When I grow up
I wanna be famous
I wanna be a star
I wanna be in movies
When I grow up
I wanna see the world
Drive nice cars
I wanna have groupies

Be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it
You just might get it

~When I Grow up, The Pussycat Dolls

Powerless

Mokuba had been lying on his stomach in bed texting Hillary when he heard the knock on his door.

"Hey, Seto," he greeted his brother, setting his phone aside and sitting up. "Everything ok?" Seto didn't often come to his room so late at night unless there was something wrong, and the weariness in his brother's face was certainly an indication that he'd had a long and stressful day.

"Do you mind going in tomorrow to run the VR pod tests?" Seto asked, the tiredness he felt extending to his voice. "I have to deal with Tanaka's latest scheme."

"How come Tanaka always asks you when he knows how much you hate doing marketing stuff?" Mokuba asked with a slight whine in his tone. "He never asks me."

"Believe me, I wish he did," Seto sighed, sinking onto Mokuba's leather couch and resting his forehead against his palms. "I had to spend three hours listening to him and his 'experts' argue over where to take my picture for an idiotic app because for some reason that translates into sales."

Seto had fully expected Mokuba to laugh and make light of his moodiness about the shoot. It was in fact what he wanted from his brother; the less of a big deal that could be made about the situation, the easier it would be to get through it. But Mokuba didn't laugh.

"Is it really so bad?" Mokuba demanded hotly, and Seto looked up in surprise. Far from looking amused, Mokuba was scowling. "You act like getting to be in magazines and on billboards is some kind of punishment. You're famous! Everyone wants to be famous and get all that stuff, but all you do is complain about how stupid it is! And it's not like anyone's forcing you to do any of it. If you really hated it that much, you'd say no, but you don't." He turned away to address the text that lit up his phone screen. "So just shut up about it."

Seto stared at his brother in astonishment. He wanted to be able to believe that this was the result of Alistair's continued meddling, but he knew that wasn't true. His brother had always been, as Alistair had in fact pointed out, his biggest supporter, always there to cheer him on from the sidelines, always defending him to Yugi and the rest of the 'Geek Squad.' But it seemed that Mokuba was no longer content to be his cheerleader, and Seto could hardly blame him. Nonetheless, it made him incredibly sad that for the first time in their lives a wall existed between them. Of course, he could explain to Mokuba why he hated it all so much, and Mokuba would understand, but Seto knew that such a conversation would be impossible to ever have.

"Fine," he said finally, getting up from the couch and preparing to leave when Mokuba gave no indication that he wanted to continue talking. "The tests are scheduled for eleven. I'll have Alfred pick you up at nine-thirty."

Mokuba jerked his head in acknowledgement without looking up from his phone screen.

"Well, goodnight."

"Uh huh," came his brother's reply.

After softly closing Mokuba's door, Seto frowned sadly. Fights between himself and Mokuba had always been exceedingly rare, and yet, within the last few months Mokuba had been far pricklier than Seto had ever seen him. How much of that, he wondered, could be attributed to his brother's adolescent need to rebel and how much of it had he himself created by his own poor parenting? He had a sudden wild desire to ask Alistair about it, as Alistair seemed confident that he knew him so well. He would never do such a thing, of course; it was none of Alistair's business. But maybe there was something else he could get from his former adversary.

Alistair had spent the remainder of the afternoon in his room, ostensibly to stay out of the way of the crew that arrived just after lunch to give the manor a deep clean. Really, though, he had wanted to nurse his hangover in quiet solitude.

Not an hour after returning to the mansion, Darren had texted him, asking if he had survived his walk of shame. Alistair had ignored the message at first, but finally decided to allow Darren to make fun of him in exchange for information about the night's events.

Darren had told him, not without humor, that the person he'd hooked up with was an acquaintance of his from some student organization.

'I tried to tell you that he's a total douchebag,' Darren had written. 'But you just said 'so is Kaiba, so who cares?' it was pretty funny, and I mean, clearly Luke was ok with the comparison.'

At that, Alistair had actually hidden his face in the pillow in embarrassment for so long he fell asleep, only waking up again twenty minutes later to the sound of his phone buzzing four times in a row.

The first was Darren telling him that Luke had asked about him, the other three were screenshots of exactly that conversation.

Luke: sorry for falling asleep on your couch last night XD

Darren: no worries. My couch doesn't get nearly enough action anyway haha

Luke: lol yeah

Luke: actually, do you have his number?

Luke: I never thought I'd be into playing with fire but he was really hot

Darren: dude you can't say stuff like that

Darren: that's so bad

Luke: come on

Luke: you know what I mean

Yawning, Alistair stared at the messages in puzzlement, unsure what exactly to make of them. He was attempting to decide how to respond when there was a brisk knock on his door.

"Yeah?" he asked when Kaiba, preceded by the pungent smell of his cologne, entered the bedroom. A part of him wanted to make a joke about how, despite his grand declaration, Kaiba had been unable to resist him for more than a week, but on the off-chance that that wasn't why Kaiba was there, he abstained.

"I'm going to tell you something," Seto began cryptically, closing the door with the heel of his house shoe. He realized as soon as he went to take a step forward that the hem of his duster had gotten caught and leaned against the door frame instead. "Knowing full well that you're probably going to do the exact opposite of what I want you to do."

