This is all I'm worth

[lord-of-dragons.livejournal.com]

Warning: More torture.


When Seto saw Ryuuji look at him--just that eerie smirk alone--he knew there was no chance Ryuuji was just going to go to sleep. Though, the question that echoed in Seto's mind was, What did I do? I suppose in general I wasn't nice to him, and the thumb probably didn't go unnoticed....

Again, fearing for his laptop, Seto made a quick grab for it, but gently placed it under the bed, though that required him leaning over a good deal to put it somewhere in the dark shadows under him.

If nothing else, it had to be spared, because it was his one lifeline to Mokuba, and Mokuba was alone, and needed Seto, from the sound of his e-mails. Mokuba was always so good at sounding happy, no matter what was going on, but at the same time, his true emotions always shined through his attempts. Seto could easily tell Mokuba missed him, and Seto missed Mokuba in return.

More than he could express. And he certainly couldn't explain such a thing to the going-insane-or-already-was-insane green-eyed teen in front of him.

"You and Tom certainly seemed to get on well." Ryuuji started off deliberately, waiting politely for Seto to finish putting his laptop away. It never occurred to him to break it or even confiscate it - but that was because Ryuuji was far too fond of his own and knew that the outside world might panic if Seto stopped communicating with them.

Making himself sit up, kneeling on the bed, he shifted to sit next to Seto, supporting all his weight on the palm of one hand and using the other to brush a lock of hair away from Seto's eyes. Seto's pretty, pretty blue eyes. That done, he reached for Seto's hand, intending on replacing the thumb, only to see it was in place already. Seto didn't do that himself...

Green eyes narrowing a little, he continued in that same light, unaffected tone, "Well enough for him to fix your thumb and you to let him call you 'Seto'. Amazing. Though..."

He let go of Seto's hand to tap his index and middle fingers against Seto's throat thoughtfully, right where he knew the other's pulse beat, "I feel a little sorry for him. You're probably just going to ditch him as well when he's no longer any use to you."

"I didn't have any reason to use him to start with," Seto logically pointed out. "Anything he did, he did of his own accord, without my asking."

The CEO had no such thoughts of throwing Tom away, certainly not after what happened, and the last thing he needed was for Ryuuji to tell Tom otherwise. That was no way to repay kindness.

On top of that, how could Seto possibly ever let Ryuuji know he died the day he walked away from his green-eyed friend, feeling Ryuuji's own pain spike through his veins.

Blue eyes watched Ryuuji's face for a moment, then slipped down, searching to find the tapping source. This just led him to a tanned hand, and his eyes remained focused on it instead.

With a shrug, fingers stilling as Ryuuji saw that Seto was watching his hand, the gamer pointed out easily, "You still profited from it - and you never asked me to be your partner either for the tests, I was always the one who volunteered." Always the one who threw myself at you and hugged you and clung to you and was so stupidly glad to see you.

Hand curving to bring his nails into play, scraping lightly over the delicate skin of Seto's throat (so slim and creamy, Ryuuji thought it was a pity nobody actually sounded pretty while being choked), Ryuuji let it wait like that for a moment. Eyes on Seto's face, finding it so much easier to watch him when he wasn't being watched in return, Ryuuji let his fingers walk up the smooth column of Seto's throat, skimming lightly over the other's jawline and then resting on his cheek.

With the tip of his pinky, he traced under Seto's eye, engrossed in wondering how Seto would look if he was flayed alive. No more pretty skin, and there'd be blood all over his eyes... Just a bag of flesh, dripping with blood, all red and raw with his organs all exposed, purple and blue and brown. Not pretty at all!

Detached, Seto watched, nothing showing on his face, not even a twitch. He just let Ryuuji continue on like this--it didn't hurt. When Ryuuji's finger was on his cheek, Seto's eyes finally trailed up again, from under those black eyelashes, silently seeking for the Ryuuji he recalled, the one Ryuuji was just talking about.

"And that...that's why you meant so much to me, Ryuuji." Finally, words, but so monotone.

Emotion started to creep in only after. "That's the reason I talked to you, and only you. The reason I let you hug me, and hugged you back, and would have offered in return, but you always beat me to it."

