Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Seto couldn't believe he was here. Every morning, in the seconds before his conscious mind sharpened to awareness, he somehow managed to forget, expecting to wake up in his four-poster, canopy bed with a fine cotton duvet against his skin–not hard cement and cold extremities, not waking up and having the real nightmare begin.

This all started with her. The day he got an unexpected visitor in his office. How she got through security and up to the top floor of Kaiba Corp headquarters he didn't know, but there she stood: middle aged–or near to it, messy hair and clothes that looked like they came out of the bargain bin at some discount department store.

“How did you get in here?” he asked, more for the purpose of chewing out his security than anything else. 

The intruder said nothing, but her steely gaze sent a chill down Seto's spine.

“Who are you, and how did you get in?” he repeated in a more forceful tone. He wouldn't repeat himself again.

“The same way you got your hands on my brother’s Blue Eyes.”

Well, that certainly narrowed down her identity.

“Determination?” he suggested flippantly.

“Underhanded tactics.”

She wasn't wrong. Over a year ago Seto had been willing to cheat, steal, and lie to get his hands on all four Blue Eyes White Dragons–and he hadn't been too particular about the means needed to obtain his end. That was all ancient history now. 

“Tell me, Kaiba, do you believe in magic?”

He didn't follow her non sequitur and didn't care to try. “You can see yourself out, or I can call security.”

“Answer the question.”

“Don't be absurd.”

“Absurd is driving a man to suicide for a trading card. Absurd is the fact that you still think your actions were justified because you got what you wanted.”

Suicide. So this was Leo Alden’s sister. Frankly, Seto didn't see a resemblance. Leo was an American duelist who prided himself on his cunning and ferocious game play. They called him the grinning lion, for his maniacal smile when he went in for the final kill. When Leo refused Seto’s more than generous offer to buy his Blue Eyes, he forced Seto to take more extreme measures. Some money exchanged hands, a deal was struck, and Leo found himself unemployed and facing bankruptcy.

Seto never even met the man, and he took measures to ensure his part in Leo’s fall from society stayed hidden, but he couldn't help gloating in their final email correspondence. 

This could've been so much easier. You should've taken my offer. I warned you not to cross me. You call yourself a lion, but all you are is a pathetic, little house cat, fooled by the size of your own shadow. We'll see how ferocious you are without your prized beast.

SK

Seto wouldn't have bothered with the email these days, but back when he was first getting a taste for power it occasionally manifested in petty impulses. 

Seto didn't think Leo had any family. Whoever this sister was, she must've uncovered some piece of evidence implicating Seto or she wouldn't be confronting him about it now.

“Do you even feel remorse?” she asked, wrenching him out of his reverie. Her voice held no malice or anger, but it still set Seto’s teeth on edge.

“Unlike you, I haven't broken any laws.” He motioned toward the door to emphasize her trespassing, and to indicate where she could see herself out.

Seto hadn't exactly broken any laws, at least not directly–not to acquire that particular card.

“No laws, perhaps.” Her eyes narrowed in accusation. “Just bodies.”

“He took his own life.”

“After you took everything from him.”

“That's what happens when you play in the big leagues. It's a jungle out there. I’d expect the grinning lion to know that.”

“You're a selfish, spoiled child, and it will be your undoing. Having said that…” She eyed him critically, as if determining his guilt. “You are a child, if only just.”

Seto’s jaw clenched at the condescending comment. He'd be turning eighteen in less than a week, and frankly, it couldn't come soon enough. He hadn't been a child since the day his mom died–the day he learned no one would ever coddle him again. Life officially lost its safety net when he lost his father four years later. That day he realized you only ate what you killed, and the world didn't give handouts. 

Rather than dignify her patronizing tone with a response, Seto pushed the silent alarm on the underside of his desk. He should've done it the moment he set eyes on her, but curiosity got the better of him. He'd come to regret that decision. Everyone knew what curiosity did to the cat.

Her eyes seemed to catch the subtle movement of his hand under the desk, and she smiled in mock pity. “You had all the wrong influences and learned all the wrong lessons. Perhaps this will teach you to respect pathetic, little house cats.”

Seto was about to remark on her having as much regard for private emails as private property, when her face split into a manic grin.

Now he saw the resemblance.

Seto's vision blurred as a bright, blinding light filled the room. A sudden head rush struck and a bout of dizziness overtook his remaining senses. 

When he came to, moments later, he found himself lying on the floor, still in his office–or what looked to be his office in a distorted, funhouse mirror. The walls stretched up and up, far too high. The windows did the same. The furniture towered absurdly above him. Colors looked strange, tinted with a blurry blue-violet haze. And there she stood, Leo’s sister, a giant beside Seto's oversized desk. He expected to find the desk empty, but slumped in the high backed, leather chair sat his own unconscious body. 

Seto tried to move forward, only to stumble in a tangle of limbs–limbs that were very wrong. He looked down to see dark fur and paws where hands should've been.

The woman reached down to grab him. He squirmed away, kicking out legs that weren't his, and managed to crawl under the desk in time to avoid her.

An amused smile tugged at her lips. “Oh, don't look so horrified. If you can learn to cherish life, your heart will find its way back to your body. In the meantime, maybe you can put that killer instinct you're so proud of to practical use. Just be careful.” Her grin widened. “ It's a jungle out there.”

A moment later security finally arrived to take her away with a brusk, “Ma’am, you can't be in here.” Their bored expressions made it clear they barely regarded her as a threat.  

One guard took her by the elbow, and she stood tall, smiling smugly, like royalty being escorted out by her entourage.

“Whose cat is that?” murmured one of the other guards. 

Seto actually looked around, before he realized the man meant him. 

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Kaiba. We’ll get it out of your hair,” said Isono, who had trailed in behind security. “Mr. Kaiba?”

Isono took a moment to study the unconscious body sagging limply in his chair, but Seto couldn't make out his expression from his angle from underneath the desk. “I think…we need a medical team,” Isono said, voice colored with quite shock and dread. 

“What?” 

“Get a medical team now!” he repeated more forcefully. 

The matter of what was to be done with the old woman and the animal was quickly ignored for the much more pressing matter of the unresponsive CEO. All the people who actually mattered were seeing that a medical team be brought to the chief executive office, leaving secondary staff to deal with the cat. 

Good fucking Lord, he was a cat! Was this what lucid dreaming felt like?

Not wanting to be chased around the office like a piglet at a hoedown, Seto tried to slip into the hallway undetected–unsuccessfully it would seem, based on the security guard who had taken it upon himself to try to herd him into a corner. 

“What do you think?” said the man to his partner. “Should we call city officials to take care of him?”

Take care of him could've meant dumping him in an overcrowded shelter or, more than likely, carting him off to be euthanized. Seto tried to communicate how much he would not tolerate that idea, but instead of words he vocalized a persistent yowl, occasionally punctuated by hissing and spitting as the men tried to approach him. Finally, a giant, grubby hand scruffed him by the back of the neck and hauled him to the elevator. Seto tried his best to arch up out of his hold, only to be unceremoniously dumped on the floor. 

When the hum of the elevator stopped and the doors opened to the ground floor Seto dashed full speed through the lobby, ducking between legs as he sprinted through the double glass doors of the building and out to fresh air and freedom. 

After a moment to catch his breath Seto's heartbeat finally settled, and he swore that when he got his body back he planned to see that man fired. Though he kept trying to convince himself he wouldn't need to. This was obviously a horrible nightmare. Soon he'd wake up in his office and find himself passed out at his desk again. Perhaps his thoughts had strayed to Leo Alden in the moments before sleep and manifested this bizarre, guilt dream. 

Once outside, roaming the streets turned out to be a far more precarious venture than Seto ever imagined. He nearly got trampled three times in as many minutes trying to get his bearings. When a child blithely trampled his tail Seto learned to keep a safe distance from the main walkways. 

At first he planned to make his way back to the manor, back to Mokuba, but he quickly abandoned the notion. The distance between the manor and the office had to be well over fifty kilometers. It would probably take him weeks to get there–if not months, and that assumed he knew the way. From a street view he couldn't make heads or… tails of Domino.

Everything looked so different from twenty centimeters from the ground. Colors were strangely muted. Red seemed non-existent. It didn't help that he could barely see more than six meters ahead, which made identifying the landmarks he knew by heart impossible.

He had a wider field of vision as a cat, which should've helped him see better, like going from full screen to widescreen, but what was the point when everything in the distance blurred together? Humans tracked direction based on sight, but he quickly learned, in this body, he was better off navigating by smell. 

And oh the smells! The smell of smoke billowing out of the yakitori restaurant down main street, the fresh scent of the tatami floor coming from the the martial arts studio across the way, and the fetid smell of sewage in the backstreet districts–the peach cleanser used in the boutiques that burned his nostrils and stung his eyes. And then there was food, the glorious, teasing whiffs of fish, barbecue, and takoyaki–and oh, yes, the sea. Always the sea! Seto sampled all these scents as a human, but now he practically lived and breathed the smorgasbord of aromas all around him.

All his senses had been sharpened and dulled in different ways, and it left him feeling overwhelmed and disoriented. He tried to stay far from the main throughways, or the noise pollution from traffic echoed in his ears to the point of pain.

He kept thinking if he just got back to Mokuba, back to his lab, they could figure out a way to change him back together. Except the odds of getting close to his brother were highly improbable. The house staff would never permit a stray to wander in, and even if he managed to sneak in, Mokuba himself wouldn't exactly greet him with open arms–not with his allergy.

Seto had no practical way of communicating. Maybe if he could somehow get his–his paws on a cellphone, but that in itself presented obstacles. Considering his human body was currently being overseen by a physician, Mokuba would rightfully dismiss the insane notion of him being turned into a cat as an absurd prank. 

As his stomach ached with hunger, Seto soon realized he’d have to worry about all that later. Finding food, potable water, and shelter would have to become his primary concern. 

He roamed the streets day after day, week after week, increasingly cold and desperately hungry. It didn't take long for his standards for sustenance to dip drastically. He couldn't quite stomach the idea of hunting vermin, too wary of potential disease. He hadn't needed to resort to that anyway. He knew the best food stands to frequent for scraps. For the highest quality food the best strategy was to take it directly off humans. As freshness went it couldn't be beat, but he had to be careful. He couldn't trust humans, and the last thing he wanted was to get caught and end up in a kill shelter or, only marginally better, as someone's pet. 

Chapter Text

At fifteen Atem had his whole future mapped out ahead of him. On an accelerated path to graduation, he was set to earn top marks at the most exclusive private school in Zamalek. From there he planned to attend Cairo University, where he’d follow his passion to study ancient societies, and, ultimately, work his way up the academic ranks until he earned one of the highly coveted endowed professorships–just like his mother. 

At that point, his life could only be described as charmed, and he was looking forward to a bright and industrious future.

Everything changed when his mother received her diagnosis. Before chemotherapy and post operative care, they'd had cash to burn, but the expense of treatment bled them dry, and insurance only covered a quarter of the medical bills. Looking after his mother took up all Atem's free time and energy, but nothing could've pried him from her bedside. School, friends, and future aspirations seemed to pale in comparison to what could've been his last moments with her, so he'd let everything else slide. 

At seventeen Atem lost his mother and with her his whole world. They got a year and a half together after the initial diagnosis–far more than either of them hoped. When she finally, inevitably left him, Atem found himself with a wounded, aching hole in his heart and no real life to get back to.

The future he planned seemed so empty now–now that he knew the kind of heartache that ripped through the soul in a devastating storm, ruining everything in its path. He couldn't find the motivation to keep up with his studies–how could he hope to become a scholar when he could barely force himself to read?

His mother's house would've gone to Atem, but the estate needed to be sold to pay off the remaining debt. That was fine. The thought of staying in their shared home after her death nearly tore Atem apart. The reminder of her memory on every surface suffocated him, until all he could do was wallow in his sorrow. 

Nine months shy of eighteen, and no father to speak of, Atem almost ended up a ward of the state. He prepared himself for the worst, until his estranged grandfather petitioned the Egyptian government for custodial rights. With no other living relatives, the court complied, and Atem packed his essentials and moved 10,000 kilometers, from Cairo to Domino.

Atem had never met his half-brother, Yugi, and only ever saw his grandfather a handful of times as a child. Frankly, he never had any interest in getting to know either of them before–just assumed they'd be as worthless as his father, who seemed to have had a mission to abandon a child on every continent, before he had the decency to die.

Every year, on Atem's birthday, his grandfather had sent him merch from the game shop he owned. When Atem turned fourteen he gifted him a rare Black Magician Duel Monsters card, which soon became his favorite monster. On his fifteenth birthday he sent him a limited edition Black Magician figurine to go with it. Atem supposed that meant he couldn't be so bad–not to mention he evidently cared enough to save Atem from the clutches of Egypt's less than stellar foster care system.

With limited storage capacity at the Motou residence, Atem needed to be careful what he brought. He had no plans to return, and most of his mother’s things were just things: generic furniture and dime-a-dozen household items. Anything of value had been sold off with the estate. The only keepsakes he refused to leave behind were their shared book collection and a crystal horse figurine she left him.

His mother had been an amazing rider in her youth, winning competitions for dressage and jumping. The glass sculpture twisted abstractly into the shape of a stunning stallion, reared up on its hind legs. The horse reminded him of his mother's spirit: wild and beautiful. He wrapped the crystal carefully in layers of clothing, so no harm would come to it on his long journey, and he stowed it in his carry-on so as to not risk being parted from it. 

Atem worried about being a burden to his new family, but his grandfather was more than happy to take him in, and his brother's friendly demeanor and gentle smile made him feel almost like a person again–not just a receptacle for tragedy and grief.

Yugi didn't hesitate to open his room and his life to Atem, dragging him along to arcade hangouts and shared meals with friends, until Atem's fake smile slowly became genuine. Soon Yugi's friends became his friends, and they soothed his bruised and broken heart, until it resembled a working instrument again.

Atem enjoyed the companionship his new family brought, but he didn't enjoy sharing a single bathroom with three people or forcing Yugi to give up half of his, already tiny, living space. The moment he could legally and financially do so, Atem got himself a cozy, little apartment nearby. He enjoyed the privacy, but privacy’s unwelcome companion was loneliness. He saw his friends and family almost every day, but something was missing.

It didn't take him two days to realize what that something was. He wanted–no, more like he needed a pet. His childhood cat had been his constant companion, and he missed having a little ball of fur to bury his face into and smother with love. He especially missed having a furry friend on the nights when his thoughts strayed to his mother, and the pain of her loss pierced his heart with fresh longing.

Atem had been trying to adopt a cat through a proper shelter since he moved into his apartment–and had been denied for over six months. Everyone agreed the adoption process in Japan was hell, but Atem was ready and willing to wait until they found him a proper fit.

Through his efforts he got to know one of the workers at the Domino Animal Welfare Consultation Center, who was kind and sympathetic to his situation, but confirmed that the desirability of a good adoption candidate went as follows: Japanese couple without children under five, Japanese couple with children under five, single Japanese female living with family, single Japanese female living alone, single foreign female or single Japanese male.

Unhappily, at the bottom of the list sat single foreign male. 

Nevermind that Atem was half Japanese with dual citizenship. Nevermind that he worked from home and would be spending most of his waking hours with his cherished furry friend. It didn't seem to matter that he'd rather go hungry than abandon an animal. His age and his complexion made adoption, not just difficult, but a seemingly impossible endeavor. They considered him an abandonment risk, so he got bounced in the application process time after time.

He'd come close to adopting a sweet, little calico, and had gone through all the hoops that the shelter required. First he had to get written approval from his landlord and sign a new lease, which required him to put down a deposit of one month's rent as a cleaning fee before he even had the animal. He supplied the shelter with photos of his apartment, rental agreement, and pet contract with his landlord. They made him sign an agreement saying that he would never abandon his adopted cat, except to relinquish it back to the shelter–as if Atem would just toss a helpless creature out on the streets. 

They wanted him to pet proof the apartment, which included buying a safety gate for the door and bars for the windows. He had to prove he had a cage and carrier, in case he needed to quarantine the animal or take them to the vet, and he agreed to let them visit his apartment for inspection. Atem ended up spending over ¥100,000 just getting things to the shelter's standard, and a week before he was set to take the kitten home, a more suitable candidate became available. They would let him know if another opportunity opened up. 

Atem wasn't holding his breath. In fact, he was pretty much done with the whole damn system. His tender heart couldn't take another beating, and now his fresh start apartment was filled with the ghost of an animal he didn't even have. 

He couldn't justify spending ¥300,000 on a show quality cat–though he scrolled through pictures of Bengals several times a week. He'd had one growing up–not that he'd ever be able to afford one now. He just followed a couple–or, okay, a couple dozen Bengal accounts on social media. It was a fantasy, one he'd fixated on to fill the cat-shaped hole in his heart. He'd be more than happy with a scraggly cat with three legs and one eye, so long as it needed love. With 100,000 strays across the city you'd think shelters wouldn't be so stingy about adoption.

After all Atem’s attempts, and countless applications across every shelter and cat cafe in Domino, one worker pretty much told him to go hang out by the river with some food. Apparently his odds of taking home an animal would be better. 

Atem never actually planned to capture a stray. He planned to spend what was left of his Friday afternoon gaming with his friend, Jonouchi–until opportunity presented itself in the form of a miserable-looking cat in the alleyway beside his apartment…

“Jou, wait! Do you see that,” he whispered, gesturing to the alley.

“What? The cat?”

“Help me catch him,” Atem whispered with fevered intensity.

“What? No! C’mon, I been looking forward to playing Sword Legends all week.”

“And we will. But look how cold and hungry he looks. He's suffering.”

Atem pulled the best Yugi face he could manage.

“Ugh, fine. And here I thought your brother was the bleeding heart. How do you wanna do this?”

“I've got a plan,” Atem said with a confident, little smirk.

It was cold, colder than Seto would've expected before January–colder than he would've expected for Domino. Then again, he had never been stuck outside with no relief from the elements. These days he slept curled into tight crevices, wedged under something, or with his back to a solid foundation. He had safe spaces tucked away all over the city, but the cold of the shadows always nipped at his paw pads and sensitive ears.

A small patch of sunlight beckoned to him as it filtered through the buildings, and he found it too tempting to resist. It wasn't too far out in the open, and it looked so warm… He longed to bask in it for a few minutes. 

He didn't plan to drift to sleep–at least he kept telling himself he wasn't sleeping. 

He'd move any moment. 

His thoughts changed from his empty belly and cold extremities to board meetings and the intensity of coherent light for holographic innovation. For one glorious moment he felt like a man. 

Then a hand grabbed him–a hand the size of his torso. It startled him awake, and Seto swiveled against the hold, slashing out with claws and teeth, giving the deepest growl he could manage. It sounded more like a high pitched siren then the ferocious roar he attempted, but the blond barbarian trying to shove him into his backpack seemed suitably terrified. 

Seto tried to make a mad dash back to safety, when hands he didn't see, from another presence he hadn't sensed, maneuvered him from behind until he got shoved into the old, musty bag. Seto gave one final attempt to lash out, burying his teeth into a wayward hand.

“Shit! It got me!”

Good.

Seto never stopped struggling. He scratched and clawed the sides of his canvas prison in desperate search of a structural weakness. When he found none he accentuated his physical attempts with persistent, high pitched cries. He didn't expect anyone to actually help him, but hoped the attention might cause his abductors to abandon their attempt. 

The disorienting jostling of a hurried walk made him feel sick. He could tell when they made their way inside and up some stairs. He heard a door close and finally felt his paws settle against solid ground. 

“I guess…we should let him out?” came a low, muffled voice.

“No way! That thing already mauled me. I'm not letting it near me again.”

Despite his distress and the hammering in his chest, Seto couldn't help feeling deep-seated pride at the panic in the idiot's voice.

“He barely bit you. It didn't even break skin.”

“It got me with its claw too! Who knows if it's got rabies or–isn't there some kinda cat scratch disease or whatever?”

“Yeah, it's called Cat Scratch Disease–”

“–See!”

“It’s very rare and most healthy adults won't even show symptoms.”

“Whatever. I've done my part. If you wanna open it and let that thing out then good luck.”

Seto heard footsteps moved closer to the bag, and careful hands worked quickly to open the zipper. He wanted to lash out again, to make them pay for daring to take him, but he reasoned caution might be a better course of action. 

After a moment Seto heard the figure step back, so he peeked his head out, getting a lay of the area. He could only describe the surroundings as a shoebox apartment. Boring, beige walls and dated wooden baseboards framed the small space. Seto immediately identified potential hiding spots: under the couch and behind a curtain. He scoped the entire layout which consisted of a living room that opened into a kitchen and two doors that would lead to a bathroom and a single bedroom. That hopefully meant only one of these men actually lived here, but which one?

“Hi there,” said a warm voice.

A young man with dark skin sat nearby, smaller than his friend, with a crown of spiky hair and big, brown eyes. They looked brown anyway–grayish brown, but Seto couldn't be too sure. Since his transformation, colors never looked right anymore.

The man scooted forward a bit, any closer and Seto would've retreated…or attacked, but the stranger seemed to have the good sense to give him just enough space. Minutes passed, and just when Seto would get comfortable with his presence, the man closed the gap a little more.

Seto knew what he was doing–some attempt to domesticate him. A typical stray might think the big, scary creatures meant him harm, but Seto knew the worst he'd get was a condescending baby voice and unwanted physical contact. If he played his cards right he’d end up with a nice meal and a warm place to stay for the night. Then, when it suited him, he’d bolt through the door.

The man inched closer again, tentatively holding out his hand. 

“Careful, Atem.”

Seto hated mimicking the predictable behavior of a dumb animal, but found himself too curious about this man –Atem’s scent. His increased olfactory senses were like exploring the world in a whole new way, and he hadn't been close to a human since the change–other than the security guard who’d scruffed him.

Seto tilted his nose toward the hand. The stranger smelled almost woodsy, of warm honey and pine–with a dash of clove. A rather nice aroma, as far as smells went. Seto spent the last several weeks getting accustomed to the worst scents in the city. The blond, for instance, stank like wet dog. He hovered a meter away, a safe distance from the action, and Seto could still smell the stale, dried sweat clinging to his dirty t-shirt. 

With Seto’s attention momentarily distracted, fingers grazed against the juncture behind his ear. He wanted to wrench away, just to prove a point, but it felt far too nice–like a long dormant itch he hadn't been able to scratch in weeks, and now that he got proper relief from it he didn't know how he ever managed before. There was something truly hypnotic about the soothing touch. He felt he could bask in the glorious contact foreve–

A deep rumbling buzzed all around him, a wonderful soothing sound–like the white noise on an airplane that would lull you to sleep during a long flight. In a horrifying moment of clarity he realized the buzzing was coming from him. 

No! He refused to melt into a puddle from this man’s touch…

“There. See. You like that.” Atem smiled smugly.

Seto would’ve bitten him if he could find the energy. 

“What should we call you?” he asked softly. Seto couldn't help but enjoy the sound of his surprisingly rich voice. 

“How about Demon?” the blond snarked. 

If Seto could, he'd have rolled his eyes at the witless comment. He settled for a warning growl, which, unfortunately, resulted in Atem carefully pulling his hand back to safety.

The giant meat head stepped closer, and Seto let out a long, deliberate hiss to show his displeasure–and maybe for a bit of fun at his expense. The blond staggered dramatically, igniting Seto’s fight or flight instinct when he worried the bumbling oaf might actually step on him. 

Seto backed up as far as he could, until something brushed his back leg. He inadvertently let out a piercing, inhuman screech, ready to fight for all he was worth. 

“Fucking hell! That's not a cat. It's a dragon.”