"Are you trying to use reverse psychology on me?" Alistair asked in mild amusement, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed.

"No," Seto snapped. "And just stay there. This won't take long."

"Yeah, alright," Alistair conceded, easing back onto the mattress. "What is it?"

"Some of my...colleagues are going to be here tomorrow." Seto couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"And you want me to stay out of the way," Alistair cut in. "Fine."

Seto scowled at being interrupted, but managed to keep his tone even. Mostly. "No, what I want is for you to get out of the house, but I know you: you'll just try to sneak back in to spy on me. And even if you don't, I'll have to spend the entire afternoon keeping an eye out for you, and frankly, I'm not in the mood. What I'm actually asking you to do is not to let anyone see you when you do inevitably try to watch."

"Why would I want to watch some boring business meeting? I was never actually trying to take over your company, remember?"

Seto gave a small sigh and closed his eyes briefly in what Alistair was surprised to see was embarrassment. "It isn't a business meeting. It's a photoshoot."

Try as he might, Alistair couldn't stop himself from snorting in laughter before quickly composing himself again. "A photoshoot, huh?"

Seto crossed his arms and forced himself not to look away. "Yes. It's a part of my job apparently. And I'm only telling you this so that you won't need to try to sneak around to find out what's going on and to inform you that you need to stay out of sight."

Alistair studied Kaiba's face. A flush had been slowly creeping up his cheeks over the course of their conversation, though his gaze remained as steely as always.

"Why are you really telling me this?" Alistair asked suspiciously. He could think of no ulterior motive, but Kaiba seemed so uncomfortable that he assumed there must be one.

"I knew you'd have something to say about it and I decided to cut you off at the pass. So go ahead." Seto stood a little straighter. "Tell me how shallow and ridiculous it is so we can get it over with."

Alistair, still slightly foggy with hangover and sleep, was left feeling absolutely nonplussed. It was as though Kaiba wanted to be laughed at by him. But why on earth would he want that?

"Why are you doing a photoshoot here?" he asked finally. "Why not...anywhere else? Like your office again?"

Kaiba sniffed derisively and rolled his eyes. "Because some photographer my PR manager hired thinks it'll be more 'authentic' and 'relatable.'"

"Relatable?" This time Alistair did laugh. "For sure. I mean, who doesn't have a foyer the size of a small apartment?"

"Take it up with my PR manager." It wasn't until Alistair's eyes widened in surprise that Seto realized he was smiling wryly and quickly forced his mouth into its usual thin line. "Anyway," he continued much more cooly. "That's all I wanted to discuss." He awkwardly reached sideways to open the door in order to avoid ripping his jacket before striding out of the room. "Later."

Alistair was attempting to make sense of the interaction when Sewell startled him by unexpectedly rubbing herself against his ankle. He picked her up and set her on the bed beside him where she promptly rolled onto her side. He absently stroked her stomach, the vibrations from her purring running up his fingertips. What was Kaiba playing at? Towards the end of their conversation it had almost felt like the banter between friends.

While he was getting ready for bed, Seto found that talking to Alistair had actually and inexplicably made him feel better. He was still wounded by Mokuba's anger towards him, but he felt that for the time being, he could ignore that. At least until after the photoshoot.

He paused as he was putting on his pajamas and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Pulling his turtleneck over his head had slightly tousled his hair, and the fluorescent lights highlighted the scars along his wrist and on his shoulder. Nothing attractive there. He supposed that the hardened lines in his torso were conventionally beautiful, but that's not why he'd worked so hard to develop and maintain them. Muscle was a sign of strength, a reward for all the hours he'd spent building his body into a fortress he could use to protect himself and his brother. And now he was going to exploit that just so bored wives and teenage girls could get their rocks off imagining scenarios in which they could use him for their own gratification. It was nauseating, but it was nothing he hadn't done before.

He'd known when he'd modeled in the past that it was only superficially about selling clothes or plane tickets. But at least he'd had that to hide behind. And Mokuba was right: he could have refused. He could have maintained that it was beneath him to whore himself out to social media. But he'd known from the moment Tanaka had begun his presentation that he'd allow himself to be a slave to his PR manager's genius because it was what was best for Kaiba Corporation. At the end of the day, that was what mattered most.

He turned away from the mirror and pulled on his pajama shirt. Perhaps after fulfilling his childhood promise to Mokuba and completing KaibaLand, his own feelings could play a larger role in his decisions, but his immediate future seemed to depend on getting through the next day, and, he had no doubt, many other days like it.

He could feel the anger burning like a fever through his body as he paced back and forth in his room, every muscle taught to breaking point. How dare Gozaburo humiliate him by having him thrown out of his office? He was his son, not one of his insignificant lackeys! As he approached the far wall, he kicked it with all of his strength, pleased when the plaster crumbled under his foot, white dust filtering through the hole in the wall. He'd be punished for it, he knew, but for now, it was satisfying.

Turning away from the wall, he saw the designs for his virtual system scattered across his desk. As he watched, a gust of wind from the open window threw the papers to the floor, just as Gozaburo had. The momentary satiation from kicking the wall extinguished, Seto huffed angrily and threw himself down to collect the end result of months of hard work.

With all the papers in his hands, he had a sudden urge to rip them in half. What good were his dreams now? The one person with the means of bringing his creation to life had dismissed his ambition and stolen his invention without even acknowledging his genius.

