When Mokuba's birthday arrived, Seto tried hard to make it special for him. After all, Seto's own birthdays as a youngster hadn't been much celebrated or noticed, and he didn't want Mokuba to go through that as well.

Seto always woke Mokuba in the morning, but on his birthday, it was the smell of fresh pancakes that woke his little brother. Seto had acquired several cooking skills out of necessity and had become quite proficient in what he knew. Mokuba had gone through a stage of picky eating when he was eight, and thirteen-year-old Seto had needed to work hard to get his brother to eat much of anything.

They were chocolate chip pancakes, which put his now twelve-year-old brother in a good mood for the long walk to the KaibaCorp Headquarters. He'd cleared it with his supervisor beforehand, so it was alright for him to bring Mokuba in to work with him that day. He'd also let Duke know so that he wouldn't be surprised.

"Hi there, I'm Duke," the mechanical genius greeted as he held out a hand to Mokuba, who shook it with a smile. "You must be Mokuba. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Mokuba said with a smile. "You built that?" he asked, looking behind Duke at the Duel Arena prototype.

"Yep, and your brother did all the programming," Duke said, after double checking that the door was closed. They could get away with this so long as it never got to Noah that Mokuba had come in with Seto. Duke had started to suspect that he had moles acting as his eyes and ears in every corner of the company, so they'd taken extra precautions like closing their door while they were working. "Want to test it out?"

"Can I?" Mokuba said excitedly, unable to believe his ears.

"Of course you can!" Duke answered, with a wink. "We need to test it out again to see if your brother finally worked out all the kinks in the card-reader."

"Hey, you try staring at endless pages of computer coding and not having difficulty picking out the errors. It's a different language completely, just like Portuguese or Farsi."

"Nah, I'll leave that to nerds like you," Duke teased playfully.

"Hey, speak for yourself," Seto joked back, Mokuba grinning the whole time. He enjoyed seeing his brother so happy. He hoped that things stayed this way for a long time. He never wanted things to go back to when Seto was always working late, always in pain, always tired.

"Are you ready to duel?" Duke asked with a sly grin."

That night, the two of them were very content indeed. Mokuba had crawled over to Seto as he sat on their bed and looked over Duke's preliminary sketches for their portable Duel Arena idea. The child curled up at his brother's side, content to just be near him.

"Seto, do you need glasses?" Mokuba asked finally after nearly fifteen minutes of watching his brother squint at Duke's angular handwriting and faint pencil sketches.

"What? No, that's ridiculous," he answered, quickly dismissing the idea.

"But didn't Mom wear reading glasses?"

Seto was silent for a few moments, then answered, "Yeah, she did."

"So it's not that ridiculous that you might need them too, right?" Mokuba pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Seto answered with a sigh, smiling at his brother.

I told you that there was something wrong with your vision, Seth said, trying not to sound too triumphant.

Shut up, you, Seto thought back at him with a tone of irritation. I'll deal with it when I can afford to go to the eye doctor. Until then, I'll make do.

"Can you please tell me more about her?" Mokuba asked, making Seto inhale slowly as he dug into his deepest memories.

"I was really young, so I don't remember much," he said slowly. "I remember that she had dark hair, kinda like yours, but she kept it shorter. She baked the best chocolate chip cookies, and we always ate one as soon as they came out of the oven." He smiled at the memory, one of the few he had of her, but while he had few memories, they were all quite vivid. He could still remember the smell of the cookies, the burn of the melted chocolate chips against the roof of his mouth. He could still hear her voice telling him to eat it quickly before they cooled, because it was a proven fact that chocolate always tasted best when hot. He could still see her broad smile, warm and understanding and kind. God, he missed her. "She did wear reading glasses, not just when she was reading, but also when she sketched."

"She liked to draw?" Mokuba asked with surprise, not having heard this detail before.

"Yeah, just like you," he answered. "I remember that she drew some pictures of you right after you were born, when you were still really tiny."

"Do we have any of her drawings?" Mokuba asked hopefully.

"I don't know, but I'll look tomorrow."

"How big was I when I was born?" he asked, suddenly wanting to know not just more about her, but everything he could possibly know.

