Mother Figure by Aoi Rakuen

Yu-Gi-Oh is a legal property of Kazuki Takahashi, and other big names. It's not mine. Don't sue me.

Some words of caution, though: If you're a yaoi-hater and not so keen on Prideshipping, this story isn't for you. I am an S/YY fan all the way, and personally, they're a pairing that makes a whole lot of sense when you read anything on the series and manga, wrath of the gods be damned.

SUMMARY: YGO AU FIC. What if you're paid to be the mother of a billionaire's son? But what if you're a MAN? Yami goes through this life-changing situation when he strikes a deal with CEO Seto Kaiba. Read and Review! XD

.oOo.

Chapter 12: Midnight Snack

Suddenly the air was buzzing with whispers.

Yami regretted having to sign the attendance sheet. Since he didn't think of any name to go with himself (because he couldn't possibly write 'Yami Mutou' even if he wanted to, given the circumstances), he simply signed, "for Mokuba Kaiba". No one really paid attention to him at first, which was all what he wanted. But the attendance sheet was inevitable.

And now, he had to endure everyone looking, albeit openly, pointing at him directly as he walked to the back of the conference hall, hoping to dig a hole and die.

"Mokuba's mother…?"

"She does look a bit like him…"

"Isn't she a bit taller? The photos I've seen looked different."

"But it's been so long ago…"

Yami heard many snatches of conversation around him; he had to swoop down on his purse to feign indifference while attempting to look for an escape route hiding inside one of its pockets, his ears hot with embarrassment.

The murmurs died down considerably when the speakers were introduced. However, it was a respite too short-lived; pretty soon, many of the parents were turning around to where he sat to point and stare.

Admittedly, Yami, who was focusing all his attention at the speaker, barely understood anything. He punched a hurried message to Asano to pick him up,pretty please, before any of the guests can even follow him.

By the time the PTA meeting was resolved, everyone knew about presence of the mysterious woman attending on behalf of Seto Kaiba. The person in question, on the other hand, lost no time and practically ran for the exit (high heels and all) and was already first at the school gate, where the dutiful Asano immediately motioned for him.

The limousine stalked out of sight, long before any of the rumor-mongers disguised as parents and teachers could follow him.

Inside an unobtrusive station wagon, however, Keith was watching through his lens which recorded every frame of his prey's movement.

.oOo.

Mai walked purposefully into the office; her shoes clicked against the tiles, sending echoes throughout the office. People abandoned their posts to stare at her; each of them craning their necks and tweaking their ears for anything waiting to happen.

Here was a glorified entrance, some of them thought. Something was definitely afoot: Mai wouldn't strut like a runway model if she didn't have anything to strut about. Heck, they wouldn't be into the gossip business if they can't live up to the kind of things that happened in their small, claustrophia-inducing office, at the very least.

Mai could only flip her hair for an added effect; her all-knowing smirk was reminiscent of the days when she uncovered the gossip that started it all. She chuckled appreciatively, not bothering to keep it to herself. 'That'll show these bottom-dwellers,' she thought happily.

Without even stopping to knock, she pushed herself into Ed's office, in which the editor in question was currently on the phone, oblivious to all the hubbub around him.

"Yes I know, Mother, your little boy wants to go there and see you…" The editor's voice was – uncharacteristically – cooing. Mai had to do a double take; she might've stepped into some parallel world where editors are mama's boys.

Ed looked up momentarily at Mai, glared malevolently, and tried to shoo her away with an irritated wave of his hand. Feeling very cocky, Mai chose to ignore his superior's orders and began to tap her foot loudly just to irritate him.

Mai bit back an indulgent laugh. She was in a world where editors are actually mother's boys. Indeed, today was her lucky day.

'Tap, tap, tap…' on and on the continuous tapping finally did not go unheard in Ed's ears, which were now tinged pink with agitation. Summoning the sweetest voice he could muster, he said to his mother, "I'll put you on hold one minute, Ma, I just need to – no, it won't take long, I promise!"

