Author Notes: Please enjoy the first chapter featuring Noah Kaiba! More reviews = more chapters, so review! Text in bold denotes quotes from/allusions to the musical Hamilton.

Seto tried to stand as straight as possible in order to keep the fabric of his shirt from rubbing against the skin of his back. He would be trying to keep it from being touched at all for a few days, at least. Gozaburo had flogged him until his entire back felt raw and he didn't think he would ever move again; that's what Seto got for being too tired or sore to adequately satisfy the cruel corporation president. Any contact at all made it sting, and the more it came into contact with anything, like his shirt, the more the raw skin burned.

Once he'd gotten dressed, he'd pocketed the money and entered the elevator to go back to the ground floor and finally head home for the night. He was about a third of the way down when the elevator stopped, and Seto started. The doors opened, and he was faced with a teen who looked like he could be Seto's twin, even though his hair had been dyed a vibrant neon green.

He had the same lanky form as Seto, same height, same proportions. Even their eyes were the same piercing shade of sapphire blue. The other smirked as he stepped inside the elevator and pushed the button to take him to Gozaburo's office. The doors closed as they stood side by side and the carriage continued its descent.

"So you're my father's little whore."

The smooth voice, the mocking tone, the arrogant attitude, his own severe physical pain: it was more than enough to make Seto snap.

Seto turned on the other teen, catching him in the jaw with a closed fist. The other looked surprised as he was knocked into the wall of the elevator, as if he wasn't used to physical retaliation. Seto turned to face the elevator doors again, feeling smug.

"You're no better than me, Moneybags."

"Do you have any idea who I am?" Noah sounded outraged as he rubbed his aching jaw.

"Yes. You're Noah Kaiba, international chess champion, heir to the Kaiba Corporation, and tabloid playboy. You're no better than me." And one of the four owners of a Blue-Eyes White Dragon card, although he kept that to himself. It wasn't public knowledge, and the only reason Seto knew was because of his weekly visits to the KaibaCorp Headquarters. There was no need to say it aloud. Seto threw a glare at Noah. "I would even venture to say that I'm better than you."

"How dare you!" Noah was furious. "You're worth less than the dirt on my shoes, you slut!"

"How about you put your money where your mouth is?" Seto returned, turning to face the entitled, rebellious teen. This was either one of the stupidest decisions of his life or one of the smartest things he'd ever done. Maybe he was lashing out because of his frustrations with his situation, or maybe he just hated Gozaburo so much that taking it out on his son was good enough. They stood toe to toe, enmity crackling in the air between them like electricity.

"What did you have in mind?"

"How about a chess match?"

Noah laughed cruelly.

"Alright, fine. I'll enjoy wiping the floor with you. If I win, you'll become my little toy instead of my father's." He crossed his arms, looking confident that Seto would back down at the prospect of such high stakes.

"And if I win," Seto said as he crossed his arms. "Then you have to give me your Blue-Eyes White Dragon card." Even he knew that it was far too risky to try and ask for money. That would only end in violence and a legal mess.

"Then it's a match." Noah raised one eyebrow, looking as smug as if he'd already won. "Meet me on the forty-fifth floor, Saturday, at midnight. If you're late, you'll lose automatically."

"I won't be late."

"See you then."

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Seto walked out of the elevator, the rush of adrenaline fueling him as he walked all the way to Ryou's house. He didn't want to step inside and get side-tracked again. However, as Ryou told Mokuba to get his things together (you would think that he'd have learned by now to be ready for when his brother came to pick him up), Mr. Bakura stepped up to the door.

"Can I talk with you briefly Seto?" he asked.

"I need to get Mokuba home. Tomorrow's a school day."

"It'll only take a few minutes," the archaeologist insisted as he joined Seto and closed the door behind him. "Why don't we sit down?"

"If it'll only take a few moments, sir, I'd rather not." In truth, Seto was in too much pain to sit down without his pain showing. He'd somehow forgotten to bring his pain-killers along with him tonight, which meant that he was still in some rather excruciating pain. It was only years of carefully practiced control over his expressions that allowed him to hide the constant hum of pain he felt. Any irritation of his wounds, though, and he didn't think he could hide the increase of pain.

