Title: The State of Nature

Author: starlight2005

Pairing: Seto/Yami, surprise/Yami

Rating: M (I’m raising the bar. This is M, people. Not the lovey-dovey stuff I used to write ages ago, and not the migraine-inducing ones I haven’t even finished. Consider yourselves warned.)

Summary: AU In the primal state, it’s only a matter of time until the one that got away is gotten back and kept forever: in which Yami finds out how underneath the deception and cajoling, there’s really just a man who’s holding on to someone he loves.

Spoilers: Assumes the knowledge and existence of Yami, Seto Kaiba, Yugi Mutou, Bakura, Mokuba Kaiba, among others… otherwise, none.

A/N: Inspired by readings on Political Philosophy and a few free time in college

Warnings: sex, language, violence, politics, angst

 

Prologue

 

From this equality of ability, ariseth equality of hope in the attaining of our Ends. And therefore if any two men desire the same thing, which nevertheless they cannot both enjoy, they become enemies; and in the way to their End, (which is principally their owne conservation, and sometimes their delectation only) endeavour to destroy, or subdue one another. – Thomas Hobbes, The Leviathan

 

It went without saying that for one to attain something, he needed to give up something of equal value. Some called it sacrifice and easily complied; some remained apathetic, hiding behind books and piles of papers, wishing secretly for the ideal place that they knew wouldn’t come. Some, however, chose to find their way around the condition and made other people sacrifice for them. And it was entirely selfish, incredibly cunning that finally, they were far more in an advantage than everyone else.

Such was Seto Kaiba, in his steady rise to power, towering over elder, supposedly wiser businessmen as he dominated the field of business one year after another, continuously.

But the thing about Seto Kaiba was, as much as he was a ruthless entrepreneur, relishing in the benefits of Capitalism, people knew what they had expected from him. He had come from a rich, powerful family; his ruthlessness only rivaled by his own adoptive father; and people simply didn’t care. Kaiba Corporations provided them jobs; provided cities with fine taxes and provided other businessmen avenues to compete with each other in the hope of defeating him someday. Of course everyone knew he wouldn’t be defeated but that was beside the point. If he was anything but a nice, charming young man—which he adamantly refused to be—then it simply wasn’t of significance.

Come on, they had money, people, and they weren’t going to complain.

So, he was expected to be cold and merciless; a businessman in all angles, a master of all trades.

On the other hand, Yami Mutou, eldest of two sons of Daichi Mutou, a wealthy politician down south, was very much the opposite. Then again, he didn’t really grow up in his native land, his father having sent him to America to protect him from an overzealous mother who had ran away with her lover. In short, Yami wasn’t exactly briefed about how to act when he finished his studies and went home, isolating himself on a small cabin located on a hill that overlooked the ocean.

It wasn’t the behavior of someone people thought would follow in the politician’s footsteps, see; and really, Mutou-sama’s oldest son shirking at his destiny? How awful. The fact that he didn’t seem to care made things worse as he lived his life away from everyone, doing God-knows-what in his wooden cabin.

Now, the principle behind sacrifices was, you simply couldn’t give up something now then stop altogether, hoping one was enough. If Daichi Mutou was to win in the next election, catering to a public that preferred politicians who could effectively manage their own families, who knew what they were doing and how they were going to achieve what they had promised, he would have to convince them that Yami Mutou was going to be the ever-supportive son/heir for the campaign.

It was a good idea, wasn’t it?

Alright.

Yami hated it.

And he hated the stuffy, way-too-formal coat and tie he was wearing, too.

The party was at full-blast—as far as political parties could be, anyway—when he arrived, dateless simply to annoy his overly ambitious father. He was 25, for crying out loud! He wasn’t some small child who could be ordered around like an idiot. Cocktails, stoic waiters, boisterous-giggling extravagantly dressed women, pompous politicians and businessmen… in monkeysuits… why did he agree to go again?

“This is not optional. You are required to be in the mansion at 7:30 in the evening sharp, tonight. Bring a date, else you shall hear from me.”

Right. That was why.

“Onii-san!”

