Archive of Our Own

It starts, as most things seem too, with Yugi.

Seto doesn’t know what it is about the guy, yet each time Yugi looks up at him with those big naive eyes and that wide innocent smile as he asks Seto something he would frankly never agree to… he caves. Every. Single. Time.

Then he gets home to see Mokuba with his own brilliant pleased smile and Seto has a moment of self-realisation that he will vehemently deny to his grave.

Nonetheless, it’s what leads him to be standing outside the Kame Game house on a Friday night dredging up the nerve to actually go inside. He’s still in his work clothes, the testing on KaibaCorp’s new gaming rig had run much later than expected, and the collar of his shirt irritably scratches at his neck where it’s pressed flat under his leather jacket. He’s already shed his matching gloves to stuff in the helmet he holds in the crook of his arm, and he dreads to think of the state of his hair. Yugi won’t care but Seto hates the idea of not being presentable to the rest of the group undoubtedly already begrudging him for being late.

In fact, he’s rudely late enough that they’re probably no longer jumping each time the door creaks while waiting for him, and truthfully it’s only because Mokuba had wrangled a heartfelt promise out of him that morning that has him here, although that had been after assuring him in turn that he would be there too.

Even so, Seto feels nerves rolling around in the pit of his stomach that he embarrassingly stomps down on.

Seto Kaiba does not get nervous.

He reaches up to run his hand through his hair, wondering if they’d even notice if he didn’t come in. Mokuba would give him more than a tongue-lashing later when he returned home but Seto has survived more than his fair share of those. At seventeen, Mokuba’s placidness has slowly started to give way to the same ferocity that Seto used to have.

Not that he doesn’t have it anymore… but Seto will admit that he’s calmed and centred himself more since leaving behind his boisterous teenage years.

Knowing he’s only delaying the inevitable, and knowing that he never as been one to break a promise to his little brother no matter how irritating said promises might be, Seto takes a steadying deep breath before raising his free hand to knock firmly on the front door. Each one makes his gut clench, and Seto grits his teeth at the uncomfortable feeling.

For a bracing moment, he has hope that they won’t hear him and he can make his escape, but he has no such luck as the moment his hand falls back to his side, the door promptly rips open to reveal not an excited Yugi as expected but, horrifyingly enough, Joey fucking Wheeler.

“About time,” Wheeler crows, that stupid obnoxious grin bright on his face as he leans against the door with his arms crossed, appraising Seto with smug eyes. “We were almost placing bets on how long it would take for you to walk away.”

Seto has no idea what to say to that, and that awful embarrassment swirling away in his chest only worsens as Wheeler points up to where Seto had missed a rather obvious camera that points straight at him. Of course, he isn’t sure how he forgot that this is first and foremost a shop. No wonder they have security cameras.

Although the fact that the rest of them inside have been ogling him on them leaves him indignant, and he gives Wheeler a withering glare before he promptly strides through the open door, biting down the urge to ram his shoulder into Wheeler’s as he passes him.

It seems like Wheeler doesn’t even mind as he lets out a snort before following him with a slam of the door, and Seto makes his way through the shop front out the back to Yugi’s house already unbelievably agitated. Why they had to send Wheeler to come and get him, he doesn’t know. Sure, in the four years since they’d left school things have changed, Seto is reluctant to call them friends but there is no denying that’s what this group has unexpectedly become, but there is still a badly veiled layer of antagonism between himself and Wheeler.

When he steps into the lounge and sees the shit-eating grin on Taylor’s face though, it reminds him it’s not only Wheeler that extends too.

“Kaiba!” Tea calls out from her perch on an armchair, waving at him with a kind smile that puts Seto’s teeth on edge. “We were wondering where you got too!”

He’s distracted from answering by a blur of movement, and it’s only because he’s somehow gotten used to Yugi’s carefree affection that he doesn’t even flinch as Yugi crashes into him in a hug. He doesn’t hug him back, he never does, but he still pats his spiky hair a couple times to the blatant enjoyment of Mokuba where he waves at him from beside Bakura on the couch.

“You made it,” Yugi cheers with a grin as he pulls back to blink those ridiculous purple eyes up at him, and Seto gives him something he hopes resembles a smile in response. “I’m so glad. I thought you weren’t going to come.”

“You asked,” Seto says, and Yugi grins somehow widens more at that response before pulling away and ushering Seto further into the room.

He goes where he’s told, easing down into an abandoned armchair around the table in the middle of the room, the board game that Yugi had asked him around to try with their group already opened and spread out over top of it. A few of the game pieces look like they’ve been tossed haphazardly about, and Seto wonders if Taylor or Devlin have already thrown one of their infamous tantrums.

Devlin, who smirks at Seto from beside Taylor, the two of them wearing matching priggish expressions that has Seto contemplating hurling his helmet at them. It was expensive though, and rather nice, so Seto instead lets himself get distracted by Yugi’s overeager hosting as usual, accepting the glass bottle of sparkling water he holds out him.

“Finally some real competition,” Wheeler calls as he slopes back into the room, irritating Seto even further by choosing the ottoman in front of him to flop down. There are plenty of options to pick from, the rather open space beside Taylor being a glaringly obvious one, but Wheeler always has had the tendency to follow Seto like a rather bad smell.

Even worse when he tilts his head sideways to smile at Seto, that stupid blond hair flopping down into his eyes. He brushes it back casually, most of it falling straight back down into place, and Seto wonders if he’d protest to him hacking at it with Yugi’s kitchen scissors.

Of course both Taylor and Devlin protest at being relegated to second-rate and soon the room erupts into a rather loud argument with a lot of rude hand gestures. Seto stays out of it, instead looking over to see Mokuba smugly grinning at him, eyes filled with barely restrained delight.

“Stop,” Seto mouths, and Mokuba pokes his tongue out in response.

Eventually Yugi manages to calm them down and a new round of the board game starts up. Tea sits this one out, leaving it to the ‘boys’ so to speak, and Mokuba surprises Seto by doing the same. The two of them disappear to the kitchen not long after and the smell of fried food soon wafts out. Seto hardly notices however as he reads the thin game manual in between his turns, ignoring Wheeler’s chortling at being a stickler for the rules.

It pays off though as Seto wins the first round, and he takes more delight out of the looks on Wheeler, Taylor, and Devlin’s faces than anything else. Yugi and Bakura clap him politely though which Seto rolls his eyes at before they start up another round, the other three turning suddenly very serious as they all lean forward on their collective seats.

By the time the second round has come to an end, Yugi emerging victorious, Tea and Mokuba return with plates piled high with food. They’ve barely cleared off some of the table to place them down on before Wheeler and Taylor all but attack them, and Seto doesn’t understand how the two of them still eat like ravenous teenage boys. Not that they’re much older, but still they could have some decorum.

Mokuba comes across to perch on the armrest of Seto’s chair with a plate of spring rolls and samosas that he lets Seto pick from. He’s thankful to not have to fight his way to the food, not that he would’ve anyway, and in any case he’d had a rushed sandwich between trial runs at KaibaCorp earlier. He doesn’t eat much, often too busy, but being unable to turn down the allure of fried food is an embarrassing secret of his.

“So Seto,” Yugi calls out to him, one of the very few that get away with calling him by his first name, “how did the trials go?”

“Trials?” Wheeler repeats around his food, swivelling on his ottoman to stare at Seto. “For what?”

Seto can’t help but flick the end of his spring roll at Wheeler in disgust, even more so when Wheeler catches it and crams it in his already full mouth with a wicked grin. He shakes his head. “It’s a new duelling platform.”

“Something fancy and expensive, no doubt,” Devlin mutters, and Seto raises his eyebrows when Wheeler kicks him in the ankle.

“Similar to the duel disks actually,” Mokuba interrupts, giving Devlin a mean look. “The original ones. One of the main complaints was that people struggled with their size. Seto has been trying to make them more compact without sacrificing the newer graphics.”

“Awesome,” Wheeler says, and Seto’s eyes flick to him. “That’ll make it more accessible for the younger kids.”

Seto nods. “That’s our intention.” He toys with a samosa, pinching the hard corner between his fingers. “The duelling academy is aimed at ages twelve and up, but there is still something to be said about the interest in those younger.” He’s surprised at Wheeler’s own encouraging nod. “We’re better off to continue nurturing that interest instead of gatekeeping Duel Monsters based on an age requirement.”

Yugi’s eyes light up. “If you ever need test subjects.”

Mokuba laughs, and soon enough the discussion moves on. Seto isn’t too fazed. Being the centre of attention has long since lost its lustre, and he’s more than content to sit on the sidelines. They play another few rounds of the board game, Yugi and Seto battling it out for who wins the most with Wheeler surprisingly wiping them both out on one round. He prances about the room in excitement, egged on by the others, and even Seto can’t help the smallest of smiles at his antics.

Mokuba notices. Seto decides not to worry about that until later.

Eventually though the evening starts to wind down. Tea leaves before the others, citing an early dance recital the following morning, and Bakura follows soon enough. Seto isn’t entirely sure what Bakura does, still a mystery after all these years, but he goes with that serene smile and genial wave. Seto makes his excuses shortly after, giving Mokuba a pointed look that he typically ignores. Seto decides he’ll see his brother in the morning then.

Wheeler, however joins him as he leaves, calling out his goodbyes over his shoulder as he snags his jacket from off the back of the couch. Seto isn’t overly thrilled at the company, but Wheeler has at least some manners as they walk silently through the shop to the front door.

The moment they’re outside though, as Seto starts to tug his gloves on, Wheeler lets out a low whistle of appreciation that catches his attention.

“Nice bike, Kaiba,” he says as he steps off the curb to do a spin around Seto’s sports tourer motorbike where it’s parked right outside the front of the shop, admiring it with wide excited eyes. He looks like a kid, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he comes around the other side, running his hand over the sleek white bodywork. “You didn’t have this last time we saw you.”

He did, but it’s been a long time since Seto has come to these gatherings by himself. Normally he’ll hitch a ride with Mokuba, but tonight Roland had already gone to deliver Mokuba to the Kame Game Shop and Seto hadn’t wanted to be even more late waiting for him to come back to KaibaCorp from where he’d been sent to the manor afterwards.

In any case, his bike had been parked up at KaibaCorp for some time after getting a frankly ridiculous amount of upgrades, and Seto had seen fit to finally liberate her from their workshop.

“Seems custom,” Wheeler continues as he nudges the back wheel with the toe of his boot. “Not a brand I recognise.”

“It is.” Seto tugs on his other glove even as he keeps half an eye on Wheeler. “KaibaCorp is looking at going into automotive engineering next.”

Wheeler looks up in surprise. “Really?”

“No.”

Seto expects Wheeler to sneer at him, so he’s surprised at the sudden snort as Wheeler shakes his head. “You’re a prick, Kaiba,” he says, but if Seto isn’t mistaken it lacks his usual bite. Wheeler turns back to the bike, reaching out to drag his fingers over the leather seat. “It is nice though.”

As it should be. Seto spent an exorbitant amount of money on making sure it was fast, quiet, and relatively safe. The latter being on Mokuba’s insistence of course, courtesy of an evening on the internet where he woke Seto up in the dead of night with tear marks on his cheeks and a stack of figures on motorbike related deaths and injuries.

That hadn’t been a lot of fun.

“Reckon I could take her for a spin?”

Seto freezes. He slowly looks up to see Wheeler grinning at him, that stupid floppy hair back in his eyes, looking for all the world more optimistic than Seto has ever seen him… and this is the guy who took on Marik Istar on that bloody blimp too many years ago even when they all knew that murderous rod had blow him off the deep end.

“I say this,” he begins very slowly, “with the utmost genuine curiosity,” Wheeler quirks his head to the side slightly as he waits, “why the hell would I let you ride my bike?”

Wheeler shrugs, grin not budging. “Because we’re friends.”

Seto blinks. “No we’re not.”

Wheeler bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach as shakes his head, absolutely stunning Seto with his reaction. “Oh man,” he snorts in a decidedly unattractive way. “You Wheeler have at least hesitated, Kaiba.”

Seto can’t help the way his lips twitch up at their corners. “I’ve never been one to mince words, as they say.”

“True.” Wheeler gives him an odd look as his smile slips into something a little less big. “What if I said please really nicely?”

Seto manages to bite down his immediate and rude response. He’s sure that Mokuba would be more than displeased to hear it.

However the look on his face still manages to get the message across, and Wheeler lets out a soft sigh. “Yeah, fair enough.” He doesn’t pout but it’s a near thing. “I get it. I wouldn’t let me drive it either.”

“Ride,” Seto automatically corrects, and Wheeler huffs.

“Ride.” He glances towards the bike, all sleek white lines and elegant curves. “I always wanted one back in high school. Never could afford it though. Between rent and Dad’s debts, there was barely enough money to put food on the table let alone have the luxury of even a push bike.” He shrugs. “Maybe someday.”

He says it so wistfully. Seto doesn’t believe in sob stories. The poor man’s con, as Gozaburo used to say. He’d drilled it into Seto’s head over and over, chipping away at Seto’s empathy until there was nothing left but a child bitter and angry with too much to prove and little care as to how.

Perhaps it’s that thought, that ugly reminder, that makes Seto take two steps forward, open one of the hard case saddlebags, and pull out his spare helmet.

Wheeler stares, eyes wide and mouth wider as Seto holds it out to him. There’s an awkward moment where they both stand still staring at one another until Seto growls irritably and shakes the helmet at him.

“Are you going to take it or not?” he demands, and Wheeler startles before doing just that.

There’s still no way that Seto will let him ride his bike on his own, but as he swings his leg over to settle down onto it, flicking the ignition and starting the engine with a low purr, he jerks his head behind him with a very intentional look.

Wheeler clearly gets the hint, and Seto sees another glimpse of that ridiculous brilliant smile as he jams the helmet down over that mess of a mop he calls hair before he scrambles forward in an ungainly hustle, obviously bursting with unrestrained excitement.

Seto has the class to wait until his helmet is on before he rolls his eyes.

It’s a strange feeling to have someone behind him. He’s had Mokuba on a few times, when his little brother has whined and performed enough for him to cave despite Seto referring back to those statistics the kid had pulled that one night. Wheeler is completely different though, all long limbs and lean body, and he grits his teeth to push away all the odd thoughts starting to slip through the barely maintained wall his mind has so carefully constructed.

“Hold on,” he instructs, and when Wheeler doesn’t move, he reaches back to snag his arm, pulling it forward to wrap around his waist… ignoring the way it makes his heart suddenly stutter. “I mean it.”

“Yeah yeah,” he hears quietly behind him, muffled by their helmets. He lets go of Wheeler’s arm only for his hand to fall weakly to Seto’s side, the grip not nearly tight enough.

