I know that it's been a little over one week since I last updated, but I usually like to have a quick update when I'm writing the last chapter. This story is actually over now…I can't believe it! What will I ever do without all of this writing? (shakes head) I just don't know. But it will still be fun. I have a few story ideas on the backburner for now, so it would be nice to get to some of them.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the last chapter! It's written in a different style then the previous ones, so if you don't get all of it at first, just keep reading. Whatever it is, remember to enjoy!

Warning: Umm, actually…this chapter isn't so bad.

Disclaimer: I don't own YGO.

Chapter Twelve: Letters

The plane's engine roared to life in the distance. I was already making my way down the escalator when I heard it. It was hard to believe I had just been on that plane, just made way to this country to begin the newest and most prominent chapter in my life. What gave me the strength for all this? What gave me the idea?

The escalator eventually came to a halt and I began to walk decidedly towards the exit of the airport. It felt like I was not even moving, really. The six hour plane ride had passed in some type of ethereal dizziness. Maybe it was the notion of my business here; maybe it was the American whisky.

Walking towards the glass doors with stick-on messages adorning every panel, I half-heartedly noticed the early morning sunlight pouring onto the dirty tiled floor. It reminded me that there was still some natural esoteric purity left outside the grime of the modern world. Before I reached the doors, my feet stopped moving long enough for me to squint through the harsh metallic structures that blocked my view of the sun.

The sun. That ritualistic blot of light fueling the world. It was incredible how much I had come to hate the sun equally as I had hated life itself. Yet, recently I had become more and more captivated by such trivial things as the sunrise and the sunset. There was no reason for it, either.

Someone bumped into me from behind. "Excuse me," the person said in English. He knocked me back into reality. Right. I was here for a reason.

Dizziness returning, I moved towards the doors and pushed them open, feeling the sun stain my face with its stubborn light. It was brisk that day. December had just begun and the temperature here was considerably lower than it was in Japan. Silently, I praised Mokuba for making me pack some extra sweaters. I stepped onto the pavement and headed towards the man with a sign bearing my name written in English.

I had hired a taxi cab for the drive into the city. My driver looked to be about thirty, maybe forty. He had short red hair, an overflowing stomach, and large muscles on all his extremities. Definitely American. I guessed he was of Irish decent, especially when we introduced ourselves.

We made eye contact and he dropped the sign, offering me his hand. I took it tentatively as he said, "Hello, sir. My name's Billy O'Donahue. I'll be drivin' ya' today."

I nodded my greetings, trying not to concentrate on the way he had just squeezed the circulation out of my hand. "I am Seto Kaiba and how are you this morning?"

He opened the door for me. I got in and set the lone bag I had down on the floor next to me. "I'm good, sir, I'm good. Want to put that in the trunk?"

I assumed he was referring to my carry-on. "No, thank you, I'm fine." For some reason, I felt attached to this bag.

"Alright, then." He moved into the front seat. "So where we headed?"

Scrambling through the front pocket of my black trench coat, I pulled out the address and showed it to him. Luckily, it was already written in his language. "Do you know how to get here?" I asked.

He took it and studied it. "Yes I do, sir. Unfortunately that's gonna be a pretty long drive from the airport, so I suggest ya' sit back and relax for a while."

I thanked him and put my seat belt on. From what I had been told, American taxi drivers did not know of a thing called defensive driving. Minutes later, I understood that all the rumors were true.

O'Donahue attempted small talk, but I just was not in the mood. The strange faintness was at its peak again and I could barely formulate my mouth to move. Luckily, the man took the hint after a while and we drove the rest of the way in silence.

Keeping my clouded eyes glued to the window, I watched as the scenery changed from mildly suburban, to extravagantly urban, to dismally urban, to ghetto in continuous movements. New York. It was such a diverse place.

The cab maneuvered its way across the crowded streets, passed people wrapped in thick, hood garments and across the ghetto into the dismally urban once again. We had already reached and passed the Battery and were steadily ascending upwards again. For a moment, we stopped in front of an apartment building, enslaved by the heavy traffic. I stared at it. Supposedly this is the type of establishment he lived in…

I closed my eyes. It would all happen soon enough. If only I could shake this dizziness…

When we reached our destination, I stepped outside and paid the cab driver in American money. I had made sure to exchange all my cash at the airport to avoid any confusion. The man looked happy when I told him to keep the change out of a high paying bill. "Thank you, Mr. Kaiba, thank you." He pumped my hand again. "Have a good day!"