"Five pounds, nine ounces," Seto answered after a moment's thought. "You were pretty small, but then again, all babies seemed really small to me when I was that young. She worried about you a lot." The memories of his mother after Mokuba's birth were more detailed, more clear. "Every time you cried, she was afraid that she'd done something wrong." His mother's descent into post-partum anxiety was a less rosy memory, though no less cherished than any others. She may have been fretful and frazzled for the few months between his brother's birth and her own death, but she hadn't loved any of them any less.

"Was there… reason for her to be worried?" Mokuba asked, suddenly afraid that there had been something wrong with him when he was an infant.

"I'm inclined to say no, but I only understood a fraction of what was going on at the time." It was the best answer he could give. "I remember… I remember her singing you lullabies, trying to get you to sleep." He didn't want to go into the details of their mother's panic attacks, the episodes in which she'd gone frantic with worry for her baby and the only thing that could calm her down was… "Dad was different back then. He was a good husband and a good father. It was only after we lost Mom that he changed." They both sat in sad, uncomfortable silence. "They really loved each other." Mokuba's smaller hand slipped into Seto's, holding it tightly.

"What's the last thing you remember of her?" Mokuba asked. Seto felt reluctant to answer, but Mokuba sensed this and said, "I'm old enough that I can handle it."

"She was sick," Seto said, trying to maintain his sense of calm. "She was sick in bed, and she wanted to hold you, but she was too afraid of you getting sick too." Seto finally set aside the sketches he'd been looking at and pulled Mokuba up into his lap, his little brother putting his arms around Seto's neck.

"Weren't you the only one with her when…?" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes," he whispered. "She was sick, but she was holding me… I couldn't leave her alone." Seto was starting to choke up. These memories were far too poignant for him to think about for much longer without crying.

"But, wasn't that dangerous for you?" Mokuba asked, astonished.

"Yes, but I couldn't seem to die." Seto laughed a little bitterly at that, remembering how long she'd been sick and how much time he'd spent with her, yet he'd been fine. "I never left her side the whole time, but I never got sick. I probably should have, since she seemed to fear that it was contagious, but I have no idea what she was sick with." Seto took another steadying breath, and said, "I remember that one of the last things she asked me was to tell you that she loved you. She made me promise to protect you, which is what I've always done." He kissed Mokuba's forehead. "And I never break promises, do I?"

"No, you don't," Mokuba said with a faint smile. "Because you shouldn't make promises you can't keep, right?"

"That's right." Seto was glad that what he'd been teaching his brother all his life was sticking in his young mind: Don't make promises you can't keep. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Only initiate a fight in the defense of others. Never act out of anger. Never lie, because lies always catch up with you. Don't hide your mistakes, because painful consequences are always preferable to the pain of guilt.

"Just like when I kissed Amane and I promised her that—"

"What?!" Alarms started going off in Seto's brain as he stared down at his brother, who's started to blush. "You did what?!"

"I… kissed her," Mokuba answered hesitantly, not understanding the cause for the severity of his brother's reaction.

Seto sighed heavily, taking a moment to stare up at the ceiling. I'm too young to have to worry about things like this, he inwardly bemoaned.

Then let me help, Seth offered. The moment Seto felt Seth's mental presence try to push forward, his defenses went up, blocking Seth out.

Don't do this, Seto, Seth pleaded. I'm not trying to take over, I'm just trying to work with you. Or do you want to explain these things to your brother without my guidance?

"Seto?" His brother's prolonged silence was starting to worry Mokuba.

"We need to have a talk," Seto said at last as he let Seth ease his way into Seto's consciousness. He could feel the ancient spirit providing him with the peace of mind and clarity of speech that he needed for this discussion, and for the first time, the two of them operated as one.

"I should have done this ages ago," Ryou muttered to himself as he propped his laptop on his thighs and slouched against the pillows on his bed, adjusting the angle of his bent knees as he opened the device and logged onto his account. He was tired of wondering why Seto shied away from his touch, as he did everybody else's except Mokuba. He opened his Internet browser and began typing something into Google, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to recall all of the strangenesses Seto had been exhibiting in the last few months.

"What are you doing?" Marik asked as he popped his head through Ryou's doorway. Ryou paused in what he was doing and glanced, his face softening as he saw Marik.