"How about we go for a stroll around the block, then?" Mr. Bakura offered, seeming congenial and calm, so Seto nodded reluctantly. The two of them began to walk side by side, Seto still on edge despite the relaxed manner the older man adopted.

"My son says you work a lot of hours."

"That's true."

"Where do you work?"

"I'm a bartender at The Underground, a club downtown."

"Ryou told me that. I checked into it, though, and I found that you were fired several months ago for disruptive behavior. What was that about?"

Seto snorted disdainfully. "I stood up to a rake. Apparently, because he was a customer, I wasn't allowed to tell him not to molest a young woman who told him no," Seto snapped. He was still bitter about losing that job just for trying to do the right thing. Technically, he'd lost his job for starting a bar brawl that broke a few stools, several glasses, and disrupted the patrons, but that only happened because he'd been doing the right thing.

"And before that, you worked as a waiter at a steakhouse, yes?" Seto stopped in his tracks, his jaw clenching. "Keep walking, Seto." Something about his calm, unassuming tone prompted Seto to keep walking. "That was your job before The Underground, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

They turned a corner.

"And how did you lose that job?"

"I was assaulted by the restaurant manager, sir." Seto hoped that his cheeks didn't betray the nature of the assault.

"I see." Clearly, Mr. Bakura didn't need a blush to tell him what happened. "And before that you were a clerk in the library? What happened there?"

"Yes, sir. I was let go by the library because they needed to make staff cuts due to tax reforms. The economy's not what it used to be."

"You speak like you're much older than you are, Seto," Mr. Bakura observed casually.

"I've had to act much older than I am for most of my life, so I guess that makes sense."

"What do you mean by that?"

Silence.

"You're very polite as well. Did your parents raise you that way?"

"No, sir." There was a bitter laugh in his voice that he didn't care enough to hide.

"How long ago did your mother die, Seto?"

A pause.

"Eleven years ago."

"And your father…?" Bakura had no idea what Seto's father was like, because Ryou didn't know either.

"What about him, sir?" Seto had his guard up. He always hated when people pried into his personal life.

"What's he like? Where does he work?"

"He doesn't," Seto answered tersely. "He's alcoholic, and he uses my money to get what he needs. That's why I work so many hours. I provide for all of us." Bakura was silent for a few moments, thinking this over as they turned a second corner.

"You seem honest by nature, Seto, so I'm curious as to why you've been lying for so long about where you work."

Silence.

"Where do you work?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, sir, but that's none of your business." Mr. Bakura may be trustworthy enough for Seto to tell him about his father, but he'd be damned if he was about to divulge his darkest secrets.

"Where did you come from just now?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but if I told you that, I could get both of us in a lot of trouble."

"Does that mean that you're in trouble right now, Seto?" Silence for a while, and Bakura was about to give up on that question when he heard Seto inhale deeply, as if preparing to speak.

"I…" Seto's voice faltered and failed, and he suddenly felt very vulnerable. He didn't even know what he'd thought he was gonna say. He hadn't expected Ryou's father to talk circles around his head and screw with his thoughts like this, otherwise he would've been more careful.

"You know, Seto, you can trust me with anything," Mr. Bakura assured, lifting a hand and giving him a pat on the back of his shoulder, only to see Seto nearly double over as he groaned in pain. "Seto! Are you alright?" he said as he stopped and bent down to see what was wrong. Seto quickly straightened up with a grunt, side-stepping to put distance between the two of them.

"Don't touch me," Seto snapped, grimacing in pain. The pain was clearly severe enough to affect both his breathing and his posture.

"What's wrong, Seto? Where are you hurt?" Bakura was persistent, though he didn't try to touch him again.