"And you as well," I offered, stepping away from the cab with my bag slung across my shoulder. I barely even heard him drive away; I was too busy staring at the hospital in front of me. It was called St. Catherine's Mercy Hospital and there was a statue of some woman with her hands open in what I guessed was prayer. Somewhere inside this building…he was here.

I walked through the revolving doors at the entrance and signed my name at the visitor's log-in area. All around, rapid English bombarded me from every side, some of it too fast for me to catch, some of it too vague for me to remember.

My thoughts turned again to my destination. I knew the room number and I knew the name. My only complaint was that the elevator smelled like vomit.

The button lit up when I pressed the embossed 5 on the panel. A few other doctors and nurses scrambled in after me, but I was too busy concentrating on the fogginess in my mind to truly listen to their conversations or care. The only thing my mind could compute was him. There was only him and his face and everything that he wanted and how was he? What if he didn't recognize me and what if he didn't want to see me? What if he had never forgiven me for leaving him and wanted me to go back where I came from? What if…he…

When the elevator doors opened at Floor 5, I jumped outside, hoping to achieve some peace of mind the faster I walked.

And then the door appeared in front of me and all my hopes faded away. There was only this door with the number 514 carved into the front and a small window etched into the top. I peered inside the glass.

There he sat. Hunched over in a chair, the only part of him truly visible was his yellow, untamed hair. A body lay in the bed across from him, female, covered in white sheets with many tubes snaking in and out of the bed. Her hair was thin, short, and reddish brown in color, her face very worn either from sickness or from age. She looked so weak, but I noticed quickly that she was breathing on her own.

Without knocking, I opened the door as quietly as I could. It made a small noise that I'm sure he heard. Nothing stirred. The only sound was the woman's easy breathing and my lover's labored exhales. He sounded so distraught. I could physically feel the stress radiating off of him in consistent waves. My heart ached at the feeling. I did not want him to suffer this way…

So I did the only natural thing I could do in my insufferable dizziness. I laid my hands on his shoulders and massaged the tense muscles I found there.

He jumped at the initial contact, but then relaxed under the soothing touch. Very quickly, I found him enjoying the sensation, feeling the stress in the air dissipating. He made small sounds of pleasure when I began to rub fiercely.

Moving my hands from his shoulders to the tantalizing skin stretched across his neck, I gracefully brought them up, tilting his head back in the process. I noticed his eyes were closed.

Slowly, very slowly, he began to open those shiny chestnut eyes and granted me my wish to see their splendid beauty after all this time.

He showed no surprise at seeing my face; in fact, it was as if he had expected to see me. A small smile lit up his features. I kept my hands under his chin and felt the vibrations in his throat as he whispered my name into the still room.

I nodded, agreeing to my title. "Katsuya," I responded.

Then I did what I had come there to do. I removed my hands from his precious skin and moved down in front him, kneeling so our eyes were level for the most part. After making sure our eyes were caught helplessly in each others', I said to him in a surprisingly emotional voice, "Forgive me."

Suddenly the dizziness took over and I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. What was this? Crying? I had not expected to cry in front of him like this. What was it about this boy that made all my emotions bubble to the surface in a way that I could not control…

And yet I did not care. Let me cry in front of him. That was what I felt. These were my tears. They were part of me; a part of me I had held inside ever since departing from him on that dismal night. Let him see me.

Katsuya reached down and cupped my chin. I stared at him, feeling his fingers brush away the wetness on my cheeks. "There's nothing to forgive," he said.

The tears stopped gradually. I brought myself up off the floor and pulled a chair next to him. I was ready to stay with him until he told me to leave. However long that was, I would be there for him.

After what seemed like a while, Katsuya turned to me. "Demons?" he asked with a smirk.

"Defeated," I replied confidently. "With ease."

He nodded. "I knew it." Of course he did.

The woman lay before us in frozen transparency. I had to ask. "And yours?"