Yami’s lips quirked into a grin, his brother’s voice brightening his ruined day—night, whichever. Yuugi Mutou was eight years younger and short for his age. He looked like a kid, in layman’s terms, and Yami’s amusement about it had not faded in time. So it seemed, since he chuckled and ruffled Yuugi’s neatly-kept hair.

“Good to see you’re alive, Yugi,” he greeted, not one for Japanese honorifics. As far as he was concerned, he was visiting his family, not necessarily a citizen obliged to follow tradition. His brother hugged him tight after protesting at the mess his hair was left in.

“Father is looking for you. He wanted you to meet someone.”

‘To meet someone’, in the Mutou household, meant a potential business partner or political backing the two sons of the politician were expected to either impress or woo. Yami grimaced visibly, signaling the waiter nearby to get him tequila from his father’s private stash. Served the old man right, he thought grudgingly as he followed. He drank it down, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat. It felt good. He walked towards his father, knowing he was talking to someone again. If his father was talking to the same old man who thought Yami was a girl again, Yami swore he was going to…

He trailed off, obviously caught by surprise at the sight of the person who was the exact opposite of who he was thinking. What the—

“This is my eldest, Yami.”

Yami avoided his father’s gaze, calmly meeting the other man’s instead. He looked familiar. Or at least, he was supposed to since he seemed far too accustomed to this kind of scenery to be new to the game. And Yami really wasn’t some newbie in the game, either; he knew who was who. Yami should know him, but he didn’t. Pity. Yami extended his hand, favoring the Western style of greeting strangers and waiting for the handshake. The other man shook his hand, gripping tight enough to hurt but not too much as to alert Yami that he didn’t mean well.

“Seto Kaiba.”

 Daichi smiled excitedly, and for someone so old, Yami thought it was so out of place. He nodded at the brunet anyway, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kaiba,” he said. “Enjoying the party so far?”

“It has proven to be interesting,” Seto Kaiba replied, glancing at him unnervingly. Yami would have flinched at the intensity of the man’s gaze. Seriously, he thought to himself, didn’t you know better? He was used to this. In America anyway. “I have heard that you haven’t stayed that long in Domino?”

For someone whose reputation was worth adoring, the man’s attempt at small talk was pathetic. Yami nodded. “I’ve been away,” he answered noncommittally. As far as he was concerned, people didn’t have to know where he had been and what he was doing there. Besides it was none of their business.

“Would you mind guiding me to the garden? I have been told of its ethereality at night.”

This was what Yami Mutou knew about Seto Kaiba—he had brown hair, he was taller by several inches and he had piercing cobalt-blue eyes. He knew about Seto’s brother, Mokuba, who had been Yugi’s classmate two years back and he knew the elder of the two Kaibas had taken over his adoptive father’s company. If rumors were to be believed, it was a brutal take-over.

This was what he saw in the party—a well-dressed man his age, looking at him like he was a piece of meat for a pack of hungry hyenas even as he attracted the stares of the crowd. Yami didn’t react so much as he nodded and led the way, knowing the path subconsciously. He used to go there when he was a child. The moment he stepped out of the balcony that preceded the garden, he was slammed on the wall by the door, his shoulders gripped tight and pinned.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Kaiba!” Yami demanded, struggling as he did so. The CEO leaned in, mouth ghosting over Yami’s lips while he stared back. No one was expecting a kiss, mind you; and when Seto didn’t, nibbling on the politician’s son’s ear, instead, Yami instinctively shuddered.  He felt Seto smirk and he glared, renewing his attempts to break free.

“Stop moving,” Seto ordered, grabbing both of his wrists and slamming them back to the wall. “I have a proposal for you,” he whispered hotly in Yami’s ears. When the other man stiffened, he let go, chuckling at the glare he received. He didn’t bother to explain why. He wasn’t here for that.

Yami rubbed his wrists before he crossed his arms, refusing to move any further seeing as there really wasn’t much respectable distance between him and the CEO. Stupid CEO, he muttered, pinning him to the wall like he was some sort of insect. “What is it?” He asked, warily meeting the businessman’s gaze and disliking the manic gleam in his eyes. He was going to get his father for this. Or probably drink all his tequila before the night was over.

