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Seto tried not to think of himself as especially charitable. There were several ways he’d describe himself, several words that added to his ego. Genius, cunning, handsome, charismatic. He had no doubt that he was exceptional. He stood out above the rest of the world for his brilliant inventions, his talent and skill in all manner of games, his inexplicable yet undeniable allure. But he didn’t wish to stand out as charitable. Sharing what he had with others, with kids like himself, was not an exceptional act, or at least it shouldn’t have been. It was just what anyone in his situation would be doing if they were halfway decent.
So no, Seto was not being exceptional when he offered free admission for orphans to KaibaLand. He was not being exceptional when he held free gaming workshops at the local mall. He was not being exceptional when he let kids at the park play with his Duel Disks at no cost.
But when he opened up his mansion to Yuugi and his friends for a sleepover-slash-gaming-marathon, that was fucking exceptional. That was a level of charity even Seto Kaiba felt may have been a bit much.
“Ha! Got you again,” Jounouchi laughed. Seto heard a controller drop to the floor, followed by the loud crunching of potato chips.
“Well played, my friend,” Bakura replied, barely audible. As much as Seto scorned Yuugi and his friends, he could at least tolerate Bakura. The boy was quiet and polite. The same could not be said for the others.
“You should play, big brother.” Seto turned to see Mokuba’s head poking out of the doorway. “I bet you’ll win.”
“I’m not interested,” Seto growled.
“At least come in. Don’t you want to keep an eye on everyone to make sure they’re not… I dunno, making a mess?”
“Fine.” Seto couldn’t say no to his little brother. It was his one weakness.
Seto shuffled into the living room. Yuugi and his friends had a fighting game up on the large TV screen, and Bakura was handing off his controller to Yuugi. Seto tried to hang back, to blend into the shadows and avoid involving himself in their games, but Yuugi made eye contact with him.
“Hey, Kaiba, why don’t you come have a turn?”
Seto grimaced.
“Seto…” Mokuba whined. He had taken up a spot on one of the large chairs with a bowl of cheese puffs in his lap. Of course there would be orange handprints all over the plush chair, and Mokuba would probably be up complaining of a tummy ache later that night. But Mokuba was his brother, so Seto would tolerate it.
“Fine. One round.”
Seto was brilliant at card games and chess. He was a strategist. He was good at puzzles, at playing mind games with an opponent. But he was not built for chaotic button-mashing and joystick-waggling, and thus Jounouchi outclassed him at this particular game. Jounouchi hooted with delight as Seto fell to him. Seto stood up and grumbled, stomping over to the door.
“I’m sorry, Kaiba, did I kick your butt too hard?” Jounouchi laughed. Seto glared at him from the doorway.
“Hey, Kaiba, it’s alright,” Yuugi said. “Did you want to try again? Or just stay and watch for a while?”
“I want to go to bed,” Seto replied. “Mokuba’s in charge.”
Mokuba seemed barely awake himself, head falling occasionally towards the bowl in his lap. He gave Seto a halfhearted thumbs up and then turned back towards the TV, where Yuugi had picked up Seto’s controller. Seto rolled his eyes and left the room.
It wasn’t unusual for Seto to get up and walk around in the middle of the night. He’d struggled with insomnia for most of his teenage years, between the typical nightmares and often just having too many thoughts keeping him awake. After changing into his pajamas (which, given the warm season, consisted of sweatpants and nothing else), he’d lay in bed for a while before giving up and going downstairs. Sometimes he’d go to the kitchen for tea or a glass of water, or search the living room shelves for a book he somehow hadn’t read yet. None of it was unusual. Mokuba and the servants had seen him up at unconventional hours enough times not to question it.
Yuugi and his friends, however, had not.
Seto was awake, but he was still tired enough to have forgotten about the guests in his house. So it was a bit of a shock when, upon entering the kitchen, he saw Bakura hunched in front of the refrigerator. The light of the fridge made his pale skin and hair look even lighter than usual, giving him an odd ghostly appearance. Once Seto got over his shock, he approached the pale boy on the floor.
“What are you eating?”
Bakura turned around, a half-eaten apple in one hand.
“I’m sorry. Mokuba said I could help myself.”
“You may not.”
“Sorry.”