As soon as Mai heard the hold button being pushed rather angrily, Ed's voice filled the office. "THIS HAD BETTER BE WORTH MY FUCKING ATTENTION, VALENTINE, BECAUSE I'M – "

And Mai unceremoniously – purposefully – threw the photos right at her editor's face. What better way to tempt fate and the unprecedented thinness of Ed's patience? The photographs scattered around him like confetti.

"THAT'S IT MAI, YOU'RE –"

But his voice quickly died in his throat; his eyes drifted to the photos strewn on the floor. He knelt on the floor and picked one, tentatively, not knowing if he was just stuck in a parallel, make-believe world where Seto Kaiba is out of his hiding hole, planting a chaste kiss on a woman's forehead…

"Th-this is…" he stammered, something he hasn't done ever since he was with his mother.

Mai felt like she was hovering above him, amused at the way things were working her way. She took in the scene – a national sensation in the making, and most of all, her editor kneeling in front of her, worshipping her like the goddess that she is.

Out of the corner of her eye, the blinking red light of the hold button still pulsed. "Oh Ed, your mother's still on hold."

Not surprisingly, Ed wasn't really giving a shit about his mother at the moment.

.oOo.

I was starting to regret attending that PTA meeting.

Of course I knew about the scope of how the nation is obsessed with Kaiba and the inner trappings of his life. Months (Centuries) spent (wasted) listening (zoning out) to Tea gushing on the rumors, the characters, and the tragedy surrounding Kaiba's surprisingly inane life (Trust me, I know so; you should hear him muttering about his spreadsheets one day) should tell me what was in store for me.

But I thought the whole business had already died down; I thought nobody doesn't give a damn about it anymore.

Apparently I was gravely mistaken. Maybe I should've just heeded Kaiba's warnings.

But as I got home, Mokuba bounded for me, thanking me for my efforts. And as he hugged me, somehow, it made everything seem worth the risk.

For now, I guess that's all that matters.

At least nobody saw Kaiba kissing my forehead, right?

.oOo.

Seto had it coming.

He had taken note of it. Several times in fact. It all fell under his cool, calculating logic that certain events will lead to…well, more events.

When his new "wife" assumed control in the Kaiba household, he was more than happy to give that happy power, just so he could humor him. Then, against his will, his wife fired all of Mokuba's tutors, insisting some "tried-and tested" motherly approach to teaching. Seto acquiesced – rather forcibly – just so they could stop bickering about it; he didn't want to risk severe headaches. Needless to say, his son's morale picked up, and he was performing better in school. At least someone's improving.

Then his wife took it upon himself to be a "responsible" and "cooperative" parent by showing up at Mokuba's PTA meeting. While it exposed him to the outside world – a matter of significant importance – somehow, no one seemed to be taking any interest in him, despite how long his legs are. Still, Seto gave in, even though sheer doubt and fear of discovery were written all over his face.

And precisely what the smart businessman had predicted, his wife had gone one step further again. Oddly enough, it was the most unthinkable idea ever.

"YOU FIRED THE HEAD CHEF?!" Seto bellowed, the anger of his deep voice barely controlled.

Yami, who was reading a magazine, didn't seem to be bothered at his roommate's outburst. 'Trust him to overreact on just about anything,' he thought. "It was more like an indefinite leave of absence. Said he wanted to visit some far-off relatives in the countryside. So I gave it to him."

Seto was clenching his fists, fighting the urge to have someone executed. "I didn't ask you to fire anyone at random, least of all the head chef! What the hell are you thinking, Mutou?!"

Yami gazed levelly at Seto, who was briefly surprised at how fiery his companion's eyes were. The fact that it was framed with black eyeshadow didn't help matters.

"Because from now on, I'm doing the cooking around here. Can't have a certified gourmet chef cramping my style, now can I?"

.oOo.

In case anyone's wondering, I'm an excellent learner. I did not immerse myself in the kitchen just so I could get the smell of exhaust cling onto my clothes. And being an eager student, I certainly lived up to it, until I was declared by the head chef his protégé, as well as a genius. Now there's a talent I would like to test.