The papers crumpled as his hands balled into fists. Gozaburo had no right to brush him off. He would force the businessman to concede that they were at least intellectual equals. That the decision of what to do with the virtual system was for both of them to make.

Seto padded along the second floor hallway, a manilla folder clutched to his chest and his footfalls deadened by the dark carpeting. A thick cloud of smoke drifted into the hallway from the drawing room. He could picture his step-father reclinding in one of the leather armchairs, an ashtray at arms reach and a fat cigar wedged comfortably between his fingers.

As he approached, he could begin to make out a small figure walking towards him through the haze. The boy's gait was determined, his underlying uncertainty given away only in the tightness with which he held a manilla folder against his chest. Bright blue eyes were fixed on the drawing room doorway.

Seto wanted to tell the boy to turn back, that he was just a stupid child with an over-inflated ego, but as he struggled to speak, he realized he'd fallen over backwards, a hot, heavy weight now wrapped around his throat. He clawed desperately at it, but it had expanded to press against his torso. Looking around frantically, he saw that the boy had disappeared into the drawing room.

"I want to discuss my virtual reality system," Seto said firmly, fighting back a cough as the smoke from Gozaburo's cigar wafted into his nose.

Gozaburo eyed him cooly before leaning over to tap ash off the end of his cigar. "'Discuss?' There's an awfully big word for a child to be using."

Seto clenched his jaw and squeezed the folder a little tighter.

"Look at you: you're even pouting like a child," Gozaburo mocked him with a slight chuckle. "Now get out of my sight; I'm sure you have schoolwork you should be doing."

"No," Seto said defiantly even as his hands began to tremble. "It's my design-I get to decide how it's used."

Gozaburo narrowed his eyes, his thick eyebrows forming a forbidding line across his face. "Have I been so soft on you that you've forgotten your place?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. Seto resisted the urge to touch the collar of his jacket, worn high to hide the thick strip of leather around his neck. "Get out of here now, or you'll regret it."

"No." Seto glared at the man in the chair.

For a moment, Seto thought he'd won, that finally he'd succeeding in earning his step-father's respect. Then Gozaburo rubbed out the end of his cigar against the bottom of the ashtray, causing a brief puff of ash to rise into the air.

"Come with me," Gozaburo commanded, getting up from his chair. "Now, boy!" he added when Seto failed to move. Sighing in annoyance, Gozaburo grabbed him by his upper arm, his grip tight enough that it cut off the circulation to Seto's hand.

Gozaburo marched him through the house before finally forcing him through the door to one of the guest bedrooms in the left wing. There was nothing frightening about the twilit view of the back garden through a large bay window. Even less so about the queen-sized bed tucked into the corner, it's beige headboard exceedingly bland. But everything about the room filled Seto with a leaden dread.

Gozaburo closed the door before turning to face his adopted son, his bulk effectively blocking the only exit. "You wanted a discussion," Gozaburo began, his tone much calmer now. "You want me to treat you like an adult?" He suddenly extended his hand. "Give me that."

Tentatively, Seto held out the folder only to have it snatched from him and tossed carelessly on the bedside table, several pages fanning out across the polished wood.

"I will discuss the future of the virtual system with you after you prove to me that you aren't the weak-willed, snivelling brat you've always shown yourself to be."

"How," Seto replied at once.

"I'm going to make you an offer. Your response will either prove that I was right about you all along, or that the training I've provided for you is finally yielding results. However," he continued menacingly, his dark eyes boring into Seto's. "If you decline my proposition, not only will we never speak of your gaming nonsense again, I will show you once and for all that no matter how smart you may be, you are powerless."

Seto swallowed, but otherwise gave no physical indication of his growing fear. "What's your offer?"

"I'm going to use your virtual system as I see fit, as is my right as the leader of Kaiba Corporation. However, I am willing to indulge in your little side project. I won't give you a large budget, but if you're as clever as you think you are, you shouldn't need one."

Seto almost fell to his knees in relief. Sharing the design was better than he could have hoped for.

"This offer comes with a condition," Gozaburo continued, and Seto immediately tensed once more. "At Kaiba Corporation, it's survival of the fittest, and certainly no son of mine can be allowed to humiliate me by falling victim to an Achilles heel, do you understand?"

"I'm not weak," Seto said through clenched teeth, though he'd become aware that the ground was beginning to come out from under him.

"Then prove it to me now." His step-father had moved from the door to stand in front of him so that Seto had to look up into his face.

Seto could only guess at what kind of test Gozaburo meant to set him, but he was determined to overcome it. He'd allowed his step-father to get the best of him for the past two years and now bore the scars to prove it, but not this time. Now was his chance to prove that he was a man.

He was certain it would hurt, whatever it was, but if a few more wounds were what it took to finally gain a taste of the freedom he craved, so be it. A chance to step out of his step-father's shadow, and one step closer to his and Mokuba's dream.

Even though his limbs shook and his heart felt like it was trying to claw its way up his throat and every instinct screamed at him to shove past the man blocking his path and flee to the safety of the hallway, Seto managed to keep his voice steady as he prepared to make the pact. "What do you want me to do?" His level of foreboding intensified when, instead of looking impressed by his courage, Gozaburo smirked as though finally on the verge of catching a mouse that had only ever had the illusion of escape.