It was a coffee table Seto backed into. He felt suitably foolish for the overreaction.

“He's just scared.”

Seto puffed out his chest to prove he wasn't scared.

“Or…maybe not?” Atem said, watching him curiously. “Are you big and bad? Is that what you are?”

Seto didn't care for the condescending tone.

“You might be onto something, Jou.”

Seto had serious doubts about Jou being onto anything… ever. 

“He's certainly feisty. And proud like a little dragon. Is that your name? Dragon?”

Well, if he was going to get stuck with some ridiculous pet name it was better than the alternatives. At least it wasn't Fluffy or Mr. Paws.

“What about Meow-mageddon?”

Or Meow-mageddon.

“Hysterical.”

“I wish I was joking. I'm pretty sure that thing’s the antichrist.”

“I think we should give him some space. He might just need some time to himself to adjust to the new surroundings.”

They retreated into the back room. At first Seto found himself thankful for the space, but the occasional shouts of heckling and loud groans echoed through the apartment, drawing his interest. It sounded like his captors were gaming. After weeks of scraping just to get by, he craved the excitement of competitive gameplay, but was still too wary of the strangers to investigate the commotion.

Instead he decided to take advantage of the opportunity to rest without the haunting feeling that he could get attacked at any moment. This apartment might be tiny, but it was warm, dry, and more secure than he'd been in weeks. He settled into the couch and quickly drifted to sleep.

Thunderous footsteps startled him back to his senses, and Seto nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a door slamming shut. Evidently Jou left, and he did it as eloquently as he seemed to do everything else.

The haze of dusk turning to night bled through the living room windows, and Seto almost fell back asleep, until Atem approached him with a generous portion of fish on a small plate. Seto would've liked to maintain a level of decorum, but he couldn't ignore the compulsion to scarf down the food on offer as quickly as possible. He wouldn't risk hesitating and having such a glorious feast retracted.

“I knew you'd like that. I'll go to the store tomorrow and get you some real food.”

In Seto's opinion dehydrated animal byproducts didn't constitute real food. He'd do better on the streets– some days anyway. When he did eat he generally ate well, but the uncertainty between meals made everything more difficult. Even so, if Seto got desperate he'd rather hunt vermin than eat kibble.

After Atem settled into bed for the night, Seto listened for steady breathing to make sure the man fell into a deep sleep before he fully investigated the apartment. He attempted to open the fridge–to no avail, and he tried to get into Atem's computer, with even less success; he only managed to knock the mouse off the desk and couldn't get it back up. 

Atem left the house the following morning, but Seto's attempt to bolt between his legs failed spectacularly. He glared at the closed door, fuming. He was well and truly a prisoner now, and the perks of food and shelter didn't seem quite so nice as they did last night–not when they came at the price of his freedom. Seto prided himself on never choosing comfort over independence–not since he sold his soul to his stepfather for what he thought would be a secure future. When they moved into the manor he assumed he’d never again face starvation, and cold, sleepless nights. 

What a naive fool he’d been. Seto had never been secure in his entire life–not then and not now. He chose his own fate. Living on the streets might be uncomfortable and unpredictable, but at least he had some degree of control over his life. He wouldn't be someone's pet, and he refused to call anyone master.

Atem slipped back in the apartment before Seto even heard him at the door–so much for trying to escape when he returned. Instead of plotting his escape, he’d distracted himself with a nice, long sleep on the bed. Atem's feather pillow was lovely and reminded him of his own bed at the manor. If he planned to be out on the streets again soon he at least wanted to enjoy this while it lasted. 

When Atem offered him the dried kibble that he evidently acquired on his outing, Seto glared back at him in contempt, ignoring the offensive dish with the embossed paw prints all over it. Atem moved to the kitchen to prepare his own meal and dared to try to eat it right in front of Seto. It didn't look like any breakfast he’d ever seen, but the assortment of cumin scented beans and vegetables had to be better than kibble. Seto let Atem know exactly how he felt about the situation by jumping on the table to try to steal bits of his food.

“No! Hey, your breakfast is there.”

Seto let out a mournful cry. 

Atem's brow creased in concern, and Seto knew he had him. He followed it up with another pitiful sound.and dramatically licked his lips. 

Atem offered him a few bites of flat bread, so Seto kept eyeing him expectantly, occasionally glancing at the fridge. 

“You want more fish don't you, baby? Alright. Fine.”

He pulled out some smoked salmon.

“I guess I wouldn't like that food much either.”

Seto ate with enthusiasm when Atem got him his own little plate and placed it on the table. 

It was so nice not to eat on the floor. The small gestures made him feel like–well, not quite like a man again, but…an equal. Someone deserving of respect rather than a thief, always stealing scraps and racing to safety to indulge in his ill-gotten gains. They ate together in a comfortable quiet until they both finished. 

After their meal Atem moved to the computer where he appeared to be editing videos of himself. With his headphones in, Seto couldn't gauge the contents of the videos and didn't care enough to try. 

When the urge to relieve himself surfaced, Seto was torn on what to do. There was a litter box in the closet–he wasn't sure when Atem acquired it; he hadn't returned with it on his outing to retrieve the “food.” The thought of actually using it disgusted Seto. He never enjoyed going outside, but that at least felt more hygienic than shitting in a box and leaving it to stink up the apartment. It would smell foul as a human, so he didn't want to imagine the stagnant odor trapped in an enclosed space with his increased olfactory senses . 

When he couldn't wait a moment longer, Seto followed his natural impulse and checked out the toilet. It didn't look difficult to use. He tested the sturdiness of the lid, easily balancing on the edge to defecate. When he jumped down and pushed the flush button Atem came running to investigate.

“Oh, Dragon, that's not a toy,” he said, ushering him out of the bathroom. “Come on, baby.”

Atem’s little endearments rolled off his lips far too easily. They reminded Seto of his–of a time long past. 

Better not to dwell on it now.

Seto always despised the notion of people who talked to their animals as if they actually understood. He didn't even like talking to people. He prided himself on avoiding small talk whenever he could. Now, after weeks without so much as a greeting, he found himself thirsty for it–like a man dying of dehydration, and Atem's streams of never-ending babble were sweet, healing waters come to quench his desperate need.

Atem left the apartment first thing the following morning, and Seto unsuccessfully attempted to dash out after him once again. Atem must've realized he posed an escape risk and stayed vigilant as he manned the door.

With Atem's departure, Seto worried he’d be trapped in the apartment, alone and hungry for the rest of the day. But Atem returned less than an hour later with an offering of canned food. It smelled considerably better than the dry stuff. The pungent odor made his mouth water uncontrollably, and he took a few desperate bites, glaring at Atem all the while. 

After his sixth-or-so mouthful, the gnawing hunger subsided, and he started thinking too much about what the paté actually consisted of. His stomach turned and he refused to eat the rest, persistently meowing by the fridge instead. 

“Really? I know you want more fish, but I can't keep giving you human food.” 

Atem absolutely could keep giving him human food, and Seto would see that he did.

Atem refused to give him fish, stubbornly gesturing towards the snubbed paté when Seto…well, he hated the word begged , but he supposed it was accurate. It was all an act anyway. He'd do what he needed to avoid third-rate meat byproducts not fit for human consumption. When Atem made his own dinner, Seto jumped on the table, hovering by his plate until Atem eventually offered him bits of chicken.

“Yeah, yeah. Try not to look so smug. I know I'm a big softie.”

Later that evening, Seto used the bathroom again–one of many times now, but the others had been while Atem was asleep or away. This time, as he balanced on the toilet’s edge, he heard Atem approach but wasn’t in a position to move. Their eyes met; humiliation washed through Seto at being caught in such an intimate moment. He let out a furious snarl, but Atem continued to stare at him in absolutely bewilderment. When he finished, Seto darted into the hallway, leaving Atem to flush for him as punishment for staring.

Hours passed between meals, and Seto grew thirsty for fresh water, but he found himself staring into his water bowl with disdain. Yesterday it had been fine, but Atem hadn't touched it today, and it seemed murkier–unclean. 

When he heard the sound of running water and saw Atem brushing his teeth, he ran over to the sink and started drinking eagerly from the faucet. 

Atem laughed affectionately at the sight. Seto didn't appreciate being gawked at for amusement, but he didn't care enough to stop. If he wanted something, like fresh water, he'd have to take it for himself. If the faucet had a different handle he could've nudged it on and off, but the wide turn mechanism required long fingers to twist. 

That night, as Seto lounged on the couch, he heard Atem talking on the phone in his bedroom.

“...it makes me think maybe he has a person out there, someone missing him. He was using the toilet like he'd done it a hundred times. Someone had to have taught him that right? And he's so picky about food–not what I'd expect from a stray. He's refused all the cat food I've given him and only seems to want the meat off my plate.”

A pause passed between them where the person on the other end was clearly saying something.

“I know they're carnivores, but apparently cats need bone and organ meat to get all the nutrients they need. I'm looking into a raw food diet for him. They're just so expensive.”

Tough shit, porcupine head. You wanted a cat. You can pay to feed me.

“I'm willing to pay the raw food monthly subscription, I just…I'm wondering if I should put up posters about him before I commit to something like that. If he does belong to someone I bet they're missing him desperately.”

Seto instantly thought of Mokuba, and his gut twisted in an ambivalent tug between guilt and longing. He wondered what the public knew about his coma. He doubted whoever was calling the shots over at Kaiba Corp would release that information to the public . He couldn't decide if it was better or worse that Mokuba didn't know the truth about his whereabouts; Seto knew he'd worry himself sick either way. 

“It's not just that though, he's so smart it's honestly kind of absurd, and when he looks at me it's like he understands me on a level I didn't know was possible for an animal. I can't wait for you to meet him.”

Another pause. 

“Yeah well, I don't care what Jou says. Dragon’s really not so bad, and he's so beautiful. Still a bit skinny, and his coat is kind of scraggly from being on the streets, but he's got the most stunning, blue eyes.”

Seto's insides did a sharp squirm at the words. He knew Atem wasn't describing him– not his real appearance , but he'd never been called beautiful before. Especially by…well Atem wasn't unattractive. Some might even call him beautiful. It gave his compliment more validity.

“I guess I need to get him checked out by a vet. That's going to have to wait until my next paycheck…or the one after that. With all the food I bought for him that he won't even eat, I don't have an extra ¥100,000 to drop on vet bills. And before I get too ahead of myself, I think I need to put up some posters about him–if only for my own conscience. I hope he doesn't belong to someone though. It's nice… having someone around.”

Those words sparked an epiphany. Seto was going about this whole thing the wrong way. He was smart, and here he was acting like a dumb animal. If he wanted his freedom, all he needed to do was make it so Atem didn't think living with him was nice. If he acted downright unbearable, Atem might dump him back on the street where he found him. 

“Alright, get some sleep. Goodnight,Yugi.”

Yes, and goodnight, Atem.  

Tomorrow Seto planned to make his life a living hell.

Chapter Text

When four in the morning rolled around, Seto decided it would be a lovely time to scream for food. 

“What's wrong, sweet boy?”

Sweet boy? Absolutely not. Seto responded with another persistent meow. 

“It's too early. Go to sleep.” 

Atem sounded exhausted and attempted to pull Seto into bed with him, but Seto wouldn't have it. He twisted out of his grasp and screamed again for good measure.

“Please . It's not time. Can we at least wait until the sun is up?”

No.  

“I would love to give you food, but if I do it's just going to reinforce that waking me up in the wee hours of the morning is a wonderful thing that should be repeated daily.”

Exactly. What's wrong with that?

“I need sleep!”

Do you though?

“Please, stop.”

This continued until Atem got so fed up he thought he could close Seto out of the bedroom. Seto diligently responded by scratching at the door, making sure to scrape his claws as loud as he could against the wood, occasionally digging at the carpet under the door. Atem pretended to ignore him for about forty-five minutes, before he finally emerged looking absolutely miserable. 

“I guess I'm up now. Breakfast is at six, so you'll just have to wait another hour.”

Atem went about his morning routine, which consisted of brushing his teeth, some light yoga, and applying eyeliner with a well practiced flick. When Atem settled in to relax on the couch while scrolling on his phone Seto sat on the coffee table in front of him, staring him down. 

“Fine. I guess we can eat now.”

The clock read 5:40. Seto considered that a victory. 

Atem tried to put wet cat food in front of him again, and Seto let him know exactly how he felt about that.

“I know. You hate it. Just making sure.”

This time Atem pulled out a tin of tuna. Normally Seto didn't care for canned tuna, but as a feline he found it delicious–better than cat food in any case. He wondered how dramatically his tastes had shifted in this form. He hadn't exactly had the chance to sample a proper filet since his transformation.

Based on Atem's behavior, compared to his behavior over the last couple days, Seto surmised that today was a Monday. After breakfast, instead of heading out the door for work, Atem sat down at the desk in his living room. It didn't take long for Seto to realize he worked from home. The opportunity for escape would be much lower if Atem didn't leave the house every morning. Seto hoped the monotony of routine would work to his advantage as Atem's guard eventually lowered. But this would still serve his secondary plan. If he screamed every time Atem answered a phone call or took a meeting Seto might get himself evicted from the apartment before sunset. Certainly no one would risk their livelihood for the sake of an obnoxious stray. 

“Hello, thank you for calling the Kaiba Corp IT line, this is Atem. What can I help you with today?”

Well, that was interesting. Atem apparently worked for… well him. Indirectly. The help line was way down on the hierarchy–no one he'd ever come into contact with. They helped people do basic troubleshooting for their duel disks, and, if needed, put in repair requests with the local distribution stores. Really, Seto shouldn't have been surprised. Kaiba Corp employed thousands of workers across Domino. 

“Yeah, power it all the way down. Good. Now turn it back on.”

A minute or two passed in tense anticipation. 

“Okay great! Thanks for calling. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

This certainly put a wrench in Seto’s plans. If he sabotaged his own employee it would make his company look unprofessional. Instead he decided to cry incessantly at the door every time Atem wasn't on a call. 

“Can you stop, please?”

No. 

“I know . You're bored… Here, I got you something.” 

Atem went to the large messenger bag that he'd taken on his outings to acquire food and pulled out a cat toy: a long string with a handle and a feather cluster attached to the other end. He swung it in an arc in the air and flicked it in the other direction just before it hit the floor. The motion of it tantalized Seto, but he had no interest in playing the fool.  

“Come on. Isn't that nice? Nice pretty feather. Can you get it?”

Seto refused to look at the feathers, staring Atem dead in the eyes.

Atem attempted to taunt him with the toy for another few minutes, but Seto wouldn't budge, only batting it away when Atem waved it directly in his face. Seto hissed aggressively at it, so Atem wouldn't mistake that for successful engagement.

 “Ok, I get it. You hate that. What about this?”

Atem went back to his bag and pulled out a round, cardboard scratch pad with a ball around a circular track on the outer lip. Seto found himself annoyed at the simplicity of the setup. How would any creature actually be stimulated by that? Atem put it on the ground and spun the ball, lightning fast, around the track. For a second Seto couldn't take his eyes off it. The world seemed to narrow to that moving object as his vision focused in.

When he realized its hypnotic draw he forced himself to snap out of it and ignored the little ball when Atem spun it around again. 

“There’s just no pleasing you is there?”

Not the first time Seto’s heard that.

Atem shook a little, plastic bag filled with dried herbs in the air. “I'm not above cheating, you know,” he said, before sprinkling the contents of the bag over the cardboard.

Seto didn't know much about cats, but that had to be catnip. Atem thought he could lure him in with a psychostimulant. It smelled amazing, even from a distance, and Seto fought the compulsion to run up and bury his face in it. He might've liked to let the afternoon pass in a drug-fueled haze, but he had a mission, and he couldn't afford to dull his wits. 

He'd come back to it later that night… when Atem wasn't around.

As for the scratching pad on offer, Seto had a much better idea. He sauntered over to the couch and buried his nails into it as hard as he could, until it made a satisfying ripping sound. 

“No!” Atem jumped up and moved to grab him, just as Seto ran off into the other room to hide under the bed. 

After almost a week, project eviction was going quite well. Seto was a bit disappointed Atem managed to hold out this long, but he looked absolutely miserable–more so with each passing day. Seto couldn't help feeling pleased with his progress. His captor was currently lamenting his troubles to someone on the phone, likely the same someone he talked to almost every night. 

“I just don't know what to do anymore. I keep trying to play with him, to help get his energy out, so he won't be so bored, but every time he just looks at me like I'm stupid. He's taken to screaming at me in the middle of the night. I swear it's only when I've finally fallen asleep, but as soon as I'm awake he wants nothing to do with me. I'm so damn tired. I don't know how much more of this I can take. ”

A pause.

“I know. I tried locking him out of the bedroom and that's worse. He screams at the door until I open it.”

Another, longer pause.

“...I’m actually not sure if he's been neutered. You'd think if he ever belonged to someone he would be, but I swear I think he's… intact. I just don't know for sure.”

“I'm not going to go feeling around down there! I like having all my fingers, thank you.  I just keep wondering if it would fix the behavior problems.”

Absolutely fucking not.

“It's not an expensive procedure, but it's the other associated vet fees I'm worried about. It would be different if he was sick or something. You know I wouldn't hesitate. And if he does belong to someone I don't want to make medical decisions about their pet.”

Another pause.

“It's not necessarily irresponsible. What if he's some kind of breeding stud? He certainly acts pampered and entitled like a prized pedigree. He doesn't look like any purebred I'm familiar with, but I don't know every cat breed.” 

Atem let out a huge yawn that the person on the other end must've heard. 

“Yeah, I'll try to get some sleep.”

Seto was conflicted. If he continued to act out, would Atem retaliate by chopping his balls off? Seto didn't think it would actually affect his human body, since it was supposedly unconscious somewhere in Kaiba Manor, likely under the watchful eyes of a medical team. But it still wasn't a procedure he ever wanted to endure. By the sound of it Atem planned to get it done as soon as he could afford it, regardless of Seto’s behavior. 

In the end he decided he would carry on with his plan. Atem was so close to breaking, he could practically taste it. Seto just needed to keep poking until he snapped; eventually he'd find the straw that would break the camel’s back. 

Seto’s new favorite annoyance tactic was to knock things off tables. Drinks were especially satisfying. The following evening, when Atem attempted to settle down with a nice glass of wine after a long week, Seto made sure the contents of that glass spilled all over the living room couch.

Seto spent the next twenty minutes on his nightly scream. Honestly, it was cathartic in ways he hadn't expected, like letting out years of bottled rage. 

“I swear, maybe Jou was right. Maybe you are the antichrist,” Atem remarked bitterly.

Seto darted across the living room and jumped on some floating shelves high on the wall, where he immediately started knocking off the decor.

“Dragon, get down from there!”

Good bye, succulent. Seto watched soil and gravel spill out onto the floor as the plant tumbled to the ground. Farewell, limited edition Black Magician figurine. He enjoyed the telltale thud against the laminate floor, though he doubted the impact actually damaged it. That wouldn't be true for his next target: a crystal horse figurine just begging to be knocked over. 

“No! Don't!”

Seto brushed against it, and Atem darted across the room in a mad dash to intercept the horse before it hit the ground. He didn't get there in time, and a loud shattering sound filled the room as glass flew everywhere. Seto jumped down, feeling smug.

…until he saw the expression on Atem's face.

He looked broken.  

It's what Seto wanted, but for some reason his victory felt hollow. 

Atem sank to his knees, picking up the biggest chunk of the statue: the body of the horse with its legs broken off. He seemed in shock as he gazed at it, unfocused eyes swimming with unshed tears. Minutes passed and Atem eventually lay back on the ground next to the pieces, clearly struggling against the urge to cry. The more he fought it the more his chest heaved, until his face crumbled into a sob.

Seto felt sick to his stomach as he watched the open display of grief. He'd been there before; it's exactly how he felt the day he lost his mother. He cried until he couldn't breathe–until he couldn't think, until there were no tears left to shed. He'd been a child then, tears were expected, but that day was the last time he ever remembered letting himself break down. The word didn't tolerate fragility; better to bury your feelings behind a mask of indifference than to reveal your weaknesses. 

Watching a grown man fall apart over something so trivial should've been a pathetic sight, but… all Seto wanted to do was gather Atem in his arms and hold him until he could breathe again. Seto desperately wanted to comfort him, to apologize and offer to replace the figurine. The impulse felt foreign; until now, he'd never empathized with anyone but Mokuba.

When Seto approached, furious eyes turned on him. Atem looked downright murderous, and Seto fully expected to get scruffed by the back of the neck again and tossed into the ally with great force. It's what he wanted, right? It was the point of all of this, but now that his moment finally arrived he found he didn't want to go. 

Seto's instincts told him to run, but Atem's fierce gaze immobilized him, until the moment passed and rage melted back into sorrow. Atem went back to looking as broken as the crystal all around him, and Seto found he preferred being the target of Atem’s aggression than to be the spectator of his devastation. 

“I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault. It's just… it's all I had left of her.” Atem's voice nearly cracked over the words. He rolled on his side. One hand propped his head up while he used the other to scoot the glass around with the tips of his fingers, absentmindedly playing with the pieces. 

It was Seto's fault–a deliberate and malicious act chosen to push Atem to the brink. And Atem's absolute refusal to blame what he thought was a poor, helpless creature made Seto feel even worse. 

“I… should've known better. I should've… put it away when I brought you home.” He sounded so tired. “I just… I felt like if it was up there, it's like she was still watching out for me.”

Seto butted his head against Atem's arm in apology. 

“I feel like nothing I do is right. Why do you hate me?” Atem whispered–then let out a spiteful laugh at the absurdity of having asked the question.

“Should I… take you to a shelter? Maybe they were right. Maybe… I'm not a good candidate to care for a cat. Maybe I've just been fooling myself.”

Seto nuzzled him again in a weak attempt at affection. 

“Some days I feel like I can barely take care of myself. I’m just tired of feeling so alone.”

Seto ached for him. He knew the feeling of wanting… something–wanting someone, but then lashing out the second anyone got close enough to fill the void in his life. Sometimes he just wanted someone to take care of him instead of having to always be five steps ahead of every situation and twice as smart as everyone else in the room. He knew what it was like to be too tired to think, until his emotions were a raw, exposed nerve. But he'd ignored human things like sleep and love for so long–he told himself he didn't need them, and somewhere along the way he actually started to believe it. 

They lay there together. Seto rested his head against Atem's arm while Atem used his other hand to graze his lovely, magical fingers absentmindedly against the sensitive spot behind Seto's ears. And when the tears came again Seto let Atem wrap his arms around him and cry into his fur.

Hours seemed to pass as they sprawled on the floor together, amidst the debris of soil and glass. Atem cried until there were no more tears–just swollen eyelids and the telltale signs of exhaustion clinging to his face. Seto didn't know why, but he looked even more beautiful like this: raw and real.

“I guess I should clean this up.”

Seto wished he could offer to do it while Atem got himself ready for bed, but.. he could do nothing with his useless fucking paws. Nothing but destroy a couch and shatter the last piece of Atem's obviously fractured heart. 

Atem pulled himself into a sitting position and picked up the base of the statue, trying to match the broken legs to the horse's body–as if they would go together like pieces of a puzzle. One leg fit nicely into place, but the other had shattered beyond repair. Atem carefully placed the chunks of glass back on the ground and disappeared into the kitchen. He came back and swept up the pieces of broken glass, carefully avoiding the bits of soil and rock from the succulent. He didn't put them in the waste bin as Seto expected. Instead, he carefully shifted the pieces to a storage container, clearly intended for food. He held the container to his heart for a moment and then took it to his bedroom, where he slipped it into a drawer filled with socks. 