Seto rolled his eyes, which Bakura surely couldn’t see in the dark kitchen, but Seto wouldn’t have minded if he could.
“Why are you up?” Bakura asked.
“I’m thirsty, alright?” Seto shot back. “It’s my own house.”
“Sorry,” Bakura said again. “You’re well within your right to be up.”
“And why are you up? Just hungry?” Seto made his way over to the light switch.
“I’ve always had trouble sleeping away from home,” Bakura explained. “And y’know, I thought a snack would—” Bakura gasped as the lights came on.
Seto stared at him. His hair was messier than usual, and he was wearing a set of blue flannel pajamas that made him look a bit ridiculous. He still held the half-eaten apple in one hand. Now that the light was on, however, his focus had entirely shifted to Seto. Bakura stared at him, mouth agape.
“What?” Seto demanded. “You look like an idiot.”
“I… those marks on your chest,” Bakura said softly. He took a step towards Seto. “What are they?”
Seto reached up to touch his own chest, recalling to his mind the list of scars that littered his body. He preferred to ignore them most of the time, to the point he sometimes forgot they existed. He liked it that way. Of course, that meant he hadn’t realized just how much new information he’d be revealing when he turned on the light. He regretted not grabbing his bathrobe before going downstairs. Even with the heat it would have been worth saving himself some embarrassment.
“No, no, not the lines,” Bakura said. “I mean, I can guess at those.”
Seto swallowed. He let his hand rest for a moment of the faded red line below his nipple. The world did not know that Seto Kaiba was born a girl. He could pay for the hormones and surgeries to make sure of that. But he couldn’t avoid someone noticing when evidence of who he’d been in that former life was so blatantly on show. When he let these people into his house, when he dared to walk around without the protective barrier of even a shirt, he invited the inevitable result. Stupid, stupid, stupid—
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell,” Bakura said. “And if it makes you feel better, I… I’m in the same situation.” He undid the top button of his pajamas and pulled the fabric aside. Seto could see the elastic strap over his shoulder, the pale fabric pulled tight around his chest.
He felt stupid. He should have known Bakura was like him. But Bakura was right: it did make him feel better. At least, he knew he could trust Bakura to keep this a secret, since clearly he would know how important it was.
“I meant those spots. In the middle there.” Bakura took a step closer and reached out to point at them.
”Don’t touch me,” Seto snapped. “Do not fucking touch me. I swear to God, I will kill you if you touch me.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” Bakura backed away.
Seto went to get a glass from the cabinet, his back turned to Bakura.
“You’ve got some on your back, too,” Bakura commented. “And there’s some lines here that… I don’t know what that is. And on your arms it’s… oh dear. Oh god, I…”
“What?” Seto growled, spinning back around. Bakura’s soft, dark eyes were wide and watery.
“What happened to you?” Bakura whispered.
“None of your business,” Seto replied.
Bakura held his hand out, clearly trying to restrain himself from touching Seto. Seto glared daggers into him. If he dared get too close, Seto was going to hurt him. He wouldn’t think twice about it.
Seto turned to the sink to fill his glass with water. He turned the faucet on full blast, letting the sound of rushing water fill the room. It did nothing to ease the tension. He could still feel Bakura staring at him, those big brown puppy-dog eyes boring into the back of his neck.
“You can go back to sleep now,” Seto growled. He turned the faucet off and took a sip of water. His back was still turned to Bakura, but he could tell the other boy hadn’t moved. Seto took another sip of water. He leaned over the sink. He could feel himself starting to shake with anger. Maybe it wouldn’t take Bakura touching him. Maybe Seto was going to slam his stupid head into a wall either way if he kept standing there gawking at him.
“Kaiba? Bakura?”
The voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Seto clenched his hands into fists and turned slowly toward the kitchen doorway. Jounouchi stood there in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, his eyes even more glazed over than usual. He looked back and forth from Seto to Bakura.
“Shit. Are you guys okay?”
“We… couldn’t sleep,” Bakura said. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I heard somebody walking around. I wanted to see what was up,” Jounouchi replied. “You sure you’re alright? I mean, Bakura, you’re… you’re crying, dude.”
“I-I am?” Bakura rubbed his eyes. His pale cheeks went bright red. “Well, maybe a little…”
“What’s wrong, bud?”