"Send your brother back to the orphanage."

Seto's mouth fell open in a horrified gasp as he took a step backwards, Gozaburo's warning now echoing in his mind. 'If you decline my proposition I will show you once and for all that you are powerless.' This had been a terrible mistake. He should have stayed in his room. He should have bided his time instead of running to his step-father with his invention so hastily.

"Is that a no?" Gozaburo asked the terrified boy, stepping towards him and forcing him further back towards the windows.

Seto shook his head vigorously as he felt his back touch the glass. He wanted to throw himself on the floor and beg for Gozaburo to forgive his arrogance. He stared pleadingly into his step-father's cold brown eyes.

"So you'll send your brother away?" Gozaburo clarified, his voice lilting upwards in mock disbelief.

"I can't do that," Seto whispered hollowly, looking away at last, his gaze trained on the white shag carpet. He flinched when Gozaburo's warm hand tilted his face up.

"Is that your final answer?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"You accept the consequences of this decision?"

Seto took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. "Yes."

Pain erupted along Seto's side as he attempted to crawl past his step-father to the door, but Gozaburo had grabbed his foot, anchoring him in place. Seto attempted to grab a fistful of the carpet so he could pull himself forwards, but something was wrong. Someone had replaced the shag with something more plush and he couldn't get a strong grip on it. Through his feral panic he saw that other elements of the room had changed. It seemed bigger. And the bedside table was in the wrong place. This isn't real, he realized even as Gozaburo's hand around his ankle still seemed to drag him backwards towards the bed.

Feeling much like a drowning swimmer finally forcing their head above the surface of the water, Seto gasped in a breath. With a jolt, he pulled himself to his knees, yanking his foot free.

He wasn't in the guest bedroom, he was on the floor of his own room. Even as reality started to sink in, he couldn't stop himself from shaking while his heart beat painfully against his ribs. He shivered and hugged himself only to jerk his arms back at the dampness of the shirt that clung wetly to his body.

He closed his eyes. He'd had a nightmare and fallen out of bed. Gozaburo hadn't been grabbing his foot; it had gotten tangled in the blankets.

Slowly, he attempted to pull himself to his feet even as his trembling legs threatened to betray him. As he peeled off his sweat-drenched pajamas, he silently cursed his subconscious. Why that nightmare? It always happened when he was particularly stressed, so he shouldn't' have been surprised, but as time went by, he had assumed it would stop.

He tossed his clothes messily into the hamper next to the door before changing into a new set and dragging the bedclothes back onto the mattress. No doubt he'd sweated through them too, but there was nothing he could do about that. Finally, he checked the time on his phone, dismayed that he'd been asleep for just over an hour, leaving morning a long way off.

Even with the dream world finally fading, his pulse continued to race. Cursing softly, he forced himself back into bed, rolling first onto his left side, then onto his back. He was exhausted, but the adrenaline flooding his system prevented him from getting comfortable.

"I'll prove to you once and for all that you are powerless." Powerless. The word felt like it had been etched into him. Seto shoved his bangs off his face as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead and settled in the middle of his cheek. He rolled over again. He wasn't powerless anymore. He wasn't the one whose defeat had been so decisive he'd been forced to retreat into a computer out of self-loathing.

But still, the shame of having been so powerless was impossible to lift. Even worse was Seto's uncertainty that if the need ever arose for him to make such a sacrifice again, he'd be able to do it. Which was why he had to go through with the stupid photoshoot even if it reminded him all too painfully of a memory he wished so desperately he could forget.

The next time he opened his eyes, Seto was relieved that it was his alarm and not another nightmare that had woken him up. Wearily, he reached over and clumsily turned off the alarm, unsurprised to find that his eyes burned with tiredness. Nonetheless, he forced himself out of bed, reassured by the decidedly not shag carpeting under his feet.

In the bathroom, he faced his reflection with grim amusement. Sweating through his hair had caused it to stand up at odd angles in some places while slicking against his head in others. His skin looked even more pallid than usual, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Were he not in such a hurry to get the whole thing over with, he might have considered meeting the styling team as he was just to see if they still thought using him as the Kaiba Corporation poster boy was a good idea.

Standing under the shower was normally an activity that Seto enjoyed as, much like driving, it was a time he could justify relaxing his mind. Today though, the ghost of his nightmare seemed to lurk even in his brightly lit bathroom so that instead of blackness, he saw rivulets of blood mixed with the water running down the drain when he closed his eyes. He shook his head. He had to focus; there was no time for that. He aggressively rubbed his arms in an attempt to erase the goosebumps that had risen there, but only succeeded in noticing the rough unevenness from the scars on his wrist rubbing against his bicep. Angrily, he banged his fist against the marble wall. This was idiotic!

With herculean effort, Seto forced all of the lingering fear and anxiety from his dream and all the painful memories it had brought with it into a dark grave at the back of his mind where he hoped this time, it would all stay buried.

Alistair knew he had absolutely no business spying on Kaiba's photoshoot. He knew that spying in fact played into Kaiba's expectations. But considering that Kaiba needn't have told him in the first place, and that doing so had clearly been embarrassing for him, Alistair felt that he had little choice but to see what the big deal was. At least, that's what he'd told himself when he'd wedged himself into the tight corner at the top of the second floor stairs' elaborate balustrade.