Atem didn't bother changing into night wear, or going through his usual evening routine. He crawled straight into bed, only kicking off his tight jeans before curling into the fetal position. 

Seto didn't scream that night. He didn't pace the apartment or claw the couch. Instead he curled up in the bed against Atem’s back. The occasional staccato breath or sharp inhale were the only indications that Atem was still awake–awake and suffering.

Seto didn't know how, but he promised himself he was going to make this right–not because he felt responsible for Atem's sorrow. Whoever the crystal horse represented, Atem's actual grief obviously went much further than some broken glass. But Seto had wronged a man who had done nothing but try to help him, and maybe in the past he could've shrugged it off, might've gloated even, but not now. 

He didn't even really understand why…

Hours crawled by, but eventually Seto felt Atem's breathing slow to a deep, peaceful rhythm that indicated he'd finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

Seto spent time in Atem's room before, but he'd never truly studied the space with the intention of learning more about him. Now he gazed at his bookshelf with eager interest. It showcased several texts on ancient societies: Egypt, Greece, Rome, and Mesopotamia. Books on game theory, horseback riding and philosophy also littered the shelves–some young adult fantasy novels, classic literature, and even game manuals. Oedipus Rex caught Seto's eye, as if mocking him. He couldn't help but think of the riddle of the Sphinx.

“What creature walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening?”

Human. What he wouldn't give to be human… 

Maybe his new conviction to stay with Atem wasn't entirely in service of making amends. Atem had been his one source of comfort since his transformation. He looked at Seto and he saw more than a nuisance, more than a dumb animal. He responded to him as if Seto understood everything he said, and Seto couldn't stand the thought of losing the one person who spoke to him like a human being. While Seto never put much stock in companionship as an essential need, some part of him feared, if he lost that connection, he might truly go mad. 

Chapter Text

When sunrise broke Seto let Atem sleep in, entertaining himself with the view from the living room window sill. The sounds of traffic began to build and the occasional horn would pierce the quiet or the early morning. Warm, hazy light peeked through the neighboring buildings, casting a nebulous glow on the city, not nearly as striking as the scene from Seto’s office–from the highest floor of the tallest building in Domino, where the vibrant horizon line glimmered over the ocean. 

The modest vantage point of Atem's window held a subtler beauty. From here Seto saw the city come alive: the elderly woman hanging her laundry to dry over the balcony, the couple in the adjacent building sharing morning tea together, and the foot traffic below as people hurried to their jobs. A man across the street dropped his briefcase, causing papers to scatter in the wind, and a handful of witnesses stopped what they were doing to help him retrieve them.

Seto had never quite appreciated the beauty of a mundane morning, too worried about more important things–not that his worry was frivolous or without merit. When he wrested control of Kaiba Corp away from Gozaburo, Seto initiated a complete overhaul of the company. Nobody understood his vision, and it had been an uphill battle from day one. 

Kaiba Corp now turned a healthy profit, but it hadn't hit the same level of success it reached as his stepfather’s military empire. Until it did Seto would be living unhappily in his shadow. The moment Seto announced the redesign, their stocks plummeted, and the money he needed to establish a fully fleshed out Kaiba Land had quickly evaporated. He stood by his virtual technology, but it hadn't taken off like he hoped in those first six months. People called his virtual attractions novelties that wouldn't stand the test of time, equating them to 3D films.

While Seto focused on developing Kaiba Land from a theme park with virtual rides to a theme park with actual rides, Von Schroeder tried to use his subpar virtual tech to revolutionize the dueling world. It was a good idea, and it pissed Seto off that he hadn't thought of it first. Zigfrieds’ designs were predictably unreliable and failed to meet Industrial Illusions’ expectations. Pegasus pulled his company out of their deal, citing breach of contract after a glitchy first showing at America’s national tournament. When Seto moved into the market with his superior technology Pegasus had been understandably hesitant, but Seto managed to negotiate a temporary deal–one set to expire over the course of the next year. One he very much wanted to be around to renegotiate. 

Having his company's entire future rest on the success of his inventions meant that taking time for things like sleep and quiet mornings felt–not just trivial–like a moral failing. Now that those forbidden luxuries were being forced on him, Seto couldn't help the stab of jealousy that this was how other people got to live. He would never trade greatness, the power to leave his mark on the world, for peace and quiet; those things went too far against his natural disposition. But he would've preferred to push on with his own life and never know what he was missing on the other side.

Seto's ears perked up as he heard the rustling of sheets from the bedroom, a sign that his companion had awoken. When he approached, Atem looked groggy; his eyelids were swollen from having cried himself to sleep, but at least his eyes weren't irritated with fresh tears. He seemed more at peace than Seto had seen him in days. 

Atem reached for him when he spotted him on the floor. Seto tensed, sensing his intention too late. Why did his hands have to feel so good?

“Why do you pretend you don't like this? I’m happy to indulge you,” Atem grinned down at him.

Smug bastard.

“You didn't scream for food this morning.”

Did you want me to?

“I appreciate it,” Atem said, attempting to brush his fingers across Seto’s back. 

Seto dipped away from his hand to avoid the contact. His whole body seemed to sing out and beg for Atem's attention, for his glorious fingers and sly smile. But another part of him wanted to recoil away from any touch–a reflex he hadn't quite broken himself of from the era of sleepless nights and the sharp sting of a riding crop. No one ever touched Seto as himself, not since his mother died. As much as he tried to deny it, he'd quickly grown to expect–okay, grown to crave the physical reassurance of Atem's fingers gliding down his back and coming back up to scratch behind an ear.

“Let's get some breakfast.” Atem ran his fingers along his back one last time, and Seto tried not to lean into the touch–tried and failed. Rather than accepting failure he passively swatted Atem's retreating hand to prove a point.

When Atem walked into the kitchen he pulled out a spoon from one of the drawers and a tub of tahini off a pantry shelf. He screwed off the lid, as if he planned to eat straight from the jar.

“Why do I get the feeling you're judging me?”

Because that's disgusting.

“I guess if you're gonna demand protein I should at least cook myself a balanced breakfast, huh?”

Atem screwed the tahini cap back on and shoved the jar back onto the shelf.

“God, I need coffee.”

Rather than brewing his coffee with a drip or siphon system, Atem simply mixed several teaspoons of finely ground coffee powder with hot water from his electric pot. He added a teaspoon of sugar and let it sit for a minute or two before taking in a long, indulgent first sip. 

Seto could smell the rich, fragrant scent in the air. He missed the pleasure of taking that first, grounding sip of the day. It smelled amazing, and Seto couldn't help but wonder what coffee would taste like to a cat. 

Atem went in for a second sip but got interrupted by a knock at the door. He visibly sagged until a soft voice called, “It's me!” from the other side.

Atem looked instantly relieved, shuffling over to let them in. 

A small wave of anxiety washed over Seto at the sight of the open door. He muffled the little voice in the back of his mind screaming, “Here's your chance. Go now!” That wasn't the plan anymore, not now that he had decided to stay with Atem for the time being. He didn't know his next play, but in the meantime he'd study the field and consider his options.

“Yugi, thank god it's you. I don't have the energy for anyone else right now.”

The boy at the door resembled Atem, with the same small stature and artfully disheveled hair–likely the result of some familial connection, but where Atem exuded poise and edge this Yugi seemed softer somehow–gentler. Seto wasn't the type to immediately take to anyone, but he found the boy’s presence inoffensive. Better than Jonouchi anyhow. 

“I come bearing gifts! I got breakfast for you.” Yugi smiled, holding up two cellophane wrapped, convenience store rice balls. 

“You didn't have to do that,” Atem said, but eagerly accepted the food when Yugi handed it to him.

“You sounded really stressed the last time we talked, and you didn't answer last night when I called you.”

“I was…tired.”

“I also got breakfast for your new furry friend. Where is he?”

Seto slowly emerged from under the kitchen table, where he'd been observing the exchange. He couldn't help being wary of what breakfast would consist of. 

“Aww. Hi there, little guy.”

Was this kid seriously calling someone else little? After a few hours on a medieval rack the kid would barely reach the height of one of the seven dwarfs.

Atem moved back toward the kitchen and Yugi followed.

“I see what you mean,” Yugi said, studying Seto carefully. “He does kind-of have a resting bitch face–or whatever the cat equivalent of that is.”

“I don't think it's resting. He's actively being a judgmental bitch.”

Seto didn't know whether to be offended or proud of the accusation.

“After we talked on Thursday I did some research for you. There's this place, not too far from here, that sells raw cat food. Human grade. No animal byproducts, fillers, or unnatural ingredients,” Yugi recited, as if reading an ad. 

Yugi pulled a small dish from a cabinet, evidently as comfortable in Atem's space as he would be in his own home. He grabbed a tin from the messenger bag slung over his shoulder and carefully plated its contents, placing it on the floor in front of Seto. 

“He likes to eat at the table,” Atem informed him. 

“Oh, sorry!” Yugi said, rushing to pick up the dish to move it to the table, as if worried he had actually offended a cat. Seto couldn't say whether he did it to appease Atem or if he actually sensed Seto's offense. “I know you mentioned he didn't like any of the food you offered him, so I got a few different flavors, and if he likes any you can go back and get more. It's more affordable than those marked up subscriptions packages you were talking about.”

“Thank you. That’s really thoughtful.”

“Of course! I just thought maybe he was acting so stir-crazy cause he needed a proper meal. Hopefully he likes it.”

On principle Seto wanted to hate any food intended for animals, but it smelled delicious, and he wouldn’t cut off his nose to spite his face–not this time. He took a small, experimental lick, and, though it lacked the salt content of human food, he found the flavor enjoyable enough. It at least resembled chicken, which put it head and shoulders above mystery meat paté. Seto continued eating until he licked the plate clean. Unlike the other cat food, this got better the more he ate. Ultimately he decided he could acquire a taste for it.

“I think that's a good sign?”

“Are you kidding? This is the first time he hasn't stuck his nose up at food that was actually intended for him. It's a damn miracle.”

“I was talking to Anzu, and she said she used to walk her old cat, Mittens, on a harness. It’s possible Dragon misses the fresh air, and it would help him get some exercise too.”

“Knowing Dragon, he'll shank me in the street and run away as soon as he gets the chance. But maybe we can try it when he gets a little more comfortable with me and stops trying to dart out the door every time I leave the apartment.”

After breakfast Atem and Yugi continued to rattle away about people Seto didn't know and things he didn't care about. He hated small talk–even if he wasn't forced to participate. He thought about moving to the bedroom, but their voices were pleasing, and he found their gentle conversation just stimulating enough to stay. 

Seto eventually learned that Atem and Yugi were brothers–though obviously not full-blooded ones. The revelation made his heart ache with longing. This could've been him and Mokuba, eating breakfast together on a Saturday morning, sharing all their mundane happenings from the week. But even as he imagined it–Mokuba pouring syrup over a huge stack of chocolate chip pancakes as Seto sipped on his black coffee–he knew it wasn't a genuine picture. In the last three years they’d probably shared a breakfast like this a handful of times; he couldn't even remember how long it had been. Seto would give anything to be with his brother now. If he ever got the chance, he swore to never squander another moment with him. 

After a few weeks Seto had mostly adjusted to his new living arrangements. Atem proved to be a decent enough roommate, but Seto didn't like sharing his personal space–not since the days where he wasn't allowed personal space, both at the orphanage and under his stepfather's reign of Big Brother-esque tyranny.

Going from his sprawling manor, on two and half acres of land, to living in a fifty square meter apartment took some adjustment, to say the least. Not just in size, but also Seto’s ability to come and go. If he thought too hard about being trapped in such a small space with no relief, he struggled to take deep breaths, and it made his head swim with claustrophobic hypoxia.

Sometimes Seto loved Atem’s constant presence. Sometimes the sound of his humming or never-ending chatter drove Seto to the edge of sanity–until he discovered the perfect hideaway spot: a collection of sweaters piled on the shelves tucked under Atem's hanging clothes. They were plush and warm and soon became Seto's private, little sanctuary when he needed to bury himself in them and block out everything else.

The sweaters themselves were cashmere and fine cotton–luxurious materials that didn't seem fitting with Atem's lifestyle. In fact, most of his clothes looked more expensive than Atem's economic status would support, unless he had a shopping addiction or seriously skewed priorities. You didn't just buy a Tom Ford leather messenger bag that was five times the monthly rent of your shoebox apartment. Seto wondered if perhaps he didn't always live as humbly as he did now–not that he'd ever be able to ask Atem.

As far as asking for things, Seto had a laundry list of requests, far more pressing than Atem's clothing budget. Boundaries needed to be drawn, and he couldn't exactly tell Atem not to walk across the apartment nude. 

Seto wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. He'd been to bathhouses and hot springs where he’d seen naked men before. He made a good faith effort to avert his gaze when Atem streaked from the bathroom to the bedroom–or lay nude on his bed for hours–but once Seto caught a glimpse of the lithe, toned body, he found it a lot more difficult to deny the appeal. Normal cats wouldn't have any reaction to the human form, but, unfortunately, Seto still had the mind of a red-blooded human, and his effort to pull his eyes away failed more than once–and he tried. He really tried… the first few times anyway. After another week of this titillating torture, Seto decided to consider it a perk of his confinement.

There were perhaps matters of consent to consider. Atem didn't know he was baring his flesh to someone with the capacity to leer at him–not that Seto leered. And if they were going to address consent issues, the touching was a matter in desperate need of review. 

Sometimes Seto didn't mind the groping–the scritches, as Atem called them. They were jarring at first, but Atem seemed to know how to offer his hand and wait until Seto leaned into his touch, which Seto didn't want to do, of course. But he knew Atem expected it, and Atem wouldn't leave him alone until he got to run his hand across Seto's back at least a few times. Seto allowed it, if only to get it over with. He certainly didn't look forward to it. That would be absurd. 

At first Atem tried picking Seto up whenever it suited him, which Seto refused to allow. He didn't appreciate being pulled this way and that; if he wanted to be five centimeters closer to Atem he would've moved five centimeters closer. How natural born cats tolerated being grabbed and yanked about like a ragdoll by a hyperactive child he didn't know.

Fortunately, Atem learned fast, and after about a week of training–a claw swipe here and a hiss there–he eventually accepted Seto’s hard limits. Seto insisted on being in control of his own anatomy, and once he trusted he could walk by Atem and not get manhandled, he felt comfortable doing it a great deal more.

A week or so after his conversation with Yugi, Atem brought home a harness so they could take walks together. He'd put it on Seto a few minutes a day and then take it off. It fit comfortably, but Seto hated everything it represented, clinging to his body like shackles tying him to his master. Seto initially planned to make it clear he hated the damn thing, reasoning it would be a common enough reaction for most felines. 

The next time Atem tried to harness him Seto struggled a convincing amount and meowed in abject annoyance. Seto's conviction soon changed when the front door swung open, and he could walk right out. In a moment of clarity Seto realized how stupid his act was. He could leave, see the outside, breath fresh air, bask in the sunlight, and be back for dinner. He still felt a degree of humiliation at being tethered to Atem by a leash, but it beat the suffocation of being trapped in a stuffy, little apartment day after day. He tried not to think of the harness as a tool of imprisonment and endeavored to picture it more like a safety harness one would wear for climbing. It never really worked to soothe his ego, but, like anything, he eventually got used to it. 

Atem wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but he still had visitors over to the apartment on a fairly regular basis, usually Yugi or Jonounchi–or both. They would play a variety of video games or watch the odd Duel Monsters tournament together.

Atem sometimes went out on Friday nights. Seto hated these nights. He never knew when Atem planned to return and had no way of asking. He didn't like to think of his behavior as waiting by the door, but with so little stimulation, what else could he do? Thankfully, Atem would often leave the radio on or a podcast running, so he wouldn't get lonely. Seto considered it subpar entertainment but still more stimulating than watching a door in silence. 

On rare occasions Atem stayed out all night and came back the following morning smelling of foreign scents and looking disheveled. Seto, of course, knew what he’d been up to and tried not to be annoyed at his overly relaxed good mood.

Atem never brought dates back to the apartment–until he did. Some guy with long, white hair and pale skin. He had a rigid scar across his face and a foul look in his eyes. Underneath the stale scent of cigarette smoke wafting off the stranger, Seto could practically taste the hormones between him and Atem.

Seto immediately hated the man. Not because of jealousy–that would be preposterous. He didn't trust him, and he didn't know how Atem could. He might as well have been twirling a handlebar mustache and cackling evilly.

They made out on the couch for a while, and Seto wanted to bury himself in his sweater bed and try to block out the noises–but his instincts told him he needed to keep a watchful eye. His instinct turned out to be accurate as always. As soon as Atem slipped away to the bathroom the guy got up to check out his computer setup, which could've been innocent enough, but the shifty look back in Atem’s general direction revealed nefarious intent. 

When the would-be thief moved to open the laptop, Seto barreled forward without hesitation, yowling, hissing and spitting. The guy tried to grab the computer, but Seto buried his teeth into the meat of his calf and aggressively kicked at his ankle with his back claws.

“Fuck!”

“What the hell is going on?” Atem yelled from the direction of the bathroom. 

“Your cat is a fuckin’ psycho!” The man kicked out, and Seto hit the wall hard. His shoulder throbbed in pain and his vision blurred. 

“Hey! Don't hurt him, he's just scared!”

“Are you kidding me? I'm the one that should be scared! He attacked me for no reason!”

Seto refused to back down, not until the stranger left for good. As soon as the room stopped spinning he lunged for him again.

“What the fuck? That cat needs to be put down.”

“Get out!” Atem yelled back. 

Seto allowed Atem to pull him back long enough for the man to grab his coat and flee, slamming the door with a force that rattled the decor on the walls.

Atem ran to the door and secured the lock before leaning back against it and slumping to the floor in an exasperated heap.

Seto could taste blood in his mouth. 

Good. 

“What the fuck was that?” Atem asked him. 

Seto’s shoulder still hurt from the impact, and he tried not to limp as he made his way to Atem. Seto didn't want him to worry; he'd be fine after a day or so. 

“Oh, baby. Are you okay?”

Yes. 

Seto nuzzled himself against Atem.

“You just attacked for no reason, huh?”

Seto nuzzled again, until Atem gave him the reassuring pets he sought.

“I'm not mad. Honestly I didn't really get a good vibe from him either. I just–”

Atem looked around, as if seeing the evidence of what actually happened for the first time. His eyes followed the open laptop and unplugged power cable.

“Shit. He was stealing my computer, wasn't he?” 

Atem buried his hands in his bangs and groaned. 

“I sure know how to pick ‘em, don't I? I guess I knew he was kind of a dick, but he was hot, and… God, I just wanted to get laid. Is that so bad?”

Seto couldn't relate. He didn't let people get close to him, and had no intention of doing so to satisfy a cheap carnal thrill, especially someone his instincts told him not to trust. If Atem wanted to do so he could do it outside of their shared home. 

“I have terrible taste in men, don't I?”

He did, but Seto didn't mind. Maybe one day Atem’s poor taste in men could work in Seto's favor. He knew he was a deeply flawed man. He wouldn't be here otherwise, but he liked to think maybe that was Atem's type. Some people were drawn to the flame of a dumpster fire, and Atem struck him as the type to seek out lost causes. Any relationship with Seto would certainly meet both criteria. 

Seto forced away the line of thought before he could dwell on it any longer. No point in pining for a future he’d never see. 

Seto curled into Atem's lap, purring loudly. He couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed about the sound. He defended Atem and his home against an assailant ten times his size. The panic of adrenaline had worn away to a nice endorphin high, and Seto planned to float on that euphoric feeling, and soak up Atem's love and affection, for the rest of the night.

An hour later Atem bundled himself in his comfiest clothes and made a nest in the living room with his bedding. After his order of falafel was delivered, Atem poured himself a glass of wine and flipped on Howl’s Moving Castle, hunkering in for a night of nostalgic comforts. Not the night he perhaps hoped for, but Seto couldn't help feeling things had turned out for the best.

Seto had never seen the movie before, but Atem mentioned a while back that it was one of his favorites. He knew Mokuba liked Studio Ghibli films, even though Gozaburo had forbidden them, citing anti-war propaganda. It wouldn't surprise Seto if Mokuba liked them because Gozaburo had forbidden them. That knowledge alone made Seto inclined to enjoy the film, if only to spite his stepfather.

It ran longer than Seto would've expected for an animated feature. Atem passed out halfway through, but Seto found his attention captivated till the end. He couldn't help but sympathize with Sophie. He knew, firsthand, how a cursed transformation led to a conflicted sense of self. The whole thing felt strangely cathartic and left him thinking about the themes and character motivations. He considered, perhaps, movies weren't always mindless entertainment. They could be a cathartic balm for the soul.

Upon finishing breakfast the following morning, Atem spent a half hour diligently researching something on his phone. Seto nearly walked back into the bedroom until Atem's voice caught his attention.

“Hi, I want to schedule an appointment… I recently took in a stray cat.”

Seto's ears perked up.

“I wanted to get him up to date on shots. He’s also been limping a little. I’d like the vet to make sure he's okay–and maybe talk about neutering options.”

The conversation carried on while Atem answered the vet tech’s basic questions. Seto planned to do everything in his power to make sure this appointment never happened, so he listened carefully for any details that might assist him.

“Yeah, next Saturday is perfect. Do you have anything in the morning?”

Seto didn't hear the time, but he could work with what he knew.

When dawn broke on the dreaded Saturday, Seto prepared himself by slipping under the small gap between the bed and the floor. The gap provided enough room for him to comfortably squeeze under, but not enough for Atem to crawl after him. Atem would be able to reach a hand for him, but if Seto moved to the opposite side he'd never be able to grab him–unless Atem decided to lift the whole mattress. But based on his small stature and slim physique, Seto didn't think he was a lift the mattress kind of guy.

In the meantime Seto stayed quiet, not wanting to draw attention to his hiding spot. Based on the raised voices he heard through the walls, the neighbors seemed to have gotten into another fight–Seto began to hope they'd just break up already, so he wouldn't have to hear them making up later that night. 

Seto heard Atem rouse for breakfast and call his “name” a few times, but otherwise went about the morning in his standard routine: brushing his teeth and putting on his leaving the apartment clothes. Seto both loved and hated Atem's leaving the apartment clothes. They were often skin tight and showed off his shapely legs, but as much as Seto enjoyed the aesthetic, they also meant–well, that Atem planned to leave the apartment. 

As the morning ticked by Atem's calls for him became more frantic. Seto heard him upend his closet before he looked under the bed, pulling out the stored items obscuring his view: books that didn't fit on the shelves and extra bedding. 

“There you are! You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Atem moved to grab him. 

Seto responded by darting to the other end of the bed.  

“Seriously? Come on.”

Atem circled from one side to the other, getting more desperate with each pass. He tried to tempt Seto out with his feather toy, and when that didn't work he placed a plate of fish at the edge of the bed.

“Come on. You didn't eat breakfast. I know you're hungry.”

Atem's phone rang and he ran across the room to retrieve it. 

“Hi! No, I'm still coming. I'm just running a little–”

“Oh... I see.”

Atem sank to the floor looking frustrated. 

“No, I understand. Thank you,” he said before dropping the phone and letting out a frustrated sigh. 

Seto crawled out from under the bed, feeling smug.

“Now you come out.”

Atem muttered under his breath in some foreign tongue Seto didn't understand.

Seto sauntered over to the plate, eating the fish intended to lure him out.

“You're a fucking asshole, you know that?”

I know.

“I can't go back there, or they're going to charge me a no-show fee for my missed appointment.”

Tragic. 

“Yeah, I know, you're real broken up about it.”

