Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Chance Meeting ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh or any of its characters; this is mainly for fun, and I don't gain any profit.

Author's Notes: For Dragon's challenge: 25 different 'chance meetings' of Kaiba and Yami, each involving a title/phrase from a list of 50.

Here's the first five drabbles/ficlets.

Many thanks to Yuugi-chan for beta-ing.

Completed: 14.02.2006

1. Hurts so good

The music was loud, throbbing; it pounded through Seto's head like an insistent drum, slithering over his body like a hundred-thousand caresses. The beat vibrated, tingled, turning into a shiver down his spine, and Seto wanted nothing more than to feel.

Pleasure.

Pain.

He didn't care as long as he could feel, as long as he wasn't numb and cold anymore. After all, he did have a high pain threshold.

A hand ran down his chest and he looked into the ruby-red eyes of his personal demon.

"Pleasure or pain?" it murmured.

Seto leaned forward and whispered into its ear, "Pain."

2. Midnight Voices

Silence. Quiet. What Seto had wanted, and what apparently he wasn't going to get.

He gritted his teeth and strived for patience. It was possibly the most difficult thing he'd done all day—and that was saying a lot since he'd spent the day going through project updates—but now, the laughing voices wouldn't subside and Seto just wanted some peace and quiet so he could finish off his thesis.

Was that too much to ask for?

Low laughter echoed, answering his question indirectly, and Seto struggled not to slam the lid of his laptop down, stomp his way to the source of the irritating noise, and give them a piece of his mind.

"You really think..."

"Of course, it's true..."

"I don't know, he doesn't seem..."

"Friendly? That's how he always is, even when...happy..."

"what...can't believe you..."

"...oh, come on..."

"I don't...what if he says..."

"Then you gave it a go...you don't know until..."

"Well..."

"Dare you."

To Seto's irritation, the voices grew slightly louder. From low murmurs to this—Seto just couldn't take it anymore. He got up and stormed towards where the chattering was the loudest, his mind preparing a sharp and sarcastic rant that would hopefully incinerate the damn nuisances.

"Would you be quiet?" he asked angrily, just as he turned towards the study table positioned right in the centre.

And found himself facing one of the strangest (and most exotic looking) pair of twins he'd ever come across.

"Oh, were we disturbing you?" the crimson-eyed twin asked.

"Sorry," the violent-eyed twin added.

Seto, to his fury and embarrassment, didn't know what to say. His rant seemed immature in comparison to the way the twins were dealing with the situation, and his pride wouldn't allow himself to appear less than professional in front of his peers.

"We didn't mean to," the crimson-eyed twin continued. "We just got carried away."

The violent-eyed twin nodded, then unsubtly elbowed his brother.

"Oh, and do you want to go out sometime?" the crimson-eyed twin said as he elbowed his brother back.

Seto, once again, was struck speechless.

"I'll take it as a yes," the crimson-eyed twin said, amused. "By the way, I'm Yami."

3. Breaking and Entering

The thrill, the rush, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins was much more wild and exhilarating than any drug, any drink. It entwined itself with the beat of his heart, thudding in tune to music only Yami could hear. The threat of exposure, of capture, only heightened Yami's exhilaration.

Yami was well and truly addicted.

He took his manufactured access card, swiped it on the reader, and watched with satisfaction and a rush of triumph as the small screen blinked green. Quickly pocketing the card, he walked through the automatic sliding doors; he stopped, just short of the thin red laser beams zig-zagging in a rectangular shape and enclosing a small, steel stand. The glass twinkled seductively across the room at Yami, and he could feel his heart rate accelerate, could hear the roar of victory, just this close.

One would expect a beautiful jewel to lie in such tight security. One would expect something ancient and expensive, but rich in beauty and history. And one should have expected Yami to choose a beauty of a different kind and worth just as much as any ancient trinket.

Inside the glass, a tiny microprocessor lay; it was less than the width of a thumb and thinner than a coin, but it shone with the brilliance of a million interconnections, of an awe-inspiring technology that the world has never seen. It was worth billions, and he wanted it.

Just then, the alarm sounded and one part of the wall opened. A figure strode in confidently, ice-cool blue eyes staring unwaveringly at him.

Yami stared back and slowly tilted his head; his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into an admiring smirk. Well, if it wasn't Seto Kaiba, creator of said microprocessor and CEO of KaibaCorp, here to personally escort Yami to jail.

How appropriate, Yami thought, but unfortunately for Kaiba, Yami had no plans on being caged.

"Going to call the police now?" Yami asked, amused, as he crossed his arms. "Or are you going to take me all by yourself?"

It was borderline mocking, but Yami liked the flicker of anger, of controlled rage that flashed across Kaiba's face.

"Oh, I can take you just fine," Kaiba said, voice low, bemused, and with more than a tinge of interest.

Yami blinked, his smirk widening as he took a better look at the one and only Seto Kaiba. Well, well, well, Yami thought.

4. Stranger in Town

The breeze fluttered along his skin like butterfly wings, freeing and soft, easing some of Seto's tension. The park in the late evening was dark and beautiful. It relaxed Seto, soothed his nerves and cleared his mind; it reminded him of old childhood wishes, when he had once stood with Mokuba and promised they would never be separated.

He hadn't been able to keep his promise. In the end, he could only watch as they were torn into two different directions, taken away from each other by brute force.

Seto had searched for him when he finally had the resources; he'd looked everywhere, every record, every home, every potential foster parent, until finally—finally he had an address. A name.

The thin sheet of lined paper crinkled in his pocket with every step he took, but he didn't care. He had already memorised the words, he didn't need the paper anymore, but he couldn't quite make himself throw it away either.

It was getting late; maybe too late for Seto to visit. Or maybe he was being foolish, letting his fear control his action, letting Mokuba slip by once again because he was too afraid of rejection. Of not being able to keep his promise.

He slipped his hand into his pocket, relishing the sharp crinkle when his fingers brushed against the folded edges, and released a deep breath.

"You shouldn't be standing in the middle of the road," a voice chided from behind him.

Seto turned around and said warily, "I didn't think anyone would still be here."

"I like coming here late," the stranger said, shrugging and smiling, his crimson eyes warm. "Makes you remember things..."

"Yeah," Seto said softly, "the memories... I haven't been here for a while."

"How long?"

"Years," Seto said, slightly wistful. He turned back to the stranger awkwardly. "I have something to do."

"Something...no, someone left behind?" The stranger looked kind, even understanding.

"Yes." Seto almost turned away; he didn't deserve understanding. He didn't even deserve the quiet kindness this stranger seemed so willing to impart—he didn't deserve anything.

"But you've come back." It was more of a statement, less of a question, and wrapped in gentle forgiveness.

Seto slowly nodded and then took a deep breath. "Thank you." He hesitated, then, "I'm Seto."

"I'm Yami." Warm, friendly, kind. Seto thought that even if he didn't deserve kindness, he would still hold it close to his heart.

5. Dreamwalker

He dreamed of the sun, brilliant and golden, unmarred by white-grey clouds. He dreamed of a sky so blue, it looked like the never-ending sea. He dreamed of a youth, tanned and robust, with demon-red eyes and exotic, collar-length hair. He dreamed of warmth, of affection, and soft, dreamy kisses that made him sigh.

When consciousness intruded, he took that warmth, that affection, and locked it away. Dreams had no place in reality, especially not in his reality, and he took special care to forget.

The youth, whoever he was, needed to be forgotten and locked away.

Gozaburo had called for him.

And Seto went, leaving behind what he could never have.