“You’re going to do something for me,” Seto offhandedly replied, waiting for the reaction he was expecting.

The politician’s son was innately like his father, though; laughing, instead of protesting strongly. Yami threw his head back and chuckled, finding the entire thing utterly ridiculous. “For you? You’re not expecting me to do something just because you said so, do you? I’m not like that, Mr. Kaiba. I’m not my father, whom you’d probably have much to benefit from compared to me, mind you,” he reasoned, sobering up as he icily met Seto’s gaze, “And even if I was interested in doing you a favor, I’m not; definitely not for you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

Seto shrugged, “I guess Daichi-san must bid farewell to his campaign then since I’m not going to support it anymore.”

“I hope you’re not serious, Mr. Kaiba. Surely you know I don’t respond to blackmails… and honestly, using my father and his campaign?” Yami shook his head and turned around, headed inside, “I really don’t care.”

“Ah, but I’m not finished.”

“You are. Good night, Mr. Kaiba.”

“Do you know how old your brother is, Yami?” Seto questioned, mock curiously. When Yami turned around, he knew he had foolishly given the CEO the advantage. But he could play and win at chess even after losing most of his officials. He waited, standing between the door leading to the main hall and Seto.

“Did you know that your father is the worst poker player in the world? Really, betting so much when he knew he couldn’t really win against me…”

“Get to the point, Kaiba.”

“Ah, ah, not yet. See, the concept behind human relations is, you have to know which buttons to press so you’d have them in your hands like puppets waiting to be used.” Seto started, eyes at him, gleaming, smug. “Daichi-san badly wanted my support and so he challenged me to a poker game when he couldn’t convince me initially. And as expected, he lost. Again, and again, and again—“

“Are we getting somewhere?” Yami snapped impatiently. Daichi Mutou was one of the best card players in the city. Apparently someone was better. He shouldn’t feel bothered by it, but he was—since it involved his father losing to this jerk. “Because I really have other people to talk to.”

Seto’s smile was completely discomforting and Yami had to stop midway, sighing as he let the man continue. If his father ever found out he had treated one of the guests like this in his political parties, Yami was going to be banished to the Bermuda Triangle in a jiffy. Isolationist that he might be, he really didn’t want to be banished to that place. But people like Seto Kaiba made him want that instead.

“He lost enough to be unable to send your brother, Yuugi, to college, and I just had to pity him—“

“You may be the CEO of your company, Mr. Kaiba, but you will mind your tongue when you speak of my father,” the politician’s son cut in, angrily thinking he was the only one who could be antagonistic with Daichi Mutou. They were father and son! And well… there really wasn’t a fatherandson, but more of general and clueless soldier. He didn’t want the other man to realize he’s worried about Yuugi’s current predicament. Did he even know?

“—so I gave him my support.” Seto smirked.

“And this is connected to me how exactly…?”

“You’re going to do something for me,” the CEO explained slowly, like a teacher with an idiotic child. Yami fumed. “If you do, I’ll pay for Yuugi’s schooling.”

That couldn’t be simple.

“In short, what am I going to do for you?”

Seto’s answer was short, sharp and smug.

“You’re going to marry me.”

Yami Mutou was certain he was staring. No, gaping was the better term. He couldn’t believe it. Had he just been asked? “Are you kidding me?” he asked aloud, incredulously.

“I do not kid.”

“Right, because you’re Bozo the Clown in person. Who said I’m going to marry you?” Yami quipped sarcastically. “Because really, do they fashion wedding proposals like that now? No wonder people won’t marry anymore.”

“You can keep throwing sardonic replies, Yami, or you can agree now and let me work on Yuugi’s schooling. After all, you don’t want your brother to miss out on college, do you? After all the stories you’ve shared about it being the best thing in life?” Seto taunted.

Yami stopped, looking thoughtful for a minute, recognizing the threat as real. He didn’t bother with questioning how the CEO had known about the stories and the indirect quote. He was really going to get his father for this. “This is your proposal?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “You’re not expecting an answer from me right away, are you?”