After he ate his fill, Seto walked over to Atem, brushing against him in a comforting apology. He wasn't sorry in the least, but the contact seemed to soothe Atem nevertheless.

Atem spent the rest of the morning doing some calming yoga stretches until his phone rang again. He answered on speaker, not bothering to move out of his downward dog position, intending to continue through his set of stretches.

“Hey man,” came Jonouchi’s voice, sounding panicked and exhausted. “I hate to do this, but… I'm a little short this month.”

Atem pulled himself into a relaxed sitting position, now giving the conversation his full attention. 

“How much do you need?”

“–I wouldn't ask, but I got a visit from a court-appointed negotiator, and my landlord already gave me an extra month. I got behind–you know, been sending my extra cash to help pay off my sister's medical bills, and then my bike broke down–”

“How much do you need?”

“I just can't move back in with my dad! I can't do it. We'll kill each other, and if I lose this place I got nowhere else to–”

“Jou. How much do you need?”

“¥95,000–I’ll pay you back, I swear! I just gotta cover both months now.”

“Don't worry about it.”

What a leach. Atem couldn't be serious.

“No, hey–you know I'm good for it.”

Seto had serious doubts about Jou being good for it. If Atem was smart he’d cut him free and make him figure out his own shit.  

“I know. But only when you can. I know a thing or two about crippling medical debt and deadbeat dads. Don't stress about it.”

“You're seriously the best!”

“If you ever need a place to crash–”

Absolutely not.

“–you have friends, Jou. We'd never let you go homeless.”

“Thanks, man. Do you mind–”

“I won't tell anyone.”

Atem sighed when the call ended.

“Well, no takeout for a few weeks,” he said in a melancholy tone. “Back to cup noodle and bento boxes. I guess it's a good thing we didn't make it for that vet appointment, huh?”

So Atem couldn't spare the money–not really. Seto always thought humans were inherently selfish creatures–but this move made no sense. Why sacrifice his daily comforts–particularly when he didn't have many to begin with? Seto couldn't wrap his head around it. Once Seto would've said there were no real selfless acts. Anything appearing altruistic was merely for tax breaks or bragging rights, neither of which applied here.

What did Atem get out of it? The idea itched persistently at the back of Seto's mind. He’d seen renowned philanthropists who skimmed money off the top of their charities, even when doing so changed very little about their personal circumstances. They were disgustingly wealthy, and they would continue to be disgustingly wealthy. Atem was… well, not even close.

Seto didn't know the salary range for Kaiba Corp's remote IT workers, but he knew this act of charity would leave Atem with a narrow margin for supplementary spending. Why would Atem knowingly take a financial hit? Clearly he had poor judgment.

Good men make bad business.  

His stepfather used to say that. It's why the truly altruistic would never get far in life, but…

Somehow it made Seto feel more secure, knowing his companion was the sort of man who would eat cup noodle to make ends meet, while continuing to feed his cat premium food, all in the service of a friend in need, even if Seto could barley stand that friend.

Weeks turned into months, and Seto had grown quite accustomed to their little life together. He'd wake up on Atem's pillow, to the buzz of a vibrating alarm–to the sounds of traffic and their loudly bickering neighbors–and be greeted with a smile and a morning kiss on the top of his head. They'd have breakfast together and go for a walk. On weekends they'd go as far as the park. Seto used to drive by this park on the way to the office, but he'd never stopped to enjoy it. Now he couldn't wait until the cherry blossoms were in bloom again.

On the days Atem worked, Seto curled up on his desk or in his lap. Atem ran errands on weekends, but he always got back in time to eat dinner together. Seto’s favorite part of their routine was after sunset. They would cuddle on the couch while Atem enjoyed a quiet evening with a movie or book–or if it had been a particularly stressful day, and he couldn't decide what he wanted to do, he'd end up scrolling through his phone for the duration of the evening. 

As a human, Seto never saw the appeal of idle nights, but he'd come to enjoy jumping from video clip to video clip. Besides the Duel Monsters content that they both loved, Atem gravitated towards clips on history, psychology, and a variety of artisan crafts. Seto couldn't help but notice he also followed several cat accounts. Considering his obvious adoration for the species, it was a wonder Atem didn't already have a cat before he took Seto home. Atem seemed especially drawn to a specific type of cat. Seto didn't recognize the breed–until they scrolled across a video introducing it.

“Meet the Bengal. A breathtaking blend of the wild and the wonderful. With a coat that's a cascade of beautiful marbled or spotted patterns, this cat carries the essence of the wild jungle in the comfort of your home. Their fur feels like luxurious velvet, and their eyes sparkle with an untamed spirit, a vibrant testament to their wild ancestry. Derived from the Asian leopard cat crossed with the spotted Egyptian Mau, their dazzling wild appearance, complemented by their friendly and curious nature, makes them exceptional companions…”

No one would ever accuse Seto of being an exceptional companion. He bristled, trying not to feel intimidated by the comparison. Seto had never been in a relationship, but he could imagine this is how it felt to have your significant other following beautiful models on social media while you were right there. He’d feel bitter about it, but Seto found it fairly easy to draw Atem's attention away from the phone, nuzzling up to him and demanding affection. As a human he'd never dare show an inclination of needing so much validation; his pride would never allow it. But with an anonymity of this form, he let himself indulge in his most primal instincts, to seek out touch and affection in a way he hadn't let himself in close to a decade. 

When night fell they'd have conversations in the dark, where Atem would open himself up and pour out his deepest thoughts to Seto. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Atem whispered into Seto's fur as they both shared the pillow. “Sometimes I think… my mother sent you to me. I know it sounds foolish, but I can't help thinking she knew how much I needed you. I can't imagine going back to how things were before. I never want to be that lonely again.” 

These confessions made Seto's heart ache. If only Atem knew it wasn't the benevolent spirit of his mother that brought Seto to him–more like the deranged vengeance of a witch. 

Seto hadn't thought about Leo’s sister since his time on the streets. He used to dream about her. Her manic smile haunted him, and he imagined all the ways he'd make her pay for what she'd done to him. He hated her for separating him from Mokuba, but… had he not separated her from her own brother? An eye for an eye. Would they carry on until they were both blind and full of rage?

I never want to be that lonely again.

Atem's words caressed his mind in a gentle prayer. At least some good came of all this. Seto couldn't say it was worth abandoning his life. He would never betray Mokuba with that admission, but… he'd never felt like this before. Was this what peace felt like? Contentment? He'd never given them a passing thought, but he knew, if he did ever find a way home, he'd miss this–probably for the rest of his life. The conflicting longings squeezed his heart, threatening to shatter it under the overwhelming pressure.

Seto thought of long hours spent hunched over a desk after having worked though dinner. He thought about passing out in the limo on his ride home and having Isono gently shake him awake so he could finally crawl into bed for a couple hours of sleep. He thought about waking up and feeling the weight of an empire on his lone, struggling shoulders. Seto thought and thought until he realized… he never wanted to be that lonely again.

Chapter Text

A thunderous stampede echoed through the outside hallway, coming closer. When the perpetrators got louder, Seto reassured himself that they would march past, as they always did, and he refused to let it agitate him–until they burst through the front door, startling him to full awareness as he braced for an attack.

“Hey! I called the couch!”

“Then I guess you should have been faster.”

“Shove off, Honda.”

The hair on Seto's back stood straight up as he crept slowly in the shadow of the cracked bedroom door. From there he witnessed the group of rowdy guys who had charged into the apartment. 

A tussle ensued in which two grown men wrestled each other to the ground–one of which Seto immediately identified as Jonouchi. So much for his quiet evening; he couldn't exactly relax with these buffoons making a ruckus in the living room.

“Try not to break anything, please,” Atem dryly suggested to the pair on the floor.

“Yeah, like a neck.” Seto recognized Yugi’s soft voice without needing to see him. 

Yugi dropped into the apartment at least once or twice a week. Sometimes he was a window into Atem's soul, Seto’s only way to get direct answers out of him since he couldn't ask questions himself. Atem would seem moody for a day or so, and then Yugi would pry the whole story out of him–of how his supervisor got on his case for going off script on his calls, despite getting nothing but positive service reviews, or how his mother's birthday was tomorrow and he didn't know what to do with himself. Seto would've liked to be Atem's lone solace, but he wouldn't begrudge Yugi's attempt to help his brother–Seto understood that obligation better than anything. 

As the humans settled, Seto shifted closer to scope out the room, counting the number in attendance. Five. Besides Atem, Jonouchi, and Yugi, the others included a gangly brunette–Honda, Jou had called him, and a boy with long, white hair. For a second Seto’s hackles raised when he thought it might’ve been the would-be laptop thief from last month, but he trusted Atem never to invite him back. Though they immediately resembled each other, it didn't take two seconds to notice the stark difference in demeanor. 

Atem, Yugi, and Honda all sat on the couch while the quiet one claimed the armchair, leaving Jonouchi to crouch on the floor like a dog.

“We're ordering food right? What are we eating?

“Falafel?”

“No.”

“Pass!”

Falafel was Atem's go-to comfort food. Seto thought it rude that his suggestion would get shot down so vehemently by his guests. Granted, Seto would never personally choose Middle Eastern food, but only because he'd never tried it before.

“I thought you said there weren't any good falafel places around here,” Yugi piped in, diplomatic as ever. 

 “There aren't,” Atem conceded. “Not any reasonably priced. There's a mediocre one I tolerate.”

“And that's where you're putting your food vote?”

“Well I vote for tsukune,” said Honda.

“Seconded.” 

“I don't care what we eat. I just don't want to miss the start of the finals,” Yugi voiced anxiously.

One of them flipped the television on, scrolling through channels until they what they found were looking for. Seto immediately recognized the mindless chatter of the pre-show commentators for the finale of Japan’s national Duel Monsters tournament–a tournament Seto was supposed to attend.

God, was it February already? Time seemed impossible to gauge. Sometimes he felt he'd always been here, living in this apartment with Atem, and other times it felt like he'd only just arrived. If it really was February, Seto had been a cat for… almost five months.

His eighteenth birthday had come and gone a long time ago. He didn't even know what day it fell on or what he'd been doing. How much of his life was slipping by unobserved? He felt heartsick when Mokuba crossed his mind. Would his brother's birthday likewise come and go without Seto there to see him turn thirteen?

“Are you planning on recording a commentary of the finals?” Jounouchi asked over a mouthful of chips. He'd evidently grown too impatient to wait on the food they planned to order and snagged the bag from the pantry cabinet.  

Seto wasn't sure who he directed the question to, but was surprised when Atem answered. “Not live, but I'll break down the duels tomorrow like I always do.”

“I've got an appointment in the morning,” Yugi said. “I won't be able to help you film at the game shop until later.”

“That's okay. I like to use the Duel Monsters display as the backdrop, but there’s no reason I can't just record here.” 

Seto remembered the videos he always saw Atem editing. He now wished he'd paid closer attention to them.

“Hopefully you don't ruffle any feathers this time,” Yugi said.

“Bet Ilves makes a passive-aggressive post about you again,” Honda said, moving to grab a handful of chips, only for Jonouchi to pull the bag away. This might've sparked another wrestling match, but Atem quickly went to the cabinet and threw a pack of rice crackers into the mix. Honda snatched it in the air and reclaimed his spot on the couch before Jou got any ideas about taking it. 

“Your critique of his last match was a little harsh,” Yugi said, playing devil's advocate. “I'm sure it's much harder when you're up there in front of a crowd under all those lights.” 

Jüri Ilves was an idiot with a fragile ego. If Atem made a public critique of his gameplay, Seto could absolutely imagine him throwing a fit about it. 

“A true champion would rise to the occasion,” Atem replied. “Besides, it was a televised tournament. Did he really not expect people to analyze the gameplay?”

“He didn't even have the guts to respond to you directly, just vagueblogged about it,” Jou complained. “He's probably scared more people will see the video and realize how much he's floated by on sheer luck.” Seto hated to agree with Jonouchi, but Ilves was overranked for his skill. His stats had him set to rank third in this year's nationals–well, second since Seto wasn't participating. 

“Tournament play is a joke anyways. I hate the direction tournaments are taking. Invitation only. It's creating an environment where new talent can't even get through the door!” And back to disagreeing with everything out of the idiot's mouth. Good. The natural order was restored. 

Jou sounded like an amateur, complaining because he didn't have what it took to break into the big leagues. He obviously had no understanding of how difficult it was to run a tournament open to the public.

“I agree,” Atem said. “All you have to do is look at the finalists. It's a circus–more about the gimmick and the spectacle of the competitors than it is about the cards.”

“The grind is real. For regionals I won nine out of ten matches and still didn't break into the finals!” Jou nearly spilled his chips on the floor as he gestured wildly. “The open calls for regional events are always a joke. Every single player who actually makes it through to the finals won their spot before the tournament even started. That's not fair! To match their starting points you'd have to beat like… a hundred players in open competition in order to climb the ranks enough to qualify.” 

Seto rolled his eyes. He could easily imagine Jou scouring the event for the weakest opponents he could find, easy victories to pad his ego while avoiding actual competition. Seto knew his type–the sort that talked big, but ran away like a coward when things got tough. There was a reason the open call matches in public tournaments didn't count for much. The real players had earned their spots in the finals based on their cumulative dueling history, their performance at last year's events–against other high-ranking players. Only the final match in Regionals was worth watching. The opening rounds might as well be amateurs playing in the park. There'd be much better competition at the National level.

“The game has just gotten too popular for open tournaments to continue as they are,” Atem remarked as he adjusted the volume on the TV, so they weren't having to raise their voices over the boring announcers making uninspired smalltalk. “Jou’s right, you have to be an established player with a well-known reputation to make it to all the important events. You could be an undefeated player and no one would even notice if you can't luck your way into a high-profile match.”

“You mean like you.” Yugi smiled knowingly.

“Yes, me. And Jou. And even you if you cared to compete.”

“No thanks. I don't need my face all over national television,” Yugi replied easily.

Seto wondered if Atem was any good. He must at least be pretty familiar with the game if he did commentary covering important matches. But being able to analyze a match and playing well were two very different things.

“I wish I could face Ilves on national television,” Jou muttered bitterly. “Then the world would see me beat his insecure ass all the way back to Romania.”

“He's from Estonia,” Yugi corrected softly.

“Whatever. Why’s he even in Japan’s national competition?”

“Not everyone chooses to stay in their country of origin,” Atem replied, pointing out the obvious. “And Ilves might be a hack, but not all high-ranked players are. Kaiba's an extremely talented player, and he doesn't have a gimmick.” 

Seto's heart stuttered at the comment. The first time he heard his own name in… well over fives months, and, god, did it feel good. 

“You're not on the clock, dude. You don't have to suck his dick.”

Seto tried very hard not to picture anything from that colorful word choice. 

“Besides, his Blues Eyes is his gimmick.”

“That's not a gimmick,” Atem countered. “It’s his prized monster. If all players were defined by their love of their favorite cards then the dueling world would be all the better for it.” 

“Fine, then his gimmick is his money. How do you think he can afford so many rare cards?”

“He was a champion long before he got his hands on a Blue Eyes.”

Precisely. 

“Yeah, well, I'm not gonna debate it with you. I don't think you're capable of being unbiased when it comes to Seto Kaiba. You're practically in love with him.”

Seto waited with eager anticipation for Atem’s response.

“I'm not in love with him!” Atem insisted, but the red glow blooming on his cheeks seemed to suggest otherwise.

“You did say a while back that Seto Kaiba would be your celebrity Free Pass,” Yugi reminded him, with a little smile that was a mockery of innocence. 

“That was theoretical, and I was obviously joking! I'd have to actually be in a relationship to get a Free Pass.”

Atem didn't say any more, waiting for the topic to pass, but all eyes in the room stayed fixed on him. His friends were clearly enjoying putting him on the spot. Seto got the feeling they didn't get the opportunity often.

“I wonder if Anzu is watching the tournament from New York.” 

When no one picked up Atem's less-than-subtle attempt at a topic change, he caved. “Fine. Kaiba's attractive, and I love watching him play, but that's all! His passion for the game is very compelling. And he's personally revolutionized tournament play with his technology. Do you think tournaments would get nearly as much fanfare if it weren't for the spectacle of watching the monsters fight? I can't even imagine a world where duels were still done on table top.”

”Oh please, he just ripped off–what's it’s name? That German company. And you were just complaining about the fanfare plaguing modern tournaments. Now it's a good thing?”

“It's not the technology's fault that the tournament structure is so exclusive.”

The other’s watched in amusement as Jou and Atem bickered back and forth.

“Fine, whatever. Kaiba's still a dick. I mean, all billionaires are, but he takes it to a whole new level, the way he flaunts his wealth, and his fancy cards , and his jets. I can't stand it. ”

Better than flaunting stupidity, which Jonouchi did with regularity.

“He actually founded a children's charity, and he's responsible for improved conditions for orphanages all over Japan–”

“Tax break,” Jou mock sneezed. 

“–I think people disregard his charity work because it doesn't fit with his reputation as a ruthless futurist.”

“You mean they forget his charity work cause he's such a dick.”

“Persuasive argument, Jou.”

“Looks like he's not even in the tournament today. I wonder why,” Yugi said, subtly pulling the topic away from the building argument. 

“Who knows.” 

“Who cares,” Atem and Jonouchi answered simultaneously. 

Seto wouldn't be competing in this–or any tournament, because he was currently trapped in the body of a damn cat.  

The first match of the finals kicked off and, after much squabbling about who wanted what, the group finally ordered food. When the gameplay started Seto wanted a better view of the action, so he snuck into the living room and made his way into Atem's lap–it was warmer than the floor in any case, with a better view of the small television.

Seto had an amazing setup in his home gameroom, with a projector that filled the back wall and comfortable seating all around. It would've housed this group much more agreeably. The real shame was he'd yet to actually use it. He'd love to spend an evening there, watching a tournament like this with Mokuba and Atem–Yugi could join too. Really anyone but Jounochi was welcomed.

Watching the tournament turned out to be a double-edged sword. Reveling in some dueling action, after having gone so long without it, was like drinking from a cool spring of water after being lost in a barren desert. But then Seto would see a fumbled play, from what were supposed to be the best players in the country, and get annoyed because he wouldn't make those mistakes. He wouldn't forget to use his Heavy Storm card at a critical juncture, nor would he tiptoe around his opponent’s face-down card instead of attacking when the match hinged on it.

Seto ached at the thought of all he was missing, being trapped in this tiny little dump of an apartment, eating barely tolerable food, surrounded by the likes of Jonouchi–and then Atem would caress his fingers gently against Seto's ears, in that magical way of his, and he couldn't imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else. 

The last match wrapped up with Jüri Ilves once again walking away with a victory, despite an uneven performance and several fumbled plays–much to the chagrin of everyone in the room. Seto never thought much of him as a duelist, but after the conversation from earlier he found himself watching each move with an even more critical eye. The final play of the tournament caused the room to erupt into boos and jeers, until someone flipped off the TV. 

One by one Atem's guests filtered out with promises of getting together for the next big event. 

Seto practically purred in contentment as he soaked in the quiet atmosphere–and by practically, he meant actually. He hated his inability to control it, and hadn't figured out how to make the purring stop. Atem's affectionate smile and sweet caress sparked by the sound were a silver lining. Seto had never been in a position where he couldn't conceal his mood behind a careful mask and hated feeling betrayed by his body, but he was slowly learning that positive regard sparked more positive regard, and a good mood turned into a great mood when paired with Atem’s warm smile.

Seto expected Atem to get ready for bed soon after his guests left, but he stayed right there on the couch. During the tournament Atem had been diligently taking notes, and now he pored over his little play book, writing in the margins and occasionally rewinding footage of the matches. His eyes held a feverish glow, like a man possessed. Seto knew that feeling, of not being able to rest until you completed a task. Finally, after another hour, Atem found his way to bed. 

The next morning Atem sat at his desk and, without needing to glance at his notebook, began filming his analysis videos, one right after the other. He covered all five duels in the finals, breaking down the strategies and if there were any misplays. When you had the retrospective knowledge of what was in both hands, it was easy to say what a particular player should've done, but Atem only judged the moves based on the knowledge each player had available. 

Seto practically nodded along as Atem spoke, and he even found himself looking at certain cards or strategies in ways he never would've considered before–nothing that would ever change his strategies, but for theoretical application, it was a fascinating analysis.

Seto always enjoyed listening to Atem talk. He had a rich, soothing voice that sent waves of contentment down Seto's back. Listening to Atem talk about Duel Monsters though was quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the world. Once Atem really got going he continued without pause; despite his detailed notes, he evidently already committed the plays to memory. One of the only times he needed to stop was when his phone rang. It was Jou, asking Atem when he was going to film his commentary. 

“And that, of course, brings us to the final plays of the night–or perhaps I should say the final misplays of the night.” Atem's eyes twinkled like gems and his voice dripped with delicious condescension. He paused briefly to sip his coffee. 

There was something so titillating about Atem’s tone, like everyone listening were dear friends, and they were all in on the absurdity of the spectacle together. 

“Ilves had a Heavy Storm in hand and could have, and should have, wiped his opponent's backrow before he did anything else on his turn. That would have allowed Lightflame Dragon to land. But Kita also fumbled by using Cosmic Cyclone to pop the backrow–and not the Giant Trunade he had in hand.” 

Atem paused, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Of course, none of this would have mattered if Ilves just attacked when he had the chance, but he chose to play it safe by getting rid of Kita’s facedown card. And with that disaster of a finale, with the grace and dignity of a buffoon in rollerblades, we have our new national champion: Jüri Ilves. Which begs the question, why is Japan being represented by these clowns? And where the hell is Seto Kaiba?”

Atem turned off his camera with a confident, little smile and pulled up his editing software. He used headphones to edit, which Seto had always been thankful for in the past. Now he wished he could listen to the analysis again as Atem watched it through. Hell, he wished he could watch Atem's entire catalog of videos. Seto wondered what Atem had said about his duels. Did Atem convey that same impartial air he used in all the other duels?

You're practically in love with him.

Or did his positive regard–his crush–bleed through just the smallest bit? The thought pleased Seto far more than it probably should've. 

Another month passed, and the chill of winter gave way to the buds of spring. Seto almost started to forget he ever lived another life. He'd curl into Atem at night, and he'd actually think he might be… happy. He wasn't sure he'd ever really been happy before–not since the simple days of soccer and peach juice, of biking and chess. Then he'd get some reminder of his former life–a Kaiba Corp ad, or Yugi would drop in with an offering of Mokuba's favorite hard candy–and the contrary feelings of heartache and contentment would battle within him. 

Seto couldn't open Atem's laptop, and the one night he came close he almost broke the damn thing. He'd gotten control of Atem's phone once, after Atem passed out with it in his hand. Seto gently maneuvered himself to use the touch screen with his paw. After some trial and error he managed to type the words Kaiba Cork into a search engine, and even that proved challenging. Thankfully he got a Did you mean: Kaiba Corp prompt. With a little more practice he got the hang of adding a word or two for more specific results.

He couldn't find out what he actually wanted to know, how Mokuba was faring, but he managed general searches about the company. From what he could tell there was no mention of his coma, thank god. Stock prices were stagnant, which was disappointing, but at least they weren't in freefall. He'd hoped to continue developing his new duel disk and have it out by Christmas, a deadline he'd already missed. 

Seto would've liked to remotely log into his own Kaiba Corp account, but it required too many multi-factor identification checks for an unknown device to log in, and he wasn't in a position to confirm his identity. There were workarounds, but none he could do in his current circumstances. Not to mention, if Atem woke up while he was still logged in–

Before Seto could dwell on his options, Atem rolled over, putting his phone down in a state of half consciousness, automatically locking it when the screen went dark. 