Seto decides against caring. Wheeler will learn soon enough, and he doesn’t hold back as he revs the engine, kicks the kickstand, and takes off.

The startled yelp followed by frantic hands snatching at his waist makes Seto grin sadistically, and he rips back on the throttle even more as they launch down the empty night in a quiet blur. Wheeler is hollering something that he can’t hear, it makes him think he should’ve invested in those bluetooth connected helmets Mokuba had gone on about, but it doesn’t matter as he focuses instead on zipping them out of the dozy streets towards the main drags of Domino City.

Streetlights flash by as the road spreads out in front of them, and Seto doesn’t hesitate to weave in and out of the slowly growing traffic. Inner Domino can often be busy, tonight proving no different, and he tries not to think of Wheeler’s firm grip on his waist or the warm weight of his chest against his back as he zips them down towards where KaibaCorp towers in the distance.

Knowing he’s showing off, and more than content to do so, he pulls some sharp corners and dips them down low enough to nearly scrape their legs on the tarmac. Not too much, after all Wheeler isn’t wearing any protective gear, but enough that Wheeler shrieks and hollers behind him in a jumbled mess of words Seto can’t hear. He doesn’t let go though, his knees press tightly into Seto’s hips, and Seto just pushes his bike faster in the hopes of blaming that for how his heart races.

He makes a long enough ride going right to the edge of the main downtown area, passing by most of Kaiba Land, before looping around to head back towards the Kame Game Shop. It’s not a long ride, after all Wheeler isn’t properly dressed for one in his blue cargo jacket and jeans, and Seto has been lectured by Mokuba too many times to push the limits of safety even if he’s sure Wheeler wouldn’t care otherwise. Twenty minutes, maybe as an estimate, should be plenty for Seto to hope that Wheeler will have gotten enough out of it to not bother him in the future.

Or that’s what he tells himself.

When they pull to a stop outside the shop, Wheeler doesn’t get off immediately. Seto waits for a moment before reaching down to pinch one of Wheeler’s cold pale hands where it’s pressed against his stomach, and it gets a startle out of him that has Wheeler quickly scrambling off in a mess of limbs that nearly knocks Seto off as well.

Seto turns to snap at him, only to pause as Wheeler yanks the helmet off with a dramatic flick of his hair, and he blinks at how dazed Wheeler looks as he grins at him.

“That,” he says, “was awesome.”

Seto’s heart thumps, and he swings off the bike himself as he reaches out to take the helmet from Wheeler, quickly cramming it back into the saddlebag he’d pulled it from. “Whatever, Wheeler.”

Wheeler huffs, crossing his arms. “Should I say thank you? Or will that offend your delicate sensibilities?”

Glad Wheeler can’t see his face beneath the helmet, Seto just shakes his head and climbs back on the bike, giving it a quick rev to push more pressure into the transmission. “Say what you will.”

He glances back to him, lingering as he takes in the pleased curve of the smile still on Wheeler’s face, the bright brown eyes that glitter under the streetlights, the utter messy disaster of blond hair made worse from the helmet.

“Thanks then,” Wheeler says, surprising Seto for the nth time that evening.

Seto stares for a moment more, telling himself it’s just to make sure that this all really happened, before he gives Wheeler a brisk nod, kicks shut the kickstand, and rides away.

It’s been a long time since Seto played Duel Monsters competitively.

Naturally, with the Pharaoh’s departure, Seto had found very few duelists provided him with the same level of competition. Yugi still plays at the odd championship or tournament, but it became apparent very quickly that his enthusiasm for the game had slipped around the same time that Seto’s had. Sometimes they’ll still play each other, mostly when Yugi comes by KaibaCorp as a test subject, although those games are more clinical and specific than just a simple match.

It doesn’t mean that he hasn’t stopped hosting though. After all, KaibaCorp has built it’s foundations on the game under Seto’s control. To give that up would be to overhaul the entire corporation and while Seto’s drive to play the game may have fallen away, his passion for it remains.

So the yearly World Championships are always held by KaibaCorp. Planning begins immediately after the ending of the last one. Twelve months of careful organisation and regimental logistics consistently produce a coveted and inspiring display of raw talent and cultivated skill. Duelists come and go, the academy always has their favourites to win, and the older competition from Seto’s own days make dramatic appearances on the odd year to the delight of the community.

The only catch that Seto finds each time is the presence of one Maximillion Pegasus. After the disaster of Duelist Kingdom, Pegasus has never hosted another tournament but his talent for creating cards has given him back his high standing within the Duelling community. Seto would happily forgo the painful week of his annoying laugh and being called ‘Kaiba-boy’ at every opportunity, even willing to jump out of one of his jets without a parachute should the opportunity present, but there are some collaborations that one cannot go without in their business. Having the creator of the game present is one of them.

This particular year is no different, although it’s the fifth year anniversary of the official World Championships and to celebrate Seto has invited more duelists than before. Yugi and Wheeler agree before the words even leave his mouth, although he’s surprised at Wheeler’s disappointment when he finds out Seto won’t be competing himself. There are a few too many returning champions, both Von Schroeder brothers for one had been more than eager to return on the back of Leon’s triumph in the European league, and Seto has more work on his hands managing the upcoming tourney.

Held at a newly built special facility just outside of Domino, humbly called the KC Dome, Seto is both more than relieved and stressed at the same time when the day finally arrives. He isn’t sure he’s slept more than a handful of hours all week, up at all times of the night vetoing new ideas and initiating protocols he’s positive most the staff will forget within minutes, but the day still moves as easily as clockwork while the duelist’s arrive on the red carpet in a flurry of flashing cameras and dramatic reveals, dazzling smiles and laughable outfits all hammed up for the crowds enjoyment.

Seto catches sight of Wheeler just briefly before he’s ushered away by Roland, pausing when he sees him with the others. He looks different amongst the glitz and glamour, skinny jeans and combat boots, a well-worn camouflage jacket that matches the dog tags resting on his plain white shirt. In comparison, Mai Valentine is on his arm in an intimidating purple leather get up, looking glamorous near garish as she towers over him in those ridiculously tall heels.

She smiles down at Wheeler, presses ruby red lips to his cheek and wipes at the mark they leave behind, and Seto rips his eyes away as Roland takes his elbow to pull him inside.

The opening ceremony goes off without a hitch. Seto does his usual speech, standing between Pegasus and Mokuba on a balcony overlooking the duelling grounds where the duelists gather below, the grandstands packed to overfilling in the surrounding arena. He spots Yugi who gives him an excited wave, and Seto finds he has to bite back the smile that nearly draws out of him.

He plays nice in the corporate box as the games go on. He’d rather be watching the quick-fire knockout rounds, looking out for new talent for KaibaCorp to sponsor, but Zigfried monopolises most of his time as Leon battles below, and Seto hasn’t spent years extending the hand to the Schroeder Corp to lose his strengthening footing in the Europe market because he’s irritated.

Some days take more patience than he truly has.

The knockout rounds narrow the preliminaries to thirty-two contestants, which passes into the quarter finals until there are only eight duelists left for the semis. Seto isn’t surprised at all to see Wheeler and Yugi amongst the eight, the only other familiar face Leon while the rest are all new on the scene. If Seto isn’t mistaken, the blue-haired kid standing by Yugi who looks barely over fourteen is the current highest ranked duelist at the academy. He makes a note to keep an eye on him.

Which is a good call as the kid absolutely slaughters Wheeler in the semis. Seto watches the entire match, standing out on the balcony with his arms crossed, Mokuba supplying witty commentary under his breath beside him. Wheeler doesn’t even look disappointed as he grins at the kid, slinging his arm around his shoulders and holding his arm up in victory. The crowd goes wild, the cheers thundering through the stadium, and when Wheeler glances up and beams at Seto, Seto begrudgingly gives him a small smile he isn’t sure Wheeler can see from that far away.

It leaves the kid battling it out with Leon for the finals, Yugi and another newbie fighting for third and fourth, and Seto is only mildly surprised when Leon takes the title of champion. He had followed his career in the European league after all, and the younger Von Schroeder has certainly got a natural nous for Duel Monsters compared to his brother.

Not that Seto would ever tell him that, even as he hands him the golden trophy and steps back on the raised dais to let Leon perform for the crowd, throwing his hands in the air for them all to see. The newcomer kid, Seto thinks he should try to learn his name, looks unsure where he holds a silver trophy himself, but Yugi smiles at Seto as he sidles up beside him with his own bronze trophy hanging loosely from his fingertips.

“He’s good,” he murmurs, nodding his head at the kid where his friends have swarmed forward to congratulate him. “I doubt it’ll be long until he takes the world by storm.”

Seto scoffs, crossing his arms as Leon leads the crowd away in a flurry of cheers and cameras. “He’s young.”

Yugi looks up at him, his smile softening. “So were we.”

Seto doesn’t appreciate sentiment, not even from Yugi, and he ignores the strange feeling curling in the pit of his stomach as Wheeler pushes his way through the last of the crowd to join them up on the dais. He throws an arm around Yugi’s shoulders as he tugs the trophy from his hand, tipping it back to admire it. Seto is personally quite proud of it, a duel disc on a slight pedestal, the five cards that make up Exodia the Forbidden One settled over the slots. The gold trophy is the largest, but the silver and bronze versions while smaller are still just as detailed.

“Now I wish I’d tried harder,” Wheeler says as he turns Yugi’s around, and Seto bites his tongue to stop from saying something snide. “This is gonna look killer on the shelf.”

Whatever Yugi replies with is lost to Seto as Roland appears nearby, gesturing for Seto to follow him from the bottom of the dais. The day’s schedule has been demanding, not letting up for one moment, and Seto is frankly exhausted already even as he leaves the other two behind to carry on with the celebrations.

The purpose built convention hall has been dramatically stylised for the victory party. Polished wooden floors and glittering crystal chandeliers, a constant stream of fizzing drinks and delectable foods on silver trays, extravagant sculptures of various Duel Monsters, the centrepiece being the three Blue Eyes White Dragon’s imposing down on the crowd from where they hang high in the towering ceiling. The room is packed with public and paparazzi alike, everyone swallowed up in the glitz and glamor that teeters on the line between tasteful and ostentatious, a classic over-expenditure treated with frivolity. Seto’s entrance alongside Pegasus is to cheers and claps, the crowd surges forwards to meet them, and Seto pushes his fatigue to the side as he braves the onslaught.

He pays his dues. Holds small talk that puts his teeth on edge and scowls at the camera for all the necessary photos. By the time he manages to make his way out the other side of the room to where the VIP lounge upstairs awaits, his eyes hurt from looking at too many flashes and his skin is crawling with the need for some quiet. He knows he won’t get it, not yet anyway, but the soft lighting and intimate setting of the lounge he steps into does just enough to quell the thrumming in his veins.

“Seto,” Mokuba greets him as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, arriving with a glass of water that Seto barely refrains from chugging greedily. “Okay?”

Seto just nods. It seems to satisfy Mokuba enough before he takes Seto’s elbow and starts to pull him forwards, already beaming as he easily glides through the room. It’s obvious of the two of them who is more suited to the social aspect of things, but Seto has been determined to protect Mokuba from the scrutiny he’d faced as CEO and the face of KaibaCorp at such a young age. He never got to be a kid, to enjoy the foolishness one is expected to have, and he’d be damned if he let Mokuba feel the same.

Nevertheless, Seto can’t deny looking forward to next year when Mokuba becomes of age and can take on the front-facing role of the company, no doubt enthusiastically at that.

The room isn’t teeming with people like the main area downstairs. There’s only a select few, the semi-finalists and their plus ones, corporate members, and the odd reputable duelist. The kid that came in second, Seto should really learn his name, is clearly still riding his wave of disbelief where he’s talking to Mai Valentine with dazed wide eyes, and Seto is pleased to see that the Von Schroeder brothers have been monopolised by Pegasus in the far corner. The thought of being dragged into another gruelling discussion of a merger with Industrial Illusions would be enough for Seto to contemplate pitching himself over the edge of the balcony outside, so much so he’s actually thankful when Mokuba draws him to a halt right beside Yugi’s group.

Well, Yugi and Wheeler… and the rest of their motley crew. Bakura offers Seto a cheerful wave as Taylor nods his head appreciatively at him.

“Nice party, Kaiba,” Taylor says with a mock toast of his glass, the amber liquid sloshing up to the rim. “I’m surprisingly enjoying myself.”

Not entirely sure if Taylor is being serious or trying to joke with him, he never is too be fair, Seto just presses his lips into a thin line and nods back. Taylor snorts and takes a sip, but he’s grinning as he drapes an arm over Devlin’s shoulders before he returns to whatever conversation he was having with Tea, who wiggles her fingers at Seto in her own hello.

At his elbow, Mokuba is already excitably chatting to Yugi, both of them admiring the trophy still in hand. Seto isn’t sure why, both of them had a part to play in it’s design, but he doesn’t begrudge the twinkle in his brother’s eye as he gestures a little too wildly beside him.

Wheeler, however, leans in to knock their shoulders together. “This has been incredible, Kaiba,” he tells him, and Seto is still getting used to the sincerity Wheeler weirdly shows him now they’re considered ‘friends’. “Best championship I’ve ever been a part of.”

“The only championship you’ve ever been a part of,” Seto can’t help but snipe back, even if it’s a lie, and Wheeler screws his nose up him as he crosses his arms.

“You can’t take a compliment, can you?” When Seto just stares at him, Wheeler sighs and shakes his head. “Like a vending machine with a wrinkled note.”

Seto blinks. “You did not just compare to me to a vending machine.”

Wheeler grins, toothy and mischievous. “So many buttons to push and you never know what you’re really gonna get… yeah, I think I did.” At Seto’s obvious still disbelief, Wheeler reaches out to poke his chest. “And breaking down at the strangest of times. You’re practically giving this to me.”

Seto swats his finger away, deciding not to enjoy the delighted laugh that bubbles out of Wheeler in response. He opens his mouth to say something cutting back, but is stopped as someone calls his name out over the room. With dread, he turns slightly to see Zigfried making towards him, Leon and Pegasus in tow, and he can feel his stomach drop at the mere thought of being caught with them.

“Uh oh,” Wheeler mutters, “do you want me to create a distraction so you can run away?”

Torn between snapping that Kaiba’s don’t run away or sharing a shocking gratitude that Wheeler would even offer something like that, Zigfried reaches him before he can make a choice. He’s curious to know what the look on his face is as Wheeler’s eyebrows raise at it, but it doesn’t matter as Seto reluctantly spins around to face what was always an inevitable conversation.