Trudy had first let in one of Kaiba's flunkies just after ten. Alistair had immediately recognized the older businessman's slick graying hair and inappropriately youthful suit. It was Fumito Tanaka; Kaiba Corporation's PR manager. He was followed in shortly thereafter by a chatty group of much younger people carrying camera equipment and a colorful array of bags; presumably the stylists and photographer. Even from the top of the stairs, Alistair could hear them exclaiming over the stone Blue Eyes White Dragon that loomed over visitors to the estate, and the tantalizing view of an expansive ballroom through the arched doorway under the staircase.

Kaiba emerged from the dining room to greet his guests and Alistair watched as he and Trudy directed them to the coatroom, which was tucked away to the side of the front doors. Even though he hadn't gone into work yet, Kaiba was dressed in a crisp white suit.

He must have invited them into the dining hall, because the party soon followed him out of Alistair's line of vision. Annoyed, but not surprised, Alistair slunk around to the servants' staircase that led down to the kitchen, which would offer him access to the dining hall.

Unsurprisingly, Trudy was standing at the stove, her normally flyaway hair confined to a hairnet. The strong smell of cooking fish rose from a large pan in front of her.

"I'm afraid you're on your own if you want a snack," she apologized. "I'm up to my elbows at the moment."

He glanced at the kitchen counter which was packed with trays of bite-size food.

"Had I had more than one days' notice, I might have actually been able to pull together a decent brunch," she groused. "And heaven only knows the one with half her head shaved is vegetarian, so now I need to make at least a dozen more mushroom pomponettes!"

"Well, I think everything looks good," Alistair told her as she whipped a pan of salmon bites off the stove and prepared to carefully place them on top of what looked like an entire tray of tiny quiches.

"That's very kind of you," she replied absently. Suddenly, she looked up at him. "Actually, do you know what would be incredibly helpful? Isobel is running late. Could you possibly take some of these trays upstairs? I told Seto I'd have all this finished by the time they were ready to get started, but now I have to make more pomponettes!"

Alistair bit his lip. "I really wish I could, but Kaiba told me not to go out there."

"Oh, of course he did," she grumbled, continuing to delicately place the salmon slices. "Never mind then. Well, in that case, can you wash your hands and finish the frittatas while I go tell George he's going to have to double as a waiter?"

"Um...ok. I should just put the fish on top, right?"

"Yes," she said over her shoulder, already at the top of the servant's quarters stairs. "But do it nicely," she added before disappearing to retrieve her husband.

From the moment he'd laid eyes on the crew that Tanaka had assembled for the shoot, Seto could tell it was going to be just as bad, if not worse, than he'd feared. All four of them, the photographer, the stylist, the make-up artist, and the creative director; a seventeen-year old model that Tanaka had actually introduced as a 'PictureThis prodigy,' had kept up a constant stream of mindless babbling since they'd arrived. Scarcely any of it had been directed at him, which was just as well, but being treated like a mannequin had equally started to wear on him once their talk turned to the shoot itself.

"The lighting in the foyer was good," the photographer noted, flipping his rhinestone covered baseball cap so that the brim faced backwards.

"Maybe, but this is a debut photo," the creative director reminded him pointedly, snapping her gum. "So like, the location has to be...I mean, it's important, obviously, but it's just a background."

While they argued, Seto stared resolutely into his coffee and tried to tune them out. In the end, it was largely out of his hands, so what did he care about the details?

"Are you alright, sir?" Tanaka asked him quietly.

"I just want to get this over with," Seto said impatiently, his grip tightening around his coffee mug. "I have better things I could be doing with my time."

In the kitchen, Trudy was trying to talk her husband into a tie.

"It's bruch !" he'd said exasperatedly. "Anyway, what if it gets in the food?"

"It won't if you put it on properly. And you'll look absolutely incomplete without it," she added with finality, and he resigned to letting her thread the tie around his neck.

"Wives always get their way," George told Alistair with a good-natured sigh. "Remember that before you get married."

She swatted him before completing the knot. "Thank you for coming to my rescue ," she told him, smoothing down the sleeves of his dark suit jacket. "I know how you hate wearing this, but you look ever so handsome when you do."

"Well, maybe it isn't all bad," George admitted, giving Trudy a quick kiss. "Now, what are the little fish things called again?"

Sensing that it was his easiest excuse for getting as close to the dining room as possible, Alistair offered to go on ahead and open the door for him. But instead of going back down to the kitchen once George had walked past him balancing two trays of salmon frittatas, Alistair remained at the top of the stairs and peered carefully around the corner. Since Kaiba was at the head of the table, all Alistair could see was his back, but the way his shoulders were slumped let him know exactly how the CEO was feeling.

George dutifully walked around the group to offer up the frittatas before setting the tray on the table and promising to return with more food.

"A strange lot, that," George said softly to Alistair on his way past. "But I suppose that's what makes them artists, isn't it?"

After sitting through three courses of hor d'oeuvres in stony silence, Seto decided it was time to get on with it. "Do you suppose we could begin?" he demanded of Tanaka as civilly as possible, though his attempt was unsuccessful.

Tanaka made a show of dabbing at his mouth with a napkin before addressing the group. "Shall we?"

