Chapter Text

High school was a dark time for most people— pack a couple dozen teenagers in a room together for several hours and make it mandatory, you’d naturally create a societal niche for the profane and idiotic.

Kaiba Seto, despite his unusual childhood, couldn’t readily admit that he was an exception. Him at fifteen, sixteen— obnoxious. This wasn’t to say he hadn’t done some things right back then— some of his politicking back then had been practically inspired. But still, it was annoying to think back on the comings and goings of those years, the same way it was annoying to think about someone passing gas in public

And some people stayed idiots too, even as they grew up: Katsuya Jonouchi was the prime example when it came to demonstrating this. The man seemed to understand that teenagers were idiots, yet also didn’t seem aware that he had failed to undergo any sort of intelligent growth since then. And most people were often the same way— they seemed unable to gauge their own merit and character, and how they were perceived by others.

The only people he knew that seemed to have their wits about them as a fifteen year old, Seto could count with two fingers. The first was his little brother, Mokuba. His rebellious teenage years seemed to have taken place when he was ten, and then he had sped through the rest of adolescence as carefree and sunny as ever.

Mokuba at fifteen was intelligent, deeply passionate, and cunning in a way that functioned like an added edge to Seto’s own methods of problem-solving. Mokuba liked to pretend he wasn’t any of these things, but it only added to Seto’s opinion of his cleverness.

(He turned twenty in July. Seto pushed aside a feeling of disbelief at the number. God, twenty.)

The other person was Yugi— who sure, had been a bit shy and withdrawn in his younger years, but his many accomplishments spoke for themselves. 

And to be absolutely clear, Seto did not mean the entity known as Atem, who had been an idiot through and through. He claimed to be several thousands of years old, but back then, he’d had this awful habit of preaching about— friendship, or something, like he was five. Maybe he’d been, and still was, a genius in his own right, and maybe Seto-back-then had been bitterly jealous of his talent. But the tangents Atem had gone on— it had made him want to sic Mokuba on him like a dog. Even now it made him clench his teeth, thinking about the drivel that had poured in his ear like sickly sweet honey.

Yugi, though, seemed to easily avoid the pitfalls of dramatics that his alter ego had dived into. Mild mannered but stubborn, polite but with a backbone, he made being “nice” almost look appealing. He was startlingly intelligent, and seemed to have a sort of thoughtful, patient quality that both Seto and Atem lacked. 

“I mean,” he had said back then, very slowly. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this trial Atem and I have to go through for him to pass on— it can happen at any time, right?”

When Ishizu had nodded, Yugi had shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and continued sheepishly, “If that’s the case, then I think I’ll do it when I’m like… eighty. Maybe a little earlier, to be safe.”

And when others voiced their surprise and protest, Seto watched as Yugi looked down at his glinting puzzle. “I like living with Atem,” Yugi said shyly. “And Atem likes living with me. It’s not like he had a full and happy life three thousand years ago, you know. I think… We think we’d both be happier if we could live together. And then pass on together. That would be nice.”

And that was that; Yugi neatly wrapped up all problems regarding the millennium objects the Ishtars were always fretting about by pointing out that it wasn’t like they would be destroyed after the pharaoh passed on; they would just get buried— and probably eventually dug up again. “Honestly?” Yugi said thoughtfully, “I would just give them all to Kaiba.”

And as all eyes turned to him, Seto bristled. “ What ,” he snapped. “I want no part of this, are you insane?”

Someone, he couldn’t for the life of him remember which one of the dunderheads it had been, piped up, “Okay, but what if Kaiba uses it for world domination or something?”

“Why would I depend on your mumbo-jumbo bullshit for something as simple as that?” Seto had snarled back.

Yugi said firmly, “He wouldn’t.” Then he turned to Seto and said reasonably, “But you design all the state of the art tech, and that probably includes some pretty intense security measures… Also Atem says that if you do it, he’ll duel you once a week on Mondays, afterschool, until graduation.”

“Yugi!”

“Done.” Seto’s mouth formed the grim word before he even made his decision. Mokuba looked up at him with a knowing grin— of course he caught that. 

Jonouchi Katsuya in the background muttered, “I hate it here,” and Masaki Anzu shook her head wearily. Yugi just beamed. 

“Great,” he exclaimed. “Now let’s go sightseeing. I want to see all that Cairo has to offer before we go home, and Atem wants to try modern ringa. ”

It had really all been because of Yugi— all his little ingenuities back when they were just kids, that he was currently stuck in this web of Mutou-related schemes. Ten years later, things were different and exactly the same. It smarted in ways he couldn’t possibly explain.

It was why the man known as Atem was sitting across from him, arms crossed and hair tied lazily, and an easy, knowing smile on his lips. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He remarked gently after Seto failed to greet him, but his eyes were anything but tender. They were as sharp and mischievous as usual, and Seto watched him run his eyes over his computer, open to something mundane and work-related, then back to him. 