At the opportune moment, I advised him to get some R and R in his hometown.

"Madame, as much as I find your offer very tempting, I can't take it," he said.

My eyebrows went up. "Why not? You needed the break, and I'm giving it to you. I'll be in charge of the kitchen from here on."

"I'm sorry to say this, but my charge will never eat anything unless I prepared it. It's been that way for more than two decades."

Blargh, tradition. Who gives a shit. Sometimes, I still find myself amazed at Kaiba's assed-up attitudes. I shrugged. "I don't care. Kaiba will just have to eat whatever I prepare."

My teacher gave me a half-defeated, half-amused look. "I'm saying it's not going to be easy, missy."

"Well I'll do whatever it takes to make him eat, even if I have to tie him up and serve crème brulee on his –"

Words failed me up to that point. The chef gave a very loud chuckle at this.

"I admire your determination, Madame! Now remember this: if you know what makes a man's mouth water, you're halfway up his leg." He wiggled his eyebrows for effect.

"You mean 'if you know what makes a woman laugh'," I corrected him, the conventional quote in mind.

He chuckled again. "That wasn't what I meant, Mistress Kaiba." He winked knowingly, gave a final bow, and went on his way.

Strange fellow.

.oOo.

"Send this to headlines. Front page. Put every frame of photo Bandit captured if you have to. I want this in by tonight. And print triple than the usual." Ed's instructions went on and on. Mai frowned at this, because she had envisioned a different scenario which she wanted done, and her motor mouth of an editor won't stop her from getting it. What his boss lacked was the style, and the most effective strategy to pull it off to put other competitors to shame. 'And put me in the center again,' she added as an afterthought, the glow of the limelight an irresistible tug that should not be resisted.

She cleared her throat "Boss, believe me, a shocking news is what we all need," she carefully selected her next words, "but wouldn't it be great if we stump the competition early on?"

Ed snorted. "Stump the competition?" he cried in disbelief. "What the hell do you think I'm suggesting earlier on, Valentine? I want this out at once before any of our neighbors start sniffing out something!" And by "neighbors", he wasn't only referring to rival companies. He sent a wary glance outside his office, flimsily covered by Venetian blinds, where beyond it, dozens of writers and columnists could be a possible threat to him, one way or the other. Apparently, Ed wasn't much of a trusting person than he is an excellent editor.

"Hear me out here, Ed. If we publish at once, sure we could rake in the dough in the first week." Mai stressed out a critical point. "But everyone else will follow suit. After that, we would have to drop prices just to earn pennies."

A vein pulsed in Ed's temple, but he didn't react violently. Mai knew her editor had to see some sense, to stop him from blindly rushing onwards like a crazed bull. Getting the scoop first is great, but reinforcing it through a series of follow-throughs would galvanize their reputation. What they need is more material while no one is still looking, fast. Because once the whole thing blows over, Seto Kaiba will have to retreat back to the shadows and start suing anyone who sees him from a ten-mile radius. More material entailed more stocks to sell at ridiculously-high prices to rivals out to partake in their success. But the source will always remain a source, especially in times of great press famine.

But first, they needed to start stirring the pot. "We need to serve them appetizer," Mai said. Blind items have a dual purpose: to mystify readers, and best of all, to foreshadow forthcoming happenings. This is done to stake claim that they found it out first; nowadays, no one bothers with runners-up. That way, when everyone starts asking, they could just point out simply: "We wrote it last week, didn't you see?"

This plan tested Ed's patience, which was unsurprisingly short, but against making money, which was high on his priority list (probably higher than his mother), he would have to reconsider. Mai was relieved that her boss was getting the drift. "Run a teaser in one of our insignificant little publication," he said, before turning his back at Mai. An off-the-radar teaser would quirk little interest, which was more than enough at the moment.

Mai had to smile. "Best suggestion you've had all day."

.oOo.

'Tap tap tap'… Seto was absent-mindedly tapping at his laptop while he gazed outside the city skyline through his windows. He had just finished looking through the interim sales reports, and was momentarily pleased to know that he was still earning money (lots of it), and would continue to do so for the next thirty-odd years, according to his calculations.

