her. They took in the scene, looked at each other, then started laughing.

Seto scowled. "Why does it feel like we are the ones being treated like children?"

"I guess they find us amusing." Kisa tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "Get the garage door for me, would you?" She turned to the giggling teens. "Grab some boxes. You're not here to play peepshow."

"It's fun watching you two try to flirt," Miku said.

Kisa's voice took on a tone that sent a fresh jolt through Seto's veins. Familiar in its delivery, but with no memory of having heard it before.

"Boxes. Now."

The girls went into motion immediately, scurrying down the porch steps and into the truck. Mokuba lagged behind, looking not unlike a toddler who'd experienced a scolding for the first time. Eyes wide, brows high, and mouth agape.

Kisa watched them pass with hands on her hips, then looked up and smiled at Seto once they were all in the truck. "How about that garage?"

"Impressive," Seto said.

"Careful." She grasped the handlebars of her motorcycle and toed the kickstand up. "I might turn my mom voice on you too."

Seto followed her up the driveway. "And where does a woman with no children get a 'mom voice', exactly?"

"From Aunt Moriko."

The name tickled something at the back of Seto's mind, but he pushed the thought aside as he leaned down to open the roll-up garage door.

"She has a pretty nasty one," she continued. "Still gets me sometimes. Nothing more terrifying than hearing your first and middle name yelled up the stairs." Kisa gave an involuntary shiver as she parked the motorcycle in the center of the garage. She stepped back, crossed her arms over her chest, and gave a short nod of approval. "That'll do for now. I promised the girls a ride after dinner. Think Mokuba would want one too if you guys are still here?"

"No doubt. He was practically drooling over it."

She gave him a sly smile and winked. "I could give you a ride too if you want."

Seto was surprised at how tempting the idea was. His hands around her waist, caressing the bare skin of her stomach. Feeling the vibration through her muscles.

Wouldn't that make an amusing picture in the tabloids Monday morning?

"Better not," he said.

Her smirk only deepened. "You might like it. There's something addictive about having that kind of power between your legs." She laid a hand on his chest. "But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

The growl worked out of him before he could stop it. He took her wrist, backed her into the privacy and shade of the garage, and pressed her against the concrete wall. His mouth was demanding, needy. His free hand slid up her midsection and under her top, where his fingers met only skin. She matched his fervor with her own, twisting and tugging her arm to free herself from his grasp. When she couldn't, her other arm wrapped around his waist. She grasped a handful of his backside, squeezed, and pulled him harder against her.

The friction was sweet, but not enough.

He moaned into her mouth and pulled away, forehead falling to her shoulder. "You do this on purpose."

"Thought you knew that by now."

"Call me naive." He looked down into her hazy blue eyes. "You have no idea how tempting you are."

She licked her lips. "I might have a notion. I like this side of you. No frills. No patience. You'll have to show me more of it."

It took all of his willpower to step away from her, the warmth of her skin, the taste of her lips. "If we get the chance."

Kisa straightened her shirt. "Oh… I don't think that'll be a problem."

Miku's voice flowed into the garage, not from the outside, but through an open interior door he'd been too preoccupied to notice. "Kisa! Where d'you want this?"

"Depends," Kisa called back, "what's in it?"

"Photo albums."

"Leave them in the living room. We'll put 'em away later."

Rin peeked into the garage. "Can we look at them?"

"Not until after we get the truck unloaded."

The girl's bottom lip jutted out in a pout, not unlike the one Seto had seen her oldest sister use. "Please?"

Kisa threw Seto an exasperated look. He looked away and pressed a fist to his mouth to force down the chuckle bubbling in his throat.

"Girl," Kisa said, "that lip hasn't worked on me in years. Get your butt back to the truck."

Rin disappeared back inside.

Kisa hooked her arm with Seto's and started leading him back into the sunlight. "Come on. We better organize the masses before they start a riot."

Luckily for her, organization was one of Seto's specialties.

The girls were put in charge of the lighter boxes, each labeled with what was inside. Clothes, bedsheets, boxes of knickknacks and non-perishables, and lighter equipment which Kisa directed to be put in the basement. Seto and Mokuba were put in charge of the heavier boxes, most of which had been gifts from her aunt that had been shipped over. Kitchenware, two sets of bed frames (one twin, one full-sized), amps, and a brand new desk still in the box.