"I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with Seto," he answered, causing Marik to enter out of curiosity. As Marik sat down facing him at the foot of the bed, Ryou pulled himself up so that he was no longer slouching, his legs fully extended in front of him as he kept the computer on his lap. Two pairs of legs ran parallel to each other across the bedspread, touching at the knees, but neither minded. Marik remained silent, contemplating all of his interactions with Seto.

"I don't know why I didn't think to do this before," Ryou repeated, half to himself.

"Do what?"

"Use Google to see if here's something actually wrong with him."

"Actually wrong?" Marik tipped his head to the side in confusion.

"Like, a disorder or, heaven forbid, a disease," Ryou said in explanation as he thoughtfully perused the Wikipedia page about haphephobia, the fear of being touched:

"Some people are born with haphephobia, while others may develop it, predominantly after a bad experience. More rarely, it is caused by an extreme reaction to their environment. Sometimes, the fear is restricted specifically, or predominantly, to being touched by people of the opposite or same sex. This is often associated with a fear of sexual assault. Michel Dorais reports that many boys who have been the victims of sexual abuse have a fear of being touched, quoting one victim who describes being touched as something that 'burns like fire,' causing him to freeze up or lash out." (1)

"Uh oh." The words passed Ryou's lips involuntarily, and Marik began to look concerned.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure about it yet, but I have a feeling that this will turn out very badly…" He didn't want to jump to conclusions just yet and voice his fears to Marik, in case he was wrong. Since he knew that Seto hadn't always been like this (after all Seto had hugged him after he helped Ryou extract the Millennium Ring from his chest at school), he clicked on the link to "sexual assault," finding it to be the most likely cause, as much as it sickened him to think of it. He went from "sexual assault" to "rape," eventually making his way to the "rape trauma syndrome" page. Far too many symptoms either reminded Ryou of things he and Mokuba had witnessed in Seto or of Seto's typical behavioral patterns. Too much fit him too well.

Seto probably didn't realize how much his little brother told Ryou about him. Every nightmare, every sleepless night, every unexplained injury got reported back to Ryou ever since he'd gotten into the habit of asking Mokuba how his brother was doing.

Eventually, Ryou's heart ached too much, and he closed the browser window and his laptop, tucking it under his bed before sitting up and hugging himself as he struggled internally through all the information he'd just absorbed. Marik, who'd been waiting patiently and quietly for the results of Ryou's research, pulled his legs up under him and crawled to the other end of the bed, nudging his head against Ryou's shoulder in a somewhat feline manner as he knelt beside his best friend.

"What did you find out?" he finally asked, and Ryou sighed heavily as he put an arm around Marik's shoulders and gathered his thoughts for an answer.

"Someone hurt him, that much I know for sure," he said at last, leaning into the warm, solid presence of his best friend. That wasn't new information, since he and Marik both still vividly remembered the night that Seto had collapsed on their doorstep and his parents had retreated into the privacy of the guest room to take care of him. Mr. and Mrs. Bakura hadn't let either Ryou or Marik see Seto or the true state he was in, though, so they still lacked those details. "I don't know how, not with certainty at least, but he's hiding something that he should have reported as soon as it happened." Marik considered his words.

"Do you think someone… took advantage of him?"

That was a gracious way of putting it.

"It makes the most sense," Ryou admitted quietly. The tanned teen seemed repulsed by the idea, but not surprised, as if he'd been considering it as a possibility all along. Marik's arm around him pulled him closer. "Do you think getting him to talk about it could help?"

"I don't know if it would help, but I do know that he couldn't have a better friend to talk to than you," Marik answered, giving Ryou's cheek a kiss as he put his other arm around him. The two stretched out along the bed and cuddled, Marik hoping that it would make the burden of knowledge cause Ryou less distress.

Maybe it was the warmth of their position as the lay comfortably together, or maybe it was the fact that Ryou had stayed up half the night writing a new scenario for the Monster World RPG, but he soon drifted off into a light doze without even meaning to. Marik just smiled and closed his eyes, resting his head against Ryou's as he let him nap. He was unaware when Ryou's father paused at the half-open door to his son's bedroom and smiled. He passed on after a moment, not wanting to disturb them. After all, their love was a beautiful thing.