Immediately, they all set their plates aside and hauled their various bags onto the table whereupon each assembled the tools of their trade necessary for the day's work. Aside from Yuna, the creative director, they'd all worked with celebrities before and had no doubt that Seto Kaiba would be high maintenance. They'd discussed as much on the car ride over.

"I heard from one of the stylists on his last shoot, you know, the 'dress like a champion' campaign? Well, she said that he was awful to work with."

"So handsome, though!"

"Why do beautiful people all have to be such divas?"

"That outfit isn't gonna cut it, darlin'."

Seto started when he realized the man's comment was directed at him and looked up from his intense scrutiny of the table's woodgrain. It was the photographer, who'd since twirled his baseball cap back on straight so that Seto could see that what he'd taken to be a random pattern was actually the word 'BITCH' spelled out in silver rhinestones.

"What did you just say to me?" Seto demanded with a glare.

The photographer stood his ground. "The world's already seen you in a suit, so we need to do something different." It really ought to have been the stylist who delivered this news, but she'd won the game of rock, paper, scissors to see who'd have to be the one to deliver criticism to their volatile client.

"What did you have in mind?" Seto asked suspiciously.

"Well," the photographer drew the word out. "We've discussed it, and it would be best to axe it altogether."

"Excuse me?" Seto's eyes narrowed dangerously even as his pulse started to race. He'd expected this, and was prepared to draw blood if he had to.

"It's not that a suit can't be sexy," the photographer said, sounding as if he knew all too well. "But PictureThis isn't really the place for it." He looked over his shoulder for the assistance of Yuna, the creative director and PictureThis model.

She tossed her wavy dark hair over her shoulder as she approached, her hips swinging confidently from side to side under unseasonable ripped jean shorts.

"Could you please tell him?" the photographer asked.

"Yeah, for sure," she agreed, her startlingly green eyes turning to Seto. "Basically, PictureThis has a dress code," she explained. "Obviously not literally, but there is one. So like, what you're wearing is perfect for a GQ cover or something." She paused to run a hand down his arm, causing him to instinctively shy away. If she noticed, she gave no indication. "But the internet likes skin. As much as you can get away with. So we're gonna need you to lose your shirt or this whole thing will be pointless." She squeezed his bicep, her long nails digging into his skin even through his clothes. "And from what I can tell, you have no reason to be nervous about it," she added with a flirtatious wink that made him want to wash his hands.

"I'm not taking a shirtless picture," Seto snapped in Tanaka's general direction, but the PR manager was distracted by the make-up artist, who was letting him feel the shaved side of her head. Seto pulled his arm out of Yuna's grasp and stood up at last. "You people work for me, remember? So I don't have to do anything!"

"True, but they're the professionals," Tanaka reminded him from his perch in the make-up artist's chair. "They know what they're doing better than we do."

"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not posing shirtless!"

"Will he be able to pull in the same kind of traffic wearing a shirt?" Tanaka asked the room at large as though he and Seto didn't already know the answer.

'Absolutely not' was the general consensus, and even as panic and revulsion twisted his gut, Seto agreed to unbuttoning his shirt.

"I'm not taking it off, though," he said firmly, daring someone to argue with him.

It was clear that there was no more negotiating to be done, so as they finished setting up their makeshift stations, the stylist hooked her phone up to a set of speakers and began blasting a pop playlist so loudly that Seto was certain Trudy could have repeated the lyrics word for word from the kitchen. But for the moment, he found he didn't have the strength left to tell her to turn it down, or better: off; he'd used up the rest of his fight on the shirt argument. It had been non-negotiable, really. Nothing, not even the threat of losing the company entirely would be enough to get him to do that. The stakes were certainly much lower here; all the more reason to give as little as possible. He crossed his arms and waited to see what would happen next.

Ultimately, it was decided that they would shoot several posts in advance to take advantage of the location. The stylist requested that Seto model several of his own signature looks to which Seto shrugged. The next time George meandered in with a tray of food, Seto told him to have Trudy fetch the clothes from his closet.

Trudy was spared the necessity, however, by the arrival of Isobel. After hurrying into the dining hall, she apologized profusely to Seto for her tardiness even as she clutched a stitch in her side from jogging up the front garden to the door. Normally, her excuse about how she'd had to drop her kids off at school because her husband was sick would have earned her at the very least a disparaging look. Today, however, Seto ignored her explanation entirely and told her to go upstairs to get the clothes the stylist had requested.

If anyone had asked him before that day, Alistair would have said with confidence that Kaiba no doubt basked in being lavished in the attention paid him on photoshoots. But it was obvious he would have been thoroughly wrong. Criticizing everyone around him was something Kaiba did with a perverse level of zeal, but to Alistair's infinite surprise, after arguing almost desperately against taking his shirt off, Kaiba seemed to have lost his bite entirely. He'd dociley sat for the stylist, but flinched when she touched his hair.

When she was finished, he'd mutely stood up before sitting for the make-up artist. Similarly, he cringed the first time she cupped his chin as though her hand were covered in mud, but then the emotion drained from his face and he sat very still.

It was hardly an intimate moment, but it made Alistair distinctly uncomfortable seeing Kaiba looking so defeated. It reminded him of how he'd looked after Pegasus had sealed his soul away at Duelist Kingdom. But that wasn't what was happening here, so what was it about this situation that was making Kaiba stare so vacantly, his back hunched protectively inward?