Bakura glanced sideways at Seto. Seto glared at him, the threat of violence hanging in the air. Maybe Jounouchi would be oblivious enough not to notice the scars if Bakura didn’t open his big fucking mouth.
“Kaiba’s giving you problems, huh?” Jounouchi’s hands tightened into fists. “Just say the word, I’ll take care of him.”
“Cool it, mutt,” Seto said. “You’re not stupid enough to try and fight me in my own house, are you?”
“Please don’t fight him,” Bakura muttered. “He’s… been through enough, I think.”
“The hell do you mean by that?” Seto slammed his glass of water down on the counter. “Just because I have some scars, I can’t take this brat? I’m stronger than I look.”
“I-I didn’t mean it like that!” Bakura shrunk away from Seto. “I just think… something hurt you. I don’t know what, but it doesn’t matter. Jou doesn’t need to hurt you more.”
“Whadda you mean?” Jounouchi stepped closer to the two of them. Seto felt cornered, trapped, pinned against the kitchen counter. “You talkin’ about those scars?” He pointed towards Seto’s chest, his hand dangerously close to touching Seto. Seto was going to kill him. He was going to kill both of them if they didn’t leave him alone.
“I told you, they’re none of your business,” Seto growled. “I don’t need you defending me. I don’t need either of you worrying about me. Just mind your own business and go back to sleep.”
“They look like cigarette burns,” Jounouchi said. Something in his expression changed, like the haze of sleep and stupidity was starting to fade.
“I… didn’t know you smoked, Kaiba,” Bakura said, raising an eyebrow and cocking his head. “And how’d they get on your back, if—”
“He doesn’t smoke,” Jounouchi muttered, a grave look on his face.
Bakura’s face shifted, his pupils going wide as he looked over at Seto. His mouth twisted into an expression of… something, maybe horror, maybe pity. Seto saw red. These people didn’t deserve to know what he’d been through.
He lunged at Jounouchi, taking hold of his shirt collar. Jounouchi fell back against the island countertop, gasping as he landed with an unsettling thud. Seto gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly and leaned over him. He felt Jounouchi’s breath against his cheek. This obviously wasn’t his first fight; even after having the wind knocked out of him his expression remained calm.
“How do you know that?” Seto hissed. “I’ve never told anyone about that. Not even my little brother knows about that. The only other person who would know about that is six feet under. How the fuck did you know that?”
“Kaiba, you’re real stupid sometimes, you know that?” Jounouchi shook his head.
“No. No! You’re the stupid one. Everyone knows that.” He grabbed a handful of Jounouchi’s hair and pulled. Jounouchi winced as his head jerked to the side. “So if no one told you, how’d you know?”
“Because I know what cigarette burns look like,” Jounouchi growled. “Get off me a sec, will you?”
Seto let go of him and rose to his feet. Jounouchi followed, still leaning against the countertop. He held out his arm, showing that it was dotted with scars just like the ones on Seto’s chest. They were smaller, and seemed to have either healed a bit more or been less severe in the first place, but the pattern was unmistakable.
“Maybe if you weren’t so full of yourself, you would have seen them,” Jounouchi muttered. “But you’re not the only one in the world with a shitty father, you know.”
“Stepfather,” Seto corrected. “And for the record, they were cigars. Mostly.”
“Of course. You gotta correct me about this, too. You have to be right about everything all the time, because you’re Seto fucking Kaiba and no one gets to beat you at anything. You have to win at everything, even your dad putting out cigarettes on you. Stepdad. Cigars. Whatever.”
“Shut up!” Bakura shouted. “I told you not to fight about this!”
“He hit me first.” Jounouchi rolled his eyes.
“Shut up!” Bakura repeated. “You guys… why didn’t you say anything before? I mean, I guess I understand Kaiba, but… Jou, you still live with your dad. You should have told us.”
“Why would I tell you? You’re just gonna worry about it. It’s not like you could’ve done anything. Plus, they’re all from when I was younger. He doesn’t do it anymore, and there’s no way to change the past, so it’s… it’s whatever.”
“Jou…” Bakura sighed. He leaned on the countertop next to Jounouchi, his head in his hands. Then, softly, he muttered, “Fuck.”