If he hadn’t a headache before, he certainly has one by the time he manages to make his excuses to the unsavoury trio. It’s only after promises of business meetings to come, a future collaboration between their three industries, and Seto is thankful for the night air as he manages to slip around the still busy room to the waiting balcony outside.

It’s quiet out here. No one in sight. Seto practically sags against the balustrade where it looks out over the darkened arena, the muffled sound of pounding music and the party downstairs only just reaching him this high. He runs his hands over his face, rubbing his fingers into the joints of his jaw, aching from clenching it so tight. He’s sure there is a business proposition somewhere that would be beneficial for KaibaCorp, but he’s well past thinking about it tonight.

Right now, his skin just itches and his brain feels too heavy. He rests his elbows on the balustrade before hanging his head, closing his eyes against the pounding feeling in the back of his head, wishing the agitation coiling tightly up inside his chest would just go away.

“Kaiba?”

Truly sick of everyone saying his name, Seto snaps his head up to glower at Wheeler where he stands nearby, not having heard him join him. Wheeler doesn’t even flinch though, just arches an eyebrow at him before raising the two glasses he holds in his hands.

“Thought you could use a drink.”

Expecting alcohol of some kind, Seto is surprised when the glass Wheeler presses into his hand is simply iced water. He stares at it for a moment before taking a sip, not entirely trusting, but the cold rush that runs down his throat cools the burn in his chest as the tightness uncoils just the slightest.

“Thanks,” Seto says gruffly, not entirely sure he’s actually said the word loud enough to be heard, but Wheeler beams as he shuffles to join him. Seto is tempted to tell him to go away, but words feel clunky in his mouth and he’s just so tired.

“Not feeling it, huh?” Wheeler muses beside him, drumming his fingers on aluminium balustrade, the rhythmic noise oddly soothing. “Can’t blame you. I’m not even as important as you and I’m feeling completely smothered.” When Seto doesn’t respond, he just huffs. “I don’t know how you do it. I thought for years you were just some weird robot who enjoyed all the attention but now?” He pauses. “Now I know you’re just…”

He trails off, and Seto grits his teeth as he turns his head to glare at him. “What.”

Wheeler smiles, pushing their shoulders together again. “Human.”

Something strange unfurls in Seto’s stomach, warm and calming and completely unfamiliar. He doesn’t shove Wheeler away for once, the odd press of their shoulders almost steadying, and Seto lets out a heavy breath that has his whole body sagging forward.

A quiet moment passes between them before Wheeler clears his throat.

“Want to get out of here?” he asks, stunning Seto with his boldness as he flashes him a sheepish smile. “Or, well, you leave and take me with you? I don’t think the buses are running this time of night and I want to get out of here just as much as it looks like you do.”

Seto stares back. “Your observation skills have always left little to be desired, Wheeler,” he mutters, and Wheeler rolls his eyes, “but surely even you haven’t missed the extremely large celebration going on around us.”

Wheeler snorts. “Obviously not.” He runs a hand through that shock of blond hair, somehow making it messier, and if Seto isn’t mistaken he looks nervous. “But all the bigwig stuff is over and done with.”

“That doesn’t mean I can up and disappear, especially not to give you a ride back to town,” Seto points out. “As a KaibaCorp sponsored event there is a certain amount of personal presentation expected-”

“That Mokuba is more than happy to do,” Wheeler interrupts him, irritating Seto immensely. Wheeler glances back over his shoulder before jerking his head for Seto to do the same. “In fact, he’s quite the natural at it.”

Seto shifts to see what he’s talking about, feeling both tense and proud at the same time when he sees Mokuba standing with a small crowd around him. He’s clearly holding court, a charming smile on his face as he waves his hands in excitement, each person hanging onto his every word. He’s a natural, just as Wheeler said and as Seto has always known, but even so he’s just so… young.

“Let him have this one, Kaiba,” Wheeler says, catching Seto’s sleeve as he moves to head back inside, not entirely sure what his plan is except to step between Mokuba and the responsibilities he continues to chase. “Forget about me. You look exhausted.”

“I’m not,” Seto lies. Wheeler doesn’t let go though, hand wrapping further around his forearm, and Seto finds himself allowing Wheeler to tug him back a step.

“Sure.” He glances over his shoulder to see Wheeler’s jaw squared with determination, his eyes flashing with intent. “You should really get some rest. When was the last time you slept?”

Seto narrows his eyes at him. “Pretending you care, Wheeler? That’s new.”

Wheeler’s hand tightens around his arm. “I’ve never been one for playing pretend.” He lets go, the loss of his warm hand leaving a cool imprint on Seto’s arm. “But if you want me to pretend otherwise, then I won’t push.”

His words feel like a strike across Seto’s face. Had he less decorum, he’s sure his mouth might have fallen open in surprise, but instead he simply stares with a sort of blunted shock as Wheeler shuffles awkwardly on his feet before glaring off into the distance somewhere past the stadium.

It’s not often someone like Wheeler genuinely leaves Seto stumped.

He huffs and shakes his head before turning to walk away. He only gets a few steps before he stops though, glancing back over his shoulder to see Wheeler looking for all the world like he wants the ground to swallow him up, and he can’t help his smirk.

“Coming or not?” he demands impatiently, refusing to acknowledge the way his heart jumps when a brilliant smile breaks out over Wheeler’s boyish face.

He doesn’t wait for him to catch up before striding off though, instead focusing on pulling out his phone to fire off a handful of messages, notably to Mokuba, Roland, and Kugata that he’s leaving. Mokuba replies immediately with a series of nauseating emojis that Seto assumes means he’s happy to continue hosting on his behalf. Roland’s one worded affirmative that he will stay with Mokuba until he leaves is more Seto’s kind of communication.

Wheeler is hot on his heels as he stalks to the end of the balcony where a side door leading to the internal stairwell is, a clever little hiding spot that Roland had insisted on when designing the convention centre, and Seto has a mind to thank him for providing some form of exit strategy for this very reason. Wheeler lets out a small laugh when he realises the stairwell takes them right out the side of the building, shaking his head with what Seto hesitates to call awe.

“Always got an escape, huh?” he comments, but Seto doesn’t respond.

Kugata greets them as instructed, giving Seto a firm nod where he waits at the foot of the stairwell. He opens the door for Seto to step straight outside where his motor bike waits for him, taking the keys from Kugata as he goes. Wheeler is nearly shaking with pure excitement out of the corner of his eye, and Seto bites down the strange feeling that warms up in his chest when he sees it.

He’s just tired, that’s all.

Wheeler is even more giddy when Seto rummages through the saddle bags to pull out two helmets, his own and a newer one that is a near match, only black instead of Seto’s white to match his bike. Wheeler takes it enthusiastically and jams it down over that unruly hair, and Seto has to look away when bright brown eyes smile out at him from between the visor gap.

He settles his own helmet on before reaching for his gloves. His suit isn’t exactly the most suitable attire for bike riding but it will have to do for now. Wheeler isn’t in a much better position with his jacket and jeans, but Seto decides he won’t be doing anything reckless anyway with a passenger. Not that he does alone… or not that he’ll admit.

Wheeler hesitates for a moment when Seto straddles his bike. “What?” Seto snaps, not really in the mood for coddling him.

“You sure you’re not too tired to…” Wheeler just gestures at the bike, and Seto harrumphs as he leans forward to rev the engine.

“You’re the one that wanted the ride.”

Wheeler still looks uncertain but when Seto kicks the kickstand it seems to jolt him forward. He scrambles up behind Seto, gripping his waist tightly as he brackets Seto’s hips with his knees. He’s closer than last time, Seto is sure, but he ignores whatever that makes him feel as he revs the engine again and launches them off.

The KC Dome is soon left behind as Seto heads out the side entrance meant for staff, startling a few that had been lurking about. Seto couldn’t care less though as they burst out onto the dark streets, the glittering rise of Domino guiding them back towards the city.

“Oh man,” he hears Wheeler mutter, the slight crackle of the bluetooth microphone accompanying his voice in the helmet’s speakers, “this is so fucking cool.”

Seto purses his lips together to stop his smile. Wheeler sounds so winded, like all the breath has just been ripped from his chest. He pauses for a moment, knowing he swore he wouldn’t do anything reckless, but there’s something intoxicating about having Wheeler with him… knowing that Wheeler is feeling just as excited as he is.

Fuck it. “Hang on, Wheeler,” he says just as he twists the throttle and the motorbike smoothly accelerates faster beneath them, tearing them well over the speed-limit down the expressway.

Wheeler lets out a startled yelp behind him, clinging to Seto even tighter somehow as his surprise gives way to a cackle that makes Seto want to laugh. It’s slightly maniac and entirely juvenile, but as they swerve around cars and past trucks, slipping down the dashed middle lines effortlessly, Seto thinks it’s entirely warranted.

“Holy shit!” Wheeler crows, and Seto is thankful the speakers automatically adjust the volume settings. “I can hear you!”

Seto nearly bloody snorts. “That’s how technology works, Wheeler.”

He doesn’t expect the pinch, Wheeler’s fingers digging into the soft flesh of his side. It makes him jump, his heart races, and he’s utterly speechless at the overly familiar touch… especially when Wheeler soothes a hand over the sore spot as if to apologise immediately.

“I’m not dumb,” Wheeler huffs in his ear, “I’m just saying it’s new. I couldn’t hear you last time.”

Seto is well aware. “Mokuba has been asking me to get them for some time now,” he lies. That might be true but he’s loathed to admit the real reason he decided to finally get the second helmet.

As far as he’s concerned, it had absolutely nothing to do with wondering just what Wheeler had been thinking the last time he’d been on that back of Seto’s bike.

Wheeler just laughs again though. “Yeah sure,” he says a little mockingly. “I’ll believe you.” His helmet bumps against the back of Seto’s. “Nothing to do with wanting to hear me whisper sweet nothings in your ear-”

Seto taps the breaks, lurching the bike suddenly. Wheeler cuts himself off with a girlish screech, arms and knees clenching around Seto desperately as his hands scrabble to cling to Seto’s suit jacket, and Seto can’t help his burst of laughter as he rips back on the throttle again as he veers them off the expressway.

Wheeler’s breath catches, no doubt still in fear, and Seto kindly doesn’t point out the way Wheeler’s hands tighten around him.

“Asshole,” he mumbles, and Seto smirks.

Wheeler’s neighbourhood is a little further away than the mansion, but Seto frankly enjoys the ride. Every time he takes his bike out he remembers just how freeing it is. Lights from buildings flicker and flash by, the road spreads out inviting in front of him, cars are mere obstacles to nimbly glide around. There’s something intoxicating about the sheer release of it.

Even with Wheeler… Seto refuses to think more on it.

Wheeler lives on a respectable street these days, long different from the rough part of town he grew up on. Well-maintained buildings line the road, the concrete curbs dotted with patches of manicured grass, orange-leafed trees peak out between the yellow streetlights. Seto is thankful his bike is more of a quiet purr than a deafening roar as they slide up to where Wheeler’s apartment waits, lowering the chances of waking up any family’s or ratty nosey neighbours.

“Thanks,” Wheeler says as Seto comes to a halt, easily slipping off the back of the bike and removing his helmet with a flick of his hair. “I can’t imagine how long it would’ve taken me to walk back.”

Seto finds himself taking off his helmet too, just so Wheeler can see his smug smirk. “You should look into getting a mode of transportation,” he snarks, Wheeler’s eyes narrow in response. “A push bike even.”

Wheeler huffs as he shakes his head. “Public transport suits me fine.”

Seto rolls his eyes but doesn’t bite back. He toys with his helmet for a minute, not entirely sure why he’s lingering, but it doesn’t feel quite right yet to leave. He glances up behind Wheeler at the innocuous apartment behind him that he shares with Taylor. He could very well have just gone home with him at the end of the evening instead of bullying a ride from Seto… perhaps Wheeler isn’t as much of a social butterfly as he seems to be.

The image of Mai Valentine’s lips on Wheeler’s cheek flashes through his mind though, and Seto decides there’s a lot about Wheeler he doesn’t know.

“I really appreciate the ride,” Wheeler suddenly says, and Seto’s eyes snap back to him only to be surprised by the genuine soft look on Wheeler’s face, those brown eyes holding Seto’s gaze. “Maybe… maybe I could buy you dinner to say thanks?”

It’s a rather abrupt offer. It leaves Seto speechless for a long moment, dare he say flustered, and he clears his throat quickly. “That’s not necessary.”

Wheeler shrugs one arm in that carefree way of his. “Still.”

Seto stares at him for a moment longer, wondering just why Wheeler feels the need to repay him in some way. He guesses its because of the precedent he’s always set, that there is no such thing as favours even between friends, but he’s changed a lot in recent years. Yugi’s impact on him is much larger than he is willing to admit, but even so he’s more than capable of acknowledging that he’s not above doing perceived favours for the others.

Even so, he raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess,” he says slowly, “back corner booth of a Burger World?”

Wheeler’s nostrils flare as his eyes narrow. “What, too good for Burger World?"

Seto smirks as he shoves his helmet on. “No.” He revs the engine and meets Wheeler’s surprised gaze one last time before flicking down the visor. “See you later, Wheeler.”

He kicks off, zipping back down the street and leaving Wheeler’s reply behind as he races back towards the edge of town where the mansion nestles, the siren call for a night of well-deserved rest making his hand heavy on the throttle.

It’s only when he’s pulling up the gravel driveway of the mansion though that he realises in all his dramatics, he’d forgotten to get the helmet back off Wheeler.

Oh well, Seto decides as he makes his way inside. He can always make another.

Seto has never been in the habit of lying to himself.

Admittedly, it might take him some time to arrive to a conclusion he’s willing to believe, his determination to look at a problem or situation from every angle possible very well known, but once he does there is not much if anything at all that can change the concrete facts he has decided on.

However, Joey Wheeler has startlingly and rapidly become a very large exception.

The days following the World Championships are busy. There are contracts to renew and terminate, business propositions to push through, proposals to draft and then draft again. Seto spends most of his time living off the endless stream of black coffee handed to him by his executive assistant and chewing on painkillers for the eye strain from reading so much that even his glasses can’t ease. Mokuba is particularly vile when he refuses to let him help, pointing out the rather obvious obstacle of attending school, and Mokuba’s temper tantrum is enough to drive Seto back to the office for another all nighter.

Even so, despite the fact his brain spends more time thinking in figures and graphs… thoughts of Wheeler just keep managing to wriggle in.