Atem was always like that— watching him like a bloodhound on the hunt. Back then, it was a look Seto always wanted to see, because the only time Atem bothered to give it to him was when they dueled. Back then, he couldn’t have cared less about Seto’s affairs outside of the game. He probably hated Seto’s guts back then— by god, he pretended he wished Atem still did.

These days, however, it wasn’t like that at all. He had no idea when that had shifted— Atem’s focus. He had striking eyes; they had an unnatural violet hue that he could only attribute to genetic mutation bullshit, and when they were trained on you, they were almost unnerving. It was a bit of a rush, when he looked at you.

“What do you want?” Seto asked flatly, breaking his silence. Atem, after all, didn’t usually drop by on Wednesdays. Wednesdays were Yugi days— usually he came with an armload of schematics that he would unload on either Mokuba or Seto, and bursting with enthusiasm over whatever he had done since they last met.

“I wanted to invite you and Mokuba to our birthday party,” Atem continued serenely, ignoring Seto’s glare. “Yugi’s turning twenty-five in early June, if you recall.”

What sort of person said sentences like that? Only someone like Atem could speak inane, childish sentences like “the power of friendship will prevail”, or “come to my birthday party” and make it sound normal.

Seto’s eyebrow twitched. “Fine,” he bit out. “You don’t need to ask every year.” It wasn’t as if Mokuba would let him miss it.

“I know,” Atem said, but his smile widened in victory, because they both knew perfectly well that Yugi Mutou’s birthdays were insufferable and he hated them. Seto swallowed a curse— he hadn’t meant to imply— “But I also need your help in getting him a gift.”

When he failed to inquire further, Atem continued easily, “He really needs some more equipment. Like a 3D printer, and maybe a laser cutter. We can’t afford that out of pocket and he’s way too shy to ask you, even though he shouldn’t be.”

And so, Atem had come to heavily imply just what Seto ought to give him this year. He didn’t bother hiding his eye roll. “Yeah, sure,” he said irritably. “You could’ve just texted.”

Atem returned the eye roll. “He and I share a phone, you know that. What’s the point if it isn’t a secret?”

They shared everything from clothing to food, Seto knew. They also shared birthday gifts— which meant if Atem came walking in asking for something for Yugi, Yugi probably did want it— but so did Atem.

And Atem knew that he knew, and knew that Seto was thinking about this— his smile only deepened, and he bared his teeth like an unspoken challenge. His expression failed to give away his thoughts, and his falsely light tone failed to give away his sharp nature. “Happy Wednesday, Kaiba. See you on Monday.” He stood up from his chair, uncrossing his arms and flashing Seto another inscrutable look as he opened the office door.

“Bye, Yugi,” Mokuba called distantly from his own office, and Seto watched as Atem’s expression broke into an honest grin.

“Bye, Mokuba,” he called down the hall as the door closed behind him. 

—

It wasn’t like Seto had anything to prove— to either of them. 

He was wealthy, he had his life laid out before him in a plan of his design. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he was the sort of person to obsessively chase after the reality he wanted.

Something told him, however, that Yugi was not the sort of person to be impressed by these things. The man known as Atem— even less so. It wasn’t like they’d ever liked him for any of these things in the past. Respected, maybe. But they had never been friends in the way the rest of their crowd was. He highly doubted either of them had changed their mind now.

And the problem, really, was that Yugi and Atem were— odd. No one else seemed to notice it, and no one else seemed to understand what Seto meant by this. Not even Mokuba, who usually understood all of his brother’s moods, even if he didn’t necessarily feel them himself.

Yugi and Atem were— difficult to read. They said what they were thinking easily enough, and they smiled and frowned like everyone else, sure. But speaking to them, both of them, they got— difficult. They danced around subjects with raised brows, Yugi’s bemused and Atem’s smirking. He could ask both, either, something as inane as the weather in Domino and Yugi would probably say, “Well, it wasn’t too muggy, I guess,” instead of saying that he liked windy days, and Atem would say, “Open a window and find out, Kaiba,” instead of answering at all.

They spent so much of their time in their head— he supposed it was only natural, if you had a… condition, for lack of a better term, like theirs. But they had both perfected their resting expressions, in a placid, even look, that made it seem like they weren’t thinking about anything particular at all. A clean slate.

And that expression— the blank, knowing look, the hint of a smile or a frown, always stayed on when he spoke to either of them. They stayed closed books, and their eyes always said more than their words. It was how Seto knew he was being discussed behind his back even as he held one of them in a verbal conversation.

It made something crawl up his spine, knowing. Knowing that Atem could be peering at him while Yugi discussed the design process of his game prototype, or that Yugi was judging his every move when Atem deigned to play a round of whatever game caught his fancy that week with him. Knowing that they were exchanging hidden comments on him, in front of him, and he had no idea what.

Knowing that something had inexorably shifted over time, and they had only become more and more cryptic over time. Knowing they wanted something out of him, but never said what.