Seto had never heard Bakura curse. The utterance sent the room into a heavy silence, Jounouchi and Bakura still leaning against the counter, Seto standing over them. Seto looked again at Jounouchi’s arms. Interspersed among the little round scars were faded pinkish lines. His heart dropped for a moment, shocked at the thought that he and Jounouchi would have more scars in common, but the lines on Jounouchi’s arms were not like Seto’s. They were deeper, more ragged, nothing like the delicate tally marks Seto had. And when he thought for a moment, Seto remembered the origins of some of those marks. He remembered the injury right by Jounouchi’s elbow, from a fight with a school bully that had gotten out of hand and left a tear in his uniform that he hadn’t bothered to fix for months. The one right by his wrist, from playing the knife game with Honda and losing quite badly. They weren’t like Seto’s scars at all. They were from stupid games and reckless fights.
It was quiet enough in the kitchen that Seto could hear the soft tapping of footsteps approaching. He sighed and looked towards the doorway. He should have gone back to bed. He should have gone back to bed the moment Jounouchi walked in. He should have gone back to bed when he saw Bakura raiding the fridge. He should never have let these people see him.
“Guys? Are you okay in here?” Yuugi stepped into the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “You’re being really loud.”
“Sorry, Yuugi,” Jounouchi said, as calm as ever. “Did we wake you up?”
“Uh… maybe,” Yuugi replied. “Don’t worry about it. What’s going on? Is Bakura okay?”
Bakura lifted his head slightly from the countertop. He looked somehow even more dishevelled than before. He blinked at Yuugi, his mouth dropping open slightly. He didn’t say a word.
“He’ll survive,” Seto said. “He’s just being a nosy brat. I’m assuming you’re here to do the same.”
Bakura’s lip quivered.
“What are you talking about?” Yuugi asked.
“Kaiba’s pissed that we saw his scars,” Jounouchi said, rolling his eyes. “His fault for walking around with no shirt on.”
“Scars?” Yuugi stepped into the kitchen and wandered over to Seto. He stood in front of him, a bit too close for comfort, his eyes darting from side to side, taking in the expanse of Seto’s body. Then he extended a hand towards Seto. Seto grabbed him by the wrist, squeezing tightly enough to bruise.
“What is with you people and touching me, huh?” he growled.
The puzzle glowed against Yuugi’s pajama shirt. Seto found himself face to face with the Pharaoh, who seemed to stand taller despite the fact it was physically impossible for Yuugi’s body to have grown.
“Kaiba,” the Pharaoh said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
Seto blinked at him. What did he have to be sorry for?
“Had I known…” The Pharaoh shook his head. With his free hand, he traced a finger down Seto’s wrist, following the thick white scar that travelled the length of his forearm. Seto shuddered. He should have thrown the Pharaoh to the ground for daring to touch him, but his piercing violet eyes left him frozen.
“How long ago?” the Pharaoh asked, his fingers held to Seto’s wrist as if taking his pulse.
“What do you mean?” Seto growled.
“You know,” the Pharaoh said. “You tried to take your own life. When? Did I know you? Did Yuugi?”
Jounouchi’s eyes went wide. Bakura’s head fell back onto the counter.
“What? You think you could have stopped me?” Seto growled.
“No,” the Pharaoh replied. “I know you well enough to know I couldn’t convince you to change your mind. But I would’ve liked to have been there for you. It’s a deep wound, and you shouldn’t have had to heal on your own.”
“I heal fine on my own.”
“I disagree.”
“Excuse me?”
“I suppose I should have been more clear.” The Pharaoh took Seto’s other hand in his own. His other arm was just as scarred, and the Pharaoh looked at it sadly. Seto kept his grip tight on his wrist, but he was still powerless to do anything else. “That deep wound… I didn’t mean the cuts on your wrists. Your flesh has healed well, I concede that, but I believe your soul hasn’t recovered.”
“You and your soul garbage,” Seto grumbled.
“I’m sorry,” the Pharaoh repeated. “I know how stubborn you are. Some of those cuts on your arms have only just healed. However long ago it was, whatever did that damage to your soul in the first place, that wound is still there.”
“I’m fine,” Seto snapped. He let go of Yuugi’s arm and yanked his hand from his grasp. “I don’t need you to save me.”