A few days later Atem had his phone in hand, and Seto tucked into his side for a comfy evening of casual scrolling. Seto's stomach dropped when Atem scrolled past a Kaiba Corp ad–one he'd never seen before. He'd been so intrigued he reached his paw out and pulled the screen back down. 

It wasn't anything of substance, but Seto approved everything that went out. Rebranding was a delicate business, and the success or failure of the company rested on his shoulders; he wanted to ensure Kaiba Corp embodied his specific image. He wondered if Mokuba approved the ad, or if someone on the board had used the opportunity of his absence to start pulling strings in a pathetic attempt at a power play.

The ad wouldn't tell him either way, so he reluctantly pulled his paw away, abdicating control back to Atem. That's when he noticed Atem's bemused expression.

“Aw, sweet boy. Did you wanna use the phone like daddy?”

Daddy.  

Atem meant it in a platonic sense, but Seto's insides still squirmed in delighted discomfort. Before Seto could have a full existential crisis about it, a notification buzzed, indicating Atem had been tagged in a post. 

cowards on the internet should put their cards where their mouths are! @yamimagician 

Seto recognized Ilves’ smug face on the profile picture. Based on the casual conversation between Atem and his friends, this wasn't the first time Ilves bellyached about comments on his sloppy playing, but they said he never tagged Atem directly. He obviously felt emboldened by his new title. Not only did he tag Atem, he also included a direct link to his video, no doubt hoping to mobilize his fanbase to defend him in the comments–and retaliate against Atem. 

Is that a challenge? @therealjüriilves

Atem typed back. He didn't even have a chance to click away before Ilves responded. 

yeah its a fucking challenge. Im sick of you accusing real duelists of misplays while you've got your ass parked behind a keyboard. If you wanna talk smack TALK WITH YOUR CARDS. I'll be at the Kaiba Land arena if you're not a coward. 

Atem's phone rang.

“I'm guessing you saw it?” 

“Yeah.” Seto recognized the other voice as Jonouchi.

“What do you think?” Atem asked.

“I think you're gonna kick his ass.”

“Should I? You don't think it's… petty?”

“You're asking the wrong person. I love petty! I'm the king of petty. Besides, if you don't show up he's gonna use it as an excuse to disregard anything you say ever again, and your videos are way too good to let him smear you like that! I mean, what's stopping you from marching down there right now?”

“Currently? There's a warm cat in my lap, and I'm pretty sure there's a law against moving them.”

Seto was quite comfortable and didn't particularly want to get up, but seeing Atem prove himself as a duelist would be well worth the energy expense. 

“Well, yeet him across the living room, and get your ass down there!”

Seto arched his back in a dramatic stretch and moved to the back of the couch–not that he thought there was any real danger of getting yeeted.

“I’d also have to pay the price of admission to use the Kaiba Land arenas. Of all the places he could challenge me, why not literally anywhere else? The whole point of duel disks is the benefit of mobility.”

“I bet he's already there, hanging around with an entourage, hoping people will ask for his autograph.”

“I guess after sunset it's a minimal fee to use the Kaiba Land arena facilities.”

“Whatever, it's worth it to finally shut that bastard up.”

“Alright… I'll be there.”

“Yeah?” Jou asked with palpable excitement.

“Yeah.”

“Yas!”

“See you there.”

Atem ended the call flipping back over to his public conversation with Ilves. 

On my way. @therealjüriilves

Atem sat on the couch a moment longer with a giddy, little smile on his face, before running off to the bedroom to change. 

Seto was pumped at the thrill of the upcoming challenge… until he remembered he wouldn't actually get to see the duel. The match was taking place at Kaiba Land, so there would be a live stream on site and a quality recording. One of the primary advantages to dueling at the Kaiba Land arenas were the benefits of professional footage covering the matches from multiple angles. That was, no doubt, Ilves’ aim in challenging Atem there–to crush him in humiliating defeat on a live feed. Ilves boasted at having two million followers, which meant this match would likely draw the attention of thousands. Seto hated that he wouldn't be one of them.

Atem emerged from the bedroom. Tonight's leaving the apartment clothes included patent leather pants and a shirt that was more belts than cloth. To complete the ensemble he threw on a black jacket and studded boots, looking breathtaking in his battle gear. 

When Atem left and the door swung shut, Seto darted across the apartment and back at top speed in a manic bout of excitement. 

After the initial adrenaline wore off he tried to relax on the bed for an hour or so, but found he couldn't seem to focus on anything but the anticipation of the outcome of the match. He wondered if this was how stay-at-home moms felt on their children's first day of school.

Seto couldn't help feeling a bit nervous on Atem's behalf. Rooting for someone else in a duel was a wholly foreign practice for him. He had complete faith in Atem's duel knowledge and his brilliant mind, but having never actually seen him duel Seto couldn't help the seed of anxiety growing in his gut.

When ten o'clock rolled around he waited eagerly by the door–and waited. And kept waiting. 

How long did duels take? A match could feasibly end in ten to twenty minutes–and often did with amateur play. The highest ranked players tended to stretch them out considerably longer, but Seto couldn't imagine what would take this long. When the clock struck midnight Seto began to worry for Atem's safety. What if–

Soft footsteps approached, and the doorknob jangled before swinging open. 

When Atem walked in he was positively glowing with victory. The small swagger in his step told Seto he'd very likely been offered more than one celebratory drink. 

Seto couldn't help the bloom of pride in his chest. He was desperate to see the actual breakdown of his win. Seto very much hoped Atem would analyze the duel in full detail–and rub his victory in Ilves’s face even more. Now that would be petty, and Seto desperately hoped Atem would indulge in it.

“How is my little Dragon? Did you miss me?”

Atem asked, leaning to stroke a lazy hand down Seto’s back. He didn't linger, quickly kicked off his boots on his way to collapse on the bed, his shit-eating grin still firmly in place.

Seto jumped on the bed next to him.

“I won,” Atem said softly. 

I know. I'm so proud of you.

He couldn't tell if Atem had whispered the words for Seto’s benefit or just wanted to see how they sounded out loud. 

Now that Atem had earned his high-profile match and won against a seasoned duelist–the top ranked in Japan as of last month—he'd be making his way into the world of dueling, just like he wanted. Private tournament invites would be extended, and Seto knew he'd take the world by storm. 

Some part of Seto ached at not being able to duel him too–at not being able to duel in general, but watching Atem achieve his dreams was almost as satisfying. 

…Oh, how the mighty had fallen. He’d once been the world's highest ranked duelist; now his life's greatest ambition was to snuggle up next to this man–this boy who had made Seto his pet. That's all he was to Atem. Seto ate from a dish with little paw prints embossed into the ceramic. He’d wait by the door while Atem was away, desperately wishing he'd come back so they could spend their evenings together.

Seto used to dream about waking up in his body and forgetting any of this ever happened. Now he dreamed about… staying here, and forgetting he ever had any life but this one. It was a bitter pill to swallow, the idea that he enjoyed his life here more than the life he had carved out and paid for in blood. Just thinking it sent a crushing wave of guilt over him that left him gasping for air.

What about Mokuba?  

Then again, maybe his brother would be better off without Seto's influence. All he'd ever done was make himself miserable, and Mokuba was too young–too close to the situation to see the wreckage of a human being Seto had turned himself into. The kind of man who would steal and cheat to secure a miserable future for them. The kind of man who smiled after their stepfather threw himself off a 78-story building right in front of him. …The kind of man who would ruin another man's life for a trading card.

“You're a spoiled, selfish child, who's learned all the wrong lessons, and it will be your undoing.”

Seto had been proud of himself for doing whatever it took to get what he wanted. Now he looked at his past and was ashamed of what he saw: a spoiled, selfish boy who thought love and affection were for the weak–that contentment and security were things he could buy. Atem barely had the funds to get by, but he seemed to have more contentment and security than Seto had ever had in his entire life. 

He looked over at Atem’s sleeping face and longed to brush a kiss against his cheek. A real kiss, with real human lips. His stomach turned sharply when he remembered that Atem had no idea who he really was. 

What did Seto think would happen in the best-case scenario? He would turn back into a man and Atem was going to look into his eyes and instantly fall in love? If Seto told him the truth would he accept it? Would he be open to a… relationship? Or would he find the idea of Seto living in his home a gross violation?

From a certain point of view Seto had lurked in his apartment, listened to his most private thoughts, and… watched him change. Then again–from a certain point of view, Atem dragged him here kicking and screaming, and refused to let him leave…

God, he couldn't believe he had ever wanted to leave. Not that he wanted to live out the rest of his days as a cat and die at the ripe age of fifteen, but… 

…but he loved Atem. 

The realization made his heart seize with terror and delight. Seto had always considered love to be a handicap, one that couldn't always be avoided, but the day Gozaburo adopted him Seto had taken the emotion and stuffed it in a dark, dank chasm–to protect it, but also to control it. He loved Mokuba and that used to scare him. Mokuba was his weakness, so he distanced himself from his brother and pretended nothing could touch his heart. And what had pretending gotten him? A cursed life. To watch the man he loved and never be able to act on it. To never see his brother again, and to always wonder if that wasn't the greatest gift he could’ve given Mokuba. To keep him away from Seto's toxic example of how to live a truly miserable existence.

Maybe on some level it was a justification, to assuage his guilt in abandoning his brother, but… was he wrong? Seto imagined the trajectory of his life and where he'd be in ten years if he continued in that direction. Where would Mokuba be? Following in his footsteps, no doubt, as he always did.

As a human Seto would grind through each day but found no real joy in it. Looking back he didn't know if he'd ever lived a worthwhile day in his whole wretched life. But he wanted to. For the first time he realized what his stepfather had really robbed him of. When Gozaburo jumped out that window, Seto felt nothing. From that moment on Seto had always feared–always known he’d eventually share the same fate. One day he’d bet everything and lose, and when that happened he too would jump without hesitation, because he'd let Gozaburo poison his mind until he developed the same fatal weakness as him. He didn't cherish peace or love or life. He’d let Gozaburo rob him of, not just his childhood, but his future too. 

…and he wanted it back.

Seto sensed the morning behind closed eyes, but when he awoke it wasn't to Atem's vibrating alarm, or to the horn of a passing car, or the couple next door bickering about whatever new squabble they’d gotten into. He woke up in his four-poster, canopy bed with his fine, cotton duvet against his skin–and a tube up his nose. 

“Seto?” 

He barely had a chance to look up before Mokuba threw his arms around him, which jostled Seto’s feeding tube painfully, causing an abrupt wave of nausea, but Seto wasn't about to say anything about it. 

But he could. He could say things now, and that thought was so amazing he almost didn't think about everything he’d lost in the blink of an eye.

Chapter Text

When Mokuba smiled up at him, Seto smiled back, and it was genuine–but so was the conflicting ache of his heart. 

Was this part of the curse? The moment he found some small nugget of contentment it would get wrenched away? He found himself caught between two worlds, unsure how to navigate either one. The thought of going back to work excited him, and there was so much that needed to be done–so much only he could do, but he dreaded the sleepless nights and unending migraines from stress and exhaustion.

And then there was Atem…

At first Seto wondered if it had all been a dream, if he’d really been in a coma–if his life with Atem had been nothing more than a fantasy, the product of Seto’s longing and loneliness manifested in the invention of his perfect companion.

After some digging, Seto confirmed that an Atem Mutou really did work in Kaiba Corp’s IT department. That didn't necessarily prove anything. Seto could've seen documentation on him and filed it away in his subconscious–but Atem really had a brother named Yugi, and unfortunately Katsuya Jonouchi also existed… Too many details aligned for Seto to just shrug off. He couldn't say whether the physical evidence that supported his experience left him more relieved or disturbed.

In some ways, Seto would have more peace of mind if magic didn't exist. But, frankly, he would rather have his understanding of the universe crumble to dust, reframe everything he thought he knew about the world, and live in anticipation of the next magic-wielding lunatic looking for revenge, than accept that the Atem he knew wasn't real.  

According to the records he pulled, Leo Alden never had a sister. Seto hired a private investigator to dig into the matter, but he didn't really expect them to find anything. He could throw more resources into trying to track her. He probably should do that, but he found… he didn't really care.

An eye for an eye, and the world goes blind.

Yeah, right. Seto could claim personal growth, but in all honesty, he just had too much on his plate to worry about some crazy, cat lady. If she did exist then, by her own claims, Seto had beaten her game. He proved he cherished life, and he wasn't going to waste another second of his worrying about her.

He was back. That's all that mattered now.

His body was remarkably well preserved for a six-month coma. The doctors were baffled, but Seto refused to bring up magic as a possible explanation for why he had no bed sores, blood clots, or muscle degradation. He woke up feeling well rested and no worse for wear–and he wasn't about to look that gift horse in the mouth.

Besides, Seto had more important things to put his time and energy into. Namely, his company. He needed to get things moving in the right direction again. He needed to finish his design for the new Duel Disk prototype. He needed to hold a meeting with his board of directors and set a few clear boundaries…but first, he was going to have breakfast with Mokuba. 

When Atem woke up he picked up his phone to check the time, only to see a push notification indicating he had new emails–hundreds of them. He clicked on it, hoping he hadn't been the victim of a mass spam strike.

615vonn5 • 8hrs ago 

OK Was no one gonna tell me you could overlay Beowulf and Ragnarok??

HybridAngelZero • 7hrs ago 

@615vonn5 Or that you could play Ragnarok as a pendulum scale?

____________________________________

DarthTitan82 • 7hrs ago

The fuck did I just hear. You guys are not out there setting up 17 step combos like this right? This is some next level shit Who thinks like that

enefable_lesbian • 5hrs ago

@DarthTitan82 the guy that just kicked juri ilves ass

Excitement piqued his interest when Atem realized the notifications were for comments on his videos. Evidently, news about his victory had spread, and his critique of the finale had gone viral–along with a few of his older videos. 

vincere4591 • 6hrs ago

I only add cards that directly support the archetype, or some cool tech. The concept of staples never crossed my mind. 

____________________________________

OblongShlong • 7hrs ago

You need to get a life. who takes card games this seriously?

jsunn315 • 6hrs ago

@OblongShlong Who doesn't?

Atem had a modest following before–mostly consisting of die-hards like him who loved the game and were desperate to soak up anything related to it. He'd only ever started making content because he had so many thoughts about game theory, and deck structure, and play analysis that were just bursting to get out, and there was only so much his friends could tolerate of his hyper-focused rambling. Even Yugi would politely nod along, but was always the first to carefully change the subject.

It was Anzu who suggested he start posting his thoughts online. Jou had been vocally skeptical at first–he tended to be skeptical about anything related to the internet or new technology–but once Atem started posting regularly Jou became his most ardent supporter, asking when new videos were coming out, and excitedly suggesting new topics for content. Jou once confessed that he listened to a playlist of Atem's videos at night so he could soak up all the knowledge while he slept . Anzu piped in that she just thought the sound of his voice was calming and sometimes turned on his videos when she was feeling homesick. 

Atem didn't get many views to begin with, and he was starting to wonder how many of those were just his friends, watching his playlists on a loop in the background as they went about their lives. 

CaveTroll69 • 7hrs ago

Thought he was a girl until he started talking.

____________________________________

shrinewizard64 • 6hrs ago

Could listen to him go on about summoning mechanics all night…

Now that the cat was out of the bag, and his victory shed light on his other content, videos from when he first started posting, that had ten views and one comment, suddenly had hundreds. Atem immediately jumped into reading through all of them, and even started responding to a handful. Most were incredibly supportive. Some were random. A handful were filled with hate, speculation about his sexuality, or just straight up homophobic slurs. He didn't hesitate to block those.

Atem spent almost an hour absorbed in his phone–all the while feeling he was forgetting something. He didn't remember what that something was until he absently reached for Dragon by his side. 

“Dragon?”

He might be lounging in the window sill, but he usually came running when he heard Atem moving around.

“Dragon!”

Dread began pooling in Atem’s gut when he still didn't come. Atem stumbled to his feet, feeling a bit wobbly from having spent too long lounging in bed. First he checked Dragon’s favorite spot on his sweaters, and then he looked under the bed, and every other place a small animal could hide. When he still couldn't find him he started to panic.

Atem grabbed for his phone, nearly knocking it to the floor as his hands shook. He dialed, waiting impatiently for Yugi to answer.

“Hell–”

“I can't find him!”

“What? Who?”

“Dragon! I've looked everywhere for him, and he's nowhere.”

“Where was the last place you saw him?”

“He slept with me last night. And all the windows and doors are secure. Do you think he could've gotten out? He’s so smart–but I just don't know how that's possible. No one's been in or out of my apartment, and you're the only one else with a key.”

Yugi didn't have any answers, but in less than an hour he showed up to Atem's apartment with breakfast. He insisted Atem eat while he double checked every inch of the apartment. Then they set off to take the search outside. After a few hours they decided that Lost Cat fliers were a necessary next step. They spent the whole day canvassing the city and didn't stop until well into the evening. 

They parted ways in disappointing failure, and not even Yugi's reassuring hug, and insistence that they'd keep looking–that they wouldn't stop until they found him—could lift his spirits. On Atem's somber walk back home, after doing a quick time-zone calculation for New York, Atem called Anzu. She’d become his go-to cat expert, a distinction granted to her because her family once owned two cats.

“When Mittens got sick, she disappeared for two days. We thought we looked everywhere, but we found her curled up inside our hideaway futon. Cats sometimes hide when they don't feel well.”

The advice did nothing to soothe Atem's anxiety, just encouraged him to upend everything in his apartment again. And it made him feel like a wretched human being for not making a vet visit a priority. Atem even shimmied up the mattress to make absolutely sure Dragon hadn't trapped himself under it. 

Atem spent the rest of the weekend walking the streets calling for him until his voice went hoarse, and when that didn't work he started asking strangers if they'd seen him. He dropped by every shelter in Dominio to check if any had picked him up. One of the workers recognized Atem from his days trying to adopt. The girl shot him disapproving looks, and didn't bother hiding the fact that she thought he had no place taking care of an animal. Well, she could go fuck herself. Atem wasn't going to rest until he brought Dragon home.

…a sentiment easier said than done. By Sunday night his feet had blistered and his body ached all over. He curled into his pillow and let the hot, frustrated tears slip down his cheeks. Dragon had never been helpless, he reminded himself. He was absurdly clever, and he knew how to get by on the streets, but Atem hated the thought of him suffering. He couldn't stop himself from picturing every horrible thing that could befall a stray on the streets of Domino. Atem sobbed until he couldn't shed another tear, until he felt utterly wrung out. He hadn't cried like this since–he thought of his crystal horse shattered on the ground and let out a bitter laugh. Since that night, whenever he felt like he might cry, his little Dragon had always been there to comfort him.

The next morning, when Atem logged in to work, he saw a message from his boss that read, “Video call. 8am.” Not from his direct supervisor, but the IT manager that oversaw all the remote Kaiba Corp customer service representatives in Domino.

It was 8:02.

Shit.

Atem raced back to the bedroom so he wouldn't be joining a meeting in the oversized, gag-gift T-shirt he slept in that read: I had way too much Jinzo I went home early. He quickly threw on a button-up and adjusted the camera on his monitor. 

“I'm so sorry I'm late,” Atem said. He glanced down and noticed the misaligned buttons on his shirt. It was too late to do anything about it. He tried to slouch so it wouldn't be so noticeable on camera. “I… was having connection issues.” Atem nearly cringed at the unintentional pun–and fought very hard not to look down at his buttons again. 

He hadn’t really interacted with the IT manager since his initial onboarding. The man frowned critically, eyeing Atem's sloppy appearance. 

“Can I ask what this is about?” Atem said, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. 

“I've recently been made aware of some online videos of yours that have been circling.” The man sneered like he found out Atem did amateur, fetish porn as a side gig.

“Oh…Okay.” Atem mumbled, dumbstruck. He hadn't even had a chance to brew his morning coffee–and he desperately needed it today if he hoped to function at any capacity.

“Kaiba Corp has strict guidelines on the image we project here, and now that these videos have blown up… well, let's just say, they’ve gotten the attention of upper management. I wouldn't be surprised if they decide to let you go over this.”

“But… no one on the phone can see my face. How would anyone even know that's me?” Atem tired to will away his growing migraine. 

He spent all night tossing and turning–terrified that Dragon might be dead somewhere–and now he had to contend with this.

“Mr. Kato wants a meeting with you at headquarters on Friday.”

“About… my videos?”

“He didn't specify, but I think you can expect that it has to do with them, yes.”

“Am I getting fired?”

“He didn't say–”

“Because if I am, I'd rather know now than get dragged up to corporate.”

“As I said, that's not my call, but I would prepare myself for the worst.”

“My shift doesn't end until six on Friday, and getting to headquarters from my apartment will take some time. Did he want me there before end of day? Because if he does I'd need to leave early–”

“You're expected to work the remainder of your shift. Do what you need to do to make it work. Mr. Kato is dedicated to the company and works much longer hours than you do. It shouldn't be a problem for you.”

The stubborn part of Atem wanted to question if he'd be paid overtime for this meeting, but considering he wasn't even sure if he'd still have a job when he got there, he bit back the snarky comment. 

“Right… Okay, thanks.”

Friday. Friday was the last day of the pay period. He was definitely getting fired. 

Atem tried to keep the emotion out of his voice as work calls started pouring in, but all he wanted to do was break down and cry again. He wondered if the people on the other end of the line could hear the strain as he spoke. 

As the days dragged by Atem began to wish they had blindsided him with the Friday meeting. At least then he wouldn't have all week to dwell on it. 

God, what a week. Lost his cat. Probably lost his job. Heartache threatened to overwhelm him–strangling him until he could barely breathe–and unlike when he was sixteen, he didn't think an estranged relative was going to drop out of the sky and rescue him from his grief. 

When Friday evening finally rolled around and the clock struck six, Atem quickly logged out of his work station and ran down to the subway. Just when he managed to snag a seat in the crowded car, his phone rang.

Jou. 

Atem almost didn't have the energy to answer it, but, frankly, he needed to hear a friendly voice right now. If things went poorly at this meeting, he didn't want to spend another night wallowing in his apartment alone, or helplessly wandering the streets with the desperate hope that he would find his cat.

“Hey, man,” Jou said, sounding uncharacteristically serious. “How's it going? I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Atem very much wanted to be alright, but right now he couldn't even pretend.

“Not great. I keep thinking I might not need to worry about Dragon being alone on the streets. If I lose my job, I'll be out there with him,” Atem said in a bitter huff. He knew he was being dramatic, and right now he didn't care. 

“You're not gonna end up on the streets! Hey, remember what you said to me? Your friends would never let that happen. Besides, now that you're making news, I bet you get invited to the next exclusive tournament with a big cash prize! Bet you wouldn't be working the IT line for very much longer anyway.”

Atem knew Jou was trying to cheer him up, but not even the thought of Duel Monsters could pull him from the depths of his despair.

“I’m not worried exactly. I've always gotten by, but… I just feel like everything is hitting me all at once. I swear, sometimes it's like–just when I feel something is going right in my life, tragedy is waiting around the corner.”

“I'm sorry, man. Look, I know I was never Dragon’s biggest fan, but that doesn't mean– if there's anything I can do, or if you need help looking…”

“Yugi and I practically searched the entire city already. I've been spending all my free time just wandering the streets, hoping…”

“Hey, I'm just a call away, and I'll be right there with you!“ Jou spoke with absolute conviction, and it warmed Atem's battered heart. 

“Thanks. That really means a lot. Maybe just… keep an eye out when you're on your route?”

Jou worked at a local mom and pop shop, and occasionally ran small-batch deliveries on his bike. It might be harder to investigate hiding spots while cycling, but he'd cover a lot more ground than Atem could manage on foot. 