He adjusted his glasses, and went back to look at his laptop. He was surprised to see that he had typed 'My wife is a nagger' unknowingly. He had written a page's worth of it, much like a child writing lines during detention.

"Not surprising," he muttered. After Yami had fired his chief cook to take his place, he had become so adamant in making Seto eat that he had to endure and sleep through the long sermons, earning him a marvelous headache the next day, in which another bout of lectures would ensue, just to spite him. He could almost imagine Yami now: hands on his hips, voice barely containing his impatience, threatening him to eat something or else. In a twisted sense, what he had typed was merely an understatement.

Seto stared at it intently for a few seconds, reprimanding himself. "He's not my wife," he said to no one in particular, before he deleted the whole document. He closed the lid of his laptop, and was taken aback to realize at how the room had gone eerily silent. Then again, his office has always been silent.

Somehow, the quiet that had permeated around his office seemed uncomfortable.

.oOo.

Seto woke up early today, woken up by the nightmare that somehow involved Yami with a shovel, literally shoving him mounds of egg tart. Grumbling, he ambled silently towards the bathroom, careful not to make any noise to wake his roommate. The earlier he could leave the house for work, the better; he didn't want to hear any more of Yami's sickeningly-sweet imitation of a girl's voice telling him to eat or, as Yami hissed into his ear yesterday, "I will shove it all up your posterior!" while his son wasn't looking.

After seconds of fumbling with his tie, Seto was already out of the main door, sprinting out of his lawn, not bothering to cross the cobbled driveway. The sun was still pale in the hazy dew of dawn, just a little glimmer in the horizon. He flipped open his phone and called for his limousine. He risked a peek upwards, to where his room was, relieved to see that the lights were still off, and its occupant still sound asleep.

"It's still early?" hissed Seto into the receiver, incredulous at his employee's impertinence. "I can go to my office whenever I want to. So get the car in here NOW before I decide your early termination!"

'Click'. Seto shut his phone, irritated. He paced around back and forth, looking warily at his watch and at the balcony above him alternately. The sense of urgency was almost unnerving him.

After an agonizing minute of waiting, the black limousine slinked by the iron gate. His bodyguards were already standing by outside, looking somewhat disheveled and disoriented. Seto lost no time and quickened his pace.

He was almost running now, not hesitating to stop. 'I should do something about the long driveway,' he thought, making a mental note to call the appropriate people to do something about it. Seto was jotting down so many mental notes that he only reacted a second too late when he saw something from the corner of his eye…

…who threw a bucket of water directly at him.

"AARRGGGHHH!" The icy cold water crept past his office clothes, sending unwanted chills down his spine. However, it only lasted for a second – his temper was shooting to its boiling point.

"MUTOU---" Seto wheeled at him, his finger already brandished, but he was instantly doused by another splash, leaving him spluttering for air.

Yami had a serene look deliberately plastered on his face. "You have to eat breakfast first before you leave for the office, dear."

.oOo.

Seto was moving stealthily across the hallway. He wasn't initially aware of its existence before (even after living in this mansion his all life), but he was thankful now that the carpet was muffling his steps. He rounded on a corner and suppressed a groan.

His stomach gurgled.

He cursed under his breath. 'Mutou and his insane ideas,' he thought bitterly. In response to boycotting anything Yami cooks, the latter decided to not give him any altogether. Seto was unfazed by the idea at first, as he had several back-up plans up his sleeves.

Much to his disbelief, he was appalled to find out that his chief cook disappeared entirely from the face of the earth. How Yami was able to pull it off, he could only wonder.

After briefly reprimanding (and firing) the investigator he hired to find him, Seto was forced to live on a coffee, tea, crackers, and sugar mints for the time being. One way or the other, his pretend-wife will have to fold over the likes of him.

It didn't help that he had to be present during dinner to watch Yami and his son eating, while he grudgingly took a sip of water. His pride was too much bloated to concede, after all.