“You’re a real jerk, Kaiba,” Jounouchi quipped. “Even I’m not dumb enough to think you’re fine. Yuugi just wants to help, and you’re gonna blow him off?”
“We all want to help,” Bakura added. His voice was shaky. Poor pathetic thing sounded like he’d been crying.
Seto walked back over to the sink and picked up his water glass. He drank the rest of it so quickly he nearly choked, and then slammed the glass back down. Then he leaned over the sink, unsure of whether to cut his losses and go back to bed or try and convince the obnoxious children in his kitchen that he didn’t need their help or throw his fucking water glass at Yuugi for being such a prick.
“Those scars on your shoulders look familiar,” the Pharaoh said. “A whip, or… a switch, something like that.”
“How the hell would you know?” Seto retorted. Forget throwing the glass at him, Seto wanted to rip the puzzle off him. Maybe that would shut the Pharaoh up. Even Yuugi wasn’t this obnoxious.
“I wish I had a good answer,” the Pharaoh sighed. “I don’t remember much from my life, but those marks are familiar to me, like my own language.”
“Great,” Seto muttered. “Do you want me to tell you how my stepfather hit me when I misbehaved, or is Bakura going to piss himself?”
Seto looked over his shoulder at Bakura, and Jounouchi and the Pharaoh followed his gaze. Bakura had his head down on the counter, his hands fisted in his tangled white hair.
“Kaiba,” Bakura stammered. “Kaiba, you poor dear.”
“Shove it,” Seto growled.
“Oh, you shove it!” Bakura shouted. “God, you’re so miserable. Would it kill you to just let someone care about you for once?”
“Care about me all you want. It won’t make me any less miserable.”
“Are you sure? Have you ever let anyone tell you they cared about you without insulting them? Have you ever let anyone hug you?”
“You think hugging me would fix me?”
“No. But I think it would maybe make you less of a miserable prick for a few seconds.”
“Really? Try me.”
Seto lowered his arms to his sides, staring at Bakura, daring him to execute his idiotic plan. Seto couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. He couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him and he didn’t consider attacking them.
He was not prepared for Jounouchi to practically leap over the counter and wrap his arms around his shoulders. Seto gasped. Jounouchi was strong: his arms were tight around Seto’s shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides.
“C’mon, Bakura. Get in here.” Jounouchi grinned and motioned him over. “He hasn’t bitten me yet.”
Bakura cautiously stepped forward. He leaned against Seto’s chest, his head resting under Seto’s chin. His messy white hair was unbelievably soft, and Seto couldn’t resist leaning into it. Feathery white strands tickled his cheeks. Bakura’s face was warm against his chest. Seto didn’t remember the last time someone had been this close to him. He didn’t remember it feeling so good.
He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he was suddenly jostled again. When he looked, he saw Yuugi leaning against his side, opposite Jounouchi. He was so small he didn’t even come up to Seto’s shoulder.
“We care about you, Kaiba.” It was Yuugi’s voice, higher and more childlike than the Pharaoh’s. “Everyone in this room. And Anzu and Honda and your brother. And the Pharaoh. We all want you to be okay.”
Seto breathed in deeply, and then exhaled slowly. He tried to focus on the warmth of the bodies against his own. It was an unfamiliar sensation for him, but it was safe. It was comfortable. He felt his breaths grow more steady, his heart stopped racing. He hasn’t realized just how stressed he was, but now that he was starting to calm down he really did feel better. As much as he hated to admit Bakura was right, he did feel less miserable. Maybe for the first time in years.
Bakura lifted his head. His eyes were just about level with a particularly dense cluster of scars. Seto watched his brows furrowed as he considered the patch of muddled purple and red flesh for a moment. He wasn’t usually one to be insecure about his looks, given that he kept his scars out of sight and out of mind as often as he could, but he couldn’t help but feel judgment from Bakura’s deep brown eyes. Seto wasn’t insecure, but he wasn’t oblivious either. The scars were ugly.
“Don’t stare,” Seto grumbled.
“Sorry,” Bakura said shyly. “I just… have a bit of a fascination with scars.”
“He’s a little freaky,” Jounouchi laughed and rubbed Bakura’s hair.
