I

She enjoys the fact that, even though she now lives with the Kaiba brothers, she still has a room to herself, to decorate with strings of lights and fruit-scented candles. This morning, she sits at her desk, sipping on a mug of coffee with honey and mindlessly scrolling the internet. Mokuba is away for the week, being escorted by Roland to a youth robotics conference, and Seto...well, Seto hasn't woken up yet. Kisara knows how rare it was for him to catch a moment of rest, and so she carefully crept out of the room when she awoke in the morning, leaving him in a deep sleep. She smiles with satisfaction, glancing over at the blue alarm clock on her desk. 6:43 a.m...she is awake and alone, and Seto still has plenty of time to rest, even if he does have to be at work later….

Her shoulders jump at the sound of knocking at her door. Closing her laptop, she peeks out of the doorway, finding herself face-to-face with Seto Kaiba.

"Ahh! You startled me," Kisara confesses with a soft giggle. "I thought you'd sleep for longer. 'Morning, sleepyhead."

She leans forwards to give him a good-morning kiss, but stops short when she gets a closer look at the expression on his face. His lips are pursed and slanted slightly upwards as if he were concealing an amused secret. Kisara folds her arms across her chest, tilting her head to one side. "Alright, clearly, you're up to something. What's up?"

Seto looks back at her, matching her gaze with a vivid bright blue stare. "Busy this weekend?" he inquires.

Kisara shakes her head. "Not really," she says, absently running her fingers through long, slightly messy white hair. "The semester just ended, and I'm not signed up for anything for Spring. I guess I was going to, like, apply for jobs or something."

"You could do that," Seto responds. "But, do you want to do that in New York City?" He smiles at her, and his eyes are wide behind overgrown dark brown hair still mussed from sleep. "We can go out to eat, and go to museums." His eyebrows arch with amusement. "People love coffee almost as much as you do in New York City, Kisara."

For a moment, Kisara is stunned into silence. "It's a Tuesday," she points out weakly.

Seto's eyes close momentarily. "The thing about hiring the best talent in the world," he says, with a certain condescending edge to his tone that makes Kisara want to object, "is that they can be self-sufficient for a day, at least." Sensing Kisara's hesitation, he pouts with mock indignation. "I didn't think it'd be a hard sell, to take you out to the big city."

"I just….I didn't expect it." Kisara's voice falters slightly. "How...how does this work, exactly?"

Seto nudges his way past her to sit on the window-bench in her room. He wraps his shoulders in the aqua-colored throw that lies abandoned on the dark blue upholstery, and glances out the window, which offers an expansive view of the mirror-still lake outside. "Right. You've never traveled with me before," he says.

Kisara's eyebrows furrow. "I have not," she says, after a moment of hesitation. "Why, though….? What is there to expect?"

He smirks, and if it weren't for the excitement that shines from every pore on his body, Kisara would be inclined to jest at him for acting so superior. "Kisara, have you ever ridden in a private jet….?"

x

At Seto's insistence, they start at a cafe, sitting at a high table made of very dark, very shiny polished wood. The gentle murmur of chatter, mixed with the rich aroma of coffee and faint strains of jazz music on the stereo, makes Kisara feel very sophisticated. She tugs at the ends of her hair, piling it into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck. An entertained Seto watches from across the table, sipping black coffee from a gleaming white mug.

"You'll get a chance to clean up before we go out tonight," he remarks. He looks only slightly more composed, with his brown hair ruffled by walking through the brisk early-Spring morning.

She winds a baby-blue hair ribbon around her hair, securing the snowy-white updo with a firm, confident tug. "I know," she answers sheepishly, "but still, I feel a little bad." She glances over her shoulder, half-expecting to see someone important-Maximillion Pegasus, the eccentric Industrial Illusions president, wouldn't be so out of place somewhere like this, she thinks-but the flow of the cafe continues as normal, leaving them relatively uninterrupted. "How long has it been since we've been out on a date date, anyways?"

He sets his coffee mug on the table and leaning back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "You knew that you were dating the CEO of one of the world's most highly profitable companies, right?" he asserts dryly. "Do I need to remind you of all the responsibilities that come with such a title?"

Groaning softly, Kisara responds, "No, no, don't bother. I'm not upset, Seto, it's just...it's been a little bit." She tilts her head to one side, looking more closely at her boyfriend. The skin around his eyes looks taut and waxy, and his cheeks look sunken and hollow. "It's been awhile since we've gotten to catch up much, really. Are you doing alright?"

Her thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a bearded waiter, who offers Kisara a cappuccino in a wide mug. Smiling gratefully, she sets the cup and saucer on the table next to her, and sighs as she looks at the little swan detailed in the foam. When the waiter saunters off, she returns her attention to Seto, noting with a beat of alarm the rigidity of his tightly locked jaw. "Seto, what's up?"

"I've been...busy," he says, his voice as tense as the strings of a viola.

She nods slowly, bringing the coffee mug to her lips and taking a sip of foam. "You're always busy, though," she points out. "But you don't usually look like this."

Seto's eyes narrow at her. "Hey, watch it," he retorts irritably.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Kisara bursts out finally, reaching for the container of sugar on the table next to Seto's elbow. Softening, she adds, "Is there anything going on that I should be worried about, though?"