"Nothing, I'm fine." It was a well-practiced lie. Seto didn't think he was even capable of saying otherwise anymore. The truth was too painful, and that lie was so easy, much too easy… as easy as swallowing more painkillers to hide the truth from everyone around him. He continued to walk forward, turning the third street corner as Mr. Bakura watched from behind, his eyes widening in shock.

"Stop!" Seto froze. "You're bleeding through your shirt." Bakura's voice held that same mixture of shock and concern that he had seen on Joey's face over a month ago when he'd first learned the truth. Mr. Bakura was at his side quickly, reaching for Seto again, but the brunette flinched away from his hand.

"Don't. Touch. Me," he repeated, emphasizing each word. Seto's tone and posture reminded Mr. Bakura of when he encountered an injured crocodile in Egypt, ready to snap at anything that came near.

"Okay, I won't," he said calmly, hoping that his own calm would help Seto to relax. "But we need to get you back to the house." Seto just nodded and they walked back to the house at a quicker pace, both silent as Bakura watched his son's friend carefully, thinking over everything he'd learned. Seto hadn't had a mother since he was five, and his father had proved to be undependable and unstable. Seto, having taken the role of primary care provider for his family, had subjugated his own needs and desires to the needs and desires of his little brother. He'd fallen into something bad, and while he could make some guesses, he didn't want to assume anything. Besides, Seto was clearly mistrusting, and if he made any kind of assumption about him it might drive him away.

When they came back to the front steps, Bakura went first. His hand was on the doorknob when Seto stopped him.

"Sir, before we go in there, you need to promise me something." Bakura turned around to see Seto standing with that perfectly straight posture he'd had before, his chin set stubbornly.

"I'm listening."

"I'll only go in there and let you help me if you promise not to tell anyone about this, any of this. Not Ryou, not your wife, not the authorities, not child services, nobody at all. Can you promise me that?" Ryou's father was silent for a moment, contemplating the implications of such a promise.

"I will promise you that only if you promise to let me help you, and not just this one time. Let me help you get out of whatever trouble you're in. If you get hurt like this again, come back and let me take care of you. I won't take action or seek outside help without your permission, but I want you to trust me and tell me what's going on."

"Fine." Seto was in too much pain to deny the offer.

"Then it's a promise." Mr. Bakura held out his hand and Seto shook it, sealing the deal. "Come on, let's get you taken care of."

Ryou had overseen Mokuba getting his things together, but had noticed with surprise when he glanced out the window that Seto and his father seemed to be going for a walk. He told Mokuba to wait on the couch while Ryou got Amane to bed; the two of them were awake way too late already, and tomorrow was a school day. The two children gave each other a goodnight hug—which Ryou couldn't help but perceive as totally adorable—then he took Amane upstairs. When he came down again, it was just in time to see Seto and his father re-enter the house through the front door. Mokuba started to stand up, but his father stopped him.

"Mokuba can you please wait here with Ryou until we come back?" was all his father said, glancing at Ryou for confirmation, who nodded in answer. Then he glanced at Seto, but his face was turned away, so Ryou couldn't get any hints from him as to what was going on. He had just reached the couch when he glanced after them again as his father led Seto down the hall, noticing with a small gasp the fresh blood stain on the back of Seto's shirt.

"What's going on?" Mokuba asked, tugging on Ryou's hand to get his attention. Ryou looked down at him with a small smile and held his hand comfortingly.

"My dad just wants to talk to your brother for a bit, okay?" Ryou sat down next to Mokuba, who lay down and put his head in Ryou's lap. "Have you been getting enough sleep, lately, Mokuba?"

"No, but I sleep more than Seto," the child answered tiredly. "I don't think he got to bed at all last night. We catch up on the weekends, though."

Ryou smiled a little sadly as he said, "How about you get some sleep now while we wait for him?"

"Okay…" Mokuba yawned as he closed his eyes, snuggling against the teen he considered to be a secondary brother. He dozed off rather quickly, and Ryou busied himself combing the tangles out of Mokuba's hair with his fingers and contemplating the blood on Seto's shirt. What had happened? Just how much was his friend hiding from him?