Seto was aware of the make-up brush blending powder into his skin. Was aware of the make-up artist telling him to turn his head to the side. But even as he complied, his movements and sense of touch felt distorted as though being experienced through a mask.

He saw Isobel return out of the corner of his eye. She draped the clothes across several chairs before retreating back to the kitchen, pausing to talk to someone standing just around the corner before walking down the stairs. So Alistair had come to watch. How predictable. Suddenly, Seto found he could sit a little straighter.

The photographer ended up getting his way in the end. For the first picture, they had Seto wear his trademark white duster and arm bracers, lest there be any doubt as to who the young man leaning nonchalantly against the giant Blue Eyes White Dragon statue was. It was, in Seto's opinion, banal enough to be tolerated, and he was able to muster a genuine smirk. He was proud of the statue that guarded the foyer, after all. He'd gone through six artists before he'd found one that he'd trusted to do the dragon justice, and the result had been a beautifully detailed stone Blue Eyes the size of a large horse, it's wings flexed on the verge of being unfurled, and it's mouth open in a silent roar.

"Alright," the photographer called out over the music still blasting form the makeup artist's speakers. "This looks good; let's move on."

Instantly, the smirk slid off Seto's face. Standing around in the foyer was one thing, lolling in bed covered in Duel Monsters cards was something else entirely. He wouldn't have agreed to it at all had it not been for the fact that it was going to act as a buffer, saving him a little longer from the finale.

No one had insisted, or even dared suggest that they use his bedroom, but using either the guest room or the master bedroom had been out of the question and Seto was too ashamed of what was about to happen to ask his brother for the use of his room. And using his own bedroom didn't really bother him; it was just the place he slept-it was hardly personal.

After a short break, the party followed Seto up the grand staircase to the second floor, exclaiming all over again at the luxuriousness of every detail of the house as though touring some European palace.

Yuna placed herself at the head of the group so she and Kaiba were walking side by side.

"You must be so annoyed by all of this," she said understandingly. "I mean, it's just like, your house, right?"

Seto shrugged which she took as a sign to continue.

"You probably get this all the time, but you're my favorite duelist. I mean, I don't really know all the rules, but your Battle City tournament was epic and you totally should have won." When he still didn't respond, or even look in her direction, she 'accidentally' brushed her hand against his thigh as they stepped onto the landing.

Her touch sent an unpleasant jolt through him and caused some of the numbness he'd shaken off to return.

It was incredibly strange, putting on his Duel Disk and getting into bed. Isobel had changed the sheets during the first shoot, replacing them with a crisp new set that rustled stiffly as he slid across them. It wasn't until Yuna directed him to lean against the pillows that he realized he'd been mistaken to think this would be a buffer. There was nothing powerful about lying in bed.

"Prop your left leg up and lean your Duel Disk on the pillow," Yuna instructed him. "Now kind of dangle your right leg off the bed."

He complied without comment, trying to focus on anything but what was happening. His eyes landed briefly on the framed picture of himself and Mokuba from the day Battle City had kicked off. Mokuba was resting his arm on Seto's shoulder as they sat together in the helicopter right after Seto had officially announced the start of the tournament. He didn't know what Mokuba had been thinking, but he'd felt particularly exhilarated, so certain that he was going to defeat Yugi on top of the Duel Tower. It was a far cry from what he was feeling now.

He barely even noticed when Yuna began artfully dropping Duel Monsters cards down his chest where some clung, others splashing artfully onto the stark white sheet. He recoiled slightly when she tinkered with the cards on his chest, her hand resting there longer than necessary, but otherwise didn't move. He wasn't sure he could have.

"Ah! I get it: like an underwear ad!" the make-up artist exclaimed when the photographer started snapping pictures. And Seto wished more than anything that she had kept the observation to herself.

Alistair hadn't dared follow all the way upstairs, but he'd seen enough to know they were going to Kaiba's bedroom, which was almost as disturbing as the emptiness in Kaiba's face from before. There was something wrong about all of this. Kaiba had claimed it was all just a part of his job, but it seemed so beneath Alistair's image of him. Kaiba was proud, certainly, but Alistair would never have called him vain. So why was Kaiba doing this?

When the photographer finally called 'cut' Seto was actually startled, and for a brief moment, relieved. Then he remembered what was going to happen next.

"Ok, so remember: we're leaving the jeans, the belt, the necklace, and bracers," the stylist reminded him the second he'd slid his Duel Disk off, setting the extra cards beside it on the bed. "But change into this." She handed him a white dress shirt.

The final picture, the one that would serve as his first PictureThis post, was to be shot down by the pool. Tanaka, who had been the estate before for Gozaburo's parties years back, had suggested it. Had Seto not been feeling so sick, he might have hit him.

The ornate tilework designed to be reminiscent of a Roman bathhouse was stunning, Seto knew. Even after using it for years, he still found it impressive himself. Sunbeams shining in through the skylight above reflected off the still water. For a brief moment, Seto shut everything else out and inhaled the familiar scent of chlorine. He could do this. He had to do this. Tanaka wasn't wrong that Dartz's brief takeover of Kaiba Corporation had wreaked havoc on the brand just as easily as Battle City had built it up. And he needed the company to succeed because it was his livelihood, what he'd dedicated his life to, and something he'd sold his soul for more than once.