The boy turned to me and smiled a clear, broad smile. "I think she's gonna be ok."

--------------------------------------------

The television in my living room was blaring.

"And in other news…corporate CEO and teen billionaire Kaiba Seto reached new heights last Monday when his notorious company, Kaiba Corporations, settled in at the top of the money-making charts as the number one most successful and valuable company in all of Japan…"

I was tired of all the publicity already. From my usual spot at my living room desk, (something new I had moved from my office to the living in order to be closer to the inhabitants of my house), I barked, "Mokuba, make that lower. You are going to damage your ears like that."

The victim of my reprimand, my little brother age 15 with unnaturally wise eyes and a suspiciously mature demeanor responded quickly, his thick black pony-tail bouncing with each excited movement as he squirmed on the couch. "Come on, Seto. This is great news! You're number one, again! Aren't you at least a little proud of yourself?" His gray eyes sparkled and searched my face playfully.

I knew that he was dying to know the answer to this question. "Perhaps a little bit, Mokuba, but it took three years for the company to fully recover." That was the strange part. My old business partner Toshokama had kept his word and repaid every cent he stole from me including all of my nightly payments, but he did so over a long period of time. I received the last of my compensation (as the two of us had come to call it) only after nearly two years had passed. The frustrating part about that was that it took another year for me to reaffirm my company's status as a high-rolling competitor in the business world. Now, after three long years of intense struggle, my company was finally at the top again. Unfortunately, there had been no way to force Toshokama into paying more quickly because I had never given him a time limit in the confines of our agreement. Still, the ultimate success of my three years' labor was indeed sweet as I sat and savored it quietly behind my desk.

"It doesn't matter! You recovered and that's the best part!" I could tell that it bothered him the way I was no openly excited to hear this news.

Allowing him a small smirk from my lips, I said, "I suppose you're right. Of course." That was another affect of the past three years. As I suffered through the intricate process of healing Kaiba Corp., I made sure that Mokuba witnessed and understood each arduous step of the way. Someday this company was going to be his and I wanted to make sure that he knew the proper way to care for it as I had. As a result of my deliberate tutelage, Mokuba had become quite cunning. In fact, sometimes he even surprised me with the things he said and did. I felt no remorse over this. It just strengthened my confidence in him that one day he would become a CEO as good or even better (maybe) as I was. But hopefully not for some time.

I turned back to the English writing in front of me. A letter written in neat, refined, and perfectly legible script lay on the desk. Twirling the black pen between my fingers, I read over what I had written so far:

Dear Kastuya,

I know it has been some time since I have last written. My apologies. Things over here are still busy, but they are becoming more manageable.

At your command, I've finally stopped taking sleeping pills so now I can sleep on my own for a few hours. It would be easier if you were here. The bed gets so lonely at night when my arms ache for you. Although, I suppose you feel the same way. Also thanks to you, I have begun to eat two meals every day. Full meals. Not snacks. Go ahead and rejoice for as long as you want; Mokuba did the same yesterday morning at breakfast. He wanted to thank you for your dominion over me. (In your next letter, could you make sure you tell him that he has no right to speak of me that way?) He misses you, as well.

Yugi is still looking for an apartment. He has set a goal for himself that he must have one by the end of senior year, (which is only a two months from now, I'll have you know. I am told that everyone at school still asks for you. We created a plan for your friends to tell every single person a different story so that they confuse the hell out of each other enough to stop asking. It has worked so far except for one person who asked Honda. He forgot and told the outsider the near truth. Do not worry; Ryuuji beat his ass fairly well. Besides, there are so many stories circulating the school that no one will remember the single true one). The problem with the apartments here is that so many of them are too expensive with not enough room. I cannot understand why one person could want so much room, but I think he has plans to ask Miyuki to stay with him for a while once he does move in.