But a few days later, he found himself unconsciously waking up in the dead of the night, woken by his angry, complaining stomach. He didn't mind it at first, preferring to sleep it through, but on the third day of forceful hunger strike, he couldn't take it anymore.

His feet found the kitchen, dark and silent, save for a few spots illuminated by moonlight. At the very least he didn't have to turn on the lights. He inched towards the refrigerator, an eager hand outstretched. Whatever contents the fridge holds, he couldn't care less; beggars can't be choosers, after all.

Yellow light poured out as he squinted through the interior, his eyes momentarily stunned by the sudden flow of light. Some chicken strips, mayonnaise, bologna, eggs, bacon… Seto stood silently, wondering what kind of sandwich he could make quick before he dies of starvation.

"I could fix you a sandwich, really, dear," came a voice behind him. Seto almost dropped the jar of mayonnaise in alarm.

.oOo.

"Well, yeah, the point is that your ego," said Yami between mouthfuls of tuna and mayonnaise, "is screwing with you. Big time."

Seto glared at him from the brim of his glass filled with apple juice.

"I mean, you could've at least admitted you're hungry, rather than strutting around being a pain in the ass." Yami was digging at the coleslaw with his spoon. "Save me and the rest of us some trouble you've been causing."

He simply glowered in reply. There was simply nothing to be done about him being caught by Yami, but simply stare at his opponent in the hopes of scaring him. It wasn't likely to happen, but at least Seto was eating something.

Yami fixed him a cool stare. It was then he noticed that a bit of stray mayonnaise was at the edge of Seto's mouth. He felt all spite leaving him; Seto looked younger than his years, his blue eyes soft against the harsh fluorescent light hovering above them. Sighing, he whispered, "Come closer".

Puzzled, Seto inched closer. "What?" he asked.

"There's something…" Yami's voice trailed off, and his hand brushed Seto's cheek slightly. He felt his thumb swept past his lips, light and fleeting. The brunet stiffened, partially paralyzed, unsure of what to do.

One of the many unsettling silences lingered among them.

"Look, you've got mayonnaise on you," Yami said, showing his thumb at him. Acting on instinct, he licked it off his thumb. Seto was at a loss for words, and was wondering whether he should feel insulted, embarrassed, or both. Needless to say, more unsettling silence filled the air.

In an attempt to rectify his mistake, Yami suddenly got up and started fishing out more vegetables and dressings from the fridge, anything he could get his hands on. "Now how about some salad?"

.oOo.

The midnight snacks were increasingly becoming a regular affair for both Yami and Seto. Even though Yami was already complaining about how he was going to fit in his clothes and Seto was growing impatient to get back to his work at once, they still go about preparing chips, sandwiches, among many edible things.

While Yami was figuring out whether he should use whole wheat bread or white bread (or perhaps foccacia?), he listened to Seto droning on about company policies, merger agreements, and pretty much stressful (and to Yami, boring) details about being a CEO of a huge company.

And while Seto chewed his sandwich, trying to figure out its contents, he listened to Yami describing many of the things around the Kaiba mansion – ones that fascinated him (like the garage) and ones that spooked him out (like the library).

Though they listened to each other, that really didn't stop from them arguing all the same.

"So give your employees higher wages!"

"My profit will plummet down ten percent if I do that!"

"So? What's a measly ten percent in the grand scheme of things? Stop being a selfish bastard!"

"That's twenty million dollars per annum at the very least, and that won't stop them for asking more! Are you mentally inept or something?"

Or…

"Why do you even bother looking at my library anyway?"

"The question is, do you even know you have a library?"

"Of course. What do you take me for, an idiot?"

"Yes."

News of the clandestine after-dinner snacks spread like wildfire among the employees of the Kaiba mansion. Even Seto's bodyguards – known especially for their acute indifference to rumors - were actually amused at the interesting situation at hand.

If anything, the head chef was very surprised.

"Looks like I win the bet," Yami said, very much pleased with himself, imagining his teacher's incredulous face from the other line. He had to call when Seto was nowhere in sight, because apparently, the latter still couldn't find his head chef anywhere.