Seto didn’t like it. He didn’t. He refused to believe that the feeling was anything but dislike, and that their gazes— Yugi and Atem’s— could be anything but predatory. Watching, waiting. 

He pretended that he wasn’t doing the same thing to them— watching, waiting for their next move. Two-on-one. Determined to win. Planning his next move just as they planned theirs. Eagerly playing the little game they had started. He pretended that he wasn’t playing right into their hands as he scowled and let himself be pushed into agreeing to their requests.

The feeling of being played lingered long after Atem left on Wednesday, and returned in full force next Monday, when Yugi walked into his office, saying hi to his secretary outside and placing coffee from a nearby cafe on his desk, as he always did.

“Good morning, Kaiba,” Yugi said politely, but he was smiling as he spoke— it gentled the sentence from distant to familiar.

In return, Seto stared at him, and put the pen he had been using to scribble out extraneous calculations down on the scratch paper. “Is there a punch line here I’m missing?” He asked with great irritation. “I’m not really interested in playing games with you. Either of you.”

That was a blatant lie, but Yugi was nice enough to not point it out. He laughed sheepishly instead and said, “Yeah, sorry about that. Atem and I are, uh, doing a thing right now. Switching our days. I think he got bored with our routine.”

After a moment, Seto shook his head in disgust. “I don’t even want to know,” he declared. “What do you want?”

“Well,” Yugi said, stretching out the word, “Other-me— Atem probably told you last week, but it’s our birthday soon. I was just thinking, if you didn’t already have anything planned, I know something he’d like that only you could give.”

Seto grit his teeth. “Do you two have to do this every year.”

Because good god, they really had done this odd song and dance since high school— their birthday would draw near, and Atem would direct him towards something he thought Yugi would like, and Yugi would tell him what Atem wanted— as if they didn’t share the same body and mind , and know each other like the back of their hands, because it was literally the same hand. But for some godforsaken reason, they had chosen Kaiba Seto as their official go-between. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yugi lied baldly, and very stubbornly pretended he hadn’t blushed at the accusation. “Anyway, he’s been talking about the new collaboration between Industrial Illusions and KaibaCorp— the Duel Monsters one, not the one about a Hollywood movie or something. He’s super excited about it; it would be great if you could get him the cards early or something, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Seto was already waving him away. “Sure, fine,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t know why I put up with either of you.”

“The party’s gonna be on the Saturday before,” Yugi continued cheerfully. “Everyone’s coming— even Anzu, she’s flying in from LA. If you could bring the cake that Mokuba got last year, it would be swell. I don’t think I’ve ever inhaled a dessert that fast.”

And with that, he sat down on the same chair he always sat on— the same one Atem did, as well. But Yugi had a habit of sitting criss-cross applesauce on it like he was a child, while Atem liked to sprawl on it like he was resting on a couch. “Would you like to play a game?” He asked.

Seto startled.

Yugi caught it, of course. He instantly compensated, adding a polite, “Of course you don’t have to, I know you only really play games with Atem.” He shifted on his chair. “I just figured since I’m here today, I might as well?”

“Yes.”

Seto barely noticed the word coming out of his mouth— though he wasn’t surprised by it, either. It was the most natural thing in the world— to want to play little games with Mutou Yugi, whatever the face he decided to show up with.

Yugi, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be expecting it at all. He blinked rapidly, then stammered uncharacteristically, “R-really?” (Yugi wasn’t really a stutterer these days, nor was he particularly shy. The only thing he really kept from high school was his…  obscene nice-ness.) 

And that was the thing with Yugi— talking to him was also its own little back and forth. Yugi’s mildness never gave way to anything beneath, the same way Atem never backed down from his fierce stare. He would speak casually to you, but in a way that made it clear he was ten steps ahead in the conversation. He knew you inside and out, and could anticipate every possible reply you threw his way.

So a stammer was truly a victory, indeed. Seto allowed himself a small smirk as he leaned forward. “You’re a perfectly suitable opponent,” he said easily. “Just don’t go easy on me, or I’ll clobber you.”

Yugi laughed disbelievingly. “Okay, I just— well, nevermind. I’m feeling a little nostalgic today, so I was wondering if you could indulge me.” And from his pocket he pulled out a deck of cards.

—

“Was that Yugi?” Mokuba mumbled through a mouthful of bread, munching on his sandwich aggressively, but taking care not to splatter crumbs on Seto’s desk. “Like, normal Yugi? It’s not his day.”

Seto, still smarting both physically and mentally from ten rounds of Slapjack (... Slapjack. Yugi had wanted to play Slapjack, of all things.) grumbled as he sipped his now-cold coffee. “He’s up to something.”

“Yugi’s always up to something,” Mokuba pointed out sensibly. “The same way you’re always up to something. That’s why you guys get along.”

As always, Mokuba could read Seto like a book— but also as always, he never seemed to see the odd friction between Kaiba Seto and Mutou Yugi. He’d long given up on explaining it. So he grunted instead, and said, “It’s his birthday soon. Get a gift.”