Miyuki has officially moved out of the house. Yes, I too was surprised when she asked me if she could, but I did not even think of saying no. She wanted to live in the old Kame Game Shop. It has been repaired over the last three years, as you know, and an affiliate of Ryuuji's came and bought the place from Yugi. I think he was all too happy to surrender the place to a stranger, someone that would not ask questions. There are still so many painful memories for him there. Miyuki, who just turned eleven last month, decided for herself that she wanted to help run the place. Personally, I think that she just wants to be around Duel Monsters. Did I tell you she is actually quite good at the game? Ever since the sunshine returned to her face, it's been hard to get her away from the cards. The last time she played Yugi she gave him quite a close match. I think she has spirit and potential. Although it is nice to see her obtain a sense of independence, I do miss her a little…but I go see her at least three times a week. Whenever I get the chance, really. She does not mind it.

I enjoyed the newspaper clips in your last letter. If you get a chance, turn on the news channel and wait for the business section to appear on the screen. There is some good news circulating the airwaves. (I spoke, of course, of my company's success. He would be glad to know that something good had finally arrived after all the work I put into it. Still, it was too much for me to come out and tell him. Let him figure it out for himself. I enjoyed picturing him frolic around his sister's apartment, screaming to the world that I had finally achieved my goals. I knew he would. And it was a cute image.)

I assume that you still get letters from Mazaki, Ryuuji, and Honda? I gave them all your address a few months ago and they were extremely grateful. I think that it was not too much of a surprise that the two of us were in love; Mazaki and Ryuuji agreed that they had expected something like this for a while. I also think that you opened the door for Honda to be gay. He is trying it out with Ryuuji for a while. The two of them asked me to tell you because Honda was too embarrassed to do it himself. I know that you are probably sitting there laughing as hard as you can, but they asked me to ask you to take it seriously (I hate being the middleman, but Honda looked so pathetic when I talked to him). So, stop laughing. This is serious. (You can laugh if you want. I did, too.)

How are things in America? Is your sister still looking at colleges? Tell her that nothing is too expensive; I have more than enough money for her to go to whatever Ivy League school her heart desires. Yes, I know you do not want to accept that. It's alright, Jou. I have no problem with it. (Just so you know, I already talked it over with her and she is perfectly fine with it. We agreed not to tell you until we completed the money transaction and we have. Do not take it out on her even though I know you want to; take it out on me. It was my idea.) Ask her which school she applied to last month. I think you will be surprised.

Is your mother out of the hospital yet? Let me know as soon as you get any news regarding her. I want to see you again, Katsuya.

That was all I had written so far.

After my first visit to America prior to the rebirth of my company, we had left each other under the agreement that Katsuya would return to Japan as soon as his mother was able to take care of herself and Shizuka no longer needed anyone to live with her. This was part of the reason I so readily gave money for her to go to college. I wanted her in a dormitory where my lover was not even part of the picture, even though I know that sounds selfish. That was only part of the reason, though. The other part was that I really did enjoy the girl's company. She was pleasant, charming, and very precocious. Unlike her brother, she was exceptionally intelligent and could have easily been accepted into any school with her grade point average. It was unfair to deny her the chance at a successful life just because her family did not have the monetary status to pay for the school she deserved. Besides, I had recently come into more than enough money. I was glad to be of use in the situation.

I leaned back in my chair. How to end this monthly love letter?

As usual, I decided to simply tell him the truth.

My heart aches for, Katsuya. Please, if you have any mercy within you, send a picture of yourself in the next letter so I at least have something to gaze at while you are away. If your mother is still not well by the end of the school year, I'll plan a trip to New York for a month. I think my schedule has become manageable enough for me to work from my laptop for four weeks at least. I'll go crazy here without you, anyway.

Remember to write or call me every now and then. I long to hear from you. Thank you for the past few letters; they are all very amusing to read. (When was the last time you worked on your spelling? English is not even my second language and I write better than you. Just so you know, "awesomest" is not a word. Neither is "weatherful" and there is no c in hungry.)

In my final sentence, I wrote: "Aishiteru" (I love you) in Japanese kanji and then signed my name in Japanese as well.

It was torturous being away from Katsuya all this time, but I knew that it had to be. As soon as his mother was well…we could be together…if only it did not feel like I was waiting until the end of time to see him again. I had made a total of twelve trips to America in the last three years. That was only four times a year. I needed to see my lover more than four times in 365 days.