The process lasted until well into the afternoon, through a quick lunch Kisa left to pick up from a nearby cafe. With everything generally where it was supposed to be, Kisa called the rental agency and the moving truck was gone within the next hour. After it was all said and done Kisa sent the teens down the street with her credit card for ice cream and takeout. A process, she assured Seto as she leaned back against the railing of the staircase, would take the better part of an hour.

"So?" She flicked her eyes up the staircase. "What do you say?"

Kisa pushed off the railing and took one step up the stairs. Her fingers glided across the rail with the slow stroke of promise that sent a fresh twist to his desire.

Seto came up to the bottom of the stairs. "I don't know if we have the time."

"What? You've never heard of a quickie?"

He raised a brow.

She leaned over, put her mouth next to his ear, and whispered. "Pound me fast and hard, Mr. Kaiba. I've been thinking about it all Goddamn day and I'm tired of waiting."

A groan tore out of Seto's throat. "You're obscene."

"You like it." She winked. "Girl's gotta know what she wants. I ain't about to let you start looking at me like some wilting flower. That's not who I am. I know what I like, damnit, and would like you to take me upstairs and screw my brains out. Or do I have to leave you with the image of me taking care of myself while you're trying to go to sleep tonight?"

Kisa laid out on a bed, legs spread, her fingers working herself. The image was erotic.

Seto grabbed her arm and it was him who dragged her up the stairs into her bedroom. She was all but laughing the whole way. He had only enough free brain cells to wonder how she had learned what buttons to push and how to push them before he was using her body to slam her bedroom door shut. He pressed against her, ground into her. Her hands worked at his belt, his jeans. Her hands slipped down his back, under the waistband of both jeans and underwear to grasp his ass and squeeze.

Her hum vibrated against his lips. "Never got the chance to appreciate what a nice ass you've got."

"Keep waiting."

"Right." Her hands pushed his jeans down his thighs until his cock was freed. She looked down at it, eyes intense, and licked her lips. "Yeah… Fuck waiting."

Her hands wrapped around him, caressed, pumped, pulled. Seto leaned against the door, hands on either side of her head. Her palm rubbed the sensitive head and Seto leaned his forehead against hers, feeling his knees loosen. He forced his hands into motion, all but ripped the shirt off her body, and slid his hands inside her leggings. Nothing but skin met his fingers. She had to let go to help him pull them down and the loss of that warmth and pressure was agony.

"Where do you want me?" she asked.

Seto spared her bedroom a cursory glance. There was the bed, bare and unmade, big enough for the both of them. Boxes piled along the walls. A dresser with a mirror.

He looked at the dresser, then turned a curled lip on her. "I want to see if those wings can fly."

They were over to the dresser in two steps. Kisa didn't wait for his prompting. She turned her back on him and leaned forward on the dresser as far as she could go without slamming her head into the glass. Seto let his hands glide down her back, watching the ripples of muscle twitch, spasm, making those wings look alive. He rubbed himself against her, heard her moan and sigh. His fingers caressed up her thigh before slipping into her.

She was wet, needy, more than ready.

Seto reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a condom.

Kisa's eyes met his in the mirror. "Hypocrite."

He chuckled. "You caught me unprepared before." He slipped the condom on and lined himself with her. "Never again."

He pushed forward, felt her open for him. It was hot and tight and so good. Kisa's back arched. One hand pressed against the glass. Her eyes were hooded and hazy with desire, cheeks flushed and lip caught between her teeth.

No, she was no wilting flower. More like a rose, thorny and voluminous, sensual and heady.

Seto caught his own eyes and, for an instant, he didn't recognize himself. Perfectly styled hair, disheveled. Lips wet and swollen.

"Seto…" Kisa moaned, hips pushing him deeper. "Please… fuck me."

Seto grit his teeth and returned his attention where it belonged. With one hand pressing her down and the other gripping her hip, Seto did as she commanded. It was hard. It was fast. He watched with distant fascination as he disappeared inside her over, and over, and over. He slammed in and it was like they were one being. He pulled out and there was a sense of loss that was only satiated by slamming home again.

Kisa looked at him through the mirror and it was the most erotic thing. He slipped his guiding hand around her hip to tease the sensitive flesh of her clit and her eyes rolled back. Then she was pushing her hips against him, impaling herself on him. Her voice was high and wild and loud. The muscles of her back rippled and flexed, giving Seto the impression that those wings could unfurl and take flight. He ran his fingers down the length of her spine, felt her shiver and arch.