“Oh yeah…” Mokuba pondered thoughtfully, then brightened. “Oooh, I should get him a laptop. Like come on, he’s still managing with just the one here at work? Get with the times! It’s 2005, the least you could do is be prepared for KaibaCorp’s internet takeover.”

Seto sincerely doubted whether either Yugi or Atem cared about the internet, but Mokuba did have a point. “You should get him a book on programming while you’re at it,” he said, half distracted. “I’m sure he’d love to try his hand at it.”

Or rather, Yugi probably would. Atem would likely be more enamored with the laptop itself, and its potential various functions. Atem had always been more interested in the user experience, and Yugi in the backend schematics. 

Mokuba said, “You know, you’re the only person that gets him two presents each year.”

That’s because he asks for two presents each year, Seto wanted to say, but that would be admitting that he basically did whatever Mutou Yugi asked of him. He took another sip of his coffee.

“You’re the only one who still calls Atem by name to his face, too,” Mokuba said, and damn him for bringing that up. He always did, because he thought it was important for some inane reason. Seto was going to lose his teeth from grinding them too angrily. 

“Yugi calls him by his name,” he pointed out stiffly, knowing it was a stupid argument. Mokuba raised an eyebrow at him, and Seto suddenly saw the family resemblance more than ever. 

“I mean it,” he insisted. “Half the time I can’t even tell who I’m talking to anymore— Yugi’s just gotten that good. Seriously, I only know sometimes ‘cause of his Monday-Wednesday thing.”

And that was boggling. Genuinely, downright confusing.

Seto wasn’t one to beat around the bush, or pretend he was good at something he wasn’t. Understanding other people was really not something he had ever invested much time in, nor was it a skill you really needed if you were a CEO of a megacorporation. Mokuba had always been naturally better at it than him, and had always been a great judge of character.

So the fact that he, and every other one of Mutou Yugi’s friends, seemed to have more and more trouble telling Yugi and Atem apart— that made no sense at all.

They were just so… different. Same, yet different. Maybe they had the same smile at first glance, but the feeling that danced in their eyes made it an entirely different beast. Atem made it look like he was laughing at something behind you and wanted you to look; Yugi made it look like you had said something extremely funny and he couldn’t help but grin. 

They liked the same foods, but that just made sense— they shared taste buds. They spoke in the same manner— naturally, because you would imitate the speech patterns you spoke most with, and there was no one in the world who spoke more often to each other than the two of them. They wore the same clothes— neither of them seemed to mind the other’s fashion choices, and usually ended up with a wide range of anything imaginable. Their interests already heavily intersected at fifteen, and it just made sense that they would inevitably expand their hobbies together. 

Even with all these concessions, Seto really couldn’t understand why Yugi— careful, planning ahead with his moves, anticipating your replies— could be mistaken for Atem— intentionally tumultuous, waiting for you to slip up, watching for weakness.

“They’re very different,” he replied bitterly. “If no one else can see that, then he’s playing everyone for a fool.”

—

May slipped out the door, and June walked in with summer in full swing— it was hot. Upsettingly so. And the Kame Game Shop, owned by Mutou Yugi, had a fucking broken air conditioner. Kaiba Seto was going to kill him.

“Calm down, Kaiba,” Atem said from the counter, fanning himself absently with a piece of paper. “You act like you haven’t lived in Domino your whole life.”

And he gritted out, “What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you even have a job for, to not fix your AC?!”

Mokuba, sitting at a table wearily, piped up. “You know he’s right, Yugi. This is literally torture. I don’t know how you can stand it. It’s thirty-eight degrees!”

Atem looked at the miserable Kaiba brothers, unimpressed but still a bit amused. “I think you two need to get a grip,” he suggested, badly hiding his laugh. “All that money is getting to your air-conditioned heads.”

The shitty rotating fan that circulated warm air around the shop rudely blew in Seto’s face. He resisted the urge to pick it up and smash it against Mutou Yugi’s head.

It was high noon, and the game store was closed for birthday celebrations. Mokuba was sipping ice water miserably, having abandoned his suit jacket and looking as if he was ready to ditch his pants at any moment. Seto had long since draped his long overcoat on a chair, but the rest of his getup remained on out of spite— something felt like conceding a loss, if he did. And Kaiba Seto didn’t lose.

Atem was dressed in a black tank top and jeans, and looked perfectly happy about it. Something about the heat appealed to him, apparently. He was insane.

The worst part was— he didn’t even want to be here. Atem and Yugi’s associates were barely tolerable on the best of days, and every year he— Seto was here every year, like a fucking clown at a circus. The worst part was that he— he knew why he came. 

The bell attached to the door jingled, and the familiar face of Masaki Anzu peered through, brightening when she saw Atem. “Yugi! Long time no see!” She excitedly ran in, dropping her bags by the door and running behind the counter to give him a hug. “It’s been so long, how are things?”

Without waiting for a reply, she immediately backed away. “Yugi,” she said suspiciously, “why is your AC not on.”