There was no question of loyalty during this time. Certainly not. It's just that every time an attractive man walked passed me or someone tried to hook up with me, it made it that much more painful to be away from Katsuya. Even thinking about being with someone else made my heart ache more than ever. Long distance relationships were difficult for me to keep when I was the most sought-after man in Domino, perhaps all of Japan. (Being with Toshokama had taught me that much, at least.)

No matter what, however, I refused to give up on Katsuya. He was the love of my life and I could do nothing to change his obsessive need to be with his recovering mother. I would wait for him forever if that's what it took.

Sealing the letter in a KC marked envelope (so he knew right away who it was from), I prepared the paper for its long journey by airmail and asked Mokuba to take it out to the mailbox for me.

Shutting off the television, he said, "Why don't you ask one of our butlers to do it? They're here for a reason, Seto." There was reluctance in his voice.

In his teenage years, Mokuba had gotten a little lazy and I refused to allow it. "Mokuba. The servants are here for keeping the house in order, not to do things that you and I can do ourselves. Remember that." I had learned to be more appreciative of my servants ever since they had stuck with me loyally when I had barely enough to pay for them. Immediately upon my new success, I increased their pay dramatically. I think they recognized my gratitude.

With a heavy sigh, Mokuba got up and took the letter out of my hands. "Anything else?" he asked in an annoyed voice.

Glancing at the open laptop on my left side of the desk, I quickly snapped it shut. "Iie, that's all. Did you remember to check the company stocks like I asked you to?" This had become a ritual. Mokuba needed to know the company's status at all times of the day. If I asked him, and he did not know the proper answer, I gave him extra chores to do. I did not think that was harsh. Gozaburo used to do much worse with me.

Mokuba rolled his eyes. "Hai, of course I checked the stocks, Seto." Now he just sounded bored.

"And…?" I asked.

"$50,000. Although it might have gone up with the last news coverage."

I nodded, pleased. "Correct. Now it is $50,106. Excellent, Mokuba."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, taking the letter out of my hand and leaving the room. He was getting a little surly, but so was I at that age. I suppose he had his own lessons to learn about life. These were things that I did not care, nor think I was able to, teach him.

Yugi was still out of the house apartment-searching with his friends. I looked forward to his return with a new home. I was not sure if that was going to happen, but I wanted to see him move out on his own. He was certainly ready to be independent and I was glad that he felt liberated from my home. It had been three tough years getting him back into stability, but he got there. For some reason, he gave all his thanks to me, even though the only thing I did was give him a place to stay when he had none. Still, Yugi was a grateful kid. I had actually come to enjoy his companionship, as well.

Mokuba returned after a few minutes and dumped some mail on my desk. "This was in the mailbox, by the way." Then he escaped my sight by offering some excuse to go see his friends. He had friends, now. (Of course, I knew all of them by name and description so that there was never any question of exactly who my brother was hanging out with.)

On top of the mail pile was a letter from Nakamura. He was on vacation in some part of the country, enjoying the beaches or something. As soon as I possibly could, I had given him my two months back-pay and then given him almost triple the amount he used to make for a fair raise. He had been thankful, but we both knew that this was not even close to what he deserved for being there for me. I wished I could have given him more, but that was the problem with kindness. Sometimes you do not get back what you gave away, yet you always feel better about it. Being kind was like that.

Beneath that letter was some anonymous hate mail. My eyes ran over these letters indifferently. I was used to them. They were from affiliates of the men I had met on my final night with Toshokama. I had not told any of them that the night had been a set up, like I promised Toshokama I would. In fact, I had not told them anything. My only true reaction to their hate was that I kept constant tabs on their companies every day, making sure that no one was stealing from me. I could never let that happen again. I would not.

I started staring off into the distance for a moment, thinking of some of the things Toshokama and the men would have had me do if I had never broken free of their captivity. Long ago I had made a rule that I would not try to suppress these thoughts, because my repressed childhood had shown up enough times for me to revise the idea that repression made the bad memories go away. Iie. Now I worked on accepting the past as it happened, never wishing to change anything or forget anything, just trying to accept it. Undoubtedly, this was easier said than done.

It took a few minutes for the memories to pass, in which time I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing regularly. When they finally left me, (for the moment, at least), I began sorting through the rest of my mail.