His resolve was enough to prevent him from drowning himself in the pool, but not enough for him to stop his hands from shaking when he at last went to unbutton his shirt. With every millimeter of exposed skin he felt more and more nauseated. But when he finally reached the last button, he found that he suddenly felt nothing at all.

From his vantage point in the changing room, Alistair was once again stuck looking at Kaiba's back. The dark-haired girl was telling him to lean one arm against the frame of the open French doors while resting the other against his hip so that his shirt slipped down to reveal his bare shoulder. Kaiba held the pose much longer than Alistair was sure would be comfortable while the photographer clicked away. But the girl seemed dissatisfied and stopped him to discuss something Alistair couldn't hear. To his astonishment, she left only to return shortly thereafter with several bottles of water and proceeded to reach up and dump them down the front and sides of Kaiba's shirt. Alistair fully expected Kaiba to at the very least snap at her about the water being cold, but as far as he could tell, Kaiba didn't say anything.

"And that's a wrap!" the photographer called roughly ten minutes later, taking one final look over the pictures he'd taken. The crew high-fived each other in congratulations as though they'd been equally involved in the process. The moment the photographer said they were finished, Kaiba dropped the pose, said something to the girl, and proceeded to walk around the pool towards the changing room.

Alistair realized with a start that he was trapped because the changing room exit opened into the hallway the crew was about to walk down to get back to the main part of the house.

When Kaiba saw him sitting sheepishly on the bench, he showed no signs of surprise. Instead, he seemed to avoid acknowledging Alistair altogether, his gaze trained on a towel hanging on a hook on the wall.

Alistair could see that water was continuing to drip from the tips of Kaiba's hair and soaked shirt onto the floor, the wet fabric of his shirt clinging to the outlines of his arms and chest. It was perfectly obvious why the creative director had chosen to pour water on him, but Alistair couldn't imagine that wearing a cold, wet shirt that had almost certainly caused water to seep through the top of his jeans had been enjoyable.

Kaiba took the towel down from the wall and threw it over his shoulders before leaving the room without a word or even a glance in Alistair's direction. Watching Kaiba walk away, Alistair was filled with an unexplainable ache of sympathy.

Even with the deed accomplished, Seto was forced to sit through Tanaka, Yuna, and the photographer's debate about which shot to upload and what caption it should have. If anyone had bothered asking his opinion, Seto would have had little to say, so it was just as well that they didn't. He'd thought that after drying off and putting his suit back on he'd feel more like himself again, but instead the emptiness still plagued him.

It had lifted, briefly, when he'd seen Alistair in the changing room. If anything, Alistair having been there should have made him feel worse, but somehow it was satisfying that Alistair had seen the truth. He must have seen how Seto'd reviled every second he'd been forced in front of the camera, must have realized then that there was one more thing that separated him from his step-father. Gozaburo would have given anything to have had the opportunity to pose half-naked for hordes of salivating women. Indeed, he'd often paid women for the service. But he, Seto, was nothing like that, no matter that this venture made it seem otherwise. All Seto wanted in life was to design gaming software and hardware, and to be left alone. But he was relieved that of anyone who could have borne witness to his utter humiliation that day, it had been Alistair.

Finally, the trio across the table reached a consensus and sent the photo to Seto's phone. Without more than glancing at it, Seto uploaded it to PictureThis before briefly handing his phone over to Tanaka to enter in the caption and tags. Then it was out of his hands which both left him relieved and terrified and made him wish he could hide until the ramifications of the upload blew over. Until the next time. At least he'd had the foresight to turn the notifications off.

Not caring that it was rude, Seto told Tanaka that his housekeeper would see them out before leaving the dining room, ignoring the disappointed look on Yuna's face as he passed by.

Only once he'd escaped to the blissfully silent second floor could Seto finally breathe again, the nothingness replaced by shame and exhaustion. But the moment he opened the door to his room, intending to take a short nap before forcing himself to go to work, Seto could smell them: their perfumes and products. He knew he couldn't sleep there. Not yet. But he was so tired…

He slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Just for a moment, he could rest here, and then he'd decide what to do. Take a nap in Mokuba's room, maybe. No, Mokuba would be back from headquarters soon with news of the VR tests.

He was trying to devise a different plan when he sensed someone nearby.

"What do you want, Alistair?" he asked, wearily turning his head in Alistair's direction in time to see the latter's look of quiet concern.

"Nothing," Alistair said calmly, taking a seat beside Seto on the floor, close enough that Seto could feel his body heat, but not so close that they were touching.

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

"I told you not to spy on me," Seto said finally, his tone more matter-of-fact than angry.

"I know," Alistair replied, gently drawing semi-circles in the carpet with the heel of his foot. "I figured you didn't mean that."

"No, I didn't," Seto admitted, expecting Alistair to ask him why. But he didn't.

They sat in silence until Seto's cell phone started buzzing.

"Mokuba, what is it?" he asked, though he assumed something must have gone badly during the tests.

"Are you finished with your photoshoot?" Mokuba's tone held a distinctly scornful undertone that Seto didn't feel up to addressing.

"Yeah, why? What happened?"

Mokuba explained that even with the tweaks Seto had suggested, the VR pod still overheated after thirty minutes.

"I'll be there in an hour." Seto got off the phone and reluctantly stood up. "Later," he told Alistair before disappearing back downstairs.