Ryuuji's finger was a mere distant round of thunder. Something that signaled possible danger, but was most often ignored, like now.

"Because I was idiot enough to think that those little things actually meant that I mattered to you beyond being someone smart enough to keep up with you." Ryuuji sneered, half to himself, half to Seto. The laugh that spilt from his lips was as dry as old newspaper (the headlines spoke of a war overseas, of American graves in foreign soil), and his eyes were still so dreadfully empty behind their green shine.

"Except I wasn't smart enough to keep up with you, or so you said. Not smart enough, not rich enough - not something enough. Not good enough." Frustration now, and anger, but his eyes were still empty and his touch was gentle even as he twisted his wrist downwards, the hidden knifeblade sliding out of his wristbands with a quiet snick. It skated over Seto's cheek with a ghost-light touch, as if it was shaving him, and left no evidence of its passing.

Until it reached his lips (so full and sensual, Ryuuji would be willing to bet that Seto had never kissed anyone except Mokuba with them and wasn't that a waste?), at which point the angle changed. The knife blade slipped to rest between them, sharp edge against his teeth and Ryuuji pressed down just hard enough to have the edges of Seto's mouth start to bleed. Fine red rivulets of blood trickled down over Seto's chin, and Ryuuji was put in mind of a vampire after feeding.

Seto's breath caught in his throat, and stuck there; he didn't even let his tongue move, though it was tempted to reach out and check just where the cold metal blade ended.

The crimson paths--striking against pale skin--missed the full, slightly parted in shock lips, and Seto didn't dare move his mouth, feeling the sting at the corners start to grow. What a mistake, forgetting how deceptively dangerous Ryuuji could be.

Seto couldn't even pull back--the headboard was already there--and pushing Ryuuji was out of the question. Not Ryuuji.

And Seto was smart enough to know Ryuuji was stronger than him; that was one thing Ryuuji always had over the CEO--physical strength. This meant any attempts to fight with Ryuuji to pull the knife away would be futile.

The storm was starting, with red rain for the opening act.

"And then I tried again." Ryuuji kept talking blithely, seemingly either unconcerned or not aware of what his hand was doing, pressing down to make the blood keep flowing so smoothly. "I waited until I was famous for more than just being the president of Black Crown - until I was more than just my father's son - and then I tried again."

The knife changed angles now, sliding into Seto's mouth with a sudden twist. It ran alongside the side of Ryuuji's palm, forcing the Assassin to curl his hand into a fist to stop his fingers from passing through the other's lips as well. The tip of the knife was slanted downwards to press against Seto's tongue, and Ryuuji self-mockingly pouted, "And you didn't even say hello to me."

Pause. "If you're not going to talk, I might as well remove your tongue."

Seemingly considering the merits of the idea, Ryuuji waited for Seto's opinion, not worrying about how Seto could speak with a blade in his mouth. The boy was creative; he'd come up with something.

Seto's lips quickly lifted around the angle change, but his teeth aimed to clamp down on the slick metal. A painful compromise--the delicate light-red skin of his lips was touching the edges of the blade anyway.

And of course, he was unable to speak like this, but considering the light sting of the thus far sustained wounds, it was still easy for Seto's quick mind to think.

With Ryuuji's words roaring through his ears--no matter how low they were really spoken--one hand raised to barely curl around Ryuuji's. Not to grab, no. Not to pull the knife, no.

But tauntingly long fingers just gently tapped on Ryuuji's skin--Seto's silent defense.

I did not speak to you then, because I was sure either you forgot me, or you hated me as much as I hated myself. Regardless of which one it was, I feared to know the answer. Now I have it, and I still do not know which one would have hurt more.

Morse Code. Words tapped out against Ryuuji's forearm, against the inside of his wrist, light but insistent, faster than his heartbeat, and quieter than hope.

Don't believe him. Don't fall for that. He doesn't mean any of it. He's just saying it because you're hurting him and because he wants you to stop. They're just words, Ryuuji. Pretty words, and only pretty words, and they're so pretty they have to lies. Pretty like plastic surgery - fake and plastic and nerveless so that it can't be hurt.