“You got it!”

The railcar glided to a smooth stop, and the doors slid open.

“I gotta go. See if I still have a job…”

“If you do get–I mean, if you need a distraction after–if you want to hang out later–”

“I'll let you know.”

Atem stood, stomach fluttering with a sudden wave of nerves as he made his way out of the station. 

“Hey, you got this! And If they make you feel intimidated you're gonna remind yourself. ‘I beat the goddamn national champion.’ And that's more than they can say!”

“Thanks, Jou,” Atem said with his first genuine smile in days–fragile as it was.

The Kaiba Corp building towered over him in all its menacing, steel glory. It was closed to the public after six, so Atem had to use his employee ID to get inside. He hadn't even been to headquarters since orientation, when he picked up his equipment. He couldn't help but worry his keycard wouldn't work. He swiped it and breathed a sigh of relief when the light chirped green, and the glass doors automatically opened for him.

Atem’s boss had given him no direction about where this meeting was meant to take place, so he shuffled towards the giant information desk at the center of the lobby, hoping to find the answer.

“I'm here to meet with Mr. Kato,” he said to the receptionist, who eyed him warily.

“He's gone home already,” said a deep voice from behind him. 

Atem’s heart stuttered at the sound. 

He knew that voice–had heard it a hundred times: in duels, in press interviews, in fan-made video clips he'd let play on a loop far longer than he'd ever admit, but he'd never heard it in person. For a moment Atem thought he might be dreaming, that his long, miserable week had started playing tricks on his weary mind, but when he turned around, sure enough, it was Seto Kaiba, standing behind him. He towered over him in a crisp, white suit–all piercing blue gaze and impossibly long legs. 

“Oh, I was told I was meeting–”

“You have red eyes,” Kaiba stated bluntly, as if that fact needed to be pointed out.

“What?”

“Your eyes–and your hair. They're red.”

“Yes…”

“I wasn't expecting…” Kaiba seemed to realize the absurdity of the statement and visibly recomposed himself. “I asked Mr. Kato to set you up for a meeting with me. I was hoping to be formally introduced, but it didn't take two seconds to realize he'd never actually met you.”

Kaiba's explanation explained exactly nothing. 

“ Why did you want to meet with me?”

“Obviously I wanted to discuss your future with my company.”

“Oh,” Atem said, feeling even more nervous and off-kilter now that his meeting with his boss’s boss was actually with the CEO of the company–not to mention…

He remembered Yugi’s gentle teasing about his little crush. He didn't like the word crush. A crush was something a school girl had on the cutest boy in class. Atem wasn't sure there was a word to encompass his feelings for Kaiba: something between admiration, lust, and the deep-seated urge to duel him into the ground. He'd imagined it more times than he could count, what it would be like going up against a Blue Eyes –or three.

His duel with Ilves had left Atem feeling elated at the thrill of the win, and the subsequent attention he had received, but the challenge itself was ultimately underwhelming. It didn't make his blood sing like he had hoped–like he expected at that level of play. But the thought of dueling someone like Kaiba made his heartbeat quicken–and caused some other bodily reactions he didn't care to think too much about, especially in the Kaiba Corp lobby. 

Okay. Atem took a deep, calming breath. 

He needed to keep his head on straight and remember why he was here. Jou’s encouraging mantra echoed through his head. 

‘I beat the goddamn national champion. And that's more than’–Well, actually, Kaiba had beaten Ilves at last year's nationals. 

So much for that.

Then it dawned on him. Ilves was Japan's national champion, a title that rightfully belonged to Kaiba. Of course Kaiba had been the one to discover his videos after their duel. Atem’s rambling, low budget, cell phone videos…

Atem tried to recall everything he'd ever said about Kaiba–if he ever leveled a criticism towards him that would cause offense.

“Are you hungry?” Kaiba asked, pulling Atem from his spiraling thoughts. “I thought we could grab dinner. Never good to discuss business on an empty stomach.”

“What business exactly?”

“Do you like Middle Eastern food? I know a place that has the best falafel in Domino.”

Atem couldn't help feeling skeptical of the situation, but it wasn't as if he could really refuse. The promise of good Middle Eastern food was downright irresistible, and Atem couldn't say no to falafel–or the CEO of the company, he supposed. 

Kaiba took a few minutes to change into something–well, more casual wasn’t the right way to phrase it, but he changed from his office suit to his trademark trench coat. Atem honestly couldn't say which attire looked more striking on him.

Atem couldn't help feeling envious that Kaiba had the option to change. If he knew he was going to dinner he wouldn't have worn a boring, black button-up. Maybe he wouldn't have been out of place at a typical work outing, but he certainly felt out of place now. And if he was being honest he wanted to dress to impress. He liked the idea of drawing Kaiba's gaze. Once upon a time the idea would've seemed like a fantasy: he'd walk into a room and Kaiba wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off him. Now that it was actually happening, Atem wasn't sure if it was from mutual attraction or because his hair color had somehow drawn Kaiba's unexpected fascination. 

They pulled up to the restaurant in Kaiba's steel blue Toyota Supra, and Atem shot Jou a reassuring text that he wasn't fired, but they'd need to hang out another night. Some part of him wanted to gush that he was having dinner with Seto Kaiba, but figured the enthusiasm would be lost on Jou. 

They were seated upstairs at a secluded table by windows that overlooked the glowing city lights of Domino. The walls of the restaurant were made to look like rock canyons, which contrasted nicely with the sleek, modern tables and bright, teal plate settings. Warm, recessed lighting cast dramatic shadows all over the room to create an intimate environment, and gentle piano music wafted up from the lower levels–but all of this paled in comparison to the mouthwatering scent of fresh pita bread and fried, nutty herbs.

Atem didn't see a sign on the building when they entered, so it wasn't until he got a glimpse of a menu that he even knew where they were: Ta’im. He’d heard of it, of course. It was supposed to be the best Middle Eastern food in Japan–with a price tag to match. 

“I always wanted to try the food here, but it was too…”

Atem bit back his comment. Would saying that a restaurant was too expensive to the man who wrote his paychecks be considered rude?

“Don't worry. I'll take care of it.”

“Not to sound ungrateful, but why am I here?”

Kaiba said nothing for a moment. He seemed to be studying him carefully, and Atem began to wonder if his silence was some kind of intimidation tactic–to what end he didn't know. Given the unexpected direction the night had taken, Atem was no longer worried about his job. You didn't take an employee to an expensive restaurant only to fire them. 

“Let me be frank. Your talents are being squandered on the IT helpline. I've seen your work–your real work: the duel analysis you do. It's good. I also saw your duel with Ilves.”

“You did?”

“Not live, and I haven't had a chance to watch the footage yet, but I reviewed the play-by-play. You're obviously talented. Why aren't you competing in more tournaments?”

“I used to, but it's a lot harder to become a professional duelist than just winning duels. There's a sort of glass ceiling if you don't know the right people.”

“The right people certainly know you now.”

“I guess so.” Atem hated how that sounded. The right people. He thought of Jou grinding through tournament after tournament, securing victory after victory in hard-fought battle, only to get edged out by a system stacked against him. He thought of Yugi who loved playing more than just about anyone, but who was too reserved to challenge the loudest players, shyly getting pushed to the edge of competition. 

 “I'm not so sure I’m interested in playing with the right people. Frankly, I've had more of a challenge dueling my friends than I did dueling the national champion.”

A server approached, gently halting the conversation. 

“What can I get you gentlemen to drink?”

“Yao Ming, Dragon.” Kaiba said without hesitation. “We’ll take the bottle.”

Atem's stomach dropped at the word Dragon. Kaiba meant the Lunar New Year Dragon wine, but Atem's thoughts immediately snapped to his nights spent walking the streets in search of his cat. He suddenly felt guilty for not being out there now. He looked out the windows, down at the glowing lights below and wondered where in their vast city his little dragon had wandered off to.

“Very good.”

The waiter gave no indication he’d be asking for ID, despite the fact that they were both underaged. 

If Atem still lived in Egypt he'd be able to drink legally. Grandpa sometimes bought him wine for the apartment, and Atem had no trouble being discreetly offered adult beverages when he went out, but he'd never be able to buy himself alcohol. He supposed that kind of thing just wasn't an issue when you were Seto Kaiba. 

“You like red?” Kaiba asked, as if remembering he might have an opinion. Atem hardly planned to argue about trying a ¥30,000 bottle of wine.

“Who doesn't?” This might just be the most lavish meal Atem had since he was fifteen, and he fully planned to indulge in every extravagance Kaiba offered him.

The server bowed and quickly retreated to retrieve their bottle. 

“What were we talking about?” Atem asked. 

“You were telling me why the highest-ranked duelists in the world weren't good enough for you to play with,” Kaiba replied with an amused smile. 

Atem felt suitably embarrassed about his bravado, but that wasn't exactly his point. 

“I don't know. I guess I'd rather play against the actual best than be part of an exclusive, little group that only likes to think they're the best–while perpetuating a system that purposely excludes new talent from competing at the highest level.” 

Kaiba eyed him with a peculiar expression, carefully considering his words.

Atem wished he had considered them a little more carefully. He forgot the man sitting across from him was one of the people that helped build that system. Should he have bitten back the impulse? Kept his more radical ideas to himself? He'd never been good about keeping quiet about the injustices of the world. If anything, the idea that Kaiba might have the power to enact real change made Atem more eager to gush about all his wildest Duel Monsters dreams, but he knew he had a tendency to get a little manic when it came to his favorite game, and the last thing he needed was to come to off looking like an entitled fanboy.

The waiter came back and performed the standard wine ritual for an upscale restaurant: presenting the label and preparing a sample. Kaiba played his part; he swirled, and sipped, and nodded. The waiter poured a generous portion in their oversized glasses before leaving the bottle with them.

“I mean,” Atem piped up, picking up where he left off in a tone he hoped sounded casual. “Duel Monsters has always had an element of elitism built into the game. There are two sides to dueling. There’s the skill needed to win a duel and then there's constructing a deck. Having money naturally makes collecting rare cards more accessible to the rich.”

“That's rather the point, isn't it?” Kaiba said, sounding defensive. “Scarcity is a major element of Duel Monsters.”

“But in the interest of competition, do you think certain cards should be so gatekept?”

He realized, too late, how stupid that argument probably sounded to the man who literally owned the three rarest cards in the world. He didn't know what Kaiba spent to obtain his Blue Eyes, but it must be astronomical. The idea that anyone could have them in their deck must be unthinkable to him.

“Why not?” Kaiba said, still defensive–almost angry. “It’s a trading card game. The thrill of the rare find is part of the appeal.”

Atem could practically see Kaiba's barriers go up as he went into fight mode. This was the Kaiba he was used to–the one he saw in duels and interviews. No more easy smiles. While Atem loved seeing Kaiba in his natural element, somehow that thought made him sad. If he wanted to see another dazzling grin from his dinner companion he'd have to earn it. 

That was fine. He loved the thrill of a good challenge. He thought of Dragon–how prickly and defensive he used to get. With patience and determination Atem eventually won him over. He could do the same here. 

“Do you prefer games of chance to games of skill? I thought I heard you were a chess champion.“

“I am,” Kaiba said cautiously, still guarded.

“How would you feel if instead of starting with the same pieces, the player with more money could buy more queens? Would the win be as satisfying?”

Kaiba's mouth pulled back in a hard line, and Atem worried his competitive nature had surfaced at the wrong time–until Kaiba broke out in a small smile. “I suppose not,” he conceded. 

Atem smiled back. He'd won his first point.

He hadn't expected Kaiba to give up a grin so quickly. In all his interviews Atem had only ever seen a wicked smirk cross his face; he brandished them like daggers. He had heard countless rumors of how ruthless–how heartless Kaiba could be. Was it all an act? A public persona with no true merit? Most duelists at Kaiba's caliber adopted a persona. The ruthless futurist was Kaiba's brand, but that didn't mean that was who he was. Actions mattered more than words. It was Kaiba's generous donations to orphanages all over the country that showed a glimpse of his true heart. As someone who almost found himself in the clutches of the foster system, it was something Atem paid attention to. Jou liked to say all billionaires were assholes, but Atem suspected–okay, he hoped there was more to Kaiba than goodwill acts done for performative reasons.

“I know some people enjoy certain activities because they’re elitist, but if that's the case let's not play pretend and call it skill,” Atem said.

“I've seen your deck. The Black Magician isn't exactly a common card. Not to mention–”

“I know. I've lived on both sides of it. When I was constructing the base of my deck, a few years back, I was in the very fortunate position to be able to afford almost any card I wanted. Now I can barely afford to buy more than booster packs.”

For the sake of the argument Atem wasn't about to bring up his connection to a certain local game shop. Realistically, he shouldn't be buying cards. Practically, if he really wanted a card it wouldn't be too difficult to get his hands on it unless it was ultra rare.

“Is that so?” Kaiba said. “I thought I saw you use Imperion Magnum during your duel with Ilves.”

“Well, yes–”

“And Joker's Straight. Those are newer cards. You must be quite fortunate in your booster packs,” Kaiba's eyes sparkled knowingly.

“I never claimed to use my money wisely,” Atem said bashfully, indulging in a large sip of his wine.

He hoped Kaiba would let it drop, but the other man just stared him down with those impossibly blue eyes. 

“My grandpa owns a game shop. Sometimes I can snag a rare card for a decent price, but–”

“Hmm, sounds like you're speaking from a place of privilege. Some might say that gives you an unfair advantage. ”

“Just because I like to collect cards doesn't mean I think it's fair that not everyone has access to them.”

An awkward silence passed between them and Atem fiddled with his napkin, wringing it back and forth, just to do something with his hands. All the while Kaiba looked like he wanted to ask him something, but was forcing back the question.

“What?” Atem finally prompted. 

“You said your circumstances changed. What happened?” 

It had been a long time since the thought of his mother hit Atem like a punch to the gut, leaving him speechless, but he'd never really been asked so pointedly about her. His friends knew better than to pry. 

Atem couldn't help shutting down a little. 

“You don't have to talk about it…”

“No, it's fine... I lost my mom. Cancer.” Atem tried his best to sound composed. “With her I kinda lost… my whole world.”

“I know what that's like.”

When it came to his mother, most people offered up hollow sympathy, but they had no idea the heartache he suffered, but Kaiba…

“Yeah… I guess you do.”

Everyone knew Seto Kaiba was an orphan. Not many people knew what it was like to lose everything, but Atem suspected he was one of them. 

“So what would you do to make the world more accessible to Duelists with actual talent?” Kaiba said, quickly changing the subject back to more comfortable territory. “How do you get the cream to rise to the top?”

“I think your company has already started to move things in the right direction. Moving the battlefield to a digital platform. The issue with the tournament structure is obviously the preliminary rounds. Why shouldn't those be digital–and take place over the course of a couple weeks instead of trying to squeeze it all into a day or two? A broader time frame means more matches for everyone. And more matches mean a more accurate representation of the contestants’ skill.”

Atem didn't notice their waiter standing behind him until he swooped in with a glorious looking plate. An artful swirl of tahini, topped with a sprig of parsley, sat in the middle of the oversized dish. Plump falafel balls encircled it, a half slice of cucumber decoratively propped between each ball, and an assortment of olives, tomatoes and hearty chunks of feta added pops of color to the outer portions of the plate.

Atem bit into a fritter: crisp, flaky outside and rich, tender inside–just as it should be. He couldn't explain how, but the oil tasted lighter, more refined than any falafel he'd ever eaten. Atem wondered if they used something expensive and bougie instead of traditional olive oil, or if they tossed out the oil between each batch for a cleaner fry.

Atem practically moaned when he took another bite, and Kaiba chuckled at Atem's unconcealed delight, but when Kaiba bit into his own fritter he failed to conceal the perplexed expression that crossed his face as he considered the obviously unexpected flavor. 

“You said this place had the best falafel in Domino, but you’ve never eaten Middle Eastern food in your life, have you? 

“No,” Kaiba admitted.

“And you just assumed because I'm Egyptian, I must like falafel?”

“Was I wrong?”

“And you thought because this place was expensive it had to be the best–”

“Give me some credit! I looked at reviews. Are you really upset?”

After their conversation about elitism Atem couldn't help playing a contrarian for the sake of it. Back home the best falafel in Cairo had been from food carts and street vendors, but Atem made a point of trying all the reasonably priced Middle Eastern and Mediterranean restaurants in Domino, and all three of them left a lot to be desired. 

“Hmm. No, I'm not” Atem said, happily munching on another bite. He knew he couldn't pretend to have anything but rave reviews for the food in front of him. “As I was saying...”

Kaiba smiled, amused at his enthusiasm, though Atem didn't know if it was for the food or the conversation–both were turning out to be divine. He couldn't remember the last time he had this much fun on a–

He stopped, reminding himself that this wasn't a date, as much as it was starting to feel like one. Having one of the hottest duelists in the world look at him with so much intensity was starting to bring a sense of intimacy to the evening that blurred the line between polite professionalism and…something more.

“Um, so…” Atem tried to continue his thought, but Kaiba's ardent gaze made him forget what he was going to say. All Atem wanted was to close the space between them. To thread his fingers through those silky looking strands and see what his lips tasted like. Kaiba was so gorgeous with his sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders. He was so gorgeous it wasn't fair–

“It's not really fair,” Atem forced himself to continue, “that the ranked duelists are the only ones that are allowed to compete based on their past performances, and spreading out the competition time frame would help even the playing field. Could you build an algorithm that would track digital duels over a set amount of time and develop a fair ranking system? That way the preliminary rounds could take place remotely, and everyone would start at the same rank, earning their place from the start, instead of relying on reputation and old victories.”

“Who's to say I haven't already?”

“Are you planning a new tournament?” Atem shot up in his chair, gushing with palpable excitement. 

“I'm always planning for the next big tournament, but I don't intend to use the algorithm. My tournaments are invitation only.”

“But why?!” Atem exclaimed, drawing a glare from a nearby table and a patronizing smirk from Kaiba.

Atem shoved a fritter in his mouth and slumped back in his seat.

“Because I can. Besides, what you're suggesting isn't that simple. I can run a private tournament as I choose, but I can't dictate what that national circuit does. That's all run by Industrial Illusions. Private tournaments have a different culture than national ones. For my tournament, why wouldn't I want to handpick the contestants?”

“You could lead by example. Use your algorithm in the biggest tournament ever hosted. Show Industrial Illusions how they should be running things and they will!”

“I prefer my tournament to be for the elite. The cream finds a way to rise to the top. They always will.”

“You assume they will.”

"You did,” Kaiba pointed out bluntly. 

Atem opened his mouth, but closed it when he realized he didn't have a quick retort. The thought of winning against unbeatable odds sent an unexpected thrill through his core, but that didn't mean everyone felt that way–or that it was fair to expect some people to have to work twice as hard to get half as far. When he thought about going up against an unfair advantage he didn't blink. He accepted it at face value, but the thought of Yugi or Jou doing so made his blood boil in righteous indignation.

"Yes, well. I'm a bit more obsessive than your standard duelist.” He admitted. “Have you considered that talent and obsession don't necessarily come hand in hand? You obviously have an excess of both–but that doesn't mean everyone does. My brother is the most talented duelist I've ever met, but he wouldn't torture himself to prove it. He wouldn't care what the masses think, and, having played him, I can tell you you're the one missing out by not having him in your tournaments.”

“He's that good?”

“Probably better than me–and you should know, I'm not a humble person,” Atem said, ripping off a strip of pita bread and swiping it across the tahini sauce before shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

“Well, considering this conversation started with you claiming the best duelists weren't worth your time…” Kaiba trailed off with a teasing smile.

“You might just be,” Atem said in a deliberately husky voice, feeling bold. He probably shouldn't taunt the rightful national champion. Kaiba was very likely the best player in the world, but right now Atem felt unstoppable, and he planned to ride that high for as long as it would carry him. 

Kaiba looked stunned by Atem's brazen tone. In all his duels, and interviews, and press conferences Atem had never seen him speechless before. He didn't know if that was good or bad. Perhaps he overstepped. 

Perhaps the wine was going to his head. 

He took another sip.

“So why build the algorithm if you never intended to use it.”

“Because I can,” Kaiba said in a smug echo of his previous answer. 

Atem didn't think he could be so infuriated and titillated at the same time–until now. 

“And I do use it. For my own personal analysis. How do you think I handpick the best contestants for my tournament?”

“Secretly,” Atem scoffed, “without giving anyone the opportunity to rise to the occasion.”

“You size up duelists on a play-by-play basis in your videos. I do it with my algorithm. I don't see how it's different. And have you considered that people won't like the idea of an algorithm publicly determining their rank? They'll claim bias–or that a fully digital platform will make hacking and fraud more prevalent–”

“Because right now the dueling world is a wholesome environment with no cheating?  No one ever uses sleight-of-hand or stacks the deck,” Atem snarked back. 

Kaiba's lips quirked up in amusement. 

“And the best part about going fully digital is that you could choose from any card in the game,” Atem said, trying to bring his ultimate point home. “Every competitor would enter the competition at an even playing field.”

Just like before, Atem noticed the set of Kaiba's shoulders go tense. He obviously hated the idea of sharing his Blue Eyes –and it felt like more than just for the edge it gave him in battle. 

“You're forgetting that Industrial Illusions owns the card game. They aren't going to sign off on a change that's going to make buying their cards obsolete,” Kaiba responded bluntly. 

“Hmm. I guess I hadn't considered that,” Atem said, with a frown.

Point Kaiba.

“And why would I propose a change that would actively work against my own deck?”

“For the betterment of the game, of course! It wouldn't be the first time you've done it. Wasn't it your tournament that started the trend to tribute summon high-level monsters? A move that puts you at a disadvantage, considering–well, your whole deck. But it was right for the game. It made play more strategic, rather than just basing it on the luck of any given draw.”

“Hmm.” Kaiba leaned back, considering the idea.

“Think about it! There'd be no limit on who you could challenge. No physical borders, anything would be possible!” Atem could hear the manic in his own voice. 

“You just don't stop, do you?” Kaiba said, smirking.

“When it comes to Duel Monsters? No. Someone usually has to stop me.”

“It won't be me,” Kaiba took a sip of his own wine. “I suppose your argument makes sense. Physical cards will always have collection value, and there could be financial incentives for Industrial Illusions to embrace a fully digital platform. Paywall skins for the monsters and whatnot, but I still can't help but be… protective of my Blue Eyes. It feels wrong to think of her in someone else's deck.”

For some reason Kaiba looked almost guilty, but Atem couldn't think why. 

“Her?” Something about the unanticipated pronoun made the statement all the more endearing.

“Yes, her.”

It was Atem's turn to look amused.

“I understand feeling protective of your favorite cards, believe me, but letting other people have access to them might not be a bad thing,” Atem said. “Rather than being known as the only person that could afford to get their hands on a Blue Eyes, wouldn't you rather the conversation be about how you're the best Blue Eyes player? The true master of the Blue Eyes White Dragon. You've made her such a coveted monster, I'm sure lots of people would want to play a deck with a Blue Eyes –but that's a good thing! Industrial Illusions could come up with more support cards specialized to a Blue Eyes deck, ” Atem pointed out, remembering to consider the corporate aspect of the game.

Kaiba couldn't conceal the gleam of excitement at the thought, and Atem knew he’d just won this round. He relaxed into his chair, eating a victory fritter. 

Once they started to talk Duel Monsters, it seemed neither of them could stop, and the conversation carried on without pause well into finishing their baklava. 

“Black Magician is obviously my prized monster, but I have a soft spot for Kuriboh.”

“You must be joking!”

“Hey! Kuriboh is an integral part of my deck!”

