Geez, I just noticed how uncreative I'm getting. This is basically two of my other stories (False Friendship, False Heart and Rain) thrown together and given a Yu-Gi-Oh! setting. Well, maybe that's just me, but it definitely seems that way. Anyway, I thought it'd be nice to write for this pairing, as it doesn't get too much acknowledgement as opposed to, say, YugixAnzu, yet it's a deep relationship between a sweet, innocent character able to get a glimpse of humanity from one of the coldest characters in the entire metaseries. I just love it, I don't see how someone couldn't, and so tried to express that here. Well, Kisara could be seen as a Mary-Sue by some, but still. Anyway, the fireplace scene below was inspired by Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame's "Hellfire" scene. Oh, and like I mentioned in other places, I apologize for the very short length, even though I'm a vocal protestor of extremely short fics. I simply felt there was no need to drag the fic on, as it was most powerful with the most efficient length. But apologies don't really matter when your story is only slightly longer than the author's comments. So, please forget about that, and enjoy my first Yu-Gi-Oh! fanfic.

Weakness

Seto Kaiba sat up, sweating profusely, gasping, panting as he threw aside his bedsheets. He glanced about wildly, looking desperately for something to hold on to, something to anchor him into firmly into reality. The window, providing a lemon-scented glimpse into the scenery beyond. The trees rustling softly in the cool wind, bending in perfect time to a silent rhythm. The dark river far below, rolling along with a gentle hiss. The moon shining brightly in the sky overhead, illuminating all underneath with a soft, silver glow of warmth.

Silver, he thought as he retched, clutching his stomach, digging into his skin so hard he drew blood. Silver, like her hair. Her flowing, silky, beautiful hair…

Disgusted by both the foul-smelling ooze sloshing around on his sheets and by the weakness he was showing, he rolled over and stalked into the adjoining bathroom, slapping the faucet and plunging his hands into the cool water, which he then splashed repeatedly onto his face. He gasped for lack of air, then sighed, switching the flow of water back off. Sighing, he grabbed a towel from the hook on the counter, rubbing at his face furiously. It felt good, to be clean. Clean, like her skin, her glass skin, her pristine, glowing skin…

He nearly screamed in agony, punching the wall and resting his head there as he gritted his teeth. He was Seto Kaiba, the most powerful man in the world. Emotion in any form was below him. So what, what in the seven hells was the feeling he got when he remembered the little time he had spent with her?

Hocus pocus mumbo jumbo. He'd convinced himself that was exactly what Yugi's "Millennium Puzzle" crap was about. Seto Kaiba was a man of science. She was a figment of his foolish imagination, he'd attempted to convince himself. But no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to forget her smile, her embrace. Even her name he barely remembered, but still, he couldn't forget her.

And he hated himself, loathed himself for it. Love was foolish, love was weak. He'd thought it, he'd been taught it, he'd lived by it. Maybe that was it. That bastard in the funny blue hat couldn't have been him. That wasn't him, therefore, that man loved her. He didn't. He shouldn't. He couldn't. He wouldn't. But he did. That man was him. He was that man. And he loved her.

He slapped himself across the cheek, ashamed that he should have loved someone. That was completely unacceptable. Seto Kaiba could not love. He could collapse under the weight of the realization that he could, however, which is exactly what he did, falling to his knees and sobbing as he clutched the side of his bed, pulling at the sheets in a futile effort to sustain himself.

"Kisara…" he croaked hoarsely, almost delirious, as he crawled toward the crackling fireplace. The flames burned even brighter, higher as he got closer, jumping and dancing to create the shape of a roaring dragon, its powerful wingbeats sending it spiraling through the inferno. As it stopped in mid-flight, the form descended and morphed, a dancing girl taking the monster's place, twirling seductively and reaching out to Seto Kaiba's face. It was her, no doubt. Her form was replicated perfectly in the fire, her ragged clothing, her fine, wild hair, the innocent gaze of her eyes.

Staggering to his feet, swaying like a drunkard, he reached out to her as if still sleeping, half awake. She took his hand softly. Her touch was cold as ice, his arm nearly froze, yet he could see the burns appearing on his own arm through the shifting blue flames that composed her arm. "Kisara…" he repeated weakly. Her grey lips moved slowly, as if to reply 'Seto,' but the only sound he could hear was the dull crackling of the flames.

She pulled him closer, scaling along the side of his arm with an icy tingle, allowing him to use his other arm to, after a slight hesitation, wrap around her waist and lock the two in a tight embrace. The phantom looked up, pulling in his gaze like a gorgon, and reached up, kissing him.

He felt a sudden warmth on his lips, the likes of which he had never known before. It turned cold, colder than the locks around his heart, and then it was gone, as the vision evaporated into mist and passed through him, leaving him with outstretched arms that grasped vainly at thin air.

Breathing heavily, he shed a single tear, then furiously rubbed it away, refusing to believe that Seto Kaiba, of all people, could even possibly cry. He looked around desperately for someone to commiserate with, someone that could identify his pain. But, of course, he had no one, having shut out every single person that had even tried to get close to him.

Except for her. And she was gone.

No, he thought as he fought back tears, biting his lip. It didn't matter, as he wouldn't cry. Besides, Seto Kaiba could not afford to show such weakness to anyone. Not even Kisara.

Kisara.

He collapsed and wept openly, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably like a spoiled child, clutching the Blue Eyes White Dragon to his moist forehead.