“It broke yesterday,” Atem said apologetically, and his face was always— different, when he talked to his friends. It softened up a little, the piercing edge to his gaze. “But it’s nice to see you, Anzu.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Masaki sighed and shook her head— at least she seemed to have some sense. “How is your grandpa living through this, seriously? And where’s everyone else?”

She looked around, waved cheerfully at Mokuba and nodded politely at Seto. They had never really gotten along, Masaki and Seto— she had been class representative in high school, so she always gave him the material he missed when he couldn’t attend. They’d been perfectly polite to each other, until the Yugi Incident. After that, her evil eye followed him everywhere.

And frankly, she was irritating in the way that a fly buzzed in your ear incessantly— her voice was too piercing, and her comments were always so short sighted and unhelpful. He didn’t understand her, and he hoped he never would.

Not that any of Mutou Yugi’s friends liked Seto. It was mutual.

“You know how Jounouchi is,” Atem said fondly, shaking his head. “Honda texted a while ago— he’s running late. And grandpa’s getting some ice cream for everyone, he insisted.”

Before Masaki could reply, the door burst open again, this time with a bang. The idiot himself, Jounouchi, stood panting. He was caked in sweat, because apparently he had decided to sprint all the way here.

“Sorry,” he wheezed, “I’m late. You would not believe the shit that has happened today.”

“Jounouchi!” Masaki cried, and strode over to give him a quick hug as well. “Ugh, you’re all sweaty. There was no need to run, Honda isn’t even here yet.”

“He isn’t? Man,” Jounouchi gasped out, but seemed to have covered his wits about him enough to beam at Yugi. The man really was such a dog— barking at his enemies, wagging his tail for his friends. “Hey, Yugi! Happy birthday, man.”

“Thanks, Jounouchi,” Atem replied, similarly exuberant. “Glad you could make it.”

Seto watched the whole exchange the way one might watch a shitty sitcom— with a dubious suspension of disbelief, and dislike for everyone and everything involved.

“Hi, Jounouchi,” Mokuba said, waving. Jounouchi strode over to give him a clap on the back, then turned to glare petulantly at Seto.

“You,” he hissed. “Every year.”

Ignoring Atem’s amused call of “Yeah, because I invite him every year,” Seto raised an eyebrow as arrogantly as he could. 

“Kansai playoffs in May,” he said, because he could. “Your play was atrocious, you deserved that loss.”

Jounouchi roared— as predictable as ever. Atem, in a flash of great insight, had already grabbed his friend so he couldn’t go trying to pummel Seto. “I’m serious Jounouchi, you’re going to break a shelf and I have to pay for that,” he was saying, a helpless smile on his face.

Jounouchi paid him no mind. “I LITERALLY WON THE TOURNAMENT! WHAT FUCKING LOSS? YOU ASSHOLE!”

Ignoring the screaming, Seto said to Atem, purposefully snide, “It’s been ten years, and your taste in company still hasn’t improved.”

Yet instead of snapping back the way he would have ten years ago, Atem’s smile only grew bigger as he let go of his friend. Then what are you? His eyes mocked, and Seto pretended he hadn’t spotted it. 

“I know,” he replied, and clapped Jounouchi on the back. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“... Are you insulting me, dude?”

“No, Jounouchi. I’m saying you’re great.”

Knowing Atem, he really did mean it unironically. Seto watched them exchange more pleasantries and compliments, with almost morbid fascination.

Atem would never do this with him. When it was just the two of them, they were always playing word games. You could never drop your guard around him. He found weaknesses so easily, as if they had presented themselves to him as soon as he deigned to ask. 

But around his friends— he never seemed to be on offense. It was still clearly Atem; his particular swagger was difficult to hide. He had a particular style of choosing his words. He spoke in his counterpart’s mellow voice more easily now, and he was less prone to the dramatics that Seto vividly recalled in high school. But his vocabulary was less carefully phrased than Yugi’s, and more direct. He cared less about what others’ thoughts, and was more interested in expressing himself to others confidently. 

Atem could say something like, “I care about our friendship,” with the utmost seriousness, willing you to believe him with the strength of his will alone. He might even smile to prove he meant it. And Yugi could say in the same inflection, “I’m really glad we’re friends,” with the utmost sincerity, and he might break out into a smile at the end, because he wasn’t able to hide that he really meant it.

Seto was momentarily transfixed.

No one could blame him— Atem was the sort of person many people couldn’t keep their eyes off when he spoke. It was why people screamed for Mutou Yugi in the stands, for the King of Games, and hung posters of his face in their bedroom. He was the sort of person that drew people in around him, and invited awful people like Seto to birthdays like it was a challenge. He was the sort of person who was only kind and courteous to people he thought deserved it.

Atem, beaming as Honda Hiroto walked in with a gift in hand. It was a new tabletop game of some kind— multiplayer, for them to play together. “I've been looking for this one for ages,” he exclaimed. “Thank you so much.”