My heart stopped when I recognized the return address on the next letter.

Katsumoto Jinesuji.

I knew what this was. His donation to my corporation. He had not forgotten, after all. For the past three years, they had become sparser, arriving once every three months at first, then once every five months, then twice a year. This was the first letter I had received from him that year, meaning that my hopes of him eventually forsaking this humiliating tradition were all for naught.

Tentatively, heart beating furiously in my chest, I opened the letter. The very idea of touching something that had once been in his hands made me feel sick. When I gazed down at the check and saw the actual amount of Katsumoto's donation, a small laugh erupted from my mouth. $700,000. A hell of a lot of money.

Recently, I had continued my old tradition of burning all these checks and then desecrating the ashes. Somehow, though, the memory of the checks could never be burned with the exact amount of ease that it took to physically destroy them. The idea of this man and his false sympathies stayed in my mind for more than I care to admit.

Angrily, I threw the letter down on the desk, leaning back in my chair contemplatively. What was making me so angry and inconsolable about these checks? Was it that this man thought I needed his help? Had not I needed it at one point? (I hated that memory, as well.) Was it the recollections I had of what Katsumoto did to me as a child? Was it a mixture of my hatred and fear of him that caused me to feel so enraged and tense when I received these letters?

Of course that was the answer. This man frightened me, but also made me feel such hateful emotions as I cannot describe in words. I let him have too much power over me, even after three years of destroying the other men who had kept dominion over my every movement. Naze?

At that moment, I began to make a conclusion about something I had been thinking about for a while. For most of my life, there was a farce hanging over my head that told me that I had control over everything I said, did, and thought. That is not the case.

People as humans form voluntary and involuntary relationships with others as a mandatory part of life. Anyone allowed to get close to you has some sort of power over you, whether you realize it, accept it, or deny it. People that have a traumatic effect on you hold extreme power, even though they may have died already. Memories, like people, have an innate scarring ability. Unequivocally, memories and people are intricately intertwined to create the forces that guide our lives.

And yet…(I began to think, searching through my desk drawer for a clean sheet of paper and picking up the pen I had written Kastuya's letter with)…people and memories can only have power over you if you deny them. This had been my mistake all along. Trying to burn Katsumoto's letters was not going to relinquish his influence. First, I needed to recognize his influence and accept it. Then I would severe all ties with him once and for all.

The only way to do that was to communicate directly with the monster. Admittedly, I was afraid to cease the endless escape I strived for, but it became painstakingly clear that the only way to truly escape would be to face this man head on.

I could do that. And I would do that.

So, peacefully, turning on the television to give my mind an outlet of concentration, I carved out the first sentence of my letter.

"And in other news…"

Dear Katsumoto…

The End

A/N: Ah, what a philosophical ending. Alright, everyone! That's it! I'm sorry if it got a little bit strange towards the end…I know that Seto may have been a little OOC, maybe just a tad, but it seems to me that he should be. I also know that some of you wanted Seto and Jou to be together in the end…well, they were! They're never apart, really. The memories of each other are enough o keep the love alive and well, breathing inside of each other!

Ok, that was a little strange…moving right along, then…

There will not be a sequel to this story. Yeah, I think I can honestly say that. Nope. No sequels. Nope nope nope! Lol. I'm sorry to be so adamant; it's just that this story gave me a lot of trouble during the year and the thought of signing up for another round is just…wow. It's troubling, to say the least, lol.

Anyway, let's get on to thank-yous. I would like to thank and dedicate this story to the reviewers. How can I thank you guys enough? You all had a lot to put up with in regards to me and my slow updates, the way I strayed from the actual canon of YGO with this, and of course, poor Seto being exploited as the main part of the story. You guys are so resilient! I went through a lot of hard times while writing this story and I think that the only thing really keeping me halfway sane was the thought that you guys were here for me no matter what…the idea that instead of being judged, I was being commended…it's just…wow, seriously, I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it. Thank you guys, I love you all so very much. (tears)

Of course, the people that read and did not review. Hopefully you guys enjoyed it!

Well, for those that review, I'll speak to all of you again in the replies. If not, then I hope that everyone enjoys their future reading!

The Authoress,

Seto'swhiterose