“Do you want to see mine?” Bakura asked, his eyes lighting up.
Seto wanted to say no, that’s disgusting, why would I want to see that, but he was admittedly curious. And whatever Bakura wanted to show them would inevitably draw the others’ attention away from Seto’s own scars.
He nodded. Jounouchi and Bakura took a step away from him, but Yuugi stayed leaning against his shoulder. Seto found it strange, but he didn’t comment.
Bakura unbuttoned his pajama shirt about halfway down and pulled his sleeve off his left shoulder. The first thing Seto noticed was the pale undergarment on his chest. He glanced back and forth between Jounouchi and Yuugi, expecting shock, expecting mocking or laughter or even disgust. But Yuugi and Jounouchi said nothing. Either they’d already known, or they didn’t care.
“Right here.” Bakura pointed at his left bicep with his opposite hand, but there was really no need to point. The mark was obvious, a large cut about the size of his forefinger. The scar was long healed: Seto remembered it, how the monster controlling Bakura had stabbed him in the middle of Seto’s tournament. Even now, after so long, there was still a thick raised line on Bakura’s arm where the knife had entered him. The skin around it was a mottled mess of purple and white and red. Bakura prodded the scar with his forefinger, making Seto wince.
“I know it’s not the most… attractive thing,” Ryou said, smiling. “But it makes for a good story.”
“Getting stabbed by an evil spirit is a better story than getting abused by your stepfather,” Seto grumbled.
“I’m sorry,” Bakura muttered. “Being possessed isn’t fun either, you know. It’s not like I’ve never thought about how being dead might be better than being a meat suit for an evil spirit, but…”
“It can’t be that bad. You get, what, magic powers and stuff? I had to wear a dog collar every day for four years.”
“I killed people,” Bakura snapped. “Or… he killed people with my body. But this isn’t a fight you should want to win, Kaiba. It’s… it’s not a fight. No one wins. We both just go through our lives feeling like shit. But what I was going to say is that I have friends, I have people who care about me, who I love, and… I guess sometimes that’s worth living for.”
“You have friends,” Seto scoffed. “What about me?”
Bakura stared at him. Seto was acutely aware of the weight of Yuugi leaning against his arm.
“I mean, you only gotta ask, Kaiba,” Jounouchi quipped.
“You? You’re not my friends.”
“You sure?” Jounouchi put his arm around Seto’s shoulder.
“I… I don’t…” Seto stammered. “Why would you want to be my friends? Why do you want anything to do with me?”
“Why not?” Jounouchi replied.
“I guess we figured someone like you needs a friend,” Yuugi added. “I mean… you remind me of Jou, a little bit. Before he and I were friends, he was always getting into trouble, ending up in fights. All those scars—not the burns, the other ones—I mean, he got in a lot of fights. But now he has a group of friends, and he’s stopped getting into trouble. You almost can’t see any of those scars unless you look for them.”
“And I’m happier now,” Jounouchi said. “I don’t need to get in fights, or get mixed up with the bad kids.”
“These scars, right here…” Yuugi lifted his hand to touch a patch of faded cuts on Seto’s forearm. “They’re barely scars. They’re still red. They’re newer.”
Seto swallowed and nodded. He closed his eyes. He didn’t like the way Jounouchi and Bakura were looking at him, pitying him, pity that Seto didn’t want, much less deserve.
“Maybe, eventually, if you start hanging out with us… if you start trying to have friends and not be so lonely… maybe all of your scars will fade like Jou’s. You won’t have any new cuts like this.”
Seto shook his head. It was impossible.
“Why not? There’s no harm in trying, right?” Yuugi reached down and gently squeezed Seto’s hand.
“Trying? Just… trying to have friends?”
“Sure. I know it seems impossible now, but you never know how it’ll turn out.”
“And, yknow, if you like games so much, you could always try to prove us wrong,” Jounouchi added. “Try and show us how much it sucks to have friends.” He smirked and patted Seto on the shoulder.
“Fine,” Seto grumbled. “I’ll try.”
Jounouchi pumped his fist.
“Hell yeah,” he exclaimed softly. “Wanna go put the game back in and have a rematch?”
“I’m not good at that game,” Seto replied. He reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out his deck, placing it on the island countertop. “Let’s duel instead.”