Atem, his laugh lines crinkling in nostalgia as he unwrapped Jounouchi’s shoddily wrapped present. “Jounouchi,” he said, oddly touched by whatever the scrapbook held. “How long did it take you to make this?”

Atem.

Seto could never do that to him.

Atem, covering his beat red face as he opened Masaki’s gift— “Why,” he croaked out, while Masaki tried to look less pleased than she actually was. 

She replied smugly, “You lost the bet, Yugi. Now you get to wear the lace. I’m expecting pictures,” as Atem sighed and showed everyone— what the fuck.

“What the fuck,” Seto said, from his corner of the room. 

Aggrieved and resigned, Atem said, “At least it’s cute?” 

Seto looked away sharply, before he walked over and tore whatever the hell Atem was holding into shreds with his bare hands. Something was burning from the heat. He knew there was a reason why he didn’t like Masaki.

Seto stayed a reasonable hour— no one expected him to participate in the conversation, and he was free to check his phone and let his mind wander. He watched as Yugi’s grandfather returned, icy refreshments in tow. He watched as Mokuba pulled the requested cake from the fridge— they would all probably lose their minds to know how much he paid for it. 

And at exactly an hour past noon, he stood up.

“Mokuba,” he said, the unspoken command in his tone as he picked up his coat. Various farewells were sent Mokuba’s way— they were probably all used to the Kaiba brothers leaving early.

He turned to give one last goodbye to Atem and Yugi at the door, but was interrupted by Atem’s sudden, “Oh, I just realized.”

He set down his plate of cake, and walked over to the counter where he’d been standing earlier. His Duel Monsters deck had been sitting innocuously by the cash register, and he shuffled through the cards, clearly looking for a specific one.

His features brightened when he found it. Holding it in front of him, there was a brief glow from the card— then an eerily familiar symbol of an eye formed on his forehead.

Seto swallowed. His hand spasmed. He told himself it was just apprehension, that he was just trying to understand what Atem was playing at. It was all the feeling could be.

The temperature in the building instantly dropped at least 10 degrees. Atem smiled and flipped the card, showing Seto the field spell card Ice Castle. He knew exactly what that did to him.

“That should make the heat more bearable,” he said, as if he hadn’t waited until Seto was almost out the door to activate it. “Better?”

Seto clenched his teeth and closed his eyes.

“I’m going to do you the favor of pretending you didn’t do that because it’s your birthday,” he said, and yeah— everyone could hear the pure rage in his voice. Good. Nothing but rage. “But I am going to clobber you on Monday. Or Wednesday. Or whenever the hell you decide to come and ruin my day.”

“See you then,” Atem said warmly. “Yugi says thank you for coming.”

Instead of answering, he slammed the door shut behind Mokuba, who was blinking from the temperature change. Their driver was waiting at the curb.

“Man,” Mokuba said. “Was that other-Yugi the whole time?” He’d apparently only figured it out at the end— only Atem used magic.

“Of course it was.”

Mokuba shook his head in bemusement. Seto had had enough of everyone telling him how difficult they were to tell apart though, and he could tell— all that came out of his brother’s mouth was, “You guys are impossible .”

—

“You know,” Yugi had told him three years ago, “you really aren’t so bad.”

Seto stared at him like he’d grown a third head, then back down at his work because he had no idea what to say to that. It was a bit of a running theme when it came to Yugi; he knew people so well, he could— attack them. With uncomfortable, genuine honesty.

“Really,” he finally settled on. 

“Really,” Yugi agreed affably, and he leaned back on his chair. Legs still criss-crossed, his mouth hidden behind his rather large wool scarf. It was November, and Domino City got rather cold in the winter. “Well, you were quite a character when you were fifteen. But I think we’ve worked past that.”

Yeah, after your alter ego broke my entire brain, Seto didn’t say, because that would be admitting that it happened, and that magic was real. He wanted to retch out loud at the thought of that— Kaiba Seto admitting to powers science couldn’t explain.

Instead, he said without looking up, “You’re still annoying. Get out of my office if you don’t have anything useful to say.”

Yugi laughed. Seto pretended the sound rankled him, because laughing meant Yugi had already known he was going to say something like that in response. He had been easily predicted. “I can be quiet if you need to focus,” he said, and when Seto didn’t bother replying, he did just that.

Silence with Yugi didn’t mean he wasn’t talking though, he most definitely was— all in his head. Seto could tell. His eyes focused on the corner of the desk, and his expression stayed placid. 

He only allowed a few looks. Just because Yugi wasn’t watching him didn’t mean Atem wasn’t either. But Yugi, with his pale skin and violet eyes, his mild-mannered and even-tempered smile…

Sometimes, Seto let himself take a peek. Just to see what he looked like.

He couldn’t look at Yugi as often as he could look at Atem, after all. You were allowed to stare at your opponent in most games, and Atem initiated enough eye contact that it was perfectly fine to look back.