Which is frustrating. Despite knowing him for so many years, Seto has never given this much attention to Wheeler before. Sure, there’s been the odd thought or two, most of annoyance or irritation at Wheeler’s antics during school and a barely-there tolerance since. He still hesitates to call them friends, not like he would with Yugi. Even Tea is probably considered more of a friend than whatever his relationship is with Wheeler.

And yet.

He can’t shake off the sensation of Wheeler’s arms around him, his chest pressed against his back, knees digging into his hips. Each time he’s slid onto his motorbike for the journey home, he can’t help but think that it’s missing the weight of Wheeler behind him. His breathless laughter rings in Seto’s ears and his chest aches something fierce at the thought of not hearing it again.

He chalks it up to an infatuation. He’s had them before, most notably for Wheeler himself once, but he’d managed to palm that off on puberty being an utter bitch around warm brown eyes and devilish smiles. He’s an adult now and far above having teenage ideals. Wheeler is not suitable for him and that is a hard cold fact. Even if they weren’t worlds apart, there’s no way that Wheeler would ever be able to cope with the corporate cold world that Seto has to live in.

He’s too full of life and Seto… Seto doesn’t know what he is.

He shoves all those thoughts down though, replacing them with paperwork that makes him ache in an entirely different way. Maybe Mokuba had a point about hiring him a personal masseuse. His head pounds with a tension headache, his shoulders are stiff from being hunched forward, and he’s pretty sure he’s accidentally straightened out the natural curve of his own neck at this point. Every time he moves his head he can feel the pull of nerves and muscles right down the line of his back, nauseatingly painful.

He reaches over and hits the intercom. “Audrey,” he calls, “bring me more ibuprofen.”

There’s a silent crackle before Audrey replies. “Sir, you’ve had your quota for the day.” A pause. “Perhaps it’s time to go home?”

Seto wrinkles his nose and glances at the clock. It’s barely gone seven. He knows most of the building will be long since empty by now, no doubt only Audrey has stayed loyally behind. He should consider giving her another raise.

He clears his throat. “You’re dismissed. If that’s what you want to hear.”

“You know it isn’t.” Audrey sounds snippy but it’s nothing new. “Seriously, Mr Kaiba, you’ve been here since six this morning-”

“Dismissed, Audrey.” He clicks off the intercom, only just catching the end of a strong word he’s surprised to hear from Audrey’s mouth. Normally she is the height of sophistication, a perfect assistant without fault. He guesses everyone has their limits though.

He sees no point in going home just yet in any case. Mokuba is here in the building from his last message less than half an hour ago, taking advantage of the just started school holidays down in the R&D department testing out the new duelling disks. The mansion will be cold and empty, and Seto hates the place even when Mokuba is home with him. It doesn’t carry many fond memories, perhaps only in recent years, and it’s only because it does for Mokuba that he hasn’t found somewhere else for them to live.

It doesn’t matter. He returns to his paperwork despite the crick in his neck, determined to whittle down the numerous stacks covering his desk and even on the ground. He hates a messy office and the piles are starting to drive him a little mad. Every time he manages to finish one, two more seem to take its place. It’s frankly exhausting.

Nevertheless, he persists as always. The proposal with Schroeder Corp is currently spread out over the majority of his desk, and while he would like nothing more than to set the whole thing alight and dump the ashes in the bin, Seto knows that to keep Kaiba Corp running in Europe, it has to be done. So he grits his teeth and dives back in, determined to get the bloody proposal finished tonight for his lawyers to dissect on Monday.

It means he’s beyond irritated when there’s a quiet knock on the door. He can’t imagine who the hell it is, not at this time of night, and when he glances up to glare down his glasses at the figure in the door… he’s genuinely astounded to see Wheeler looking right back.

There’s a beat of silence.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Seto demands as he starts to stand up, mentally readying himself to positively berate his security for letting a non-employe onto his floor let alone into the damn building on a Tuesday evening.

Wheeler at least has the decency to look sheepish, reaching up to run a hand through his hair as he smiles at Seto with too much familiarity. “Mokuba let me in.”

Seto changes berating his staff to berating his own younger brother. He slumps back down in his seat, reaching up to massage his temples with one hand as he takes his glasses off, depositing them down on top of the nauseating proposal. He sees Wheeler move further into his office, looking around with interest as he crosses over towards Seto’s desk.

He looks incredibly out of place. Seto’s office is all sleek lines in cool near cold shades of blue, white, and grey. It takes modern to a new level, almost futuristic with metallic silver accents to all the smart shiny leathers. He’s not overly fond of it but it suits the image he’s trying to present, distant and above such human comforts, although Mokuba had insisted on the one strange pillow on the nearby couch shaped like the blue goat from the scapegoat card.

Wheeler, however, in his ripped jeans and green plaid coat is comparatively vintage not designer. He’s warm amongst the cold, a sharp splash of colour against the monotone. Seto looks at him for much too long and decides he would be more at home in Seto’s study back at the mansion, standing amongst the dark wood walls and endless bookshelves, even settled in the well-worn brown leather armchairs

For a brief moment, he imagines late evenings spent sitting together, steaming mugs held in cold hands, soft smiles over the rims, quiet talk into a peaceful silence.

Shit.

He shakes his head to rid himself of the notion, torn between disbelief and anger as he barely restrains from digging his palms into his eyes. What is he thinking? What the hell is he thinking? It must be the sleep-deprivation finally setting in.

“It’s a bit late for you to still be at work, isn’t it?” Wheeler suddenly says, distracting Seto from his internal disbelief. Wheeler’s standing by the glass bookcase in the corner of the room, running his fingers along the framed cards that line the shelves. They’re mostly mock ups of actual cards in circulation, most notably the giant blue eyes and red eyes dragons that sit centre stage complimenting one another.

Panic flashes through Seto as he realises what that could and, considering Mokuba had laughed when he arranged them like that, probably does look like.

“It’s late for you to be at my work, yes,” he snaps, and Wheeler turns to give him an unrepentant grin.

“Right,” he says with that careless lack of remorse he’s perfected. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

He’s distracted again though by the shelves, moving across each one as he looks at every card. It unnerves Seto a little, not used to anyone taking such an interest in his personal collection. It’s why he’s felt comfortable having it here, knowing it would never be under such scrutiny. He rarely holds meetings or has anyone outside of a select few here in his office. It’s felt like a safe place to collect copies of cards that take his interest or just look good, such as the two naturally opposing dragons.

Of course Wheeler has to be the one to turn that upside down. He’s always been good at unsettling the ground beneath Seto’s feet.

“Why are you here, Wheeler?” he demands after a moment spent gripping the armrests of his chair, barely holding back the urge to throw Wheeler out. He’s spending too long looking at the matching dragons. It’s making Seto’s skin itch.

But Wheeler just spins around with a chastened look. “Oh,” he says spectacularly before swinging forward his beaten up backpack. He opens it and, to Seto’s dismay, pulls out his spare helmet. “I wanted to return this.”

Seto stares at the proffered helmet for a moment, Wheeler much too far away for him to grab it. It looks almost like a peace offering, especially with Wheeler’s dopey grin back on his face, that ridiculous mop of hair falling into his earnest eyes.

Seto shakes his head. “You could have just given it to Mokuba.”

Wheeler wince. “I know. I just…” he trails off as he walks up to Seto’s desk, carefully placing the helmet down on top of a merger Seto has yet to bother looking at. “Wanted to see you, I guess.”

That stuns Seto near speechless, barely refraining from his mouth falling open. Wheeler doesn’t look at all like he’s joking, still full of that pure sincerity he seems to have picked up from Yugi. Seto isn’t entirely sure he could survive another set of stupidly big eyes that cause him to crumble immediately.

So he steels himself. “Why.”

It’s not really a question and it’s clear Wheeler picks up on it. He shuffles awkwardly before swinging his backpack back around, fiddling with the straps as he looks suddenly nervous and uncertain.

“We’re friends,” he says slowly, cautiously, “aren’t we?”

Seto’s stomach swoops, his heart lets out a deafening thump as he meets those unsure brown eyes. Friends? Seto has on the odd occasion admitted it to himself that he thinks of the old nerd herd as, embarrassingly enough, his friends… but he’s never quite said it out loud.

And now? When he’s questioning things about Wheeler?

He clears his throat. “Whatever you say, Wheeler.”

Strangely enough, Wheeler seems to sag with relief, that bright smile curving back over his lips as he beams at Seto happily. It makes something in the middle of Seto’s chest tighten, something he doesn’t quite recognise, but he shelves it to think about another time as Wheeler reaches out and raps his knuckles down on the glass desk.

“Say,” he quirks his head to the side, his hair falls into his eyes and Seto has the sudden urge to brush it back, “how about that dinner?”

Seto’s eyebrows raise, not quite having expected that to come out of Wheeler’s mouth. He guess it is about that time of the night, and his stomach does feel sore with emptiness. He’s thankful it’s not rumbling, he isn’t sure he’d survive that kind of humiliation right now. After a quick glance at the time in the corner of his computer screen, Seto leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Burger World?” he guesses. “I’ll have to pass.”

Wheeler stiffens, his back going ramrod straight as his mouth turns downwards. It’s not a normal reaction to Seto’s usual kinds of rejection, in fact Wheeler always seems to bounce back and brush those off with ease… but he realises very quickly how condescending that might have sounded.

For some reason, he finds himself scrambling to explain. “Mokuba made us have it last night,” he says hurriedly. “I’m convinced the grease is still moving through my veins.”

Wheeler lets out an abrupt laugh, his posture relaxing as that ever-present smile returns. “Okay, fair enough,” he huffs in a way that should be very unattractive. “Something else then?”

It’s almost suspicious at this point, Wheeler’s perseverance, and Seto narrows his eyes. “You seem determined to have dinner with me, Wheeler.”

He doesn’t expect the slow blooming flush that turns Wheeler’s cheeks a rather sweet pink. “Is that so bad?”

Seto contemplates that for a moment, taking in Wheeler’s blush and nervous fingers tapping on top of the desk, a tune he doesn’t recognise. Is it so bad? He wonders where Wheeler would take him, or if he would let Seto choose. It’s not often that Seto has gone out for dinner with anyone besides Mokuba or boring businessmen. Yugi will sometimes drag him out after long testing nights, but the vast majority of the time he spends with Yugi and his friends often involves some form of takeout chewed over various board or video games.

Well, Mokuba has always tried to convince him to spend more time with them.

He stands up with a flourish, making Wheeler startle as he sweeps out from behind his desk. “Come on then,” he says curtly, scooping up the spare helmet and tossing it to Wheeler as he passes. “You’ll need this.”

Admittedly, he’s a little smug about the awe on Wheeler’s face as they leave his office, especially over the biometric scanning of his hand to lock up. As they walk to the elevator together Seto finds himself indulging Wheeler’s puppy-like enthusiasm, especially when those bright eager eyes meet his, even going so far as to enjoy it as Wheeler peppers him with surprisingly well-thought out questions. He didn’t think he’d know much of anything about the science behind his rather extensive security system, but Wheeler holds his own as they make their way down to the building’s private garage.

It’s rather domestic in a way how the two of them fall into place when they reach his motorbike. Seto decides very quickly not to indulge any thoughts on how easily Wheeler tugs on his helmet and settles behind him, nudging himself right up against Seto’s back as his arms snake around his middle. Seto’s heart thumps loudly enough he’s sure Wheeler can feel it, and he’s quick to spirit them out of the garage at a great rate of knots, sure that the sudden rush will be enough to blame his racing heart on.

Wheeler murmurs polite instructions through their helmets as they veer through the streets. Seto lets him, curious to see just where they’ll end up as they zip away from downtown Domino. All the restaurants Seto would’ve steered them towards soon fall behind them and Seto hopes that they won’t end up somewhere greasy enough to give himself a coronary.

But Wheeler continues to surprise him when they eventually step through the doors of a quaint little Italian restaurant. It’s not at all highbrow, the plastic red and white checkered cloths on each table are tacky to the touch and the wooden chairs look dreadfully hard, but the smell from the kitchen is divine and the menu has enough options to appeal to anyone’s palate.

“Okay?” Wheeler asks as they’re shown to their own little booth at the back after a friendly conversation with the hostess. She’d seemed to be familiar to Wheeler, offering him a wink before walking away, and Seto doesn’t think he’d be wrong in assuming this may have been one of Wheeler’s many notorious part-time jobs when they were in school.

He just nods sharply in reply though. Wheeler looks relieved as he sinks back into the gaudy green booth they’ve taken. It’s tactfully hidden from the front door, something Seto thinks that was intentional, and soon their server arrives to take their orders. Gnocchi for them both with Wheeler talking him into trying the sparkling red sanbitter. Normally Seto stays with water, but Wheeler’s beam when he’d acceded had been more than enough to convince him otherwise.

“I’m surprised you agreed to dinner,” Wheeler muses after a few rounds of menial conversation, something Seto normally hesitates to engage in but Mokuba has been pushing upon him the importance of small talk recently. “I would’ve thought you’d have sent me packing again.”

Seto quirks an eyebrow at him as he spears a piece of gnocchi on the end of his fork. “I doubt you would have ceased your bothering unless I did.”

Wheeler grins, sauce on his bottom lip that distracts Seto for a moment. “Maybe.” He leans forward. “This isn’t so bad though, is it?”

Seto has an absurd image of reaching over to wipe that smear of sauce away with his thumb. He blinks, mentally kicks himself, and turns down to glare at the sparkling red drink at his elbow. How the hell does Wheeler convince him to do these things.

Again, he’s sure its the sleep deprivation. “I’m not one to doll out compliments to those fishing for them,” he mutters, slightly off-kilter.

Wheeler huffs. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you compliment anyone.” His knee bumps against Seto’s under the table. “Are you even capable of it?”

Seto lifts his head to glower at him. “I’m not a robot, Wheeler.”

“No.” Wheeler drops his chin into his hand, resting his elbow on the table as he flutters his eyelashes at Seto in what he can only assume is a mocking way. “Thank god for that.” His knee knocks Seto’s again. “You’re much too pretty to be a robot anyway.”

Seto splutters, genuinely splutters as his eyes widen in shock. Wheeler’s grin is much too self-satisfied, and Seto is well aware his cheeks are a burning red as he manages to gather himself to glare at Wheeler, his hand tightening around his fork.

“See,” Wheeler says before Seto can get a word in. “That’s a compliment.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Seto snaps, and Wheeler snorts before returning back to stabbing away at his gnocchi, making a mess on his plate. His table manners aren’t appalling, but it’s a damn near thing.

“Gee, thanks.” Wheeler sounds sardonic as he lifts a forkful to his mouth, pausing briefly. “I’d like to see you try.” He wrinkles his nose. “Without it being a backhanded one at that.”