“Take all the time you want. You have until tomorrow evening to decide,” Seto said, brushing past him. “I shall be at Café Montrello at 8:30. I shall see you there.” He threw Yami a glance, smirking as he crowded Yami suddenly, grabbing the man’s chin and dragging it closer; Seto claiming Yami’s lips forcefully, tongue slipping past without hesitation when Yami gasped reflexively at the impact. He turned them around so Yami’s back was on the door, hands trapped in one of Seto’s before pulling back.

“Good night, Yami,” the brunet bade, returning to the hall and leaving Yami behind to sag on the wall.

 

Part I

 

“We do not say that a man who shows no interest in politics is a man who minds his own business; we say that he has no business here at all.” – Pericles’ funeral oration in Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War

 

The dream began with him falling into an abyss, drowning in water and hurling acid at rocks. He dreamed of grasping for the unreachable zenith and being ruthlessly pulled down by gravity. At the bottom, he felt his insides howling with pain as they started to burn and all he could see was a haze of blue fire. There was heat and there was ice. Combined, they were sharper than any blade formed and deadlier than the fastest poison. Yami remembered gasping awake as he felt his blood run Antarctic-cold and his skin ablaze. It felt like he was dead. He opened his eyes and sat up immediately.

Some things were worth saying about dreaming. There was a double-standard, see, in understanding them. If it were a nightmare, it went without saying that it was worthless and should be forgotten like yesterday’s news. If it were one that involved calm, happy, wonderful things, then they were good dreams and actually foretold the future. It only meant good was good and remembered; while bad was the villain and killed off. The thing was, Yami had never felt more relieved at waking up until now, as he ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Yami wiped his mouth and washed his face, groggily combing his hair with his hand. He looked at his reflection on the mirror and frowned, disliking the sickly pallor his complexion had gone back to. His eyes were bloodshot and he was trembling ever so slightly that the quivering would have gone unnoticed to the untrained eye. Yami shook his head and headed to the shower stall, deciding to start the day anyway. He wasn’t even the slightest hung-over, thereby disqualifying him from begging off breakfast. As far as normal families went, the only thing that was normal in theirs was his father’s insistence in everyone’s presence in the breakfast table.

By the time he had finished his morning routine, dawn had already started to break and he was guessing he was the only one except for the maids, awake. Daichi Mutou always woke up at 6:30 a.m., and it was only 5:43.

But see, Yami had been gone for six years at least, occasionally dropping by but returning to America anyway. The things he knew about his father were outdated, as he found himself staring at the older man now, a grim smile on the elder’s face. Yami fought the urge to act like a teenager and roll his eyes.

“I am an early-riser, if you must know,” He reasoned.

“Come with me,” Daichi Mutou replied, ignoring the explanation. Yami fought the scowl, refusing his day to be ruined. He had, after all, a decision to make—and apparently, secretly at that, too. He followed into the study, feeling like a misbehaved student awaiting punishment from the Headmaster. Daichi sat down, facing him and hands clasped together calmly on the desk. “You have a question, don’t you, son?”

“You lost to Seto Kaiba,” Yami reminded without hesitance. Yami spent half of his life observing and analyzing every move Daichi Mutou made—every glance, smirk, scowl, twitch of fingers—and he knew, knew  that as far as politicians went, his father was one of the best in denial. So he expected a fierce ‘no, stop being an idiot’ gesture which would irritate him further and make him question his father some more. But expectations were often unmet and he found himself staring confusedly as Daichi simply nodded. No denial, no reprimands, no remarks. A nod.

“What?” Yami asked, disbelieving.

“I needed his support,” his father replied, in no way asking for sympathy or pity. It was said matter-of-factly, as Yami had always known about him. “And he refused. I dared him into a game and I lost. That’s the end of the story.”

Why wasn’t he surprised?

Yami chuckled bitterly, standing up from where he had sat on and heading to the fireplace. When he looked at the politician, he was all disdain and anger. “How far will you go to win this retched game of yours, father? Until you ruin my brother’s life as well?” He questioned. Politics was petty and pathetic, relying on false words and empty promises. He couldn’t be blamed for hating it with an unhealthy passion. “You had no right to bet Yugi’s education. No right.”

