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Seto expected to lose touch with Yugi and his peanut gallery after all was said and done. It hadn't exactly turned out that way, though, and he kept seeing them fairly regularly.
They'd asked for his help in getting the Pharaoh a body of his own. It should've felt like a triumph, being needed to that extent, but for someone who prided himself in being logical and intellectual above all things, getting such an obvious proof that magic indeed existed in the world had felt like a slap in the face.
Yugi's presence in the dueling arena had always been grand and indescribable. There was almost a physical change whenever the Pharaoh came out to play. Once Ishizu, Shaadi and Seto had managed to bring back to life the body that used to belong to the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle, he'd finally understood why.
Atem not only held himself taller, with a poise and grace that could only be born from years of ruling and being revered as a god, but even his burgundy eyes were deep and enigmatic and nothing like Yugi's sincere, wide purple gaze.
Seto felt a little nauseated, noticing all these small but undeniable things about his rival. A rival that he'd helped gain a real life, wasting energy and resources in getting Atem situated as a civilian after the magical deed was done and where a mummy had been, there stood a perfectly healthy eighteen year old.
It was a small comfort, knowing the hope Seto had held of getting to know the only duelist that had beaten him was something only he knew about. Perhaps Mokuba suspected his intentions in getting involved, but if so then Seto trusted he was not going to be ridiculed about it.
What a fool he'd been, thinking someone who was the closest thing to a god on Earth would want to invest any time in Seto Kaiba, a man whose renown came from a dirty corporation that used to sell weaponry and that pathetically tried to make amends by donating to charities and making sure orphans across Domino City did not go through the same ordeals he and his brother had.
Magic and principles did not wash the blood off his hands, Seto was acutely aware of this. He also knew he would do it all over again, from the moment he beat Gozaburo at chess and sealed off his own wellbeing in exchange for giving Mokuba a good life.
Atem certainly liked to stare down at him, as if he knew about Seto's inner turmoil. He seldom talked to him, unless it was to say hello when he happened to be around at a time Yugi and his buffoon gang visited the mansion. The former ruler of Egypt preferred that sort of company to the hypothetical company Seto could provide, and that was that.
Seto could not even blame him. Mazaki, Kujaku, and even Katsuya were better people than he could ever be. Yugi was the only one willing to give Seto all the chances he didn't deserve, and smiled cheerfully every time he managed to pull an exasperated huff out of Seto when he insisted on spending time with him.
"You're our friend too," Yugi pointed out, and there wasn't an ounce of malice in his body but it still made Seto want to spit fire; how could he be so naive?
Their friend? Whose? Katsuya's? Please. The end of times would come before Seto could even get along with any of them.
He most certainly wasn't Atem's anything. That ungrateful, conceited, infuriating and brilliant man had all but forgotten about his priest's reincarnation, and Seto knew whatever remained of Seth in him had that coming. He had betrayed Atem, willingly or not, and they had a lot in common, so Seto understood forgiving was not something that Atem was interested in doing, not even after all the trouble he'd gone to giving Atem his body back and a life separate from Yugi and just existing in the Shadow realm.
Resentment, on the other hand, that was a feeling Seto could relate to. He wondered often if that was the word the King of Duels would use to describe how he felt about the CEO of Kaiba Corp.
It had taken months of nagging from Yugi and Yugi's grandfather's dwindling business for the former Pharaoh to realize he was not rich and needed a job to live in the modern world he was a part of. Thus had come KC's sponsorship of Atem's games, a win-win for both parties. While it was a job only in the loosest term of the word, the company's actions and sales skyrocketed whenever Atem won a duel or even posted a dumb picture of himself brooding and looking into the horizon on social media.
Did the reluctant influencer miss his old home and friends, his gold and power, or all of the above? Considering his aggravating tendency to lecture Seto about the heart of the cards every time they faced off, he was inclined to believe it was the first one.
Seto had his ancient powers back and was fluent in Arabic, but he didn't have all his memories. Every little and big recollection of past times with Atem was tainted with fights, treason and death. He had no frame of reference to help Atem feel less homesick, and no way to bring back some of the people he was undoubtedly missing, such as Mahad. The Dark Magician card would continue to be the one thing Atem had left of his loyal guardian and friend, reduced to a character in a game yet still managing to be better than Seto in every way that mattered.