"If I'd forgotten you, it would have hurt less, because then I'd be leaving you alone." Ryuuji shook Seto's hand off as he drew the knife out of Seto's mouth, blade slick with saliva and blood both. Holding it up to the light, he looked at it for a little, watching it glisten sickly, then wiped it carelessly against Seto's shirt before making it retract once more.

"And then," Ryuuji continued dreamily, fingers now pressed against Seto's jaw in the exact right spots to dislocate it, "You could be friends with Tom without wondering what's hiding behind his green eyes and charm."

The grotesque metallic flavor of blood trickled in, assaulting his tongue, but Seto let it as he swallowed. It was better than the alternative Ryuuji had faced him with moments ago.

He didn't miss Ryuuji's fingers this time, aware of the hazardous warning, though unprepared to react. The color of the ocean--set only in the deepest portions, when the sun was covered over in the sky--kept close watch on Ryuuji's face this time.

"Ryuuji, that's doubtful. If I'm correct, he seems to be another extension from Voldemort, or that is what I recall fragments of in conversation. If that's the case, I would still be wary."

Heartbeat still pounding, eyes still darkened, and mouth still stinging and weeping tears both could never produce, Seto's hand lifted. Pushing Ryuuji away would be a fatal mistake. It would prove Ryuuji right, and possibly bring only more torment. But was Seto any safer submitting?

He opted for letting his hand fall back to his side, limp and lifeless.

Voice soft, caressing every small and fragile hope there was; "In fact, I don't really care what lays behind his eyes. The only ones I see now are yours. And you may see only in shades of green, but I'm afraid you've gone completely deaf.

"Ryuuji...what did I do to upset you so much tonight?" It had to be asked. Seto had to know just how Ryuuji's mind was working now. It would prevent such future incidents; although, if Ryuuji was honestly deranged now, there was no such hope.

"..." Ryuuuji didn't like the answer to that question. In fact, he didn't like the question at all. Why did Seto need to ask? Well, it made sense that Seto wouldn't want to be hurt, so if he knew how to avoid upsetting Ryuuji, then he wouldn't need to be hurt, but at the same time, Ryuuji wanted excuses to hurt the other.

He wanted to see Seto suffer the same way he did - he wanted to see Seto devastated, blood in his mouth and the world in ashes around his feet (tread softly, for you tread upon my dreams). But Seto had asked and Seto was behaving and this was a game of sorts (with rules only one of them knew) and Ryuuji played fair. It wasn't sure if he'd fight fair, but he certainly played fair, and fair meant that if Seto behaved, Ryuuji had to behave as well.

With a pout, Ryuuji let his fingers slip down, pressed hard, then wrenched, "You let him call you 'Seto'."

The pop of Seto's jaw dislocating was oddly satisfying, Ryuuji smiling down at the other contentedly as he bent to lick the blood away from the corners of Seto's mouth. Tasty.

The obvious sound of another dislocation was lost in the sea of pain it rode on; anger followed not too far behind.

Wet, disgustingly gentle licks from Ryuuji's tongue went unnoticed at first, numb against a wall of intense sharpness, but eventually Seto could feel them cutting through the awkwardness and knife-like jolts aching somewhere in the back of his mouth.

Bastard! I can't even bite you properly for that.

Again, Seto's hand, listless, made a start to move--fingers twitching only for a moment, like the last moments of breath fleeing from the mouth of the dead--but stopped yet again.

"You let him call you 'Seto'." Echoed sickeningly with a throb of pain that seemed attached to the pit of Seto's stomach, where it triggered a rise of acids and bile with every lash.

That was what Ryuuji got so upset over? Oh yes, definitely deranged.

That was just as anguishing as it was frightening; to think of his beautiful friend as forever gone threw Seto straight into denial. Something that morbidly gorgeous could not just fade so easily behind a façade of lying charm.

Lips reddened with Seto's mouth, even though the other's face was now clean, Ryuuji sat up again, casually straddling the other without thinking anything of it. He darted his tongue out over his own lips, cleaning them as well, and then blinked down at Seto with an expression of perfect innocence. Wide, clear green eyes (clear right through, nothing behind them) looked at Seto thoughtfully, and Ryuuji let his fingers press down into the space where Seto's jaw had been hinged.