“No. You have to be joking. Kuriboh isn't an integral part of anything–more like something a cat coughed up.”

Atem frowned at the mention of the word cat. He'd almost forgotten about Dragon–somewhere cold and alone, while Atem was laughing it up with dinner and drinks. Suddenly, the alcohol he'd been sipping on all night hit differently, and instead of feeling loose and jovial, a spike of profound loneliness clutched at his heart. 

“I'm sorry,” Kaiba said. 

“For what?”

“For mentioning–I didn't think… Nevermind.”

Atem had already eaten a few bites past fullness and was feeling rightfully gluttonous, but the thought of letting the last baklava go to waste literally hurt him. 

“Would it be improper to wrap that up and shove it in my pocket?” Atem giggled, melancholy forgotten. He definitely had a drink too many and felt his inhibitions go to the wayside as his emotions swung between a giddy sort of manic and bone-deep sadness threatening to drown him. “I already regret letting them take the last of the falafel. The thought of it in the trash breaks my heart.”

Kaiba laughed. “If you feel that strongly about it we can just have them make you a fresh batch to take home.”

“No… I couldn't. ” Atem realized as he glanced around the restaurant that they were the last guests in the building. The lush piano music had long since faded into soft conversation, and the other tables now sat empty–as the waitstaff politely watched them from the shadows, no doubt eager to leave. “What time is it? I think they're closing.”

“It wouldn't be a problem. They'd be happy to whip you up something to-go.”

“Oh my god,” Atem sighed in disbelief. “They would not be happy to whip me up something that takes forty minutes to make. They want to get the hell out of here and go to bed.”

Atem remembered when he had the luxury of thinking the world would be happy to cater to his every whim–something only the truly wealthy could afford to do. 

“Fine, then you'll just have to survive without your falafel.” 

“A big ask–”

“Can I get you anything else?” asked their waiter, revealing nothing in his tone but eager politeness.

“No–”

“We'll take some baklava to-go, and that will be all,” Kaiba said, handing the man his credit card.  “Calm down,” he added, anticipating Atem's protest, “The baklava is already made.”

As the waiter hurried to the kitchen, Kaiba pulled two crisp bills from his wallet and discreetly slid them under his plate. At first Atem wasn't sure what he was doing–until it dawned on him that Kaiba was leaving a tip. A ¥20,000 tip, on top of whatever hefty service charge was already included in their bill. In Egypt tipping was commonplace, but Atem hadn't seen anyone do it since moving to Japan. He almost forgot it was a thing people did. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw two of the waitstaff exchange excited glances from across the room. He felt suitably ashamed of his assumption that Kaiba was as entitled and careless about the service industry as he'd been at fifteen.

“I can give you a ride home if you like,” Kaiba said, pulling out his phone. “I just need to message my brother.”

Atem wasn't going to argue with that.

The valet brought the car around and they both slipped inside. 

“Can I ask you something?” Atem said as Kaiba began gliding through the late night traffic.

“You just did,” he pointed out.

Atem rolled his eyes. “Why did you miss the nationals tournament? How could you give up your title to the likes of Ilves?”

“I didn't want to. I was… in a coma at the time. For several months, actually.”

“Oh my god! Are you ok?” That was the last thing Atem expected. “I never heard–”

“Not something I want circulating in the media, but it was a medical anomaly,” Kaiba shrugged it off. “I'm fine now.”

Atem studied Kaiba face and figure for signs of illness, but saw none. Something about the explanation felt off, but Atem wasn't about to grill someone about their medical history. He knew a healthy looking body could be deceiving. 

After another ten minutes Atem realized that they were getting close to his apartment…

“I never told you where I live.”

“I–have access to your personal files.”

“Right.” Atem said, feeling even more uncomfortable. “And you looked that up… when?”

“When we were leaving the restaurant.” 

Kaiba had pulled out his phone, but only for a moment, and it looked like he was just texting his brother, like he said. Atem couldn't shake the feeling that something felt wrong about all this, and he always trusted his instincts. He still didn't even really know why Kaiba asked him to dinner. 

“I thought we were going to talk business tonight.” 

“We did. We talked dueling. Dueling is my business.” A nice sounding answer, that Atem instantly recognized as deflection.

“Uh huh. And what does any of that have to do with my future with the company?”

“Well… you're a wasted resource, and I don't like wasted resources.”

“Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?” Atem said, studying his reaction. “I can't imagine why you’d see me win a random duel and suddenly think I'd be an asset to your company.”

“A duel against Japan’s national champion. That's not nothing. I told you–”

“Against someone we both agree is an overrated hack. I know what you told me. I don't buy it. So why don't you tell me the truth.” 

Kaiba regarded the road with a little too much focus.

After a sustained, awkward pause, Atem almost regretted his accusatory tone, despite his growing unease.

“Fine,” Kaiba started. “The truth is… I saw you duel, and I knew I wanted to get to know you.”

“In what context? If you wanted to challenge me you could have just asked.”

“That's not–”

“And,” Maybe if Atem had a little less to drink he wouldn't be feeling so bold, but who else would fortune favor? “If you wanted to ask me on a date… you could've just asked. I’d rather you be straightforward than all this pretense.”

Once again Kaiba looked taken aback by his boldness, but not for long. This time he responded with a flash of a smile–wicked and devastating in its beauty–and it stole the breath from Atem's lungs.

“You're right.”

“So which is it? A date or a duel?” 

The car rolled to a gentle stop as Kaiba parked on the road in front of Atem's apartment.

“Why do those things have to be mutually exclusive? I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” Kaiba all but purred.

A thrilling little flourish of butterflies found their way in Atem's stomach at Kaiba's deep voice and cocksure smirk.

“Okay,” Atem smiled, glad to finally be on the same page. He’d felt a step out of sorts all night, trying to figure out what game they were actually playing. “I'd like that.”

“Eight o’clock. Be ready to lose.” Despite his sharp tone, Kaiba's eyes sparkled playfully. He handed Atem his perfectly wrapped baklava before speeding into the night. 

Atem smiled to himself, a big, dumb grin he was glad no one was around to witness. This wouldn't be like his duel with Ilves. This would be an actual challenge. After the week he had, the levity of a duel… a date–a duel-date, whatever it was… it sounded nice. 

As Atem approached the building, he couldn't keep his eyes from searching the shadows for a familiar shape hiding in their depths. He felt obligated to check, wading through the contours of the building and the umbra of the night itself. He called out, but received no response. 

With the fresh ache of a heavy heart, Atem shuffled up the stairs and collapsed on his bed in an exhausted heap. 

What a fucking week. This time last Friday he was celebrating his win over Ilves. He never dreamed he’d end up here: desperately missing the comforting presence of his little dragon, while basking in the rush of his night–his date with Seto Kaiba. 

What a fucking week. 

Chapter Text

Atem stood before the full-length mirror in his bedroom, his fingers anxiously tugging at the raw-edged hem of his tank top. The top had seemed promising at first: torn and edgy with a devil-may-care vibe. But as he stared back at his reflection he imagined Kaiba's sharp eyes fixed on him, and the shirt felt…cheap—or maybe just underwhelming. With a frustrated sigh, he yanked it over his head and tossed it onto the growing pile on the floor.

During their first meal he'd been stuck in shapeless work slacks and a plain button-up. This time he wanted to wear something he actually felt like himself in—but the best version of him. Something that would leave Kaiba as awestruck as the painted-on turtleneck and proud, billowing coat had left him.

Atem slid on his favorite patent leather sleeveless shirt with brass buckles running up the front. It looked good, but was it too much? Was he trying too hard? He wanted to look edgy but still poised and elegant.

He glanced over to the bed, a question on his lips, but his heart dropped when he realized Dragon wasn't there. He still half-expected to see him lazing in the strip of evening sun streaming through his bedroom window or sprawled across the back of the couch. All day Atem kept having to bite back a litany of mindless chatter. He never used to talk to himself before, but he desperately missed their—well, not banter. It wasn’t like Dragon talked back, but he missed his curious eyes, withering looks, and put-upon expressions as Atem indulgently prattled on about anything and everything.

The newness of these quiet moments with nothing but his own thoughts left Atem feeling wretchedly lonely. Without an outlet to express them, his emotions lingered like a heavy fog—festering, sinking deeper into his soul, unacknowledged and suffocating. The weight of unexpressed truths was a quiet burden: pressing on his chest, stifling his breath, while his heart ached in a language only it understood, longing for release that felt like it would never come.

Maybe he needed to start keeping a journal.

Maybe he needed therapy…

Atem shoved away the thought and looked back at his outfit, frowning. At least this problem was tangible, something he could control. 

Did it look tacky?

It had been a long time since Atem had cared about brands and labels—not since private school in Zamalek, where people used status like currency. When Atem moved to Domino he'd enjoyed the freedom of dressing however he liked instead of how he felt he should. He didn't think Kaiba would care if he wore a cheap, consignment store T-shirt that he'd ripped into a crop top, or if he splurged and bought that R13 Shredded-T that would eat up an entire paycheck… but maybe he would.

Atem ran his fingers through his hair, twisting his bangs in place to make sure they were tousled just right. The shirt fit him like a glove and gleamed from black to purple in the shifting evening light. He decided to keep it on, and as a finishing touch he reached for one of the expensive knit cardigans on the bottom shelf of his closet. He half-expected it to be covered in cat hair, but was pleasantly surprised when he found it fur-free and ready to wear.

With one last look at his reflection he nodded. It was a nice mix of soft and edgy—of who he used to be and who he was today. The cardigan whispered I'm layered and stylish, but he liked that he could slide it off and show off the definition in his arms. To complete the look, he shoved on his brass-studded ankle boots and slipped out the door to wait for a familiar steel-blue car.

He still had a good half-hour to kill before Kaiba was set to pick him up, but he'd rather wait outside and enjoy the sunset than sit in his apartment alone. That's what he told himself anyway, but as he made his way down the stairs he knew he'd be too preoccupied with searching the shadows for movement to give the sky any mind. 

Seto studied the field with a calculating gaze. Atem smirked, a dare simmering in his eyes as his face-down card all but hummed in challenge. Seto negated a trap on his last turn. What were the odds that Atem would have another? It was a bluff. A misdirect. The card was probably something that would bolster his magician’s attack points, and if Seto didn't make a move now, he'd be playing right into his hands. 

“Blue Eyes, attack!”

Seto smirked as a blinding glow engulfed the chrome walls of Kaiba Corp’s test arena. He loved watching his dragon’s burst—what he liked significantly less was seeing it redirected as it wiped his monster out. The grin slipped off his face as his life points dipped to zero. 

“I guess that makes us even,” Atem declared with a proud smile as he began pulling the cards from his Duel Disk, sorting them into a neat pile. 

Their first game had been pretty close too, but Seto had edged out a narrow victory. He’d expected to do the same in their rematch.

“We need a tie breaker,” Seto said immediately. He could feel the tight itch of defeat crawling under his skin, and he hated it. 

“What about dinner first?” Atem suggested, securing his deck in his belt holster. “We went straight into dueling. I believe I was promised a date portion of the evening.” 

Seto had to brush aside the wave of irritation telling him it was intolerable to stew in this loss. He wanted a shot at redemption now, but the feeling diminished when Atem flashed him an easy smile. He was practically glowing.

Maybe their rematch would be worth waiting for if Seto got to bask in that glow for the rest of the night…

“What do you want to eat?” Seto asked, feeling suddenly out of his element.

“You treated me to your, um, favorite Middle Eastern restaurant.” Atem emphasized favorite with just a bit of sass. “Why don't I take you to my favorite kaiseki place?”

Seto nodded, pulling out his car fob as they made their way past Kaiba Corp’s main lobby and out the glass doors. Seto had suggested they use his lab as the backdrop for their match, since it was close to Atem's apartment and large enough to host a proper duel while still providing the intimacy of a private space.

“It's actually just across the park,” Atem said. “Why don't we walk?”

“Okay,” Seto said, shoving the fob back in his pocket.

He never really walked anywhere for the pleasure of it, but the early spring air was just crisp enough to feel refreshing, and he couldn't deny the appeal of the view. Two weeks ago the trees had been barren. Now pink, fragrant buds were starting to bloom all over the park. One could never really see the stars in Domino, too much light pollution, too much city smog, but on a night like tonight you could almost sense them.

Seto took a deep, grounding breath. He hadn't walked through the park since—well, since he'd been a cat on a harness. How many times had he imagined walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Atem just like this?

Seto couldn't keep his eyes off of him. Atem looked so different now. So small. All striking eyes and vivid hair—and whenever their gaze met unexpectedly, Atem would flash him a sly smile that made Seto's heart stutter.

When they arrived at the restaurant they shuffled into the foyer where they slid off their shoes and outerwear. Seto immediately recognized Atem's cardigan. It had been his favorite to nap on during his lazy days in the apartment. He loved the way the soft cashmere felt between his paws. Seto absently wondered if it still carried the mark of his scent or if it would smell like Atem now. He longed to bury his face— 

Seto shook away the absurd impulse as he hung his coat on the rack. The nuances of scent marking really shouldn't be a primary concern of his.

Seto looked around. The interior of the restaurant featured traditional tatami mat seating on cushions and sliding shoji screens for privacy. Gozaburo had always preferred modern and cutting edge— always steakhouses and fusion bars over traditional dining. It was a trend Seto maintained long after his death. He hadn't been to a kaiseki restaurant since he was a child, and he couldn't decide if he liked the niggling sense of nostalgia it brought. Seto always told himself it was a preference, but, honestly, he'd been avoiding places like this. Sometimes it was just easier not to think about life before Gozaburo. 

He didn't have long to dwell on the feeling before their host led them back to a private corner by a front-facing window. As they took their seats on the cushions Seto's knee brushed against Atem's, and his breath caught in a thrilling, little moment of panic. He found himself quickly growing addicted to the electric zing from their unexpected brushes of intimacy. With every small shift the air grew thick with anticipation, like the moment before jumping out of a plane. Seto felt like an adrenaline junkie, and Atem was his new high. 

Their server brought out the saki-zuke course, and they sampled the artfully prepared shrimp through averted glances and nervous smalltalk. Atem chatted about the weather and their walk through the park, and Seto tried to enjoy the simplicity of the moment, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling growing in his gut.

Lovely as this was, it was all built on a lie. Atem had no idea why they were really here—about their actual history together. Seto contemplated telling him the truth, but how would he even begin to approach the topic?

Yeah, I like the cherry blossoms too. By the way, I used to be your cat.

Seto kept imagining what would happen if he just blurted it out. It became a persistent intrusive thought. Every time he felt tempted to open his mouth and say something he'd definitely regret, he washed back the impulse with a large sip of dashi broth.

By the time they moved on to their entree, the initial nerves had worn off, and they started actually talking again. 

“One day I wanna live on this street,” Atem confessed as he gazed longingly out the window. It was a charming block with a variety of restaurants, boutiques, and tea shops. “I wanna wake up in one of those skyrise apartments, take two steps and drink my morning coffee as I stroll through the park.”

“That doesn't sound like too lofty a goal,” Seto replied. “If you started dueling at the pro level, you could realistically be there before the end of the year.”

“Maybe,” Atem's expression tightened. “I think life has made me a little too practical for that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I'd want to build up a nice savings before I'd even be comfortable making a move like that. I've had my world rocked before, and tournaments aren't exactly dependable income.”

“With your skill, they could be,” Seto said before turning his attention to his plate.

The slender, charcoal-grilled ayo was meticulously arranged, its delicate bones cradled in the charred skin. Seto picked it up gingerly, savoring the subtle scent of river water and cedar smoke that clung to the fish. With a gentle tug, the tender flesh fell away from the bones.

“You say that like I've ever even won a tournament,” Atem said with a self-deprecating smile.

“You beat me. Now that you've actually gotten your foot in the door you could beat any of them,” Seto insisted before trying a bite of fish. 

The flavor was light and pristine, with a subtle sweetness that lingered like the first breath of spring—clean and fresh, with just a hint of earthiness. The crispy skin, salted and charred at the edges, offered a nice smoky contrast. It reminded him of early days spent walking along the coast. It reminded him of a life he wasn't sure he quite remembered.

“Not to mention your duel commentary,” Seto noted. “They’ve been getting a lot of views; that's monetizable. If you keep making content it could turn into steady revenue.”

“Also not the most reliable career,” Atem pointed out.

“What would you want to do? If you could do anything, what would you want to build towards that you could still be doing in five or ten years?”

“I try not to look that far ahead.” Atem averted his gaze as he twisted his napkin in his lap. “Once upon a time I thought I had my whole career planned out. It didn't really pan out.”

Melancholy hung heavy in the air, and Seto sensed he should probably steer them back to more cheery topics, but… well, he didn't want to. He'd rather talk about something of substance than stick to boring niceties. These were questions he'd been itching to ask him since his early days in their apartment—in Atem’s apartment.

“You could still make it happen, your childhood dreams. What's stopping you?”

Atem frowned. “Motivation, I guess. I used to picture myself following in my mother's footsteps. After I lost her… I don't know, I guess the idea just hurt—that I might actually achieve all the plans we built together, and she wouldn't be there to see it. It made it all feel so…hollow.”

“Maybe it was never really your dream to begin with. You could still go on to university. Study something that interests you.”

“What makes you think my dream had anything to do with academics?” Atem said with a contrary smirk. “Maybe my mom was a world-renowned equestrian.”

Seto thought of the crystal horse, and his stomach dropped, a long-forgotten guilt sleeping into his chest. 

“Was she?”

“She was—but she also had a coveted endowed professorship at Cairo University,” Atem conceded with an ambivalent smile. “I used to think that would be my life.”

“Did you ride too?” Seto asked, too hung up on the horse to let the topic drop.

“Yes. Never like her. No one could ride like her.” Yearning bled through the words. 

“Bet you're a good rider. I can picture it.”

“Are you suggesting that because I have the stature of a jockey?” Atem said in mock offense. 

There was a pause before they both broke out in laughter. 

“I do miss riding sometimes,” Atem confessed after a beat. “And I know I could probably make it happen if I really wanted to, but just getting out of the city is such an undertaking, and none of my friends are really interested in that kind of thing.”

The conversation was gently halted as their waiter stepped up to the table, clearing the dirty plates to make way for their final course of wagashi and fruit. 

“I'm sorry,” Atem said when they were alone again.

“For what?”

“I feel like I've been kind of forlorn since we sat down. I don't mean to be. I usually try to avoid talking about this stuff. It obviously doesn't make for very fun date conversation.”

“Isn't the point of dating to get to know each other and gauge compatibility?”

“Well, yes—”

“Then I'd argue it does make for good date conversation. If all I was interested in was someone who could amuse me for a couple hours I'd go see a Jean-Claude Magnum flick. What's the point of dating if you can't talk about the important things?”

Atem looked contemplative for a moment, before a small smile found its way to his lips. 

“You're right,” he finally said. “And it is kind of nice—actually talking about this stuff. You keep things bottled up so long you start feeling buried under them.”

Buried. What a word. How long had Seto been buried under the weight of his feelings? Years before he ever grew whiskers and a tail. But the transformation definitely made it all the more profound. It had been agonizing to spend months with Atem, never being able to fully express his thoughts, and now that he finally could…

“Words are powerful,” Seto said, almost under his breath. “You never realize how powerful they are until you lose them. I used to keep everything that mattered buried, until—” Seto cut himself off abruptly. 

Here he was, finally able to say anything he wanted, and he still couldn't bring himself to say what he needed to. 

By the way, I used to be your cat.

Did he need to say it? Did he need to tell Atem the truth? What would it change?

"Words have the power to inspire, to heal, to destroy—to create,” Atem said, picking up where Seto dropped off. “They can shape the course of history and the lives of those who hear them.” He prattled on, a profound little speech just for Seto. 

“Handle them carefully, for words have more power than atom bombs,” Seto quoted. He couldn't even remember where he read it, but it always stayed with him. 

Atem smiled wryly. “I missed this,” he admitted softly. “Actually talking. The last time I opened up like this was to my cat.” Something in his expression soured, and Seto didn't have to guess why. 

The conversation dropped away for a moment as they both nibbled at a slice of mandarin.

“If you're really interested, maybe I could take you riding sometime,” Seto suggested, not wanting the night to slip away without the pretense of another meeting.

He hadn't ridden in over four years, but when he was younger Gozaburo had insisted he learn. Seto used to imagine his horse had wings—that it could leap into the air and soar towards the horizon. 

“Really? You'd want to?” Atem beamed up at him, a real smile this time: brilliant and beautiful.  

All at once Seto realized he couldn't risk that smile. If he told Atem the truth about him…he'd probably never see it again, and having Atem in his life was well worth the burden of a guilty conscience. It would hardly be the worst thing he ever did. 

One date turned into two. Then two weeks turned into two months. They fell into each other's lives as quickly and effortlessly as spring fell into summer. 

Seto's previous experience with Atem made the discovery phase of dating feel like playing a video game with a cheat guide. He already knew Atem's favorite food, favorite dessert, and favorite wine. He knew his favorite movie and favorite flowers. He had the advantage of anticipating Atem's wants and needs before he even needed to voice them, and Seto utilized every possible advantage. But the more time they spent together the more his deception began to weigh on him. He'd try to push away the guilt and focus on Atem's affectionate smiles, but he couldn't quite shake the heavy feeling building in his gut. 

Seto was still playing catch-up with his work, but he always carved out a small chunk of his weekend for Atem. They usually spent those evenings together on the manor's sprawling couch in the game room. It never took long for things to get heated—for chaste kisses to turn into heavy make out sessions and not-so-innocent grinding. They hadn't gotten much further than that. 

Tonight was no different. They'd been making out for the better part of the evening. A soft moan from Atem sent a sharp thrill straight to Seto’s groin. That zing made him feel breathless and powerful—until a heavy feeling of nausea began pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

Atem frowned when Seto pulled away.

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to push you,” Atem said, holding his hands up, as if to show Seto he wouldn’t touch him. “We can go as slow as you want.”

Seto hated looking like a blushing virgin. Part of him wanted to force past the feeling, to take Atem by the wrists and pin him to the couch and give him the passionate night he deserved, but then his gut wrenched as his mind screamed: Liar! Liar! Liar! 

How would Seto feel if someone had been watching him for months, had learned all the intimate little details of his life and then abused that knowledge to sleep with him? He told himself he wouldn't care, but he would. He did. He didn't want to. He wanted to turn off his conscience and discover every little sensitive spot on Atem's body—every way to make him moan and pant.

Atem might not even care. His words after his near hookup with that thief kept circling through Seto's mind. 

I guess I knew he was kind of a dick, but he was hot, and… God, I just wanted to get laid.

But Seto wanted to be more than a lay. Seto wanted it to mean every bit as much to Atem as it meant to him, but it probably never would—not while Atem had no idea who he really was. Probably not even then. Definitely not even then. 

More than anything Seto wanted to pay Atem back for all the kindness he showed him at his most vulnerable moments, for every meal, and every night with a roof over his head. For walks and companionship. For reminding Seto what it was like to not just grind through another achievement, but to actually live. 

Sensing his reticence, Atem pulled away and settled in beside him, recontextualizing their intimacy. Instead of carnal and heated, the energy between them shifted into something more comfortable.

Atem absently stroked his hand over Seto’s arm. He so desperately wanted Atem to run his fingers over his scalp, to play with his fur— hair. Seto craved that touch like a drowning man craved oxygen, but he knew it wasn't a normal thing to want, so he lay back, trying very hard to be content with everything they had now. 

Eventually Atem’s fingers stilled, his eyes slipped shut, and the weight of his head grew steadily heavier against Seto's shoulder. The familiar chime of the old, wooden clock rang through the nearby hallway as it struck midnight, and before long Atem's steady breathing indicated he'd fallen asleep. 