Somehow, having Yugi around only reminded him of his failures as a person; the ever-present ache of inadequacy was made all the more raw just by looking at him and his big smile. The kindness of his heart was only soothing when Seto remembered he'd written Yugi Motou into his will, so Mokuba would have a selfless, trusty guardian until he came of age, were anything to happen to Seto before that. He was leaving a large sum of money and properties to Yugi just as the thank you he was never going to be able to say out loud, though the darkest side of him insisted that was the most binding thing he could do to ensure Yugi would stay by Mokuba's side if pushed came to shove and Seto was out of the picture.
At twenty, Seto felt weathered and almost redundant. Mokuba was fifteen, and though he was hardly an adult, his little brother was not a kid anymore either and he excelled at everything Seto had mastered and everything Seto had not as well; he was friendly, cheerful, trustworthy, passionate and kind. He suspected most of those characteristics had come from being exposed to Yugi and the others, since there was no way to teach Mokuba qualities he did not possess.
Mokuba was the only reason he ever saw Atem at all. They came to hang out with him often, and Seto was too stubborn to make himself scarce and save everyone the awkwardness that his presence created. He knew very well they were there for Mokuba, and would never be able to see past Seto's mistakes.
He was fine with that. He had made his bed, and had no trouble lying in it if it meant his little brother was happy. Friendships were important and valuable, his own ineptitude at making them notwithstanding, and Mokuba needed people in his corner that weren't his brother.
It didn't make it any easier when he did run into Atem and the deceptively young looking man barely spared a glance in his direction. It made Seto want to scream and shake him, which he almost fantasized about doing when he was sleep deprived enough.
It was stupid, how very drawn to him Seto felt. In his head, there was no need to be the bigger man, so he blamed Atem for his own longing.
He didn't know what he wanted anyway, and he was adamant about telling himself that was the only reason he didn't reach out and get it, whatever it was.
Some days, it might've been sitting next to Atem when the gang was watching a movie in their big movie theatre. Other times, having Atem's eyes on him felt like too much, and he could barely stand it. Most days, hearing his former rival's voice made the place between Seto's lungs throb and twist painfully.
He wanted Atem's attention, that much was obvious. But the only way he'd ever gotten it was during a duel, and Seto had refused to play ever since he'd lost against him in Battle City. He had not been raised to be anything but the best at everything he did, so he'd decided to retire and work in the R&D department of his company, creating advanced technology for dueling and more cards to entertain the public.
Mokuba was usually good at letting him know they were coming, giving Seto an out if he so desired. But he'd be damned if he gave anyone a reason to believe he was ashamed, and so he never avoided them. This had led to him being in his own kitchen one night, his mind focused on the schematics of a new duel disk floating in front of him as he chewed on a hastily cooked omelette, even though he was distantly aware Yugi and company were somewhere in the mansion with his brother, probably in one of their many game rooms.
"Kaiba."
Seto made a show of raising his eyes and giving Atem an unimpressed look, even though he could recognize his voice anywhere with no aids of any kind.
"Atem."
The silence was tense and dragged between them, which was not surprising.
He'd gone back to eating and typing when he was interrupted again.
"It's Yami, actually. I thought you knew."
Seto sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. How was he supposed to know? He didn't make a habit of asking about Atem--Yami, apparently, not to Mokuba and not to Yugi either.
He'd rolled his eyes at other people enough that day to refrain from doing it again, his usual end of the day headache was escalating into migraine territory, and he didn't want to ruin Mokuba's night with his friends.
"Right," he accepted tiredly.
It had to be nice, he thought almost nonsensically, being able to reinvent yourself in such a way.
"It's midnight," Yami informed, still standing right beside him. He sounded… not condescending, for once, and that had Seto looking at him again.
"So it is."
"Don't you ever stop working?"