"What have you done to Master Seto, Madame? This is totally unexpected!"

Yami wanted to answer something along the lines of underhanded tactics bordering on torture, starvation, and – implicitly – death, but thought against it. "If you're wondering about serving crème brulee, I didn't go that far, if that's what you wanted to ask."

The chef chuckled. "Then I guess I lost the bet then."

"Congratulations are in order."

"Thank you very much, Madame," came an unexpected reply.

Yami snorted. "Oh, you don't need to thank me. Seriously. I did everyone a favor by kicking his pompous –"

"Master Seto might be able to move on, with your help, Madame. I sincerely thank you for that." Yami was surprised that the chef's voice had turned oddly hushed and reserved, as if he was holding more back.

But before Yami could even ask any further, the cheery demeanor of the cook took over once more. "Well then, I guess I'll still be enjoying my well-earned vacation here, young missy. I guess my charge won't mind, since you're around. Cheerio!"

And the line went dead.

Yami's curiosity was more alive than ever though.

.oOo.

The diner was always the hub of activity among the general population in Domino, when most of them couldn't stand fancy restaurants and would much rather prefer a cup of brewed coffee instead. The Salt Shaker was a particularly famous and busy joint. There was never a dull moment in that place, and that seats were always occupied at any time of the day was a sure sign it was a good spot to eat chili or nurse a mug of ice-cold beer.

Having the aforementioned beer was what Joey had in mind now. That is, after he finishes clearing tables with leftover pasta, or mopping spilled ale. Working part-time was a sure bitch for him, but it brings food to the table, and it usually keeps his girlfriend happy.

And speaking of his girlfriend…

'She's particularly happy lately,' he mused, as he continued to plow his soggy mop across the floor. Usually, when Mai was in a foul mood, she would splurge on many things – anything she could lay her hands on – which was a bad sign for Joey's wallet. Three days ago, however, Mai simply wanted a massage. Which Joey dutifully gave, of course.

"Oi Wheeler, you're supposed to keep the floor clean, not soaking wet!" Marietta, one of the waitresses passed by, wiping off that silly smile of his face.

"Oh, right…" Joey resumed, glaring at the floor which somehow managed to look like a small stream. It was almost closing time, and there were still a few stragglers out to have a late dinner.

He passed by two middle-aged women poring over a magazine, discussing among themselves animatedly. Joey snorted; if he wanted rumors, he might as well go ask Mai for it himself. Then again, he really was just not interested in them altogether. He began to pick up his bucket to work on a new area when he heard one of the women shrieked.

"YOU MEAN IT'S KAIBA?"

There was a unanimous glare aimed at their general direction for a second, before the rest of the diner picked up its own axis. One of the women shushed her companion to keep it down, but Joey was already setting his mop on the floor which he had already cleaned a minute ago.

"Is it really him?"

"'Course it is. Who do you associate with this phrase, ' a powerhouse mogul living life incognito'?"

Skeptical. "It could be Sigfried you know."

"Except von Schroider is a show-off."

Silence. Joey strained his ears hard.

"But, who is this woman?"

"A new girlfriend, that's what. Though no press mileage for the fortunate lady. Remember the time when Kaiba hid his wife? This is a rehash."

"Ooh, and the plot thickens!" one of them exclaimed and they exchanged simpering laughter.

The blond-haired janitor paled considerably. It didn't take Joey long to know the referents of the said blind item.

To Be Continued

.oOo.

Author's Note: Wah, it's been a LOOONG while, and I'm sorry for the uber-delay! Thanks so much for the past chapter reviews!

I've weeded out some weird plot problems. I have reposted an edited version of Chapters 1 to 6 and I hope I carry them out on the next chapters to follow.

On to some random shout-outs: Somebody please give an appropriate name for the Kaiba chef! I have been thinking it out, but no good name comes to mind. D:

For comments, suggestions, and whatnot, send me a review ;p

Thanks for reading!

Aoi Rakuen (Blue Paradise)