“Politics is my calling, as it is yours,” Daichi answered calmly. Yami fought the urge to bait him further. He wasn’t a brat, no matter how antagonistic he might be. His father, however, had not noticed the difference in his behavior as he continued, “There are risks that one must take to attain success.”

 “Well, father, last time I checked, one of those risks does not include your son’s education. What did you do? Bet on Yugi’s ability to get into good schools? You had him blacklisted, hadn’t you?” Yami quipped.

Daichi glowered, “Do not pretend that you are the father and I, the son. I know the risks that I have taken and I know the consequence of every one of them.” At Yami’s glare, he sighed, “You are intelligent, my son. You understand that one does not win without losing something that can be regained.”

“Don’t even start,” Yami threatened, knowing where the conversation was headed. They were going to talk about him instead of his brother when he was the least of their problems. Yugi was graduating this school-year and was only awaiting the acceptance letters from the universities he had applied into. Yami refused to see at least one rejection letter addressed to his brother just because his father wanted to try his luck at chess without knowing the rules. “This isn’t about me.”

The elder man shook his head, “Consequently, this is about you, Yami.” He corrected. “You have great potential at running your own district. This is a good opportunity. With Kaiba-sama’s support, we can get you—“

“ENOUGH!” Yami exclaimed angrily, glaring daggers at his father. This was an exhausting topic; had been repeated from the moment he had entered high school until he finished college. Come back, come back, his father had said. Once upon a time Yami believed it meant he was missed and that there was good news the moment he stepped into the house. Once upon a time, he was naïve but he wasn’t anymore and he knew just what happened. “I’m not running for office, any office. Get that in your head, father.”

“It is our family’s tradition that we enter politics,” his father casually reminded him.

“You can’t force me,” Yami argued. He shook his head and exasperatingly added, “Why do I even bother? All I’m saying is, you can play all you want, father, but keep Yugi out of this. He’s not a pawn you’re supposed to play with and messily sacrifice.”

He reached for the door, prepared to leave his father to his thoughts and with all honesty, Yami thought it was a cool way to leave. Walk away and win this round, but Daichi wasn’t done yet. Had shaken his head and Yami was irritated by it. It made him look like a fool who thought he had the upper-hand. He scowled and crossed his arms.

“He has talked to you,” Daichi observed, half in wonder and half in worry. He walked to his son, who stepped back and slipped from his grasp. He sighed; Yami had always been the harder one to reign in. Yami stubbornly met his gaze and refused to answer so he continued, “He specifically asked for you last night. It was one of the conditions he had set when I lost.”

Yami chuckled, genuinely amused, “You’re telling me Seto Kaiba knows me beforehand when I haven’t lived here for years?”

Daichi was unfazed, though; proving where Yami inherited his mule-headedness. He sipped his wine and met his son’s eyes, unaffected by the anger that hid under the surface of his cold, sarcastic humor. Yami had changed so much over the turn of time, and the old man fought sighing heavily. “He mentioned a proposal,” he explained, “And from your lack of reaction—“ to which Daichi paused, hearing Yami’s brisk intake of breath; Yami was furious—“I must say that he made true to his word. Yugi does not know of our dilemma, something Kaiba has promised.”

They were talking about one person. And at this moment, Yami thought he could never hate Seto Kaiba more than how he hated him now. He glared at the older man vehemently, “We?” He echoed, laughing bitterly, “This isn’t your problem anymore.” He accused, understanding now why his presence in last night’s party was necessary; required, “The moment you sold me to that bastard was the moment you washed your hands, Pilate.”

Yami bowed and left abruptly, his blood boiling.

The thing was, there were some things he would do for his father. He would let his father play his game of his, for example; and if he were asked to stay here for the rest of his life to look after their businesses as Daichi Mutou acted the fine role of a politician, Yami would do so as long as Yugi could go away and enjoy his life. Yugi was his brother and as much as Yami wanted to be free from his overly ambitious father, he loved knowing Yugi was happier more. But this—this was preposterous! He felt played, like a useless rook caught between a queen and a forking knight.

And the thing about rooks was, there really were only two ways to go. Either way, Yami was going to get caught and imprisoned on a side.