Bemused, he noticed the frown Yami (Yugi had said, years ago, that that was the name he'd given the spirit in the puzzle, but how was Seto supposed to know that was the name Yami preferred?) was sporting. His chest felt funny, and he left his dinner unfinished on the island, his right hand firing commands rapidly on his tablet to modify some details of the disk, his blue eyes fixed on the hologram again.
"Sometimes I sleep."
He wasn't about to admit he couldn't sleep most nights. Nightmares plagued him, the kind that made him appreciate the fact the walls were soundproof, but screaming himself hoarse was not becoming of the CEO of Kaiba Corp. He could not skive off, or get sick, not unless he wanted to lose investors or have the board questioning his competence.
Mokuba was more than capable of replacing him, if need be, but he was still in school and Seto didn't want him to miss being a normal student, the way he had by being forced to work so early.
"It's Friday," Yami insisted, somehow still talking to him. "I thought no one was supposed to work on Friday nights."
It was by far the longest conversation they'd held outside of the arena. Seto could not make sense of it. Was Yami trying to get him to rest? Or was he just criticizing everything he did?
"Do you need help finding anything?" he asked, scowling and turning his tablet off when Yami leaned in to get a closer look. He'd turned down the brightness so much he imagined the thing hardly made any sense.
"That's... excessive. I'm not going to wear that."
That had Seto snorting. "If you don't want a sponsor anymore, just say the word."
"What's wrong with the duel disk I'm using?"
"It's obsolete."
"It's not. You're just bored because you're not battling anymore."
Seto stood up from the stool he'd been sitting on, feeling sick satisfaction in towering over Yami with his height.
He was that petty, it was nothing new.
"Do you miss the challenge?" he smirked. He'd lost more times than he'd won, but he hadn't made it easy for Yami. "Tired of winning against nobodies?"
"If I say yes, will you come back to dueling?"
Yami's eyes bored into his, and it irritated him that he felt the instant need to agree. He refrained, and scowled deeper as his headache sent needles piercing through his skull.
He pinched the bridge of his nose to avoid Yami seeing his grimace and turned around harshly, regretting both not having his long coat on and moving so fast since it brought the eggs he'd barely nibbled right up his throat.
"Do you think you're so important, that I'd go back just because you told me to?" he gritted out.
"Yes."
There was no hesitation in Yami's tone, only his trademark arrogance. At any other time, Seto would have scoffed, griped and, after a good few minutes of pretending he was going to decline, proposed a time for a private match.
At that very moment, he was acutely aware that having Yami's attention for however long their battle lasted wouldn't be enough. He would lose again, which never sat well with him, and for what? For Yami to walk away and spend another two years ignoring him?
"I have better things to do than entertain you."
He heard Yami calling after him, but ignored him and kept a brisk pace up the stairs and to his room. He didn't want Mokuba to find out he had a migraine, so he grabbed a painkiller shot that was supposed to be his last resort, and stabbed himself in the arm. He'd already taken pills during the day to keep the pain at bay, and this would make him slow and force him to lie down until morning, but when his little brother came he'd leave Seto alone after saying good night instead of keeping vigil over him until the headache went away.
He didn't hear Mokuba coming, so he supposed he was more tired than he'd thought he was. There was a damp cloth over his forehead when he woke up that fell to the side when he turned his head and realized there was only lingering pressure instead of pain.
It was four in the morning, too early even for him to get up. He resisted the urge to grab his phone or his tablet and focused instead on the heavy atmosphere of the room, his hand closing around the Millennium Rod when he couldn't decide whether the presence he felt was good or bad.
"I see you like to keep it close." Yami's voice carried perfectly to him, an undercurrent of amusement in it that was too close to mockery for comfort.
Seto turned on the lights of his room with a snap of his fingers and pointed the artifact at Yami.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Yami just smirked at him. "You didn't reply to me either."
Refusing to be outmatched, Seto sent a surge of power right to the chair Yami was straddling near his bed, sending him sprawling to the floor in a haze of blue magic.
The plain shock and annoyance on Yami's features made the invasion of his privacy almost worth it.
"You're in no position to make demands," he reminded Yami tersely. "Now get out."
"You were screaming," Yami said, standing up at the same time Seto jumped to his feet.