Seto’s mouth falls open with another scathing retort on the tip of his tongue, but he finds himself catching the words before they’re said. Wheeler glances away as he chews on his food, looking out over the restaurant floor. There aren’t many people dining, but enough to take one’s attention away if they chose.

Which gives Seto a long enough moment to simply… look at Wheeler. It’s not something he’s done much of before, not in recent years, not since that strange infatuation that had passed since school. He’s not changed much, although his features have sharpened with maturity and his blond hair is longer now. It still annoyingly falls into his eyes until he futilely pushes it away, and his russet brown eyes glow warmly in the dim lighting. There’s a small silver scar on his left cheek, sweeping down from the edge of his temple, the only impurity on his otherwise unblemished face, and Seto quietly wonders to himself how he got it.

Wheeler isn’t exactly pretty, not to usual standards, but he is without a doubt strikingly attractive. Seto remembers the attention he used to get, he still gets. He can’t forget the grip Mai Valentine’s well-manicured hands had on him at the Championships.

But Seto doesn’t believe in compliments on one’s appearance. It’s is not something entirely within one’s control, not something that has been personally achieved, and though he hates the idea of complimenting someone, the idea of losing in any manner to Wheeler is something he hates more.

“You’re a decent duelist,” he says through his teeth, the words wrenching themselves free as Wheeler’s eyes snap to his, stunned wide with clear shock. “Your improvement since our younger years is nothing short of exemplary. I was surprised at the championships when you did not place in the top three.”

There’s a long awkward beat of silence where Seto thinks he’s spectacularly cocked it all up, that the truth is something he should’ve kept locked up and far from reach… but then a frankly breathtaking smile breaks out over Wheeler’s face, lighting up those warm eyes as he reaches up to brush his hair out of them carelessly.

Insanely, Seto wishes he could be the one to do it instead.

“Well fuck me,” Wheeler laughs uncouthly, shaking his head with disbelief as he stares at Seto with something that could be awe. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Seto huffs, unable to hold Wheeler’s gaze as he reaches out to sip his sanbitter just for something to do. “Don’t let it go to your head, Wheeler.”

Another pause, before Wheeler reaches out to press the tips of his fingers to Seto’s wrist, making his stomach lurch and his heart thunder as he looks up to see Wheeler’s smile has softened into something fond and kind.

“Call me Joey,” he says quietly. “Please.”

Seto swallows past the sudden lump in his throat, unable to look away from Wheeler… Joey’s intensity.

“Whatever,” he says, voice slightly strained, “Joey.”

Joey’s answering laugh sets Seto’s skin alight, burning under where Joey’s fingers still sit against his wrist. He thinks to shake him off but decides against it, letting himself just linger in the moment as Joey grins at him before returning back to their meal with vigour.

Its not something he thinks about later either, not when they finish dinner with Joey paying despite Seto’s protests, not when Joey climbs onto his bike and settles with his chest flush against Seto’s back, not when Joey murmurs terrible back-seat driving commentary in his ear the whole ride back to his apartment, and certainly not when Joey waves him goodbye with the spare helmet tucked under his arm… something Seto doesn’t bother to collect before he rides away.

And he most definitely does not think about it when Mokuba greets him at the front door when he gets home, grinning smugly where he leans against the doorway as Seto takes off his helmet to glower back, raising one demanding eyebrow at his younger brother.

Who doesn’t even flinch.

“Did you go on a date with Joey Wheeler?” he asks instead.

The thing is… Seto Kaiba does not date.

It’s a fact, a rule he brought about rather early on when he officially became the CEO of Kaiba Corporations. Even as a teenager it was very obvious people were willing to do whatever it took to worm their ways close to him, using whatever assets they had to attempt to gain his attention. Seto’s interests never did dally into that department, making it very difficult for those who tried to use their wiles to get to him, but that doesn’t mean he was never aware of it. After all, it was hard not to be.

But it never once occurred to him that it would be something to be interested in. Most people he surrounded himself with were a whole lot older and a lot less trustworthy. Only Yugi and his group, who up until recently quite frankly hated him, were the ones he’d ever stretch so far as to even call acquaintances. The concept of a romantic relationship was so far beyond his imagination that it just never happened.

Which he’s fine with. That’s the beauty of it never really crossing his mind. It’s hard to miss something one has never had, and even now it’s easy to tuck that dinner with Joey away in a perfect little box. He had insisted on dinner to repay Seto for giving him a ride. It’s as simple as that.

No matter what Mokuba and his smug little face think. They’re friends and friends only.

It’s not like anything else similar happens afterwards either. There’s no further dinners or snuck away moments. The only difference is that Seto turns up to Yugi’s weekly board game nights consistently now instead of always waiting for an explicit invitation, something that delights his little brother to no end even if Seto refuses to tell him why. It clearly surprises the group the first time, even the second and third, and Seto blatantly ignores Mokuba each time as Yugi practically glows with excitement.

Not as much as Joey though, who always greets Seto at the door with a toothy grin and an eager hand that wraps around his wrist. Seto lets himself get pulled through the shop by him, even lets him manhandle him onto the couch and decidedly doesn’t point out how much room there is when Joey sits pressed up against him, thighs touching and knees knocking. He tries not to stare when Joey laughs so hard his head tips back, shoves down the urge to brush the hair from out of his eyes, ignores the thrill that runs down his spine when it’s him that makes Joey’s beautific smile appear.

But that’s all it is. Maybe there could’ve been a moment or two when Joey turned up to test the new duel disks, but even then it was with Yugi in tow. Sure, Seto had found himself watching the way Joey duels, fearless yet calm, unrepentant as he’d dismantled Seto’s defences and obliterated Yugi’s foundations…

But there’s no startling moments when it’s just the two of them, no golden revelations or subtle hints for something more. No dramatic confessions and certainly nothing more than touches that can be chalked up to overeager excitement. Sure, Joey seems to be more friendly than he ever has been before, but the same can always be said about Yugi who hugs Seto and laughs at his jokes and seems to want him around more than Seto ever thought possible. Joey is just no different.

So, it’s as Seto said. They’re just friends.

Which of course surprises Seto when it turns out that is exactly what Joey thinks.

He gets the call late on a Thursday evening. Everyone else has gone home, even Audrey who gives him a look of contempt as she places a final cup of coffee down by his elbow and a firm warning that she’s telling Mokuba he’s still here. Seto shouldn’t be frightened by that, he isn’t really, but Mokuba has gotten more strict recently about ensuring Seto gets home and has some rest. Something to do with the burnout he’s been barrelling towards since the Championship ended a couple of months ago, but Seto thinks his brother is being overdramatic.

Nevertheless, the threat isn’t an empty one and Seto knows he’s on an unknown deadline now. It’s barely past nine, Mokuba should be in bed for school tomorrow, but if there’s one thing that his brother has horribly inherited from him its the ability to burn the candle at both ends.

It means when his phone buzzes with a phone call a while later, Seto nearly doesn’t move to pick it up. He’s certain it’s Mokuba and he doesn’t have time for his dramatics. The proposal he’s working on has been in development hell for half a year now and the production company in Belgium has already sent their final warning. If he doesn’t get it done by the end of the week, he’s not sure the deal for the new chips for his latest duel disk will go through.

Which, considering Christmas and their peak selling period is only five months away, would be an utter disaster for their fourth quarter sales.

So he elects to ignore his phone and focus instead on the blinking cursor on the sorry looking document. He’d added barely a handful of words to it in the last half-hour, having spent most of it drinking coffee and pretending like it’s doing the job of keeping him alert. His brain is overtaxed and sucked dry at this point. Maybe Mokuba is right in him needing a holiday.

He frowns though when he realises his phone is still buzzing. Mokuba has the tendency to hang up after the third ring, not bothering to wait until voicemail kicks in after the seventh, but there isn’t anyone else he knows that has his private number who would be willing to call him this time of night. Maybe Yugi, but that had only been the one time he got stupidly drunk and rung Seto to serenade him with Joey and Taylor cackling in the background.

Unsure, Seto reaches out to pick it up, turning it over to see the screen… only to nearly drop it as he sees its bloody Joey ringing.

With a quick swipe of his thumb, he accepts the call.

“This better be important,” he growls down the line. There’s only silence in return, and for a moment Seto has a feeling that Joey has misdialed before he hears a ragged intake of breath.

“Seto?”

Seto’s blood runs cold. He can’t remember Joey ever calling him by his first name… especially not sounding like this. There’s a desperation in his voice, a panic that Seto doesn’t recognise, and he stands from his seat abruptly as his hand tightens around the phone.

“Are you okay?” he demands, voice slightly strangled. This isn’t a new feeling, this sudden urge to fix whatever the hell is happening, but it’s certainly the first time he’s ever felt it for someone not Mokuba.

Joey lets out a gasp disguised in a weak laugh. “Yeah, I’m…” he trails off, clearly distracted, and Seto’s other hand twists into a fist. “I’m alright, just…” He sounds detached and Seto barely manages to stop himself from interrupting with even more demands. “Are… are you free?”

Seto’s heart hammers in his chest. “What?”

“Are you-” Joey cuts himself off with a quiet scoff. “Sorry, right, of course not.” He clears his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to bother you-”

“Too late,” Seto snaps, not meaning to be so terse but the agitation under his skin seeps out nonetheless. “What’s going on, Wheeler?”

“Joey,” Joey automatically says, as he has each time Seto has slipped and called him by his last name. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly something if you’re calling me at,” Seto glances at the small clock in the corner of his computer screen, “ten thirty at night.”

Silence. Just the barely-there sound of Joey’s breaths again. Seto bites back the urge to rush him, knowing that Joey has never responded well to that. He needs to know what’s happening though, why Joey would call him of all people. There are at least five others just off the top of his head that should’ve taken preference… and the idea that something has happened to those people, including Mokuba, holds a sudden tight grip around his throat.

“I’m not…” Joey sounds reluctant, like the words are being wrenched out of him, still stopping and starting as if he can’t decide what to say. “It’s really nothing, I just needed to, I don’t know… talk to you.”

Seto’s lips purse, some of the panic drains from his body. “Me?”

Joey lets out a shaky chuckle. “Tell me about it.”

Seto glances back at the computer screen, at the half empty proposal and the blinking cursor. It needs to be done, there’s no one else to write it, and the deadline is quite literally tomorrow. His company is riding on it for their upcoming profit margin, and the expense to get the chips made in country is going to cost almost double how much they can be made and exported from Belgium.

But then his eyes slip past to the shelf on the other side of the room, to the Blue Eyes and Red Eyes cards sitting side by side, and Seto decides very suddenly… fuck it.

“Where are you?” he asks as he reaches out to shut down the computer, dropping his phone from his ear to put it on speaker. He pulls up his messages to Roland, already typing one out furiously as he snags his coat off the back of his chair and strides towards the door.

“What?” Joey parrots back, and Seto opens his mouth to snap a retort before Joey continues. “I’m at work. Well, I just finished but…”

He trails off again and Seto closes the door behind him as he reaches his hand back for the biometric scanner. Work? He knows Joey is a professional dueller now, sponsored by Battleline Inc the same as Mai Valentine. He’d turned down the offer from KaibaCorp of course, Seto had expected nothing less, although it seems Joey is either unaware or reluctant to acknowledge that Battleline Inc has a strong partnership with the Duelling Academy funded by KaibaCorp.

But as most duelists, they have a secondary job, or in Joey’s case, a few more.

“Which one?” He slams the elevator button just as he gets an affirmative message from Roland, telling him he’ll meet him in the private garage.

Joey sounds strained. “The florist. But you don’t have to-”

“Can it, Wheeler,” Seto snaps, ignoring Joey’s echo of his first name. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Less, if he has anything to say about it. He hangs up on Joey’s protests as the elevator spits him out on the garage floor. He sees Roland standing by his motorbike, holding out his helmet for him to take when he reaches him, shoving his arms into his jacket as he stalks over.

“Everything alright, sir?” Roland asks, voice carefully level, eyes hidden behind those ever present shades. He doesn’t flinch as Seto practically snatches the helmet from him, clearly used to Seto’s irritability when in a hurry.

He just gives him a withering look though that never has an impact on Roland. “Fine.” He reaches up to tug his helmet down over his head. “Just going out to collect a stray.”

Roland’s lips twitch up only at their edges. “I’m sure you are.” Seto narrows his eyes through the open visor and Roland just stares back through his shades. “I am assuming we are not to wait up for you?” At Seto’s jerky nod, he presses his fingers to his ear. “I’ll send Kugata home then.”

Seto doesn’t give that a response as he swings his leg over to straddle his bike. “Oh and Roland?” he pauses as he turns the ignition key, the bike purring to life under him. “Don’t tell Mokuba.”

Roland quirks his head to the side. “Tell him what, sir?”

Seto grins and slams down the visor before rolling back on the ignition. The bike surges to life, gliding out of the garage onto the streets above with hardly a sound. There’s not much traffic on the roads around KaibaCorp for him to worry about, and soon he’s slipping through the lanes before veering towards the outskirts of downtown Domino.

The florist Joey works at part time isn’t too far from KaibaCorp itself, situated neatly beside one of the downtown train stations. Seto is thankful it’s not the bar he works at on the weekend and odd nights, the place much too shady and uncouth for him to be seen at, and he’s sure there’s no dogs to be walked this time of night. That had definitely made Seto laugh when he found out Joey was doing the latter, especially when Joey’s ears had gone beet red and he’d gnashed his teeth at Seto in a similar manner as the ten dogs that’d been milling about outside the front of the Kame Game Shop.

Of course, Seto didn’t mentioned his affection for dogs at the time, although he hadn’t been able to hold back patting the snuffling bullmastiff when it’d come up and slobbered all over his new suit pants.

He makes it in ten minutes, turning the last corner to see Joey standing outside the dark florist with his backpack hanging over one shoulder and his shoulders slumped. He looks desolate, his hair having fallen to hide his face from view, and Seto feels a very unfamiliar pang of worry as he slows down to sidle up in front of him.

Joey doesn’t look up though, and Seto shifts the bike into gear before taking off his helmet, tossing his hair back at he stares at the other man. He waits only a moment before he clears his throat pointedly, which gets a reaction as Joey slowly lifts his head, revealing rubbed raw eyes and a look of pure misery.

Bloody hell. “Joey?”

Joey huffs and looks away, squaring his jaw as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I must look like shit if you sound like that.”

Not having realised how gentle he’d sounded, Seto purses his lips slightly as he sits up straighter. He contemplates what to say as he takes Joey in, not entirely sure that there’s anything he can say to fix whatever is happening here. He isn’t too sure if that’s what he’s supposed to do, if Joey is going to ask him to right a wrong or to… talk?