The look in his eyes is distant, focused on something in a dimension that Kisara cannot see. A chill creeps up her spine as she watches a familiar, distant, hollow expression spread over his face. His eyes, wide and blank, refuse to meet hers. "Kisara, don't worry about it." His tone is vague and dismissive, making Kisara's brow furrow.

Her blue eyes narrow suspiciously, and she purses her lips, leaning forwards and resting her elbows on the table. "Blowing off work for a whirlwind trip to the city? This isn't like you."

He raises his chin, staring at her down his nose. "I didn't realize I should be deferring to your judgment on what is, and isn't, like me."

Kisara frowns, chewing on the corner of her lip. "I don't get what's going on," she says, arching one eyebrow. "Something's up." Her voice lowers slightly, and she reaches across the table, extending her hand towards him in a gentle invitation for him to place his hand in hers. "I want to help."

"I'm telling you to drop it," Seto says firmly. He leans back abruptly, shoving his chair away from the table; it makes a screeching noise against the polished floor as it moves that makes Kisara cringe. Snatching his empty mug from the table, he adds, "I'm going to spend some time alone." He disappears into the thick of the crowd, leaving Kisara staring bleakly at the tiny bubbles melting away in her coffee.

x

She feels guilty calling Mokuba, but she can't help herself. He should be enjoying himself and learning about robotics. He spends enough time worrying about his brother. Also, she shouldn't be tattling on her boyfriend for getting annoyed with her. But the pit of worry sits too heavily in her stomach, and she can't think of a better alternative.

Unfortunately, there are no quiet places in New York City to take a private phone call, and returning to the penthouse suite Seto reserved for the next few nights feels to Kisara like a bad idea. She settles for sitting at the edge of a large, circular plaza centered around an ornate fountain, which draws in tourists like a magnet, leaving the perimeter comparatively quiet. She frowns to herself, tapping her fingers frantically against the knee of her jeans while she waits for Mokuba to pick up.

Kisara? Is everything okay?

Um….I don't know.

Are you with Seto?

…

Right. Um, Kisara, you know about Industrial Illusion's Duel Monsters expo this weekend, right?

Kisara's heart skips a beat at the carefully metered anxiety in Mokuba's voice. "I did not," she says finally.

She hears Mokuba sigh loudly, sending a burst of crackling static. Alarmed, Kisara holds the phone away from her, wincing silently.

"Industrial Illusions released a new expansion to the Duel Monsters game," Mokuba's voice explains. "They're hosting a mini-tournament this weekend, an expo of some of the best Duelists in the world, in support of the launch." Mokuba's voice is dripping with anxiety. "It's going to be Yugi Motou's first appearance since…well, years. And Joey Wheeler, and…." his voice trails off grimly.

"Did Seto not get invited?" Kisara demanded incredulously. She knows that her boyfriend's loss of the Duel King title had been a huge source of contention in his late teenage years, but she can't imagine that a former Duel Monsters champion would be intentionally excluded from such an event.

Mokuba's tone is bleak, and Kisara can practically see the disappointment in his eyes. "I begged him not to sign up," Mokuba explains. "I didn't….like what Duel Monsters competitions did to him, in the past. He made a promise."

Kisara's eyes close, and as she wracks her brain for an appropriate response, Mokuba's pleading voice jumps in, "I know he was upset about it. Promise me you'll make sure he's okay?"

A sigh escapes her before she can help it. "I'll do my best, Mokuba," she says. "I'm trying, okay?"

II

She goes back to the hotel, makes herself a cup of tea, sits on the bed with her laptop and aimlessly browses the internet. She calls and he doesn't respond. She draws the curtains and falls into a restless sleep laying on top of the sheets, which are stretched tight like the head of a drum over the king-sized mattress. When she awakens, she checks her phone again for signs of him, finding nothing, and calls again and he doesn't respond. She orders a pizza delivered to the room, eats a slice of cheese and olives and sausage and green peppers, and lays on the carpet while the television plays cooking competitions on mute in the background, casting flickering shadows on the ceiling. She calls, expecting three rings and before the automated voicemail message, and is startled to hear Seto's voice when he finally picks up on the other end.

"Hello?" His voice is low and quiet, and she can hear the wind rushing in the background.

"Seto." She props her head against the side of the bed, feeling the room sway slowly around her from sitting up too quickly. "Are you okay? I've been-"

"Calling. I know."

"Are you alright?"

"What do you think?"

A horrible feeling surges through her chest, and she blink as a strangely metallic taste creeps up her throat and into her mouth. "Where are you, Seto?" she asks.

A muffled sigh crackles through the receiver, and she holds the phone away from her ear, finding herself holding her breath.

He takes a moment to respond. "I'm outside the hotel, Kisara."

Relief floors her like a tidal wave. She isn't sure entirely where she thought he would be, but she finds herself relieved that he is alright nonetheless. "Why not come inside, then?"

"Kisara," a sharp sigh punctuates Seto's thoughts, "You don't have to deal with me."