“Stop acting like a brat and talk to me.”

Yami stopped at his door, staring at the figure on the bed. Despite his anger, he felt his lips quirking into a relieved grin and he rushed to the other man, hugging him fiercely. “Kura you moron, why didn’t you tell me you’ll be visiting?” He greeted, ruffling the man’s hair and thinking of a comment on Bakura’s still obviously white hair. Finding none, he asked instead, “Are you still a detective at PD?”

Bakura laughed and met his gaze, grinning and eyes lighting up. Yami smirked back. It’d been years since they had last met; their last meeting ending with terse goodbyes and promises to stay in contact. That was the night Yami had left for America, though, and it had felt like tearing his limbs off. Bakura was his best friend since they were young, and seeing him now, although scruffier and mean-looking compared to years ago, made Yami hug him tight. He honestly didn’t need to know if Bakura was working for the force.

“Was America that bad?” Bakura teased, wrapping his arms around Yami. “You’re an idiot. You didn’t tell me you’d be coming home, too. I would have fetched you.”

At the reminder of ‘home’, Yami frowned and stiffened, “Japan stopped being a home to me ages ago,” he answered, pulling away and standing up, remembering his current predicament. “I’m in tough shit right now,” he confessed. Bakura eyed him carefully and Yami knew he noticed the tell-tale signs on Yami’s body language. When the white-haired man sighed and stood as well, Yami headed to his mini-refrigerator under his desk and took out two cans of soda. It was too early to get drunk, after all.

“Your father again?”  Bakura inquired, drinking the handed drink and relishing the burn of cold carbonated liquid down his throat. Yami nodded and did the same, gulping the soda. “Why’d you come home then?”

“Yugi needs me,” Yami explained. “Father also didn’t leave me much choice.”

“Still stuck with the same old problem, aren’t you?” Bakura asked. There was a sofa by the shelves and he sat on it, patting the empty side for Yami to sit on. Yami followed, leaning on the arm rest and using Bakura’s lap as a stool for his feet. Bakura grinned at him, rolled his eyes and chucked a pillow at his face, just like old times. When Yami didn’t throw something back, Yami caught Bakura sobering immediately. “Talk to me,” his friend coaxed.

“There’s a… huge possibility I’m getting married, Kura,” Yami admitted, his voice broke at the last two words, realizing it now for himself and grasping the implications of it as his blood ran cold. Marriage. He stared at Bakura in horror, “I’m getting married.”

Bakura gawked at him, for one of those rare moments having nothing to say as they both stared at each other. Ironically, they both thought it was Bakura who was tying the knot first. Yami didn’t believe in matrimony, no matter how sacred it was described to be. “He arranged you a marriage?” Bakura asked hotly, defensive for his best friend. Yami shook his head, clearing things. “Then what? You impregnated some poor woman?”

At Yami’s incredulous stare, Bakura grinned sheepishly.

They both knew the answer to that.

“I have to marry someone if I want Yugi to enter into a good university. He’s been blacklisted.”

“To who?”

Yami shook his head, refusing to answer as he looked at the ceiling. This was his mess and even though the idea of Bakura helping him out was appealing, he knew subtlety was the best way to go—get hitched for that matter. “I don’t want to tell you,” he honestly said and standing up. “I don’t want you to help me this time,” he cleared out. He knew Bakura. And Bakura was going to help anyway, but he needed to clarify these things before anything else. “This is my mess. Stay out of it.”

“Let you get married and enter a life of barren, domesticated faked bliss?” Bakura snarled, “Weren’t those your own words? Sure did sound like yours to me… who between us hates marriage again?”

“Don’t.” Yami warned, “I know what I said. You think I want this? Ha-ha. Look, I’m bouncing in joy,” he said dryly, “I’m very excited. Happy, in fact, I’m dying to get married.” Yami was great at sarcasm, using his words like small knives and cutting through flesh repeatedly, mercilessly. “I’m going to be miserable but I’m doing this, you hear me? I am. For Yugi.”

He didn’t leave his friend much of a choice, either, at his words as Bakura sighed and looked at him intensely instead. Bakura crossed his arms, “Are you sure about this?”