Seto never has been very good at that though, so instead he glances down at his motorbike before making a decision.

“Haven’t got that spare helmet, do you?” he asks, cursing himself for not having the thought to replace it on his saddlebags. He hadn’t really needed to though. After all, Mokuba has his own now and there’s only one other person he’s had as passenger. If he’s honest, he’s started to think of it as Joey’s helmet instead of the spare.

Which, of course, he would never say to Mokuba. Already he gets enough questions about just why Seto has started using his motorbike as his primary choice of transport, sidelining the chauffeur driven cars or even one of his own. He knows his brother has some suspicions, but he’ll be damned if he gives him anything to go on.

Surprisingly, Joey huffs a laugh before swinging around his backpack, and Seto’s eyebrows raise as he pulls out the spare black helmet. It’s pretty clear he’s not been able to hide the shock off his face as Joey gives him a sheepish smile, shrugging one of his shoulders up.

“Is it weird to admit I carry it more often than not?” he asks, and Seto isn’t quite sure what the feeling is that roars to life in his chest, clutching his heart and tightening his ribs.

He doesn’t say anything though as he shoves his own helmet back on, and Joey is quick to do the same before scrambling forward to slip on behind him. His hands grip Seto’s waist a lot lighter than they have in the past and his knees barely rest loosely on his hips. It’s almost as if he’s not really there, just going through the motions, and Seto makes sure not to put too much gusto into their take off as he speeds them away.

With no destination in mind, Seto twists and turns them through the streets of outer downtown, aimlessly meandering around the night buses and commuters. He’s thankful Joey still leans into the corners even if he’s a bit slow, and he adjusts accordingly by trying to stick to the straights. The last he wants is to lose him off the back.

He doesn’t speak to him as they ride, just feels the steady rise and fall of Joey’s chest against his back and the occasional crackle of a deep breath over the speakers in his helmet. He won’t push. Clearly something is bothering him, and while there are a hundred ideas, Seto doesn’t want to hazard a guess. After all, he doubts very much that Joey called him thinking he was going to get the same compassionate reaction he might’ve got from one of the others.

Joey will talk when he’s ready, if he’s ready, and Seto will listen if that’s what he wants. Until then, they just continue to ride, letting the streetlights blur and the cars flash by, only stopped by the odd red light and the passing of the trams at an intersection.

Then, finally, after some time, Joey sags forward against him. His arms slip around to wrap Seto up in a sort of hug, his knees squeeze on either side of his hips, and Seto tries not to flinch when Joey leans forward until the side of his helmet presses against the sharp angle of Seto’s back.

“You aren’t going to ask me if I want to talk about it?”

Joey sounds haggard, like he’s been worn to the bone and yet further still. Seto clicks the indicator before he rips around a corner, starting down one of main drags of downtown. It’s long enough that they shouldn’t have to be distracted by anymore corners for sometime.

“If you wanted to,” Seto says levelly, “you would.”

Joey huffs. “True,” he muses. There’s a beat of silence, two intersections flash by. “Mum’s got cancer.”

Seto’s eyebrows raise. Of all the things it could have been, all the ideas he’d entertained… that hadn’t even made the list of possibilities he’d conjured up.

Joey’s mother has always been a sore spot. Seto knew that back when he refused to even acknowledge their group as people let alone acquaintances, and he never stooped so low as to mention her absence or abandonment of Joey. Even he can recognise some topics are genuinely unforgivable to touch on. After all, his parents are one of them, and Joey has extended the same consideration to him by never bringing them up in their verbal spats.

Seto hesitates. “I’m sorry.”

Joey is quiet for some time. “Me too,” he eventually says and Seto relaxes just the slightest. “I thought I’d be upset about it but I just feel…”

He trails off and Seto takes a bracing breath as familiar old feelings dredge themselves up from somewhere deep inside him he’d long since thought he’d shut away. He can faintly hear screeching breaks and screaming sirens, the awful sensation of sitting in the back of an ambulance with Mokuba, the heavy feeling of being so lost and…

“Numb?” he offers.

Joey nods, his helmet rubs up and down against Seto’s back, sending a shiver down his spine he can’t shake off.

“It’s not like she’s ever been there for me,” Joey continues, his voice quiet even in the speakers of Seto’s helmet. “She left us. Chose to take Serenity away.” He lets out a tremble of a breath. “It always felt like she gave up on me before I even had the chance to prove to her I was worth something.”

Something in Seto’s chest cracks. “It’s not a child’s job to prove anything,” he grounds out between his teeth, a blazing anger at someone long since dead still burning in his very core.

“I know.” Joey seems wistful. “Kinda.” He squeezes his arms around Seto’s midriff. “Still can’t help but think about all the what ifs. What if she hadn’t left. What if she’d taken me with her. What if-”

“Stop.”

Joey sighs and sags forward, resting most of his weight on Seto. “Sorry.”

Seto slows as they come to a red light, dropping his leg down to balance them as they wait. A small flurry of cars pass in front of them, a bus or two in the mix. Even this late, Domino is still bustling with activity. Not as much as during the day, but the nightlife is finally starting to wake up. The moments tick by as they wait, Seto unable to stop the strange itchy feeling under his skin. There’s a question on the tip of his tongue, one he isn’t sure he wants the answer to though.

But then again, as the light turns green and Seto kicks off from the ground, he’s already thrown caution to the wind tonight.

“Why me?” he asks, trying not to let his uncertainty show. “Why not call Yugi?”

Joey lets out a small laugh. “Honestly? I didn’t think you’d answer.”

Seto frowns. “Then why ring?”

Joey’s knees press against his hips as he tightens his arms again, almost as if he’s embracing Seto in a hug. It’s a little astounding, Seto wasn’t sure that he’d ever let anyone touch him the way that Joey currently is… even more so that he would be fine with it.

“Just in case you did.”

Joey says it so quietly that Seto nearly misses it. He doesn’t though, and the words flutter through him, warm and different, so different. He swallows down around the sudden lump in his throat, his thoughts run rampant in a way he’s never experienced.

And Seto has a moment he’s only ever read about.

Oh.

He clears his throat, attempting to keep himself together, to makes heads or tails of the feelings swirling around inside his chest. He hasn’t a dream of doing it right now, not when the cause of it all is currently sitting behind him on this motorbike, pressed up against Seto so completely that their bloody breathing is in sync.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks, trying to get back on track.

Joey hums behind him, not shifting even an inch. “I don’t…” he trails off, sounding uncertain before he sighs. “Do you think we can just ride for a bit?”

Seto doesn’t hesitate.

“Sure.”

It’s not very often that Seto lets people come to the mansion.

It’s nothing personal. He prefers his space and the mansion, despite being more of a prison than a home for him, is the one place no one can reach him. Not his work, the paparazzi, fans and enemies alike… for all of its dredged memories, the mansion is a place of solace where it’s nestled on the outskirts of Domino City.

However there are some nights when Mokuba outright insists that some sort of gathering should occur.

Yugi’s long standing game night on a Friday is more than enough for their group to satisfy their social needs. Yugi likes to host and the shop is in a convenient spot. Despite having more room, the mansion is a reasonable distance out of town with limited accessibility, but the quieter the area the less likely for nosey foot traffic. Seto prefers the isolation to a degree, never being one to thrive on the hustle and bustle of a city.

But Mokuba doesn’t, which is why when Seto gets a message at work from his younger brother telling him that the weekly meet up will be happening at the mansion that night instead of Yugi’s, he decides not to begrudge him for it. He sends back a sharp affirmative, getting back the usual horrid emojis that Mokuba seems to be fluent in, before he shelves the thoughts and gets back to work.

Obviously not well enough as he finds himself packed up and ready to leave at six o’clock on the dot, his briefcase by his side as he steps out of his office to see Audrey looking back at him in visible shock.

“Mr Kaiba?” she asks as she slowly stands, wide eyes glancing to the clock hanging on the wall. “Is everything alright?

Seto just squares his jaw. “Goodnight, Audrey,” he says briskly as he locks the door behind him with a scan of his hand before turning to stride towards the elevator, not glancing her way as he tries to keep the sudden red flush on his cheeks from her much too observant eyes.

He hears a stifled laugh behind him, clearly not having done a good job. “Enjoy your evening, Mr Kaiba.”

The elevator door doesn’t close fast enough. It’s not long though before he’s in the back of a car driven by Kugata, typing away furiously on his phone as they weave through peak traffic. There’s no reason he can’t finish sending the last few emails of the day while stuck at various red lights. In any case, it provides a welcome distraction of what he’ll be in for when he gets home.

And admittedly, when they pull up the drive nearly an hour later, he can’t help but feel nervous. It’s his own home, it’s his, yet knowing that the whole Yugi gang is going to be somewhere inside no doubt causing an absolute ruckus has him on edge.

No. Knowing Joey is inside is what has him on edge.

Things have grown between them, Seto can’t deny that. Since Joey called him that late night a handful of weeks ago, there’s been a strange tension between them, one Seto doesn’t recognise and frankly isn’t too sure he ever will. There’s been lingering touches, soft smiles, a warmth in Joey’s eyes that makes something in Seto’s chest squeeze. It’s uncomfortable at best, especially not knowing exactly what it is, and yet Seto still finds himself wanting more… dare he saying craving more.

Each time he’s seen Joey he’s felt this inexplicable need to do something stupid like return those touches, even just smile back… hell, to lean into Joey and let him encompass him entirely. He wants to be wrapped up in Joey so much that he doesn’t know where he will end and Joey will begin.

And frankly? It’s fucking terrifying.

Because this is all new for Seto. For twenty-five years he’s known he doesn’t feel the way others do, doesn’t act the same as his peers. Whatever chance he had of that was beaten out of him by Gozaburo, any instance of being normal ripped away before he could even begin to imagine just what that could even look like.

He’s long since accepted that. Despite it all, despite what he was put through, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Mokuba has everything he could want, everything he could ever need, and Seto will gladly sacrifice whatever is left of his humanity all over again if it means Mokuba will have what he deserves once more.

So it’s uncomfortable at best these new swirling feelings in the pit of his chest. He doesn’t understand them, doesn’t know why the very sight of Joey makes his heart quicken, why his voice makes his head spin, how his very being is enough to make Seto’s palms sweat and his blood to rush in his ears. Were he younger he might have gotten himself tested for some sort of illness, sure there must be some sort of disease that’s causing this.

But he’s older now, less reactive to the oddities he faces, and while he never anticipated feeling this way… it’s a stone cold fact that Seto knows is irrefutable.

Seto Kaiba has genuine romantic feelings for one, Joey Wheeler.

What a nauseating and horrifying admission.

Especially when he knows that Joey doesn’t feel the same way.

Because Joey is a friendly man. It’s obvious in the way he shares himself with others, leans into touches and gives them out so willingly, compliments fall from his lips without a thought and his smiles are always so welcoming and endearing. Seto isn’t alone being at the end of his affections… and he is absolutely certain that he isn’t the only one that wishes to have them solely on himself either.

And here he is, currently in his house, and Seto has not a bloody clue just what to do about it.

Nevertheless, he squares his shoulders as Kugata pulls the car away, taking any escape with him. The door shouldn’t be so intimidating and Seto ignores all the doubt curling through him, he doesn’t feel something so pitiful as doubt, before turning the doorknob and heading inside.

Immediately, the sound of cheerful laughter floats out to him from the main living room. Seto quietly shuts the door behind him, the noise of the others loud enough he’s sure they won’t hear him anyway, before he silently moves down to the first doorway on his left, his briefcase gripped tightly in hand. Just a hello, he tells himself. That’s all he needs to do. Politely greet them all and then he can disappear to his study and try not to think about how utterly pathetic he is abandoning work for the sake of just a glance of Joey.

The entire gang is here, strung out around the room in a bustle of activity. Tea and Taylor look to be in the midst of an argument, remote gripped between their hands while two very different choices of movies war across the screen of the ridiculously sized television on the back wall. Yugi and Bakura are busy rummaging through the bookshelf of notoriously bad fiction books Mokuba insists on buying, both giggling over one Yugi is flipping through at alarming speed, while Devlin lounges over one of the couches nearby with a handheld gaming console he definitely does not own in hand, glancing on the odd occasion at where Tea and Taylor are progressively getting more violent with one another.

Lying on the ground though, a deconstructed duel disk between them in a hazardous amount of pieces, is Joey and Mokuba. They’re the ones laughing the loudest, Joey on his back and clutching his stomach as Mokuba performs a bad impersonation of someone who Seto irritably knows is himself.

Brat.

“Seto!”

Mokuba spots him first, eyes lighting up with pure excitement as he pushes himself up onto his knees. The annoyance in Seto’s chest melts away at the sight of his younger brother so happy. He offers an aborted wave in greeting, feeling like he’s under a microscope as every eye in the room suddenly turns to him, pinning him in place in the doorway.

Mokuba doesn’t seem to notice though. “You’re home early,” he points out, almost a little suspicious.

Seto clears his throat. “Audrey was insistent I leave,” he lies easily.

Mokuba’s eyebrows go up but Seto’s distracted from his brother’s incredibly accurate intuition by Yugi waving at him excitedly with the book in his hand, a grin stretched out across his face. “Have you come to join us?” he asks.

Seto responds with a not entire lie. “I have work to do.”

Mokuba huffs as he sits back on his haunches, crossing his arms over his chest. “Like what?” he demands, and Seto’s eyes narrow as he turns back to his brother, pursing his lips slightly in displeasure.

“The cost benefit analysis for the new virtual reality system is due for the stakeholder meeting on Wednesday.” Seto raises his briefcase slightly as if to show Mokuba. “It won’t get done unless I do it tonight.”

Mokuba rolls his eyes. “Wow, if only we hired accountants to do that for us.” His voice drops to a low whine. “Please, Seto. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

“Don’t force him,” Devlin mutters under his breath, giving Seto a side eye. “He’ll be more insufferable for it.”

Bakura whacks him on the head with the book from Yugi’s hand, making him yelp. Seto can’t deny it was satisfying to watch, but all thoughts immediately screech to a halt as Joey suddenly rolls onto his stomach, hair flopping down into his eyes, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as he blinks up at Seto.

“Please, Seto” he says softly, enough that Seto’s heart seizes. Joey’s tendency to use his first name still takes his breath away, knocks his legs out from under him… it shouldn’t sound so nice coming from just one person but Seto thinks his name might just be his favourite word when Joey says it.

But he hesitates to agree, especially when he sees Mokuba’s knowing eyes flick between the two of them. He came home to see Joey, he won’t deny that, but the idea of spending the evening with him… he doesn’t know. There’s a safety in being with the group, a lack of pressure in a way, but then there’s the awfulness of being with a group that could follow his every movement too.