Ryou looked out the window as he waited for Seto to arrive. He was usually like clockwork, but today he was late, and it worried him. Mr. Bakura had, as a surprise, set Marik up on a video chat with his siblings back in Egypt. Marik had become droll and homesick as of late, and Ryou was glad to see him so animated and lively again. Mokuba and Amane were cuddling on the couch, and while Ryou felt that he ought to be keeping an eye on them—he had a sneaking suspicion that Mokuba could actually be fairly charming if he tried—he was too distracted. After the research he'd done on Seto's behavioral symptoms, any deviance from his usual patterns caught Ryou's attention and held it until he knew that everything was alright.

As he watched the street corner, resting his chin in his hands, Seto rounded it in a blur of movement, running like there was no tomorrow. But he looked as if he'd been running for a while, and he glanced over his shoulder, the gesture allowing Ryou to see the panic on his face. He stumbled, and his head snapped forward again. He came to a halting stop, then ducked into the narrow alley between Ryou's house and the one next door. He was acting like he was being chased, but Ryou didn't see anybody following him in pursuit.

Ryou sat up and slipped on his shoes, then stepped out the front door and went to join Seto before anybody could ask him where he was going. He found him crouched at the base of the wall, panting hard.

"Seto, are you okay?"

The brunette started at the sound of Ryou's voice, tensing for a moment, then relaxing again and closing his eyes as he let his head fall back against the wall. He didn't seem able to answer, but whether it was because he didn't know or he was out of breath was unclear. Ryou carefully sat down beside him, close, but not touching him. Ever since he'd suspected Seto of having hapnophobia—haptephobia—whatever it was—he'd been careful not to touch Seto without permission. He liked to think that it was appreciated, even though it was difficult for him to do, since he—like Marik—communicated affection and comfort primarily through touch.

"Seto, did somebody hurt you?" his question was a faint whisper. Seto opened his eyes and stared ahead at the wall they were facing, silent as he tried to piece together an answer for him.

"I-I can't remember what happened," he whispered at last, shaking his head a little. "But… I don't think so, not this time."

"This time?" Ryou repeated, afraid that his fears were about to be confirmed. Seto mentally cursed himself for his verbal slip up, retreating into his own mind as he sought out Seth to ask him for information, his hand unconsciously going to the length of the Millennium Rod as he did so. Ryou noticed this and decided to wait and let Seto commune with Seth before speaking again.

Seth, you didn't take over, did you? Seto asked, privately hoping that the answer was yes. If so, then the mystery was solved.

No, you fought off your attacker yourself this time, Seto, he answered, a touch of pride in his pained voice. Seto recognized that voice; it was the one Seth used when he waxed paternal and called Seto "son" and "child."

Did you at least see who it was? He knew the statistics: 96% of all rapes were committed by someone who already knew the victim in some capacity. If Seth could describe him, he could identify his attacker and report him to the police.

No, I'm sorry, I didn't, Seth answered faintly. If I had seen who it was, I promise you, I would do all I could to bring him to justice.

Do you at least remember what happened? Seto asked, desperate for any scrap of information he could get. He hated not being able to remember what happened.

Seth hesitated, then answered, I do, my son, but I'm not going to share it with you.

Why not? Seto demanded, getting angry with Seth and with himself. Was he really so weak-minded that such trauma was enough to shock him into selective amnesia? After everything he'd suffered, was there really anything that could cause him trauma?

Because there's a reason that your mind blocked the memory, Seth answered patiently. It would tear you apart all over again. Besides, he continued, addressing the thoughts that Seto hadn't directly aimed at him. This was a surprise. Every other time, you were expecting something and you were, technically, willing, in body though not in spirit.

Are you sure you didn't just CHOOSE to take this memory from me? he snapped somewhat savagely. He hated that Seth was implying someone had attempted to rape him, but he had to admit that such a thing would indeed explain his faintly shaking hands and rapidly beating heart.

I would sooner have taken over and stopped it myself, Seth scoffed. I would have stepped in if you'd needed me to, but you didn't. Besides, erasing your memories is a post facto remedy; I'd rather prevent the event in the first place.