"Seto…"

He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up. Her head fell back on his shoulder. One hand still held the dresser, while the other wrapped around the back of his head. Her eyes never left his. They rocked together, staring into each other's eyes through the mirror, and Seto felt a coursing heat flow through his veins, in his chest. He took a breast in one hand and snaked the other back between her legs. She pulsed around him, tightened, turned her head, and stuck her tongue down his throat with a high keening cry.

Seto held her tight against him, as if he could meld her into his body. His thrusts were wild, unhinged until that tension in his groin released and he followed her into oblivion.

"How are you with tools?"

Seto looked up from fastening his jeans and raised an eyebrow.

Kisa rolled her eyes as she pulled her leggings back up. "Power tools, idiot."

"Proficient. Though I do tend to hire people to do that sort of work for me."

"Seems like you could hire a lot of people to do stuff for you. Why not have a driver too?"

"If I'm going to die in a car accident, I don't want it to be because of someone else's idiot mistakes."

She shrugged. "Fair enough. We'll start on my office next."

"You have an uncanny ability to order around your boss."

She smirked, eyes glinting as she raised herself to place a kiss on his jaw. "I just let my boss rail me against my dresser. I think I've earned enough points for a few more hours of manual labor."

Seto curled his arms around her, capturing her lips and leading her on a long, slow, lingering pace. Her hands slid up his arms, to thread through his hair and massage in that pleasant way that sent tingles down his spine.

"Now I remember why I agreed to this," he said.

She laughed. "Yeah, right. Mokuba pinned you into a corner long before you ever saw me naked." She draped her arms over his shoulders and leaned into him. "Admit it. You let me corral you cause I'm pretty and you like me."

The warmth that blossomed from her words spread through his veins in a tidal wave. The thought of returning to ordinary life the next day, of leaving the quiet comfort of that tiny bedroom, filled him with dread.

The basement spanned the floorplan of the townhouse, save for one corner where a tiny door had been put into an awkwardly jutting section of wall. The water heater and furnace, he assumed. The basement looked newly furnished, with clean eggshell walls and soft dark carpet. Several boxes labeled 'Kisa's Studio' had been piled against the far wall. To one side leaned the unassembled desk Seto had unloaded earlier. The toolbox sitting nearby looked new as well, filled with screwdrivers and wrenches of varying sizes.

The next half hour was lost in a whirl of power tools. Kisa had Seto mount the special hangers she would use to display her guitars on the wall next to where her desk would go. With that job done, she set about unpacking her guitars while Seto laid out the box for her desk and started laying out the pieces. There were three of them in total. The first Seto had seen before, at the bar the first night he saw her perform. The second was of a familiar style to the first, but black instead of white, with swirls of red glitter instead of blue. He expected something derivative from the last bag, with only a passing curiosity as to the shape and colors.

What she pulled out instead was a classic acoustic guitar. The rich honey lacquer faded with age, though some pieces seemed to have been replaced. The strings, the bridge, even the tuning keys could not have been more than a few years old. It was well cared for and Kisa handled it with gentle reverence. Seto didn't get a clear view of it in its entirety until she hung it in place. When she stepped away to start on the next task Seto could see a name inscribed along its bottom edge.

There was tingling at the back of Seto's mind. A pulling. He moved as if in a dream. The world went hazy. Clouded. Next thing he knew he was in front of it.

Kisa stepped up next to him, talked, but he couldn't hear her. There were sounds, distant, muffled, as if trying to come through the signal of an old wave radio.

The crackling of a fire. The gentle ebb and flow of waves along a shore. The distant hum of voices. Gooseflesh prickled his arms and he could have sworn he'd just felt the chill of a fall breeze.

He'd seen the guitar before, but where?

He knew the name, but how?

…Juro Miyoshi.

The sky was alight with sparks and glowing ash. Waves lapped against the pylons of a nearby dock in a smooth and calming rhythm. The bonfire crackled in the chill November air, creating a circle of warmth and light in which he'd made himself comfortable.

He'd been dozing, head resting on his knees, when someone laid a fleece blanket across his shoulders. He looked up, but the person's face was hazy, unfamiliar. It was a man. Slim-hipped and broad-shouldered. Sleeping draped against the man's shoulder was a tiny Mokuba, sleeping with his thumb in his mouth. The man spoke, but the speech was garbled.

Seto shook his head. "Just a little longer. Please?"

The man laughed and ruffled his hair. He said something else as he stood up and walked away.

The party was winding down. Neighbors with blurry faces left in droves carrying empty casserole dishes and platters. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. He couldn't go home yet. Not until he got to hear her sing.