The idea of spending time with Joey is at war with spending time with Joey with others.

He’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t see Mokuba until he’s at the doorway, wrapping his arms around Seto’s waist and dropping his chin on his chest to pout up at him. “Come on,” he murmurs quietly. “It’s no different here than it is at Yugi’s.”

Except it is, because at least at Yugi’s Seto can always escape. Here in his own home is something else entirely.

But Mokuba rarely asks for such favours with this kind of quietness and Seto never has been able to deny him. He drops a hand onto his head, burying his fingers into the mess of spiky black hair with too much hair gel, giving it a gentle tug that makes Mokuba pinch his back until it smarts.

“Fine,” Seto grumbles. “Let me get changed.”

Mokuba releases him with a grin, already bouncing over to join the others once again. Seto lets his gaze shift to Joey for a moment, a gaze returned as Joey’s smile softens and his eyes glint with something Seto doesn’t recognise, before he whirls around to stride up the hall stairs further into the mansion.

It doesn’t take long to get changed. Soft pants and a hoodie are his usual loungewear at the mansion, although the prospect of something so casual unnerves him. The idea of not wearing his usual battle armour around the others is unsettling but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he stares at himself in the mirror while he buttons his jeans. Running his hand through his hair gives it a bit more life but there isn’t much to be done for the bags under his eyes. More late nights working haven’t done him any favours, and his skin is pale even against the grey of his hoodie that once used to fit snuggly.

There’s nothing to be done though, and Seto ruffles his hair once more before deciding that’s enough. It’s not like his appearance is going to matter in the long run. Clearly they’re intending on a movie night and Seto takes comfort in being able to hide in a dark room.

By the time he comes back down, food has been spread across the coffee table in an alarming display of takeaway grease and a movie has been queued up on screen. It’s neither Tea’s horror pick or Taylor’s musical, instead a comedy western with a famously tacky actor is paused, and it’s a very near thing that Seto doesn’t immediately turn on his heel to leave. He’s not exactly a film connoisseur but even he knows a trashy cash-grab when he sees it.

But the others are already splayed out over the couches and a bunch of beanbags Seto doesn’t remember owning, and the raucous cheer that goes up at his reappearance sets his teeth on edge. Mokuba grins from his own overstuffed beanbag, a plate of pizza in his lap and a half-drunk bottle of pop waving in the air, and Seto scowls at him as he slinks into the room towards an empty armchair.

Only for his arm to get caught as he steps past one of the couches, and he glances down to see Joey smiling up at him, fingers warm where they’ve slipped under the cuff of his hoodie to press against the inside of his wrist.

“Plenty of room here?” he offers, patting the cushion beside him, and Seto’s chest tightens. There’s no reason to say no though, not unless he wants to cause a scene by shaking Joey off, and Seto just gives him a stiff nod before Joey shuffles across to give him a little more room.

He can’t help but be rigid as he sits, back painfully straight as his hands rest in fists on his knees. Joey is distracted beside him, talking to Tea where she sits on a beanbag at his feet, and Seto’s gaze falls on the smallest of gaps between their thighs. If either of them were to move even an inch, they would be pressed together from hip to knee.

It’s a tantalising thought. He quashes it as quickly as it came.

Mokuba clears his throat loudly to get everyones attention. “Ready?” he asks to a round of affirmatives before clicking a few buttons on the remote, dimming the lights to a moody glow and pressing play at the same time.

The opening credits blast out of the speakers, and Seto flinches at the abrupt noise. He’s already wishing he’d decided to stay upstairs in his office as the movie starts with that ridiculous tacky actor monologuing over some ill-conceived comedic disaster. Already he knows he’s going to be bored and irritated in moments, although his thoughts stutter to a sudden halt as Joey leans up against him.

“Mokuba’s choice,” he mumbles under his breath, nudging his shoulder up against Seto’s. “Tell me his shit taste isn’t hereditary.”

Seto blinks, slow and stupid. This close he can smell the faint waft of the cheap cologne Joey wears, feel the heat of his breath on his jaw. “No,” he says faintly, looking down to meet Joey’s soft brown eyes, unsure quite what’s coming over him. “He’s adopted.”

There’s a brief pause before Joey bursts out laughing, earning a few confused looks from the others and a whack on the knee from Tea. Seto lets a small smile slip free, his heart thumping nearly painfully as Joey sags against him even more, shoulders still shaking with mirth.

“That is not funny,” Joey giggles contrarily, tilting his head back with a brilliant grin. Seto swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He knows he should push Joey off him, send him scuttling back to the other side of the couch with a sharp word.

But the room is dim and everyone’s attention is firmly on the screen and not them… and Seto thinks maybe it’s not a bad thing to indulge every once in a while.

So he lets Joey lean against him, listens to him prattle a terrible running commentary of the movie under his breath, even stretches his legs out onto the coffee table beside Joey’s own. He doesn’t flinch when Joey crosses his legs and his socked foot comes to rest on top of his own, although he stares at the blatant intimate touch for a while too long. Joey doesn’t seem to notice, running butter-covered fingers through his hair to push it out of his eyes as he huffs laughs over his own jokes.

It shouldn’t be so charming, but Seto’s hands itch with the urge to run his own hands through Joey’s hair and he realises that he’s well and truly fucked.

Joey groans, drawing his attention. “This movie is terrible,” he complains loudly. “Seriously, Mokuba, this isn’t even b-grade. We’re scraping the bottom of the alphabet here.”

Seto freezes as most of the others glance towards them, especially when Mokuba snaps his head over with narrow eyes. “You don’t see me whinging about your stupid action flicks,” he claps back. “They can barely string a plot line together amongst all the bullshit.”

Joey flicks a piece of popcorn at him, making Taylor grumble when it hits him instead. “At least it’s entertaining. I’m getting dumber by the second over here.”

“And here was me thinking you were already maxed out in that department,” Devlin mutters only for Bakura to shove him at the same time Tea throws an empty bowl their way.

The squabbling soon fades into the background though as Seto’s eyes slip past to where Mokuba sits. He’s not surprised to see his little brother staring right back, a satisfied look on his face as he arches his eyebrows with a pointed glance at Joey. Seto narrows his eyes back as he shakes his head slightly, but Mokuba still seems much too pleased even as he mimes zipping his lips shut.

“What about you?” Joey asks once they’re back to watching the film. It truly is awful, Seto thinks as he glares at it in distaste, the repartee between the main character and his annoying sidekick nowhere near witty.

“What about me?”

Joey smiles. “What’s your preferred movie genre?”

“Documentaries,” Seto deadpans.

Joey snorts, shaking his head as he pinches Seto’s thigh through his jeans, making Seto jump. “I’m serious.” Seto opens his mouth but Joey continues. “Please tell me you’re not. That would be so sad.”

“What’s wrong with documentaries?” Seto mutters, trying not to be too loud. After all, Tea is right beside them and while Seto thinks this movie is its own special brand of torture, at least she seems like she’s enjoying it.

Joey wriggles around, shifting his shoulder behind Seto’s as he faces him. “I’m sure not all are boring.” He wrinkles his nose. It’s painfully endearing. “But you must like something fictional.”

Seto stares at him for a moment, so close that his breath is warm as it ghosts over his jaw and cheeks. It sends a shiver down his spine, something he hopes Joey doesn’t notice. Nerves crackle under his skin, and Seto can’t help but trails his eyes over the slope of Joey’s nose, the curve of lips, the twinkle in his eyes.

“Courtroom dramas,” he admits, surprising himself and clearly Joey too. “I used to enjoy watching Matlock reruns when I was younger.”

He doesn’t specify that it was the only thing on late night television when he would sneak downstairs after Gozaburo had gone to bed. He was too young to understand most of it, the legal jargon hard to keep up with and the cases sometimes completely outrageous, but those moments with just him and some terrible courtroom drama were the only times he was ever able to truly breathe without the pressures of Gozaburo and the Kaiba name crushing him down.

It’s left him with a fondness for them, something to ease those nights when it all gets a little too much.

Maybe something shows on his face though as Joey’s eyes soften. “And you said we were nerds,” he teases.

Seto’s cheeks heat up straight away, unable to help feeling utterly ridiculous, but Joey just pats his knee gently before turning back to the screen, already rambling on more commentary loud enough for Tea to growl at him and Mokuba to throw a terse insult his way.

And Seto is acutely aware that Joey doesn’t take his hand away for the rest of movie.

When the end credits finally start to roll, Seto’s nerves are well and truly frayed and frankly he wouldn’t have a clue how the film even ended. The lights remain dimmed as the group falls into conversation, most of them criticising the movie while Mokuba valiantly defends it, even with Yugi’s halfhearted help. Seto knows his brother well enough to know he very clearly didn’t like it himself, his taste a little more sophisticated than he chooses to let on, but there’s nothing Mokuba likes more than an unnecessary argument. Teenage-hood has ruined him.

But then Joey is standing up, his hand leaving a warm imprint behind, and he stretches his arms upwards with a groan. “Sorry guys,” he says, his shirt riding up enough to show just a sliver of pale skin over his waistband. “Got work tomorrow morning. I’ve gotta scram.”

Seto pulls his eyes away as Joey drops his arms down, following his gaze to a sheepish Taylor where he’s squished between the armrest and Devlin. “Come on man,” Taylor whines childishly. “Can’t we stay for another one?”

“Man, you know I had to go early.” Joey crosses his arms. “You said it was fine.”

They must have come together then. It makes sense, after all they flat together and Joey’s reliance on public transport is something Seto still doesn’t understand. With Taylor being a mechanic, it’s not like they don’t have some form of transportation between the two of them from what he brings home from the shop, but Seto knows that while Joey does have his license, he still doesn’t drive much.

“I know.” Taylor looks visibly upset, not moving an inch, Devlin firmly and obviously pressed up against him. “But it’s not too late. There’s still plenty of time-”

“Tristan,” Joey growls.

Taylor falls silent, looking suitably chastened. It’s not often Joey is the one to use a tone like that, he must be serious, and Seto glances between the two of them for a moment before he clears his throat.

“I can take you,” he says, surprising not just everyone in the room but also himself. Joey turns around with wide eyes, mouth slightly open, and Seto winces when he realises that the others are staring at him too.

Taylor beams though. “There you go! Kaiba will take you!”

Joey doesn’t even look his way. “Serious?” he asks Seto instead, and Seto rolls his eyes as he stands up, ignoring the utterly irritating gleeful grin Mokuba is sending his way as he turns on his heel to leave the room without a word.

He’s in the main foyer before he hears Joey scramble out behind him, throwing his leather jacket on over his hoodie and pulling on his matching gloves where they sit on one of the hallway tables. He pauses before reaching into one of the drawers, pulling out a second pair of leather gloves before turning around to Joey where he’s shrugging on his own cargo jacket.

“Here,” he says, shoving them unceremoniously at him. Joey takes them with a frown, but his face lights up with a grin as he immediately starts to tug them on.

“Oh man, thanks,” he says excitedly. “My hand are always fucking freezing whenever we get off the bike.” He pauses. “Assuming that’s what we’re taking?”

Seto just shakes his head. “What do you think?”

Joey just gives him a toothy smile that shouldn’t make Seto’s chest squeeze like it does, and he quickly moves past Joey out through a side door leading to the front garage. It’s reserved normally for the main car either Roland or Kugata drive them around in, but recently Seto has added his bike to it. Roland hadn’t seemed impressed but Kugata’s usual professionalism had slipped for a wolfish smile as he’d admired the bike.

“Truly a work of art,” he’d mused, ignoring Roland’s sharp stomp on his foot, and Seto had surprised them both with an uncharacteristic laugh.

Joey bounces along behind him as he clicks the button on his keyring to open the roller door before he pulls the protective tarp off the bike, his helmet hanging ready from the handlebars. He still hasn’t replaced the spare helmet, but it doesn’t seem to matter as he turns to see Joey already holding his, grinning over top, his bag looking decidedly flat as he swings it onto his back.

“You never know,” he says with a slight flush on his cheeks.

Seto wonders if it’s embarrassment, but he chooses not to comment as he nods his way and dons his own helmet. He flings his leg over the bike as he turns it on, giving it a good rev to get the engine warm as Joey straddles it behind him. His arms snake around Seto’s waist, holding almost a little too tight, and Seto’s heart thunders as Joey slips down until his chest presses in a firm line along Seto’s back, making his knees settle on top of his thighs as he clenches them against Seto.

It makes him pause. He allows himself just a moment to think perhaps… perhaps this is…

He shakes it off, ripping back on the ignition as he kicks up the kickstand before they roar out of the garage, wheels flicking up the gravel on the driveway in a dramatic spray. Joey’s arms squeeze his sides as he lets out a delighted noise in Seto’s ear.

It’s not a long ride. The mansion is a fair distance from the city but Joey’s apartment is thankfully on this side of town. It might be the sleepy hollow time of the evening, but even so downtown Domino will be an avoidable roar on a Friday night. Seto winds through the quieter streets of his district before slipping up onto the freeway, the yellow lights above glowing down through the night fog as they breeze along on the smooth road.

“There’s something freeing about a bike, right?” Joey asks him as they weave around the little traffic. “Especially at night.”

Seto just hums noncommittally. He doesn’t even flinch this time when Joey pinches his side, his fingers barely able to do much through the borrowed gloves and his leather jacket.

“The others aren’t here anymore.” Joey squeezes his arms around him, the chin of his helmet digging into Seto’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do the whole aloof act anymore.”

“It’s not an act.”

Joey huffs a laugh. “Sure thing, big guy.” He stays quiet for barely a moment. “You know what I mean though.”

Seto does. More so than he should. The constraints of his life disappear on the back of a bike, vanishing beneath its wheels, left behind in its effortless wake. They become one, a touch of his hand or a press of his knee, the engine a purr beneath him as they glide together.

Behind him, he feels Joey shift, moving away and leaving Seto’s back to a sudden cool rush of wind. He frowns, especially as Joey’s knees clamp firmly on either side of him, and he’s just about to ask what he’s doing only for Joey to suddenly pull his arms away.

Seto’s quick glance in one of the side mirrors is just in time to see Joey fling his arms out wide, his euphoric laughter bubbling through the speaker as Joey tilts his head back to whoop up at the sky.

“Holy shit!” Joey hollers, breathless and amazed. “Seto!”

“You’re insane!” Seto hisses, managing to stop himself from impulsively slamming on the brakes. “What the fuck, Wheeler!”