Frustrated, Seto strained his mind to recall what had happened: he'd left the office, walked two blocks—then everything became a black, blurry headache. After that, he just remembered running fast and hard until he came here, knowing that he was possibly being pursued, possibly fleeing an assailant. Why did his hair feel like it had been yanked at its roots and why did his arm ache like it had been forcefully twisted behind his back? Seth forced Seto out of his memories, casting a sense of calm over his hikari so that he could take the time he needed to work through this instead of breaking down in distress.

Please, don't hurt yourself trying to remember, Seth chided tenderly, easing the headache Seto had induced by taking the pain for himself as he hoped that Seto would just let the matter be. You're safe now, and that's the most important thing.

"Seto…"

Ryou's voice brought Seto back to himself, and he realized that he'd started to weep. He glanced over to see that Ryou was offering him a handkerchief, and he accepted it with a mumbled thanks as he started to dry his eyes.

"May I hug you?" Ryou asked, feeling otherwise helpless to comfort his friend.

"Yeah," Seto answered after a moment, bracing himself for the contact but sighing with relief as Ryou's hug actually caused him no discomfort or distress. Maybe it was because Ryou had been less touchy lately, or maybe it was simply because he'd asked for permission first, but Seto was actually able to find comfort in physical contact aside from Mokuba for the first time in a long while. It felt so good, he didn't want to let go.

"Thank you," he said at last, releasing the shorter teen and pulling himself back to his feet, Ryou following suit with a look of concern.

"You should tell somebody what happened," Ryou said softly, still looking worried.

"If I can't even remember the attack, then there's nothing to report," Seto said dismissively, trying to pull himself together. After all, he hadn't been injured and he had no information about the attacker, so what was there worth saying?

"Seto—"

"I'm not going to argue with you about this."

"What about the last time, then?" Ryou's voice was soft, but piercing.

Seto looked up at Ryou sharply, suddenly wondering just how much he knew.

"Have you been talking to Joey lately?" he asked out of the blue.

"Joey?" Ryou was now quite confused. "I don't see how that's rel—"

"Nevermind." Seto walked past Ryou, just wanting to put it all behind him.

Ryou sighed, and called softly, "I won't tell anybody, but if you ever do need to talk, I'm always willing to listen."

Seto hesitated, and answered quietly, "Thank you."

Noah Kaiba uncorked a bottle of Brunello as Miho got ice from the machine. They were in his top-floor office; she'd come to visit him, bothered by the fact that he was working so late.

"I still can't believe you were foolish to go for a walk without one of your bodyguards," Miho said disapprovingly as she re-entered the office with the ice and some paper towels.

"Well, I just wanted to stretch my legs briefly, I didn't think I needed them for so short a walk," he lied easily.

"Well, apparently you do." She sounded bitter.

"Are you mad at me, babe?" he asked as he poured their glasses of wine. He didn't care that they were underage, and neither did she. His staff knew better than to try and blackmail him or report him to the police.

"Yes, because it was careless, and I don't like seeing your pretty face all swollen like that." She pouted as she held the ice to his cheek, and he smiled at her charmingly.

"It won't kill me, you know. Give it a week, and you'll never even know that it was there." Secretly, he was furious that he'd been struck. No matter what, he was going to get his hands on that penniless, no good man-whore even if he had to lure him to this very office. Noah Kaiba always got what he wanted, no exceptions, and he wanted to break Seto in a way that his father never could.

He handed Miho her wineglass and held up his own. "To pleasure, and all that it implies," he said with that half-smile of seductive cunning that never failed to fascinate her.

"I'll drink to that," she purred.

Author Notes: So, I stopped fighting the angstshipping and just let it happen. I hope none of you hate me for that. :/ If you want me to write the scene of how the romance got started between those two fluffy lovebirds (or perhaps what they do the day they stay home alone together ;P), let me know in a review, and I'll write it for my Deleted Scenes collection. And two more "Hamilton" references, what?! ;P

So, I would have included the set up that would tell you the next big plot point coming in the next chapter, but I opted for the fluff instead, as requested. ;P Otherwise, the chapter would have been WAY too long. It's already too long anyways.

What was your favorite moment? Tell me in a review, because more reviews = more chapters! And I don't post another chapter until I get at least one review on the newest chapter, so review, even if you didn't like it!

(1) Quote from "Haphephobia" Wikipedia page.