Seto blinked the haze from his vision. Kisa was shaking his shoulder, staring up at him with her brows furrowed and her pretty lips frowning.

"You okay?" she asked "Your eyes went all distant again."

He put a hand to his head, rubbed at the ache in his temple. "I'm fine."

She rubbed his lower back. "Let me get you something."

"I said, 'I'm fine'."

Her hand froze, then fell away. "What's the matter? Talk to me."

Seto looked back at the name, at the instrument. It felt like he'd seen it in a dream. The deja vu was insistent, nagging. The remnants of that hazy memory were starting to fade. It felt too real.

He was cold, as if that chill breeze from the vision had manifested. His throat threatened to close against his next words, but he forced them out anyway. "Have we met somewhere before?"

Kisa's eyes went wide. There was a shine in them. Hope? Confusion? He couldn't tell which.

A door slammed overhead and a duo of female voices called down the stairs. "We're back!"

"You better not be smooching down there!" Mokuba's voice called, followed by raucous laughter.

"Kisa!" Rin's voice called. "Can we look at the albums while we eat?"

Kisa let out a soft, apprehensive laugh. "That girl doesn't forget anything, does she?" She turned and yelled back. "You get soy sauce on my pictures and all three of you are washing my floors for a week."

"Kay!"

Footsteps thundered overhead. Laughter, conversation, the sounds of drawers opening, and silverware being riffled through.

Kisa smiled at Seto, though it seemed to hold more hesitancy than usual. "Come on. We better head up and make sure they don't make a mess."

Seto caught her wrist before she could walk away. His brows creased as he examined her face. He had learned to ignore the insistent tugging at his mind and even managed to be rid of it after enough time. Now it was back in full force, stronger than it had ever been. It tingled, pulled, as if there was something he'd forgotten to do, but couldn't quite remember what it had been.

"You sure you don't want some medicine?" she asked.

"No. I want you to answer my question."

She looked away, chewing at her lip. "Later, okay?"

"Kisa."

"It's not a good time. You know, with the girls here and everything. We'll talk later."

"When? Next weekend? You're off this next week. I want my answers now."

Kisa's eyes flashed up at him, narrow and incredulous. She jerked her arms out of his grasp. "Don't talk to me like we're standing in your office, boss. This is my house and you're in my office now. If I say later, I mean later. Got it?"

She stomped away, leaving Seto standing before her wall of guitars with his heart clenched tight in his chest. Fear and dread swirled, mixed. She was walking away and he found himself reaching for her again, not out of anger or frustration, but with the anxiety that perhaps he had ruined everything.

This is your fault.

Kisa stopped at the base of the stairs and laid one hand on the railing. She seemed to sag there for a moment, shoulders falling and she let out a deep somber breath. "Look, I promise, next chance we get, I'll tell you everything." Her smile was edged with sadness, apprehension. "I just- I'm not going to see you for a week and I don't want either of us simmering over this the whole time."

"So it's true?"

"It's more complicated than that."

Miku's voice called down. "You guys don't hurry up, we're gonna eat all the fried rice!"

Kisa closed her eyes and sighed. "A bunch of animals, I swear. We better head up before all the food's gone."

Seto didn't have it in him to even chuckle. He watched her ascend the stairs, the nagging sensation pulling harder than it ever had.

Their siblings were lined up on the couch and leaning over the coffee table. The boxes that had been piled there were moved to the floor next to the couch. They picked at white cardboard containers with chopsticks and forks. A large photo album was spread open on the table, each page filled with glossy photographs. Spots of rice were scattered across the open pages. When Seto joined them in the living space, the three teens had slouched back with guilt written on their faces. Kisa was just coming back to the table with a napkin and a disgruntled pout jutting her lips.

"What did I say?" She wiped the mess away."

Rin looked into her box of sweet and sour chicken. "Sorry."

"We just finished mom and dad's wedding pictures," Miku said.

"Which means you're onto my embarrassing baby pictures." Kisa snatched up a box of beef and broccoli and a pair of chopsticks. She motioned them at Seto. "I wouldn't look if I were you. I'd lose my sex appeal if you saw me half-naked at one year old with cake on my face."

Rin perked up. "And on mom's curtains."

"Didn't need the play-by-play, Rin, thank you."

Mokuba was flipping through the pages, an open container of fried rice by his elbow. He examined each photo with interest. "I wish we had stuff like this."

"You don't have baby pictures?" Miku's head tilted in a very familiar fashion.