"Don't you think that's a little unfair? Nobody else gets to call you Seto now. Except Mokuba. And you barely know Tom." Pause, and Ryuuji let go. "Well, he has green eyes. And black hair. And is very charming, just like I am."

A laugh accompanied those words, fragile as a two-way mirror. "Or at least, as charming as I can be to people that aren't you."

Cue a pout, corners of his full lips turned faintly downwards as Ryuuji slammed Seto's jaw back into a place with a quick shove from the heel of his hand. "I suppose he'll make an adequate replacement for the kid you left behind, hm? And then you can leave him as well!"

His laugh wasn't delighted, but rather, sickened, as if he hated the thought as much as he hated the boy under him.

To have his jaw replaced was just as excruciating as the displacement, cruelly added with sharp needles ramming into his head. And with every prick, every throb from his abused mouth, Seto could feel his stomach twist. His throat tightened.

The boy winced, his toes curled, faintly beyond the image of Ryuuji. Seto's eyes reopened for blank opaque oceans to stare at Ryuuji.

Even with all of that resounding through Seto's system, he was almost grateful for the physical pain in comparison with Ryuuji's words. Seto started to open his mouth to speak, but his voice caught on chastising pain--a warning not to even try at the moment--ending in a light, almost inaudible sound. Seto's mouth remained slightly open, lips forced to remain full, instead of seeking refuge in their normal smirk, sneer, or simple straight-line Seto used to hide their pouty appearance.

His hand decided to brave a gentle drum-beat once more, the fragile notes conducted by Seto's own heart beat, fingers lighting on Ryuuji's arm again. "If you want, then you may use Seto too."

"No. Seto's dead to me. He died when he left me, he was buried when he ignored me. Every single time he pretended not to know me, that was another handful of dirt on his coffin - every time he smiled at Mokuba, that was another flower left on his grave." Ryuuji shook his head wildly and jerked his arm away from Seto, reaching down to press both of Seto's wrists against the bed.

The metal cuff on one was cool against his palm, invisible to sight but still able to be felt, and Ryuuji ran his fingers over the rounded edges as he spoke, "You don't get it - you're not Seto. He's gone. He never existed! Because if he had existed - if he had been the boy I thought he was - he wouldn't have left me like that. He wouldn't have left me to my father and nobody else. He never existed the way that I thought he did."

Softly, letting go of Seto's wrists, Ryuuji placed them instead on Seto's chest, over the center of his breastbone and pressed down until he heard them creak warningly. "Dead before he was born."

The pressure increased for a moment, as if Ryuuji wanted to break them, have them stab into Seto's lungs and kill him, then receded again. "You're not him."

Pain. Fatal Pressure. Words.

Cutting deep.

Sight black. Swimming. Breathing.

Breathing?

Everything seemed concentrated on Seto's chest for those severe moments Ryuuji pushed down. Seto's breathing built up again, his blood shooting out spikes of ice instead of warm fluid. The strain on his heart was displayed with a clear, loud thump that reverberated in Seto's head. It created a macabre orchestration with his temples and stomach, growing headache and nausea forming into one.

Blink.

Seto's eyes managed to gain ground again and put Ryuuji back into proper focus as Ryuuji pulled back.

Breathe.

But even if air managed to properly enter and exit his lungs once again, Seto felt every breath was useless, thick with dirt and maggots, suffocating him despite its oxygen offering.

Ryuuji still didn't understand.

Psychopathic idiot.

"...Se~to!" For a second, Ryuuji mimicked the way he used to sound when younger, slicing the other's name into two distinct syllables, the first rising upwards joyfully and the second dipping sharply down like a command or a victory yell. A faint, bitter smile curved his lips upwards, and he sighed softly, head canted to a side and only the tips of his fingers now resting on the other's chest.

"Do you think it would have been better if we'd never met? Because that way, I might still have a little faith in other people's ability to care about me since it would have only been my father that lied to me. Not you as well. Then I wouldn't have thought that it's possible to love someone without hurting them." Then I'd be less confused. His tone was casual, contemplative but not distressed, Ryuuji acting as if they were only discussing the weather instead of one of the emotionally traumatic events of his life, second only to the night his father died.