They came face to face, and Seto was forced to hold the Millennium Rod as a shield between them in lieu of words that were not coming to justify his weakness.
"It's none of your business."
"Does Mokuba know?"
"If you tell him, I'll kill you myself."
It wasn't pity, what he saw in Yami's eyes in response, but Seto was not well versed in emotions. He couldn't tell whether what he was seeing was good or bad.
"Is it like this every night? The pain, the nightmares?"
"It's none--"
"Of my business, I know, so you've said. But what if I want to make it my business?"
Yami raised his hand and closed it around the Millennium Rod, right over Seto's own white-knuckled grip of it. His skin was warm against him, and the touch felt like electricity running up his nerves, except there was only a sharp sensation and no shock of pain.
Seto did not pull away, because that would mean backing off. Seto Kaiba never backed off from anything.
He took a shuddering, shallow breath and glared at Yami.
"I know I've been… avoiding you." The admittance came unprompted and Seto had to fight not to show his puzzlement. "I needed to find myself again. I felt like I couldn't face you, not without knowing who I am and what I want. I'm sorry it took me this long, but I want… I want to be with you."
Yami's free hand cupped his cheek, fingertips almost reverent as they traced Seto's cheekbone. No one had ever touched him in such a way, but the tenderness of the moment felt bad on his tongue.
"You don't even know me," he sneered. "You want to be with a man that's been dead for five thousand years."
"We are not the same people, but our souls are the same, and they know each other, Seto." Yami stated it as surely as everything he did during a duel, and Seto felt his grip on his most trusted weapon falter at hearing his name uttered so naturally by him. "The only reason I agreed to remain in this world was to stay by your side."
"You're lying."
It was easy to accuse him, far easier than it was to believe him.
"Let me prove it to you."
Slowly, Seto relinquished the old artifact and watched as Yami put it down gently by the nightstand, within easy reach.
His card deck was there too, even though Seto had done nothing but shuffle through it and stare at his Blue Eyed Dragons in years.
"If you say you're going to prove it with a match, forget it."
Yami chuckled, the sound low and brief. "No. I think we've spent long enough competing. I was thinking of…" He trailed off, for once looking insecure. "Of you giving me a chance, and…"
Oh. Yami was nervous, though it took Seto a moment to realize. Once upon a time, he would've laughed and enjoyed such an event.
He reached out to put his thumb over Yami's lips instead, his hand cradling his jaw, fingers curling gently around the side of his neck.
There was barely an inch between them, and Yami tilted his head back to look up at him with another foreign emotion bright in his eyes, one that Seto wanted to learn how to translate someday soon.
"Show me, then," he demanded, his own throat too dry to do it properly. It didn't sound like a plea, though his heartstrings very much begged him to just give in, open up and stop being so proud and stubborn.
He got just a glimpse of Yami standing on his tiptoes before he grabbed his face with both hands and yanked him down for their mouths to collide in a clumsy kiss. For once, neither of them had any experience to boast of, and only each other to learn from.
Seto's mind was buzzing with questions and warnings, but he shut them all up to wrap his arms around Yami's waist and pull him closer as their lips brushed and caressed one another, teeth and tongues coming into play every now and then to deepen the contact and the nonsensical feeling in his chest that he was free-falling.
It felt as exhilarating as winning a duel against a worthy opponent, and better too.
Whether they'd done this in the past or not, it was irrelevant. It felt right, and something inside him finally settled when they parted to pant for breath.
Yami coaxed him back to bed, giving him one last peck before resting his head in the crook of his neck, half his body flopping over him in a possessive gesture that had a smile tugging Seto's lips up reluctantly.
"Sleep," Yami ordered, sounding sleepy himself.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll make you."
Seto hummed in acknowledgment of the empty threat, and for once didn't feel like being contrary.
Sleep didn't come easy for him, but it was easier to wait for it with Yami breathing softly over his skin, his arm holding Seto's chest tightly whenever he tensed.
Eventually, just as the sun was peeking through the blinds, he closed his eyes and let the slow rise and fall of Yami's chest lull him to sleep.