"I don't have to," Kisara rebukes, closing her eyes with confused frustration. "I want to help you."

"You can't help me."

"Let me try."

"It's a waste of your time."

"Let me try."

Her cheeks puff up with frustration, and she releases a slow stream of air through her teeth. On the other end of the line, there is nothing but silence for a moment, which is finally broken after what feels like an eternity.

"Whatever you want."

x

The night air stings her cheeks, and an icy breeze whips the ends of her hair against her neck. She scans the courtyard until she spots a thin figure, shoulders hunched in an attempt to preserve its' heat in the cold, sitting alone on a bench.

"Hey, stranger," Kisara says, delicately placing herself on the bench a few inches away from Seto. He turns his head away as she approaches, and she draws back a few inches, feeling a dull ache in her heart.

The distant sounds of chatter and the slow grind of cab wheels against the asphalt fill the air for a moment. "Mokuba told me about the Duel Monsters tournament," she says finally, drawing her knees up towards her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "You could have told me, you know."

Seto's face crinkles into a grimace for a moment before he turns even further, hiding his expression from Kisara. "Yeah, well," he responds coldly. "What do you think you could have done about it?"

Kisara thinks for a moment, glancing upwards at the charcoal sky. "Let you talk, maybe," she replies slowly. "You don't talk about it much."

"There's not much to talk about," he says promptly. His voice is strangely flat. "I was a kid. I got obsessed. There's not more to tell."

Her lips draw into a thin, taut line. "There is, though."

A moment of silence precedes his response. "Duel Monsters helped me survive my stepfather," he says. "I engrossed myself in learning the game. I was good at strategy, and good at solving problems. I was good at it. It gave me something to think about that Gozaburo couldn't take away from me."

Kisara nods, waiting for him to elaborate further.

"Becoming the champion was easy. Losing the title was easy, too. Just like that, it was gone. You'd think it'd feel different, somehow. But everything looked the same, felt the same, tasted the same. You know as well as I do that there's something missing inside of me. Some piece is broken, or some gear doesn't quite turn. It could be explained away by the fact that I had let someone defeat me. And if I could just defeat them, then that piece of me could be whole again."

"I never did, by the way. I tried. It got out of control. I abandoned Mokuba in my quest to win back what I'd believed had been taken from me. I kept chasing a dead end and it kept leading me further and further away from the light. I knew it, too. I kept telling myself that the light would reappear if I finally caught up."

Tentatively, Kisara rests her hand on his shoulder. "That must be hard," she breaths sympathetically.

He shrugs. "For a little while. But things kept going. Mokuba forgave me...or maybe he didn't, I don't know. Things just kept moving forwards. And eventually…" Kisara feels his shoulders rise and fall sharply as he draws in a deep, unsteady breath, "...it was like it never mattered." His words are cold and bitter, and fall like droplets of ice from his mouth.

"That's what they don't talk about, you know? Everyone remembers the guy who almost drove himself and an entire company into the ground to defeat his teenage card game rival. But after that story ends, here I am. I'm still here." He finally turns to look at Kisara, flashing a bitter smile.

Their eyes meet for a long moment, and she draws herself closer to him, trying to absorb the years of turmoil that flash in his wide blue eyes. She feels the warm brush of his hand grabbing hers, giving it a tight squeeze.

"I don't really know what to say about all that," she confesses. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Seto's shoulders shake with a short burst of laughter. "Yeah, well, nobody expected you to."

Kisara exhales gently. "What did you expect from me, then?" she asks.

"Just...come run away with me, for a little bit," Seto responds. "I don't want to think about Domino, or the past, or Duel Monsters right now. I want to think about you."

"I'm pretty boring, compared to that."

Her heart soars as she watches the tight skin around his eyes crinkle with laughter. "I think that's okay with me."

x

Thank goodness for the city that never sleeps. Seto finds an upscale noodle house open until two-thirty in the morning, and they take a cab from the hotel. They ride to the restaurant in silence, but Kisara slips her arm around his and leans against his shoulder, watching the streetlights whisk by in a dim amber blur.

Ramen noodles at midnight are much classier an affair than Kisara would have pictured it being. An elegant succulent plant trimmed to look like a bonsai sits atop the grand table at the center of the room, and smaller tables adorn the edges of the tastefully decorated lounge. Luminous red silk lanterns fill the room with soft, warm light. A hostess guides the couple to a seat at the edge of the restaurant, next to an elaborate black-ink painting of houses with pointed roofs dotting a mountainscape. A waitress greets them with a bow and pours steaming cups of green tea.

"This is nice," Kisara remarks, her eyes widening as she glances around the room.

Seto sets his teacup back into its' saucer. "Best kept secret in New York City," he responds, looking pleased with himself.

Kisara decides to let his arrogance slide. She raises her teacup in the air, tilting her head slyly. "Well, to escapism?"

Seto's eyes narrow skeptically at her, but he lifts his glass as well, touching it to hers with a gentle clink. "In moderation," he says cautiously.

She rolls her eyes at him. "Well, all right. Well, cheers." Their glasses collide again, and her gaze continues to meet his as they tilt their glasses back in unison, and the subtle, comforting taste of green tea hits her tongue.