A single word. Two syllables.

Yet the effects were devastating enough for Seto to force the ice in his blood outward. The result calmed his breathing, his eyes sharpened (still opaque), and despite the disconnected feel of his aching jaw, Seto spoke, voice switching to cool autopilot, cracking here and there.

"Yes, Otogi. It would have been better if we never met." It felt and sounded like his vocal chords were fighting through shards of glass, torn in waving shreds, but that was only because the tenderness spread until Seto couldn't tell where the pain originated from. "At least then I wouldn't have to watch you degrade yourself and shatter whatever is left of the boy I cared so deeply for."

His eyes were vacant, ever on Ryuuji. You're more important than my pride, but you won't believe me now. Now all there is this.

"If you cared so deeply for him," And the sneer in Ryuuji's tone (Seto was still calling him Otogi even though Ryuuji had been given permission to use Seto's first name - did it mean Ryuuji was dead to him too? That Ryuuji had never existed because Seto had never cared for him so there was no Ryuuji and there was only Otogi but who was this Otogi?) made it clear that he didn't believe that, "Why did you leave him to be degraded - to be wounded, to be warped, to be influenced by a madman without anyone there to show him how else to develop?"

Eyes empty still (it seemed to be their new default around Seto), Ryuuji leaned down and licked at a corner of Seto's mouth again, where one of the wounds had bled just a little, and whispered against the other's skin like it was a secret, "You were the only one I let grow close to me; the only one I listened to, apart from my father. You forfeited your influence over me when you left and worse than that, you made everything that you'd ever told me into a lie. Take away a plant's sunshine, and it'll grow crooked, twisting in on itself to get nutrients from the soil its planted it, because there's none coming from outside."

He straightened up again, and the edges of his mouth twisted downwards as Ryuuji slid off Seto and to the side, lying down with his back to Seto as he finished quietly, "If you hate me now, just remember that this is what you left me to become."

With everything Seto had felt like hurling verbally at Ryuuji before, hatred wasn't on his list, he found. That seemed almost strange now, because "I hate you," had been his number one mental mantra when Gozaburo had abused him for four years straight.

Despondent sincerity flowed from those lips, corners still barely torn, blood trying to congeal; "I don't hate you. And I don't believe this is really you either."

Seto remained laying on his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling as he slid lower on the pillow--it was there, somewhere behind his head or back.

Whispered words. "What would it take for you to believe me?" Just name it.

"What would it take for you to believe this is me?" The words were dry and clipped, Ryuuji apparently done with physical torture for the night as he kept his back turned to Seto, eyes on the opposite wall.

He hadn't slept enough on the carpet after all; Tom had made sure of that. He should sleep now. He should.

Damn you, Seto. I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU.

"Nothing," Seto said easily enough as he pulled himself from the bed, refusing to stay there if Ryuuji planned to sleep there. He would retreat to the floor, and his laptop once more. After all, Mokuba was awake at the moment, and on MSN. They could chat for a few hours, before Mokuba needed catch dinner and Seto needed to head to classes.

"If you can treat other people so nicely, then nothing you can do can convince me Ryuuji is completely gone."

With that, Seto settled on the floor, back leaning against the bed, basically facing. His hands were already reaching for the laptop, long fingers calmly slipping into the dark.

Ryuuji didn't almost dignify that with a response, but in the end, settled for saying, "He's gone to you."

You left him. You abandoned him. You can't suddenly turn around and chase after someone you left behind. No take backs. No forgiveness - or rather, you had a chance to be forgiven. You wasted it. No more chances. Third time lucky, yeah, whatever. Trouble comes in threes, and where you're concerned, Seto, I'm more likely to be a pessimist now.

And for all that Seto was supposedly dead to him, Ryuuji still never actually thought of him as Kaiba.

"Liar." Quick and clipped, just like the sound of a finger slapping one key.

"Optimist." The answer was just as short, spat out like a curse. Seto Kaiba was being called an optimist?

Surely that's a sign of the Apocalypse.