“I haven’t weighed the pros and cons yet if that’s what you’re asking. As far as face values go, do you think I can risk not doing it? The man has the power to block every university in the region,” Yami explained because he did his homework and researched everything he could know about Seto Kaiba. The information was enough to stop him from thinking of ways around the agreement. “I don’t understand why he wants to marry me, though…”

For two reasons Yami didn’t understand the proposal. Seto Kaiba didn’t look like the marrying kind—and there was one now? Yami asked himself sardonically—and he was gaining nothing from this agreement. Capitalists wouldn’t work on something that warranted them no income. And as far as capitalists went, Seto Kaiba was one of the best. So why this?

“’He’?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m getting married to a man,” Yami added offhandedly, not considering the gender a major issue. For one thing, even if the brunet were a woman, Yami doubted he could stomach spending his lifetime with her. Then again, if Seto were a woman, wouldn’t things be slightly easier? More familiar? Yami remembered his mother and her fake, surgery-induced smiles and he cringed. He hated women.

Bakura made him sit down. “You realize that regardless if I have your consent or not, I’m still going to find out, right?”

“I know.”

Bakura smiled at him, treating him like the younger brother Bakura lost a long time ago. He smiled back, slightly sadder than that of his friend’s but it was a start and he sagged back on the couch. He felt Bakura’s stare on him and he ignored it. He shouldn’t have gone home. Whatever bubble they had blown for them in the sanctuary of Yami’s room was broken by a shrill beep of Bakura’s phone. Bakura reached for it instantly, flipping it open and cursing at the message like it was the bane of his existence.

“I have to go. Murder on 5th Avenue,” Bakura told him, kissing him platonically on the forehead. Before leaving, Bakura stopped and turned to him, “You’re not going to handle this on your own. I’ll be here for you, as always. Call me.”

With Yami’s nod, Bakura’s lips formed a smirk at his triumph and left, leaving Yami to his thoughts.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Café Montrello was located at the corner of an avenue of restaurants. The business district was a couple of blocks from it and for a capitalist; it was the best place to set up business. If he was one of those restaurateur types anyway. Yami arrived five minutes earlier than the given time and he didn’t see Seto first, finding a secluded table at the far side of the room. As he approached it, though, waving the waiter off, he was dragged to the side, hidden behind the alcove of plants, and a hand quickly was placed on his mouth to stifle his exclamation.

“Shh,” Seto whispered in his ear. Yami’s eyes widened, alarmed at the near absence of distance between Seto’s and his face. “More than half of the customers here are journalists and you really don’t want to be followed by paparazzi right now,” Yami was warned. At his nod, Seto released his mouth but tightened his grip on Yami’s hand, preventing any chance of Yami escaping.

“Where are we going?” Yami asked.

“Stop asking, start following,” Seto replied impatiently, dragging him to the staircase. 

Yami glared all the way, wondering what was wrong with him when he decided to push through with his decision. He followed anyway, cursing Seto silently until they reached the rooftop. In the rooftop, there was only one table and the scene the place offered was the vast, dark expanse of the city. The nightlight brought Domino City a mysterious, industrial allure. Yami gasped, the scenery reminding him of New York. Most of his wonderful memories were from the Big Apple. He couldn’t help but gasp at the sight.

“We will be having most of our meetings here,” Seto cut in, watching him from the table, the candlelight giving his face a warm, ethereal glow. His words were laced with wry amusement, however, and Yami eyes narrowed. “I expect you to know your way next time and not ignore the waiters like a smug, ignorant fool.”

The reminder made Yami blush angrily and he went to his seat, sitting down and refusing to look at the CEO. Seto was unperturbed, though, and leaned forward, meeting Yami’s glare. He smirked, his hand reaching Yami’s face and brushing Yami’s bangs away. They ordered first, Yami refusing to look at Seto all throughout until Seto grasped his chin and forced him instead.

“Do you have any idea how petulance only makes you look like a child?” Seto mocked in his usual overconfident voice.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to throw you off this building right now?” Yami countered. At his threat, Seto chuckled, throwing his head back and the laugh spilling from his mouth like he was genuinely amused. He waited until the laughter died down before standing up; this was such a bad idea…

He was already halfway to the door when Seto turned him around and kissed him hard.