Joey’s laughter doesn’t stop though as he leans back, his knees digging into Seto’s hips, and Seto drops a hand down to clamp around Joey’s thigh as the bike wobbles. He keeps it steady though as Joey raises his hands in the air, reaching up to the glowing yellow fog above them before letting them fall to his sides.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, sounding utterly euphoric, “you have to try this.”

Seto grits his teeth. “If we bloody live, I just might.”

Joey snorts before he sits back up again, arms slipping around Seto’s midriff. He feels a wave of relief crash down over him as he slowly releases Joey’s thigh to get better control of the bike.

“Drama queen,” Joey huffs in his ear. “I knew you had me.”

His faith does little to sooth the leftover panic rolling in the pit of Seto’s stomach, but even he can’t help his gasp of a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” he scolds.

Joey lets out another peal of laughter himself, the noise so deliriously happy that Seto’s chest warms, before he feels the thunk of Joey’s helmeted head press between his shoulder blades, his arms tighten briefly around his waist. A lump wedges itself in his throat, the warm expanse of Joey pressed so entirely against him enough to make him light-headed.

The rest of the journey is less exciting. They don’t say anything further as Seto pulls them into Joey’s street. The trees cast strange shadows across the road, their orange and yellow leaves long since fallen to cover the well-manicured lawns. It’s so quiet and still, but cozy in a way that the mansion falls short of.

“Thanks for the ride,” Joey says as he climbs off, Seto knocking back the kickstand as he goes. “Tristan really can be a dick sometimes.”

Seto doesn’t say anything as Joey takes off his helmet, flipping his hair as he does so. The unruly blond locks tumble down over his face, and he pushes them back with that easy smile under those soft brown eyes.

Seto’s breath hitches.

“I can’t really blame him,” Joey continues, oblivious to Seto’s thundering heart. “I’d have stayed longer if I could myself.” He quirks his head to the side. “I had a lot of fun tonight, Seto.”

Seto reaches up to take off his own helmet, dropping it down to rest on the gas tank in front of him, just so Joey can see his incredulous look. “It was three hours of torture,” he deadpans.

Joey laughs, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Okay the movie was totally shit,” he agrees. “The company was pretty good though.”

Seto shrugs. “I’m getting used to them.”

He’s surprised to see a flash of annoyance cross Joey’s face. “No, that’s not…” he trails off, reaching up to run his hand through his hair again. He looks frustrated, like Seto’s done something to upset him, and Seto quirks his head to the side as he frowns at him.

“Joey?”

“Fuck it.”

Seto’s eyes widen as Joey suddenly stomps forward, snags the front of his jacket, and kisses him.

He freezes. His entire being goes still. His heart halts in his chest even as his blood rushes loudly in his ears. He can feel Joey against him, warm and hard, his lips soft and earnest. There’s a million thoughts charging through his mind with not a single one catching.

But then Joey starts to pull away, and Seto feels a flicker of loss that has him surging forward.

Joey lets out a muffled noise of surprised as Seto kisses him back, swallowed up as Seto moulds their lips together so perfectly. His gloved hands come up to cup the back of Joey’s head, fingers finally slipping in amongst those beautiful golden strands, and he pulls just slightly, drawing a sweet gasp from Joey that he uses to deepen the kiss.

And fuck, fuck. It’s intoxicating, perfect, nothing that Seto ever dreamt of and yet the very thing he’s been yearning for. Joey’s hands slip up to cup his jaw, cradling him with a gentleness Seto doesn’t deserve, pressing forward with an eagerness that makes his walls crumble… and something deep down in the very depths of his chest suddenly cracks into a warm honeyed glow.

They pull apart, panting into the shared air between them. Joey looks at him with those brown eyes full of wonder, his cheeks a sweet flushed red, his lips swollen and glistening, and he brushes a thumb over Seto’s cheekbone, the leather of his glove gliding over his skin.

“Okay,” he says breathlessly. “Okay, that was better than I expected.”

Seto’s eyebrows raise and Joey grins, all white-teeth and unruly hair. “Smooth,” he mutters, and Joey laughs as he leans forward to tuck his face into the crook of Seto’s neck, his breath ghosting across the hollow of his throat.

It’s enough to make Seto’s knees weak, and he’s very grateful to his bike holding him up.

“Sorry,” Joey mumbles as Seto’s hands fall down to wrap loosely around Joey’s waist, marvelling at being allowed to do so. “Of all the ways I imagined this going, this was not one of them.”

Seto pauses, frowns, his hands still on Joey’s hips. “What do you mean?”

Joey huffs before he pulls back. There’s a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, but it slowly fades away as he stares at Seto’s confused expression, his mouth opening slightly. “Seto,” he says slowly, carefully. “I’ve been thinking of this for… for months.”

Seto blinks. “You have?”

Joey stares for a moment longer before he groans, reaching up to press his hand to his face. “Yes.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been flirting with you every time I see you. I asked you to dinner multiple times. I carry your helmet everywhere I go. I spend more time with you than…” He lets out a strangled laugh. “I thought I was being obvious!”

“Oh.” Seto shakes his head slowly, his thumbs pressing absentmindedly into the dimples of Joey’s back. “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

Joey groans, even as his hand moves to loop up around Seto’s neck, cupping it firmly. “And you say I’m ridiculous.” He leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Seto’s cheek, just a simple brush of his lips. “Seto Kaiba, I am insanely into you.”

Seto’s mouth falls open, the blatant admission not one he’d ever thought to hear. He feels decidedly uncouth as he openly gapes at Joey, not entirely sure just what to say in return. Joey doesn’t look expectant though, just exasperated as his fingers toy with the hair at Seto’s nape, eyes crinkled at their corners as he holds his gaze.

Seto swallows. “The feeling is mutual.”

Joey snorts, it shouldn’t be attractive. “You are such a stiff,” he scolds before gripping Seto’s jaw with one hand and kissing him again.

“No.”

Joey lets out a whine, pouting in an irritating way as he uses the slight height difference to his advantage, pleading up at Seto from under his eyelashes. “Please?”

Seto pushes his face away. “No.”

Joey scrunches up his nose as he bats at Seto’s hand. “Why not?”

Seto gestures around at them, so late it’s early. He hadn’t meant for his time with Joey to go on so long, but the night had slipped past too fast with just the two of them. He can’t regret it, not one bit, even if it has led to them standing outside the mansion at the ass-crack of dawn arguing over his motorbike.

“Because it’s four in the fucking morning?” Seto swears, and Joey snorts.

“And?”

“You don’t know how to ride a motorbike,” Seto points out haughtily as he waves a hand at his parked bike beside them, both their helmets hanging on either side of its handlebars.

But Joey just puffs up his chest. “Yes I do.” He proudly grins. “I’ve been taking lessons.”

Seto pauses in surprise, hiding it behind narrowed eyes. “Since when.”

It’s not much of a question, and Joey falters for a moment before he drops his gaze, a blush blooming over his cheeks. “Since the championships,” he mumbles, kicking at the driveway almost petulantly, scattering gravel over the front steps of the mansion.

Seto stares. “That was months ago."

Joey crosses his arms as his blush deepens, his whole face reddening in sweet embarrassment. “Look,” he snaps, “I said I was gone on you, okay.” He glares at Seto like it’s his fault. “One of the guys in Tristan’s workshop is a nut job for bikes and he offered me some lessons in exchange for free drinks at the bar.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I couldn’t turn that down.”

Seto shakes his head, utterly confused. “Why?”

Joey sniffs, glancing away again. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Call me an idiot, but I thought it would be good to know how to ride a bike.” He sighs. “I know how much you love it and I figured one day I’d get my own and we could…”

He trails off, looking forlorn. Seto swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. They’ve only been dating for a couple of months, something that only Mokuba and Yugi really know about, and Joey still continues to surprise him with how thoughtful he can be. He expected perhaps all the secrecy would upset him, but Joey seems to almost delight in the illicitness of it all. Seto can see now it’s because he’s rather good at keeping secrets himself.

Well, his bike is what caused this all to happen in the first place, it might as well contribute to keeping it going.

“This is an expensive bike,” he says slowly, and Joey rolls his eyes as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yes, I know-”

“And you are irreplaceable.”

Joey’s mouth drops open, his eyes widening as he stares at Seto in surprise. He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips even as he tries to hide it. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Seto doesn’t particularly care what he can and can’t say, and he leans forward to pinch Joey’s chin between his finger and thumb as he tilts his head up for a brief kiss. It turns into something much longer as Joey melts against him, looping his arms around Seto’s waist as he lets out a pleased sigh. Seto’s heart thumps as he slips his fingers up to tug on that terrible unruly hair he’s so very very fond of before he pulls away, his stomach swooping hard enough to make him dizzy when Joey chases him.

He clears his throat, knows his cheeks are a matching flushed pink now. “If you swear you both will come back in one piece,” he says firmly, meeting Joey’s pleased gaze, “then fine.”

Joey grins, his hands slipping up under Seto’s leather jacket as he pulls Seto against him. “You’re coming with me.”

Seto frowns. “What?”

Joey sighs as he tilts his head to the side sweetly. “Seto, why would I want to ride without you?” he asks, fingers teasing at Seto’s belt. “That’s the whole point.”

Seto glances away to his bike, trying to picture them on it together. He finds he can’t imagine himself on the back as a passenger… and admittedly he feels a flash of indignation at the thought. Having Joey as his passenger is one thing, but to be one himself is something he thinks of as rather… degrading.

Joey huffs though, pulling Seto’s attention back to him. “Don’t tell me your fragile ego won’t cope with riding bitch-”

Seto’s hand clamps down over Joey’s mouth, cutting him off abruptly. Joey’s eyes just dance with amusement though, and Seto’s nose wrinkles as Joey licks his palm sloppily.

He pulls his hand away in disgust. “You’re irritating,” he mutters as he wipes the saliva off on Joey’s shirt, earning him a laugh as Joey doesn’t seem at all fazed.

He lets go though, turning away to reach for Seto’s helmet, shoving it roughly into Seto’s chest with a hearty grin before going for his own. “Come on then,” he says cheerily as he dons his helmet, eyes still twinkling out at Seto from the open visor. “It’ll get light soon.”

Seto glances over the mansion grounds at the sky splashed in an an ombre of dark blues and dusky purples. A Sunday morning shouldn’t leave too much traffic on the road with the lack of commuters… something he tries to reassure himself with as he zips up his leather jacket before pulling on his own helmet. Joey is already sitting astride the bike, hands fidgeting with the controls, and Seto hopes that his lessons have been authentic as he forces himself to straddle the bike behind him.

It’s a strange feeling as he spreads his legs around Joey’s hips, his knees bracketing his thighs. Joey wriggles in front of him as he tries to get settled, and Seto leans forward to slip his arms around his waist, locking his fingers together above Joey’s stomach.

“Oh,” Joey says quietly, just loud enough for the helmet’s microphone to pick it up. “So this is what it feels like.”

“What does?” Seto asks, but Joey doesn’t reply as he knocks back the kickstand and tears off down the driveway.

Seto barely holds back a yelp as he’s thrown around by Joey’s erratic driving. He thinks he’s made a terrible decision as he clings to him, sliding forward until his chest is pressed firmly up against Joey’s back, clutching a little desperately as Joey flings them out onto the road, his corner too sharp that Seto has to yank them both sideways to counterbalance.

“You said you took lessons!” Seto shouts, squeezing Joey too tightly with his legs and arms, and Joey sounds like he’s gritting his teeth as they jerk back over the road.

“I did!” Joey protests as he twists the bike, wrenching a squeal from the tires that makes Seto’s heart race with panic. “Give me a minute!”

“Are you fucking kidd-” A sudden bump cuts his words off, and Seto is honestly about to pull them over if not throw himself from the bike when Joey lets out a triumphant noise as he yanks on the handlebars.

And then suddenly they’re gliding down the road, effortless and breezy, and Seto is both amazed and mystified at how relaxed Joey falls under his grip. He doesn’t himself, heart jackrabbiting in his chest and blood rushing in his ears, but Joey seems to have found his rhythm as he winds them easily through the streets.

“Alright?” Joey asks, turning his head slightly, and Seto lets go with one hand just to shove Joey’s head forward again.

“Watch the road, idiot,” he snaps, and Joey laughs as he turns them up onto an access ramp, the tarmac turning smoother and less bumpy than that on the streets as they rip out onto the empty freeway.

Seto drops his arm back around Joey’s waist as they blitz along, holding tightly to him again. There’s not another vehicle in sight. Joey treats it as such too, ignoring the road markings as he weaves along the four lanes in wiggly lines, laughing with delight as he goes.

“Okay this is much better than I thought,” Joey says, voice bubbling with excitement. “I can so see the appeal.”

Seto shakes his head as he squeezes Joey’s stomach, drawing a startled noise out of him. “You know road rules are there for a reason.”

Joey snorts. “There’s no one around, Seto. Relax a bit.”

Seto doesn’t. He wouldn’t know how. But he does lean against Joey more, pressing his chest against the expanse of Joey’s back, moulding himself around him as he pushes his knees in against his waist. The bike hiccups for a moment, as if Joey’s hand slips on the throttle, but he rights it quickly enough as they slide easily between the two middle lanes.

He doesn’t say a word as Joey rides. He rolls his eyes at his antics but can’t help his fond smile, wrinkles his nose at his excited words even as he listens intently. Joey laughs loud and bright as he twists the throttle, launching them down the freeway faster and faster, the lights flashing past in golden blurs as the wind roars around them.

Seto swallows. His heart thumps. He holds tighter to Joey, feels his solid back against him. It makes his breath catch, and he pauses for just a moment.

He’d promise Mokuba he would always be safe yet…

Seto slips his hands further back until he’s holding Joey’s jacket on either side of his waist, gripping the leather between white-tight fingers as he moves in his seat. He hears Joey’s noise of surprise at the weight shift but ignores it in favour of slowly leaning back, tilting his head up, to the early twilight sky, eyes running over the fading stars peaking out past the soft glow of the streetlights, the crack of the sun casting out over the sky.

It’s exhilarating.

Seto laughs bright and clear and he closes his eyes. He feels the rush of the bike beneath him, the warm solidness of Joey against him, his own lightness as he loosens his grip just enough to feel the sharp rush of Joey’s jacket slip past his fingers.

Joey was right… this is what it feels like then.

He lets himself breath out, the twisted feeling in his chest loosening, before he straightens up and leans back into Joey. He wraps his arms around his waist firmly, leaning forward until he can turn his head to rest between Joey’s shoulders, feeling utterly boneless as the residual elation slowly slips from his own.  

Joey presses back against him slightly. “Alright, Seto?” he calls, his amusement clear in the lilt of his voice.

Seto just smiles.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m good.”