Mokuba shook his head. "Nah. We were adopted."

The girls looked at him, then at Seto with mute understanding. Mokuba looked up too and Seto had to look away, right into Kisa's eyes. Her chopsticks were against her lips, jaw working as she chewed her food. There was a similar look in her eyes, as if a piece had fallen into place in her mind. She smiled, dipped her chopsticks back into the box, and pulled out a glistening sliver of beef. She held it out to him.

Seto wrinkled his nose. "I would rather starve."

"Seto doesn't eat anything that doesn't come from a five-star restaurant," Mokuba said.

Seto glared at his grinning face.

Kisa hummed, stepped closer, just shy of pressing her body to his, and put her mouth next to his ear. "I'll let you pick where next time. Maybe your office… on your desk."

Even with the dread that nagged at him, she never failed to prod the right places to rile him, leaving him thinking and yearning for her. The temptation was palpable. Images played in his mind. He filed them away for another day.

If there was going to be another day.

Kisa stepped back and lifted the chopsticks again. Seto grimaced, but let her place the food in his mouth. He chewed in silence while those around him watched with bated breath.

"Too much salt," he said.

The room erupted in laughter. Seto tried to stay annoyed, tried to fix them all with a withering stare, but found himself unable. Not with the tinkling of Kisa's laughter in his ears.

"You should come over next time we have pizza." Mokuba flipped through more pages, eyes scanning the pictures between mouthfuls of rice. "I can't get him to try a slice to save my life."

"Helps that I have a bargaining chip." Kisa held a piece of broccoli in front of Seto's face. "Right?"

"You're lucky I like you," Seto said.

Kisa grinned, a warmth in her eyes that sent a sensation like warm water coursing through his veins.

"Can we go for a ride after dinner?" Rin asked.

Kisa chewed slowly, considering. "Let's finish the important stuff, then I'll pull the bike back out. We have all week to decorate and organize, but I want my kitchen together tonight."

"You cook?" Mokuba asked.

Miku snorted. "Yeah, right. Everything Kisa makes is poison."

Kisa made a flippant, dramatic gesture with her chopsticks. "I'm an artist, not a chef. You want gourmet, hire a professional. Right, Mr. CEO?"

Seto raised an eyebrow. "Takeout Chinese is gourmet?"

The laughter that followed was companionable, comfortable. Even though Kisa tried to look insulted, there was a glimmer of humor at the corners of her eyes that was brilliant and breathtaking. As Seto stood there, taking the bites she offered, his mind listed all the places he could take her, all the delights and delicacies he could show her.

A candlelit dinner overlooking the bay, with her in an elegant gown. Not sophisticated, like she usually dressed for work, something special. It would have to be a dark color. Blue or even black. The back would have to be open as well, exposing the sensual curve of her spine. The thought of other patrons staring at her, despising and appreciating the gall of wearing her tattoos bare in such a high dollar establishment, sent a small curve to Seto's lips he couldn't suppress.

"What's that look for?" Kisa asked.

"Probably thinking something dirty again." Mokuba flipped another page. "You should've seen him Friday. Couldn't concentrate to save… his…" He stared down at the page, mouth open, one hand on the corner and the other on his takeout box.

Miku leaned on his shoulder. "What's up?"

Mokuba pointed at a particular photo.

"That's Kisa's first soccer practice." She looked up at her sister. "You were… what? Five?"

"Yeah. That's when I started in U6. Means players under six years old. I stayed with it till U12, then just…" Kisa looked down, dug around her box with her chopsticks. "Just didn't wanna play anymore, you know?"

Mokuba's eyes were wide when he looked up again. His face had gone an ashy pale. "Seto. It's you."

Seto didn't understand at first, couldn't comprehend the meaning of his little brother's words, even as Mokuba turned the album around to face him. Every fiber of his being told him not to look. It was just a mistake, just a child who looked like him. How many brown-haired, blue-eyed children could there be in the world? It was impossible. But still…

He barely felt Kisa's fingers on his arm as he stepped forward to look.

The field seemed to stretch on forever. Seto's heart pounded in rhythm with his feet.

Parents, family, and friends filled the sidelines, screaming, cheering, waving their arms as if they could propel their children forward telepathically. Some probably had money running on that game. He could remember hearing some adults talking about it in whispers. Gambling may have been illegal, but that didn't stop fathers from participating in 'friendly' competition.

This was the U11 regional finals, after all. The last game before middle school. The last game they'd be allowed to play together before that inevitable divide between 'boys' sports and 'girls' sports.