Yami found his hands on Seto’s chest and he pushed, sending Seto away from him as he stared furiously. “We’re not married yet, you have no right to kiss me,” he answered. When his words sunk in, he gasped and his eyes widened, realizing he just admitted his decision. Seto’s smirk was more annoying than ever. It was like he was expecting this—then again, an alternative had always been futile even in the beginning, hadn’t it?

“Let’s have dinner,” Seto said, indicating the food that had been served already. Yami barely even noticed the waiter arriving with their orders. He let Yami go and went to the table, eying Yami as if he was daring Yami to leave. Just to prove his point, Yami didn’t and stalked to the table, instead. Two could play at this game.

“Why marriage?” Yami asked suddenly. It didn’t make sense.

“I needed to secure my hold on the board,” was Seto’s explanation, and it still didn’t answer Yami’s question. Seto didn’t explain further, though, and ate his pasta. “I have three conditions for you,” he introduced, catching Yami’s attention.

“Those are…?” Yami inquired suspiciously. Last time he heard of Seto Kaiba’s conditions, Yami ended up having this proposal. He certainly didn’t like hearing conditions come from this man. He leaned back. He hadn’t touched his food yet, not having the appetite to eat anything. When met Seto’s gaze, he shivered reflexively at its intensity. He didn’t know if it were borne out of annoyance and had evolved into something greater in force, or if it were something else. Yami didn’t like the latter answer so he opted for the former.

“The marriage is in a week.” The brunet was quick with his words; short, precise and unforgiving in their bluntness. “In this duration, you have one week to… get over your issues. However, you cannot reveal the reasons to your marriage. No news of our marriage must come out to your family, friends and the media.” Seto stopped, turning serious again, “In two months, you may tell anyone of this and in our marriage, you have the freedom to do whatever you want. You are forbidden from two things—you may not find ways to annul this unless I let you go, or cheat on me.”

Yami felt his breath get stuck in his throat. A lump had formed and he couldn’t utter a word. ‘Unless I let you go,’ resonating loudly in his head. Unless Seto let him go? The other things he could handle… but—“What,” when Yami’s voice cracked, he stopped and swallowed, drinking water afterwards. He met Seto’s gaze again.

“What if I refuse?”

Seto shrugged, “There is the door. Remember the consequences,” he answered.

This was the standstill Yami was expecting; the opportunity to run away and forget about Domino and everything that was related to the place. He stood up and walked to the door, hearing Seto stand up when he pushed his chair backwards. Yami closed his eyes as his hand touched the doorknob; and he sighed. One of the few words Yugi had told Yami as his eyes brimmed with tears, when he was leaving Domino was: “You’re selfish! You can’t leave me here!”

And it haunted his world ever since.

Yami closed his eyes briefly, sighed and dejectedly closed the door, turning around to see Seto had crowded into his personal space again.

“Okay.” He conceded, looking down.

Seto lifted his head up and placed his lips over his, taking his time as he slowly mapped the insides of Yami’s mouth with his tongue and cradling his face at the same time. Yami remained pliant, arms on his sides and mouth unresisting, letting Seto plunder it as much as he wanted.

“You’re selfish! You can’t leave me here!”

Yami shut his eyes as if he could drown out the words when he did. Seto’s hands had gone to his waist now and he was pushed to the door. At the impact, he gasped and Seto’s tongue slipped in again.

This was prison: a plain-looking building, with bars on the windows and guards littered around the place. There was a barbed fence and a basketball court that looked older than more than half of the jail population. There were routines and exercises; a set of rules and harsher punishments.

This was entrapment: Yami caught between the door and Seto, his mouth devoured and his lips swollen from the kiss, his hands kept to his sides, unmoving, forced to let things be. This was how things were going to start, and Yami wondered how long he’d stand.

There were questions in his mind and he wanted to voice them, but he quenched them down. What use were answers when no action followed them?

Yami broke the kiss, turning his head away and pulling Seto’s hands from him.

“I still have one week,” he reminded and promptly walked away. One week.