Yugi, however, usually came with ideas— ideas Seto had to scribble down, or look over the various doodles the man had brought over. It meant he couldn’t just stare and try to break him down, or look at the way he tilted his head when he verbalized his stream of consciousness, as he was wont to do. Just little glances. Just like now.

Yugi stayed for two hours— and he really just sat there, doing nothing. What he got out of this, Seto had no idea. But he stayed until it was almost sundown. 

And he was on his way out, standing up to say goodbye that autumn-almost-winter day, when they both got stuck in the middle of the stupidest, most humiliating heist he had ever had the misfortune of being involved in.

A robbery. Seto almost wanted to bring Isono over right now and shake him a little, just thinking about it now. A robbery! In his headquarters? Had people put a “Please Try to Walk In and Steal From Your Local KaibaCorp Office Today” sign outside? 

Not that it was necessarily out of the realm of possibility, Seto being who he was. But as several armed men in masks all but rammed the door down— Yugi startled, and Seto was already embarrassed. 

It was ridiculous! He was on the top floor of the building, and hadn’t received a single alert from anyone—there was no way they had gotten here undetected. He didn’t pay Isono just for him not to do his job! 

And Yugi had blinked at it all, and carefully put his hands up. He glanced at Seto questioningly, as if asking if he was doing it right, which was stupid; there was only one way to raise your hands. With his arms reaching upwards and his shoulders angled up, his over-large scarf covered more than half his face. 

Seto didn’t bother exchanging more looks with him. He said aloud, pissed, “You’re going to make me late for the board meeting. Move, people.”

Naturally, the men refused to move. Annoying. One stepped forward, raising his AR-15. “Kaiba Seto,” he said, identifying himself as the leader of this little gang. “Give us the Millennium Items, and no one gets hurt.”

Seto allowed himself to close his eyes and pray for patience for just a moment. Then he opened them and glared right at Yugi, because this was definitely his fault. Your fault, he hoped his stare conveyed. Your fault, your fault, all of this is your fucking fault. Magical bullshit.

Yugi had the decency to look embarrassed about the whole thing— or at least Seto thought he looked embarrassed. It was hard to tell with the scarf. The scarf that, somehow, was so obnoxiously large that it covered up where the Millennium Puzzle hung on his neck. 

How fucking convenient. How fucking stupid was this whole thing? It was embarrassing to have to be here, and it was embarrassing for him to be caught up in Mutou Yugi’s magical items business. He was almost trembling from the shame.

Yugi tilted his head, and nodded at the men, as if to say, Do you want me to deal with them? And Seto gave an aborted shake of his head. This was still his office— his office, his solutions. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said blandly, and stood up from his chair. The guns raised higher in response. “You gentlemen are overstaying your welcome.”

“We know there’s at least one in the building, Kaiba,” the leader said. “Our methods never fail.” — which seemed like a stupid statement, because the only item in the building was the one around Mutou Yugi’s neck, which none of them had noticed yet.

Seto rolled his eyes. Fucking insane magic-obsessed cult fanatics. 

There were only five of them, which wouldn’t have been a problem ordinarily. Gozaburo Kaiba hadn’t been lax in teaching his son and heir any subject, including martial arts. In a fair one-on-five fight, he wouldn’t even be worried.

The real problem was twofold: the first were the guns. He’d never liked guns, but he could get around them. People depended on them far more than they should, and that was an advantage in and of itself. 

But they had somehow managed to get around his security detail, which had been personally vetted by him after many, many Mokuba-centric kidnappings in the past decade. With just guns. Either magic was involved, or his security detail was atrociously lacking. 

The second was the layout of the room: he stood behind his desk, which offered him some protection. But on the other side of it, and right inbetween him and the armed men, was Yugi— bemused, sheepish Yugi, who wasn’t doing anything but looking between him and the men. And Seto somehow doubted he was going to be of much help in a physical fight.

Those were the cons of the situation. The pros: Only idiots came directly to the highest floor of KaibaCorp to threaten its CEO. A pro would’ve just found the Millennium Items directly, or tried kidnapping and ransom— he was dealing with amateurs both in magic and theft that were making it up as they went.

He knew exactly how to solve this little conundrum. He drew a breath. One of the men barked at him to sit back down. Seto acknowledged it with a frown and made it seem as if he was about to comply.

Then he launched himself over his desk, pushing Yugi down and to the side while he was at it. Safely out of the way. 

The exclaimed shouts started when he grabbed the heavy wooden chair Yugi and Atem always sat in, and gunshots didn’t sound until he had already flung the piece of furniture, its legs slamming into the temples of four of the men.

The timing of course, allowed him to duck to the ground as the chair flew, and he was pleased when splitting pain failed to hit him. He leapt back up after the first shot, and the last man standing was easy enough to deal with— easily disarmed, easily knocked out. 

That should have been that. Seto was fishing out his phone to angrily call his chief of security when Yugi said sadly behind him, “That was my favorite chair, and now it’s bloody.”