He looked behind him. There was a battalion of players chasing Kisa down the field. She had the ball. She looked up into his eyes. She kicked and the ball flew his way.

It pinged off Seto's knee, dropped, and now he was chasing it down the field, towards the goal. He couldn't quite remember the boy's face or his name, just that he'd been small and twitchy and easy to fool.

Seto fainted to the left. The kid took the bait. Hook, line, and sinker.

Seto stopped, reeled back, and let his foot fly. The arch was perfect and the ball netted in the back left corner.

The field erupted in cheers and applause. He was swamped by his teammates. Hands slapped his back, ruffled his hair. Every face around him was blurred, distorted. He didn't recognize any of them.

Except for one.

Kisa forced her way to the front. She wrapped her arms around Seto's neck and kissed his cheek. That, he decided, was the best day of his life.

"Seto! Wait! Please, let me explain."

Kisa chased after him as he stomped down the porch steps. She struggled to keep up with his long strides. He had always been taller than her, faster than her.

Seto ground his teeth.

Her hand caught his wrist and pulled. He jerked out of her grasp, rounded on her with hot coals roiling in his belly. Every tendon felt ready to snap.

"Don't you dare touch me." He pointed a finger in her face. "You didn't think this was important to tell me? How long were you planning to string me along?"

"I didn't mean to string you along," she said.

"How long have you known?"

She turned her face away, biting her lip.

Seto grabbed her arms and shook. "How long?"

Kisa shoved his arms away. "Since the beginning, okay? Since I stepped off the elevator and saw you standing there."

"And you didn't think to tell me that you knew me before-"

Before his life had gone to hell.

Before he'd been adopted by Gozaburo Kaiba.

Before everything he'd been shattered to pieces.

He grit his teeth. "Before I went and got myself entangled with you."

She reared back, but only for a moment. Heat and rage flashed through her eyes. Her hands balled into fists. "What would telling you have done, huh? Would you have believed me? I'm not stupid. You would've called me crazy and had your security guys throw me out."

Seto hated that she was right. He hated himself more for being so blind. The deja vu, the uncomfortable familiarity she'd shown him, even from the beginning. The ease with which she used his name and the small flashes of memory that seemed to come whenever she was around.

"You could have tried," he said.

Kisa threw up her arms. "I did try! The first day I worked for you. At my apartment. You steamrolled me! 'You're late' and 'this was a mistake'. You never gave me a chance. So you know what I did? I gave up! I stopped trying. I didn't wanna ruin your perfect life just 'cause I knew you from before you became a pompous, hard-headed, asshole!"

She shoved him.

He stumbled back, almost fell.

She was crying. Her whole body seemed to shake with it. "You kissed me, remember? I didn't start this. You did."

She was right.

You trust too easily, boy.

He hated that she was right.

Their siblings were standing on the porch. Miku held Rin. Mokuba stood off to the side, looking sick and guilty. This is his fault.

No, Seto thought, this is my fault.

"Mokuba," he said.

The boy flinched, as if the single word had been a blow to his head.

Guilt dampened Seto's anger. "We're leaving." He turned and walked away.

He expected Kisa to follow, to hit and curse. It would have hurt less if she had. Instead, she just stood there at the end of her sidewalk, staring and shaking. Tears flowed down her cheeks, dripped off her chin.

Seto unlocked the car, got inside, and started it.

Mokuba hadn't followed. The boy looked at the girls, then headed down the sidewalk. He stopped at Kisa for a moment. He said something, to which she nodded, before continuing down the walk to get into Seto's car.

Seto peeled out of the parking spot and out of the neighborhood before Mokuba had a chance to put on his seatbelt. He wanted to get away. He wanted to think.

"Jeez Seto," Mokuba said, "slow down."

"Did you know?"

Mokuba froze. The click came a moment later.

Seto's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You knew."

"No! I mean…" Mokuba rubbed the back of his neck. "Not really. I thought she looked familiar, but I didn't think we actually knew her, you know?"

"You should have told me."

"Why would I?" Mokuba sat back, crossed his arms. "You wouldn't've believed me either."

Seto's hands loosened. His shoulders sagged. He wanted to be sick, to pull over and force the disgusting Chinese food out of his system. He tried to focus on his anger, his frustration, but each time her face flashed through his mind. Flushed and tear-streaked.

He wanted to be empty. He didn't want to feel anymore.

Stupid, stupid boy.