When Atem woke up he found himself under a soft duvet in a large four-poster bed. Seto's bed.

He reached out for the other man, but found the space beside him empty. When he searched the room he saw him hunched over his laptop at a desk by the wall. Seto looked exhausted, bags under his eyes and tension in his shoulders. 

Atem glanced out the window; it looked to be almost dawn. The sun would be rising soon. 

“Did you sleep?” Atem asked. 

Seto flinched, clearly not expecting the interruption. 

“No,” he said without looking. “I wanted you to have the bed.”

“We could've shared. There's plenty of space.”

“I wasn't tired,” he insisted, still fixated on his work. 

“You look exhausted,” Atem pointed out. He slipped off the mattress, moving towards him. When he got there he wrapped his arms around Seto's broad shoulders. “Come to bed,” he whispered in his ear. 

Seto stood up without argument. They both crawled back in bed, curling into each other as they made themselves comfortable.

Atem sighed. Something wasn't quite right between them, but he didn't know what to do about it. He had never really dated anyone before. He had crushes in grade school and hookups as an adult, but never anything serious—never the giddy rush of emotions that left him daydreaming in the middle of work with a funny little smile on his face. He’d never felt this kind of raw sexual chemistry that left him weak in the knees. He didn't care that they hadn't actually done anything yet. He was perfectly content with waiting. What he wasn't content with was the sick expression on Seto's face when he pulled away.

Atem knew that asexuality existed, but attraction and desire didn't feel like the issue here. Seto kept pouncing and retreating. He obviously wanted to take things slow, and was battling something within himself to make sure he stuck to that pace—and that was perfectly fine with Atem. But the longer it went on, the more he could sense Seto was hiding something, like he had something on the tip of his tongue that he wouldn't let himself say.

Atem kept trying to piece it all together, going over every possible explanation for Seto's contrary actions. Could the issue be disfiguring scars? A history of sexual abuse? Guilt from an oppressive religious upbringing? 

“Seto?” The name slipped out of his mouth before he even knew what he was asking. 

Seto looked over at him with tired eyes, and Atem felt guilty for keeping him awake when he obviously just needed rest. 

“What?”

“Nevermind,” Atem mumbled. 

“What?”

“We can talk about it later.”

“Let's talk about it now,” Seto insisted. 

"Okay." Atem hesitated, unsure of where to begin. How did you ask someone about something when you didn't know what that something was? "I just want you to know... you can tell me anything. I won't judge you."

“Where's this coming from?” 

There was an edge to Seto's voice. Was it just the strain of a sleepless night? 

“There's something that's eating away at you,” Atem said gently. “I can see it. Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?”

“I don't know. You tell me.”

Atem almost rolled his eyes at the flippant response. 

Silence settled between them, and all the little doubts that had been building in the back of Atem's mind buzzed around like bloodthirsty mosquitoes ruining a beautiful picnic. He just couldn't ignore them anymore. 

“Fine. There is something that’s been bothering me.”

Seto said nothing, just glanced over at him wearily.

Atem shifted out of Seto's warm embrace, scooting to the edge of the bed. Seto followed suit, sitting up beside him. 

“When we first met, you said you didn't have a chance to watch my match with Ilves, that you looked up the play-by-play. But then later, when I asked you why you brought me out for dinner, you said you saw me duel and wanted to get to know me. I understand being attracted to someone as they play—the passion in their eyes, their control of the field, their body's ebb and flow as they make their plays—but you can't get that from just looking up the moves of a match. So which is it, you saw me or you didn't see me?”

“What exactly are you accusing me of?” Seto snapped. 

“I'm not even sure I know,” Atem sighed. “I just can't quiet the voice in the back of my mind that says you're not being honest with me. You're an intuitive, capable guy, but you shouldn't know everything you know about me.” Atem nervously twisted his fingers in the edge of the duvet as he continued. “I never told you I like to sip on hot chocolate during rainstorms. I never told you I drink my coffee black with a tablespoon of sugar. Just like I never told you my favorite food is falafel, but somehow you already knew all that. How?”

Seto said nothing, and his expression stayed guarded and unreadable.

“Look,” Atem sighed. “I know for the top one percent, common sense might not always be common sense, but hiring a private investigator or hacking security footage on the guy you've been dating for a couple months is crossing a big fucking line. I'm not going to be in a relationship where I'm—”

“I'm not—it's,” Seto stood abruptly, turning his back to Atem. “I can explain!” he insisted.

“Then explain,” Atem pleaded, moving to stand beside him.

He wanted to believe there was some perfectly logical explanation for everything. With every passing week Atem felt himself falling for Seto, and more than anything he wanted to let himself plunge headfirst into that feeling, but he couldn't just push aside the warning in his heart.

Atem reached forward, grabbing him by the hand. Seto whipped his head back to meet his gaze, and an array of conflicting emotions flashed across his features: fear, denial, rage, and finally something like heartbreak. 

“I…can't explain. It sounds too insane. I wouldn't even believe me.”

“Try me.”

A long pause settled between them. Seto pulled his hand from Atem's grasp and anxiously raked his fingers through his bangs. 

“Do you believe in magic?” Seto finally asked.

“What?” The question felt like a non sequitur—a distraction. “What do you mean?”

“Answer the question.”

“I don't know. What kind of magic?”

“Any kind. Say… the kind that could turn a man into a cat.“

Atem's breath stalled, as if his body recognized something his mind hadn't caught up to yet.

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about Dragon.”

“That's exactly what I mean! I never told you about Dragon. How did you kno–”

“Because I'm him! I'm Dragon!”

“My…cat?” 

“Yes.”

They stared at each other for a long stretch. The longer Atem considered the idea the less sense it made. He wanted to dismiss the notion outright, but something in Seto's tortured expression wouldn't let him brush it off. 

“Okay. How?” 

As Seto explained the room seemed to blur around the edges until Atem’s heartbeat echoed in his ears. Leo Alden’s sister. The curse. The streets of Domino. Seto described it all with a kind of clinical detachment. His eyes were clouded over in a hundred-yard stare, and the whole time Atem felt Seto wasn't looking at him but through him. 

“I don't know how she did it. It was like something out of a children's tale. A karmic parable, but I can say with certainty that I am Dragon—or rather, I was him.”

“You're right. That does sound insane.” Atem's tone was sharp, his jaw clinched tight, and, despite Seto's flinching expression, he couldn't care less about how his tone made the other man feel. 

“Ask me something,” Seto insisted, a fervent glint setting his eyes ablaze. “Something only your cat would know.”

Atem thought for a moment, opening his mouth and then closing it again after more consideration.

“It's hard to come up with something that couldn't also be discovered through hidden surveillance,” Atem pointed out. After another moment of consideration he asked, “What movie did we watch together after I brought a guy back to my apartment?”

“You mean after you tried to hook up with the world’s most obvious thief? Howl’s Moving Castle.”

Atem sucked in a breath, but the shock was quickly replaced with a contemplative frown. “You could still learn that via surveillance.”

“Then ask me something else.”

“Okay…” Atem wracked his brain for every interaction with Dragon—every small glance and whispered secret. “If you were a human all that time, why did you break my horse figurine?”

Guilt flashed through stormy blue eyes. “Because I… You snatched me off the streets, and you wouldn't let me leave—I tried! I thought if I was annoying enough you'd throw me out. I didn't know…”

Atem's knees felt weak. He let himself plop back on the bed when they buckled under him. 

“And you…you used the toilet like a human, and you were so picky about food. And you seemed to know when I planned to take you to the vet.”

Against reason and logic it all made perfect sense.

“You believe me?”

“Saying yes sounds just about as insane as your explanation,” Atem mumbled. “I mean, covert surveillance could still explain any knowledge you might have about me, but…”

“But what?”

“There isn't any cat hair in my apartment,” Atem frowned. “It was all over my clothes. My sweaters in the closet were covered with it. I thought I'd never get it off, but after… It's like there was never a cat living there at all. I thought I was going mad.”

“If you are then we both are.”

“And what now?” Atem didn't bother to conceal the anger brimming in his voice. “You thought you'd just lie to me about it? Were you ever planning to tell me the truth?!”

“No.” Seto admitted immediately. “Not if I didn't have to.”

“Why did you even contact me? You had your life back. Why even bother—?”

“Because I couldn't just… never see you again.” Seto fidgeted uncharacteristically before dropping onto the bed beside Atem. “I wanted to get to know you as a man—to see if I felt the same.”

“The same as what?”

Seto tried to conceal the emotion swimming in his eyes, but Atem saw it plain as day. 

“Oh.” Atem looked overwhelmed. “I don't know what to do with this. I mean I loved you as a cat, but you were a cat. And then as a human, I—I always felt like something was off. I felt like you were hiding something. I guess it was this.”

Atem tried to swallow back the giant swell of emotion growing in his throat. 

“I don't know how to feel right now. This is a lot. I didn't even know things like this were possible.”

“I understand.”

“I'm not saying—I think I need some space. I—I just can't process this right now. I...”

“I understand.” 

Seto didn't look like he understood. His face hardened into a blank mask, his eyes lost their usual ardent light, and the clench of his jaw seemed to be the only thing keeping him in one piece—and Atem didn't have the wherewithal to process any of that, because the world was now this broken thing that had altogether stopped trying to make sense. 

Seto offered to drive him home. Atem didn't really remember declining. He didn't remember walking through the park or through greater Domino until he reached the street in front of his apartment. But he remembered instinctively searching the shadows for Dragon through the dusky morning haze, only to realize he never lost him. He'd never really had him at all. 

Weeks passed. As devastating as Seto's little secret turned out to be, it at least gave Atem some semblance of closure. He gave himself permission to stop grieving Dragon, but he never truly managed it. He grieved the friend he thought he lost. He grieved the love he thought he found, and he grieved the life he thought they were moving towards.

In the space between long work days and quiet dinners alone, Atem found himself wondering what Seto must've thought of him. He could barely wrap his head around the idea that he'd been right there all along, on his kitchen table sharing meals—lounging on his couch in the evening, sleeping on his pillow every night. Why would Seto want anything more to do with him? He was Japan’s most eligible bachelor. Why would he have the slightest interest in a man who had regularly talked to him in silly made-up accents, who danced around the room half-naked pretending to play guitar solos, who made exaggerated faces and poses in the mirror after trying on purposely absurd outfits?

Atem’s face burned with humiliation every time he thought about it. It was violating in a way he had never known to fear. He'd had a man in his apartment for months, watching his every move, and Atem never even suspected something was off.

But then…did he have any right to feel violated when he'd been the one to trap him there? He’d held him hostage and refused to let him leave. Maybe that was why Seto still seemed to want him. Some kind of twisted Stockholm syndrome. Or maybe Seto just felt sorry for his sad, little life.

Atem thought about what he would've done if it was him, trapped in the body of a cat for months on end with no real way to communicate. He might’ve latched on to the closest things to human contact he could find. He liked to think he would've at least told the truth when he finally could, but the truth... Well, it was a big pill to swallow, wasn't it? 

Atem took a bite of his soggy falafel fritter. It was from the mediocre place across town, just far enough away to always arrive lukewarm. It had been tolerable enough—an indulgence even—before Seto showed him the glory of Ta’im.

Atem let out a frustrated sigh. Maybe he needed to start cooking for himself. He eyed the single burner on his tiny kitchen counter and rolled his eyes at the thought. Maybe when he could afford that skyrise apartment uptown and actually had the space for it.

He was about to take a long sip of his wine when he heard a knock at the door. It was Friday night. He wasn't expecting anyone, but sometimes Jou stopped in unannounced after work, usually to blow off steam with some 1v1 gaming.

Atem set his glass down, pausing Princess Mononoke, and hurried toward the door. He hadn't really been watching the movie anyway. He only turned it on to try and halt his obsessive spiral of thoughts—and that had failed spectacularly.

Atem pushed open the door, and his heart lurched.

It certainly wasn't Jou.

Seto stood in the hallway, a contrite expression clouding his face. He was dressed uncharacteristically casual in dark slacks and a soft blue turtleneck—as handsome as ever, and all Atem wanted to do was throw his arms around him and bury his face in the crook of his neck.

“Seto...”

“I know you said you needed space,” Seto blurted out in a rushed explanation, “but I got you something—two things actually. And before you assume, this isn't some attempt to buy your affection or push you into something you don't want, but I set this up a couple months ago, and… well, I wanted you to have it.”

“I'm actually glad you're here,” Atem said, hoping to put Seto's anxious expression at ease. “I've been thinking about you.”

Seto waited for him to elaborate, but Atem had no idea what else to say. He just knew he'd missed Seto's face and the rich sound of his voice.

“What do you have for me?” he asked, eyeing the strap of the blue, hardshell backpack slung over Seto's shoulder. 

When Seto gently shrugged it off, Atem immediately spotted the bubble window that revealed a small kitten inside. The poor thing let out a mournful cry, clearly desperate to be free of its prison. 

“You got me a cat?” Atem barely recognized his own voice, pinched half an octave higher than usual as he took in the giant blue eyes of the little creature in front of him.

“I know you miss Dragon—I mean. You know what I mean,” he murmured with a shrug. 

Seto knelt down and unzipped the pet bag, pulling the kitten free. It squirmed for a moment before snuggling into the soft crook of his elbow. The little kitten had a stunning white coat with muted leopard-like spots running up its limbs and tail.

Atem gasped when he realized. “You got me a Bengal,” he said in astonishment. “I didn't even know they came in this color. He's so beautiful.”

“She.“

“Oh, sorry. She. ”

“Snow lynx. That's what they call this color variation—it's rare.”

White coat and stunning blue eyes. Of course that would be Seto's pick. She was perfect. 

“Can I hold her?”

Seto shifted the kitten into Atem’s open hands. Afraid she'd try to bolt out into the hallway, Atem immediately directed her to nestle into his own elbow, held firmly against his side. 

“What's her name?”

“She doesn’t have one yet, but her sister's name is Kisara.”

“She has a sister?” Atem asked, carefully stroking behind her velvet ears. 

“Technically…she has three. We're still workshopping names.”

“You… what?” 

He couldn't possibly mean…

“I went to pick her up from the breeder, and I saw the others playing together. I didn't like the idea of them getting split up and adopted out to different families…” 

Seto never spoke much about his past, but everyone knew he was adopted. A bitter expression crossed his face, and Atem could only imagine how it would feel for Seto to see the kittens—getting picked and prodded over for their looks and likeability until they were split up and sold off. 

“It took a little incentive money—apparently they were already promised to different buyers,” Seto said. 

Atem wondered how much money a little actually meant. Bengals were expensive enough. Atem couldn't even guess what a rare colored one might cost—and Seto apparently bought four with added incentive money. 

“So you just adopted three cats on a whim?” 

“Yes,” Seto said with a nonchalant shrug. 

“What about this one? Won't she be lonely without the others?”

“She'll never be lonely. She has you.” Seto didn't try to conceal his earnest emotions. For seemingly the first time since Atem had known him he wore his heartfelt longing on his sleeve for anyone to see.

Atem held the kitten closer to his chest, kissing her little head, as he blinked away the emotion brewing in his eyes.

“I guess… I mean, it doesn't seem fair,” Atem muttered. “I'm sure she'll want to see her family. Maybe we can…set up a playdate?” 

“I think that can be arranged,” Seto said with that cunning smile that always left Atem a little breathless. “We're currently having one of the secondary game rooms converted into a cat gymnasium—though they've already started taking over the rest of the manor.”

The kitten began actively squirming in Atem’s arms, letting out a disgruntled little mew.

“Do you wanna come inside?” Atem asked, trying to wrangle the feisty little feline.

“If you want me to.” Something in the statement felt unexpectedly loaded, but Atem didn't feel like pulling apart the weighted nuance of an offhand reply.

Atem moved inside, gesturing for him to follow. Seto picked up the backpack, stepping inside the apartment, before carefully setting the bag back on the floor.

Atem closed the door, and put the squirming kitten down to explore her new space. 

Seto looked around. “It… feels a lot smaller than I remember.”

“I used to be so ashamed of my little apartment when we were dating,” Atem confessed. “But you always knew exactly what it looked like.”

“Yeah.”

Atem fidgeted, not knowing what to do with his hands. Before, things had always felt so easy between them; now the awkward energy in the air was practically palpable.

“What are you watching?” Seto asked, eyeing Atem's abandoned meal and the paused scene on the screen. 

“Princess Mononoke.”

“More Studio Ghibli? Why am I not surprised?”

“They're my favorite,” Atem admitted with a sheepish smile.

“I know,” Seto said, but looked like he regretted it when Atem fidgeted uncomfortably.

“I guess you know a lot about me, huh?”

Seto opened his mouth, a defense on his lips, but Atem interrupted before he could voice it.

“Did you know my mom and I used to watch them together when I was little? After she got sick, we’d watch Castle in the Sky or Kiki’s Delivery Service until her pain meds kicked in and she could finally rest. Most of the Ghibli films came out after she passed, but they still remind me of her... like she's still here with me—teaching me.”

Seto nodded, acknowledging the weight of the confession. “What's the premise?” he asked, motioning to the screen.

“It's the struggle between the gods of the forest and a mining company.”

“Let me guess, more anti-industry propaganda?”

“Parable,” Atem corrected. “Propaganda implies a political agenda.”

“Sounds like a political agenda to me.”

“It's not.” 

Seto grinned at their back and forth, like he knew he was playing devil's advocate and he loved that Atem always rose to the occasion, but his smile was short-lived. 

“Would you like me to leave?” he asked in earnest. “I don't want to intrude on your evening.” 

“No. Please stay,” Atem pleaded. “I missed this—you. Talking to you.”

“I missed this too,” Seto replied, eyeing Atem's living room fondly. 

It was strange to think they didn't mean the same thing. In Atem's experience they had never spent an evening alone in his apartment, and that reminder left him feeling profoundly discordant.

“You said you had two things for me,” Atem said, pushing past the uncomfortable feeling. “What's the other?”

“Oh,” Seto turned towards the door. He bent down, unzipped a side storage compartment on the backpack and pulled out a small item wrapped in brown parchment paper. 

Atem took the gift. It was heavier than he expected. He ripped off the paper, revealing a crystal horse, reared up on its hind legs.

Atem gasped. “How did you—”

“I couldn't find one that looked like… I had it made. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I just wanted out.”

It was stunning. The glass was slightly bluer than the original and the stylistic edges were a bit sharper, but only someone who had spent hours staring at it would've been able to tell the difference.

“Thank you,” Atem said in a small voice that was rung tight with emotion. “I’m not mad. I mean, I did kind of…kidnap you.” Atem tried to recompose himself before his eyes could blur with tears.

“Where should I put it?” he said, suddenly desperate for a distraction.

They both looked over to the empty spot on the floating shelves.

“I'm not saying she'll knock it over, but… maybe a display case this time,” Seto suggested.

“I think you're right.”

The kitten ran full speed into the bathroom on her mission to explore the apartment. 

“I'm gonna need an actual litter box, aren't I?” Atem mumbled.

“Yes. And please don't get the scented clay kind. That powdery fragrance was awful, and I could smell it everywhere. I was so glad when you gave up on me ever using it, and finally dumped it out.”

“Noted. No scented litter. I guess you're kind of the expert on cats, huh?”

“I have a unique understanding of them, but I'm also human, and I'd hardly claim a universal understanding of us as a species.”

“Makes sense,” Atem hummed. 

Having grown bored of the bathroom, the kitten then scrambled into the bedroom as she continued to explore everything at a manic pace.

“So,” Atem started conversationally, “three kittens? I bet that's a handful.”

“It's an adjustment,” Seto admitted. “But they seem to entertain each other for the most part. My brother's always wanted a pet, but he's allergic, so that's been… interesting. There's a pretty effective shot. He says it's worth it.”

As Seto continued on about the joys and challenges of kitten rearing, Atem carefully wrapped the glass figurine back in the paper and slipped into his bedroom. He placed it in the drawer beside the shattered remnants of its predecessor. For now, it would stay there until he could figure out a way to display it safely.

When he turned back to the living room, he found Seto settled comfortably on the couch, looking more at ease than Atem had ever seen him. It was as if he'd been lounging there all day. In that moment, it hit him just how much Seto resembled Dragon—both in posture and presence.

Atem kept the thought to himself and slid in beside him.

“Do you want to watch the movie with me?” he offered. “We can start it over.”

"Only if we can get some decent falafel," Seto replied, pulling up the menu for Ta’im on his phone. "I know you only put up with that stuff because it’s cheap, and you prioritize buying gourmet food for your cat over ever treating yourself."

Atem’s mouth began to water at the thought of eating good Middle Eastern food again. "Do they even deliver?"

“Anything can be delivered,” Seto responded easily. 

“I didn't think you really liked falafel all that much,” Atem said, eyeing him playfully. 

"I'll be having the lamb—though I’m actually starting to develop a taste for falafel. It’s better than cat pâté, in any case, and I lived on that for months. Honestly, even gourmet cat food was barely tolerable—oh, and by the way, I plan to provide you with a monthly stipend for kitten support. I figure I’m the one dumping her in your lap, and it's only fair to supply her with the same standard of living she would've gotten at the manor."

“If you insist—”

“I do.”

This time a comfortable moment of silence settled between them, and all Atem could think about was how much he loved this. Loved their banter. Loved their chemistry. Loved…

“Seto…” Atem couldn't conceal the longing in his voice. 

“Yes?”

Atem reached forward, drawing them together in a tender kiss. His right hand snaked up, gently holding the back of Seto’s head as his fingers toyed with the silky strands of his hair. Seto practically melted into the touch. 

The kiss was chaste, and Atem pulled away before it turned into anything that might distract from the conversation they still needed to have.

“I think,” Atem started when they finally pulled apart, “we probably have a long way to go before I really know you the way I want to—the way you apparently know me. But I still think you were sent to me for a reason, and I don't want to lose you again.” 

“You're sure,” Seto asked with a guarded expression.

Atem shrugged. “I did promise East Domino Animal Rescue that when I took home a cat I would never abandon them. They made me sign a pledge and everything. Of course, they never actually let me adopt one, but still—”

“Well, you'd hate to break your word.”

“Exactly.”

“In the interest of getting to know each other…” Seto’s expression hardened with a resolute determination. “I don’t believe in fate or a higher power—I don't think I was meant to find you. But I do believe in the strength of conviction. I’m aware of my flaws, but I’m learning. If this experience has taught me anything it's that a life without the people you love isn’t truly a life at all. And I want to start living mine.”

He didn't meet Atem's eyes, until Atem grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers together.

“Do you really like… love me?” It sounded stupid, but Atem couldn't help the question. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Seto said quickly, uttering it in a rushed apology. 

“But why? I mean, you're Seto Kaiba. You could have anyone.” 

"I couldn't," he said flatly. "And honestly, I wouldn't want anyone else. You showed me kindness when I had long since given up on the idea that the world had any decency left. You take care of your friends—your family—even when they're insufferable. And," his voice grew husky as his eyes trailing down Atem's figure, "you beat me at Duel Monsters."

Atem let out an unexpected bark of laughter and smacked Seto on his arm.

“What? That's really hot!”

Just then, the little kitten hopped onto the couch, curling up between them with a big yawn. Clearly, she had worn herself out and was ready for a nap.

"Thank you, by the way," Atem said softly, stroking her fur. "She's perfect."

"The cat you always wanted?" Seto asked with a knowing smile as he reached for the remote sitting on the coffee table to restart the movie.

"Technically,” Atem replied, giving Seto's hand a gentle squeeze. “But you’re the one I really needed."