He turned back around. Yugi was looking at the chair he’d thrown mournfully, which now lay on its side by all the downed men, and had a bit of blood and scratches on its lacquered finish. It was testament to its quality, really, that it hadn’t broken in the collision.

Seto had no clue what to say to that. Who the hell cares, he wanted to say. What about these fucking men that came here for your shitty little Egyptian toys that you made me keep track of. This day went from boring to stupid. I hate you so much.

What he said instead was, “I’ll replace it.”

Yugi replied, “I know.” Then he looked up at Seto and smiled gently, kindly, as if he hadn’t just seen throw a chair as hard as he could at five men, and he didn’t still have blood on the knuckles of his right hand. “I was right about you, though. Thanks for getting me out of the way.”

—

It would be hard for anyone to not admit that Mutou Yugi was up to something after that night.

He’d never told anyone about the way the two of them always seemed to be sizing him up— trying to win a game they’d never explained the rules to. He didn’t think anyone would believe him or care, especially if even Mokuba hadn’t noticed. And it was fine. It was always fine. Seto would never lose, anyway; even at such a disadvantage.

But they’d clearly been— planning. Something. For a while. Seto was no idiot, and neither were Atem and Yugi. There was no such thing as a “mistake” when it came to them; not when they were always in the moment around him. They weren’t friends. They never relaxed around each other. Every word meant something. And they were always trying to pry him apart, trying to see what would get him to admit defeat.

When his phone buzzed insistently several hours after he had departed from Kame Games, Seto didn’t bother reading the notification before tapping on it. There were only two people he’d set vibrations on for, and Mokuba had already called it a night— his phone was charging in the living room.

Mutou Yugi: btw did u ever c wat anzu gave us 4 our bday

Kaiba Seto: I didn’t invent touch screen for you to type like that.

Mutou Yugi: haha

Mutou Yugi: yugis laughing 2 fyi

Mutou Yugi: n e way LOOK SHE MADE YUGI PUT IT ON

Mutou Yugi: [attachment1]

Seto scrolled down to see the photo, and he choked.

His evening cup of tea splattered onto the ground, and the porcelain shattered. Seto didn’t even care. Seto wanted to throw his phone out of the window, and have it fall all eighty floors down to the bottom. Seto wanted to kill Anzu Masaki and all of her horrible gifts and then himself.

Clearly he had mischaracterized her, filed her away as unimportant and not a threat, when he hadn’t realized just exactly what her influence on Yugi and Atem was. She was a hip hop dancer in Los Angeles, for goodness sake.

Atem had sent a photo of literal underwear.

Even worse, it wasn’t just clothing— it was a goddamn mirror selfie. Yugi, and it was clearly Yugi, was smiling, on the verge of laughing outright— there was no blush of embarrassment, he just looked happy. 

But what the fuck was he wearing. Or what the fuck was he not wearing.

Lace. Lots of lace. Panty lace. Bra.

Garter.

Yugi’s skin was pale, to the point where black lingerie made a natural contrast. And of course Masaki would pick black— she knew his favorite color. He had the muscle tone of someone who worked out fairly regularly, but not professionally. His figure was still as slight as it was in high school, even after his growth spurt.

Seto swallowed. His hand spasmed. His grip on his phone was so tight he thought it might snap. He was going to die from an aneurysm.

Mutou Yugi: [attachment2]

Mutou Yugi: i tried it after him and i gotta say

Mutou Yugi: anzu is a genius for this

Mutou Yugi: lingerie pics for every1 <3

Mutou Yugi: kaiba

Mutou Yugi: kaiba r u leaving us on read

Mutou Yugi: :(((((

Mutou Yugi: ur making yugi sad

Mutou Yugi: :/ ur kinda mean

Mutou Yugi: yugi says that im rambling cause i smoked a blunt with grandpa

Mutou Yugi: but i think ur just mad cause im a better gamer than u :/

Mutou Yugi: grandpa says yugis right so nvmd 

Mutou Yugi: grandpa says to not tell you he said hi

Mutou Yugi: (i think he might still b mad abt the blue eyes but can u blame him that was very unchill of you)

Mutou Yugi. Was smoking pot with his grandfather and sending Kaiba Seto pictures of himself in lingerie. Seto’s thumb was trembling slightly as he tapped the second picture to enlarge it.

Another mirror selfie, but Atem was sitting on his bed, in a relaxed lounge. Same getup, same skin, same body. He wasn’t smiling— his expression was serene and clear of worry. But his eyes were playful in a way Yugi’s weren’t, like this was all one big joke to him, and Kaiba Seto was the butt of it.

Seto threw a pen at his closed door, because he could.

Mutou Yugi: for my next bday. plz bribe the pm to legalize weed so grandpa can give up on his plan to grow some

Mutou Yugi: HE CANT EVEN KEEP NORMAL HOUSEPLANTS ALIVE

Seto turned off his phone screen. 

Then he turned it back on. He saved both pictures to his camera roll.