Disclaimer: Plain and simple. I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh.

A/N: I have decided to revise this story in hopes that it will spark the writing bug in me again. Also, some of the chapters are really awful. I mean, really awful in their execution. So I hope this is tighter, and that for those of you rereading it, that you find the changes to be pleasing. For those reading for the first time, please enjoy!

This story will be dark and deal with adult themes, focusing on the extreme things people will do when they are desperate. I want to illustrate that we are not always in control of our actions, and that at times our perception can become skewed. I hope I captured Seto correctly. This has been a very difficult exercise, but I think it will help improve my writing in the long run.

I hope you enjoy this story of mine!

Ocean

Let Us Dance By Ocean

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Chapter One: Diffusion

It was his elevator.

The extent of his ownership went so far as to have his name on the elevator, though that was not of his doing. To be truthful, he would have pointedly removed the brass name plate the first time he saw it, but that wouldn't have been proper behavior for an employee of the company. Especially considering that he was the president of said industrious company.

Those employees who envied him were fools to believe that his higher position afforded him any sense of luxury. True, he was often surrounded by an opulence that few others experienced, but that was where the benefits ended. His position of power forced him to adhere to a higher standard than the rest of the employees. While they merely worked for the company, he represented it. He was the physical and emotional personification of the full supremacy of Kaiba Corporation. A man in such a position of power was expected to act in a very precise and business-like manner.

It was his elevator.

Seto's mannerisms had been shaped by the company that built him. His handshake was firm and brief. His strides were long, confident, and flowing. He held his body in a tall and solid pose that demanded recognition when he entered a room and obedient respect for the duration of his stay. No delays were accepted, no smiles, no questions. It was insisted that the job be done, and that it was done correctly the first time.

And that it was done better than everyone else. Every time.

It was his elevator.

He would have sighed if it were allowed. But a sigh could be interpreted as annoyance, or impatience, or any myriad of other negative emotions that had the potential to jeopardize an impending deal. It was bad business to let your competitors know anything about you other than the fact that you were better than them. The position of control could not be sacrificed for something as trivial as emotion.

Many things were considered trivial when it came to the survival of the company. A personal life... a life outside the corporation was simply unacceptable. He had no time for self-indulgence. Such desires had to be hidden, and deeply; pushed so close together that their energy pooled into one solid force waiting for a target. He had no time for friends, or even mere acquaintances outside of the company itself. For a business as active as Kaiba Corporation, a company that was continuously growing and reaching into new and exciting territory needed the full and undivided attention of the man in charge of its expansion.

To emphasize the company's point, there had been the addition of a small room branching off from Seto's office. It contained a small bed, an alarm clock, and a dresser of drawers full of business attire and dress shirts. And a black phone on the nightstand. The room had to have a phone. The president had to be available at all hours of the day or night. The corporation had international affiliations and contracts, and it was no excuse to not conduct business simply because it was one in the morning in Japan and the president was sleeping.

It was his elevator.

He rarely made it home anymore. It simply wasn't worth the effort. No sooner would he walk through the front door would he be met with a messenger informing him that he was needed back at the office. He was always needed back at the office. The office always needed him. The company always needed him. How could he leave the one place where he was so needed?

His eyes took a moment to fight against their training and look to the side. The rest of him remained perfectly still, tall, and proud. There was no one else in the elevator with him – not even a security camera. For the first time in countless hours there were no questions or inquiries or... or anything, at all. It was just... quiet. A bland, stifling kind of quiet that strung itself around him like string, promising that, soon, he would be needed again.

But no one was watching him now.

It was his elevator.

So why couldn't he put his damn briefcase down?

His eyes took another rebellious step and lowered to the floor just in front of his shoes, taking no notice of the bland Berber carpet. It was an act of expression that would have caused concern amongst his employees and triumph in his adversaries. The movement of his eyes was as much a signal of his internal strife as would have been the tensing of his body or an irritated tone in his voice.

It was a slip he could not afford, but one that had been a long time in coming. It was so subtle that he wasn't even aware it had happened.

Music pierced the stillness inside the elevator. His hand clenched more tightly around the handle of his briefcase. It was another slip, another emotive action that belied the calm that he exuded.

He didn't react to the childish sound his briefcase was emitting. Seto Kaiba, president of Kaiba Corporation, did not react to such things. Seto Kaiba, elder brother of one Mokuba Kaiba, may have been slightly amused at his sibling's effort to gain his attention. If he had had the time to consider his brother's cleverness. Right now, though, the company needed him.

He retrieved his cell phone from the briefcase and quickly brought it to his ear. "What?"

"Sir?" the voice on the other end of the line questioned. The employees were always surprised when the president answered his phone after just a few rings. He was usually so busy that they were forced to leave urgent voicemails and hope that he would call them back in time to solve the crisis. The man took a breath to compose himself. "Sir, we have a problem."

Seto repressed a sigh at the hauntingly familiar words. "Which unit?"

"Unit 273-R, sir. It failed the environmental test again."

Seto lowered his cell phone from his ear and pressed it soundly against his chest, hiding the frown pulling on his features. He was all too aware of the temperamental nature of Unit 273-R. This was the third time it had failed to make it through the cycle, which meant that another six hours had been wasted. Another six hours of work with absolutely nothing to show other than an ineffective product. It was a waste of money for the company. It was a waste of time for everyone who had to baby-sit the unit until the cycle was finished. It also made for very unhappy, unsatisfied customers.

He raised his cell phone to his ear, his fingers clenching the small device in frustration. He ignored the questions that were spilling through the ear piece. "Fix it."

"I - what?" The employee spluttered around his surprise, stumbling over his words. "But... but we've been trying, sir! I know we're supposed to ship it in the morning, but we don't have time to run it again - "

"Why not?" Seto demanded through clenched teeth.

"All the salary people are due to go home in an hour. It's ten o'clock at night, sir! People want to go home."

Again, Seto was forced to lower his phone to prevent himself from screaming at his employee. People wanted to go home because it was late. How fortunate for them that they were allowed to go home every day at the same time, regardless of what was going on with the company. They had put in their work for the day and were now ready to call it a night. It wasn't as if the brunt of the failure of the company to make contract would affect them directly. After all, they weren't in charge. They didn't have the perk of being responsible.

An abrupt craving swelled within Seto to leave the building. Immediately. It came fast and it came strong and with such unexpected force that he swayed from the impact and had to reach his arm out to the wall to brace himself. It felt like his head was floating above the clouds and had forgotten to invite the rest of him along. Adrenaline flooded his veins and increased his heart rate to a ridiculous pace. His skin felt tight and itchy. His breath was harsh, shallow, rapid, and completely incapable of pulling in sufficient amounts of air.

A trickle of fear skidded over his mind. He'd never had such a strong panic attack before. He'd never had one catch him so unexpectedly like this, or nearly knock him off his feet.

He was unaware of his gasping breath, or that his body was trembling with panicked energy. The cool air of the elevator felt as hot and heavy as flaming coals as it scraped over his tongue and down his throat. Perspiration beaded on his lips and forehead and filmed over his palms. His mind was smeared with thoughts and emotions he didn't recognize and couldn't believe were his own.

Slowly, slowly, the panic began to subside and dissolve into a heightened state of alertness, allowing Seto to hear the worried voice coming over his cell phone. His eyes snapped over to the fist that gripped the phone and stayed there, wide and clear, yet completely unfocused. Their blue color was a touch lighter than it should have been, his pupils a bit more dilated with the adrenaline pumping through him. Anyone who saw his eyes would have known something was very wrong. Only...

... only no one could see him here. He was in his elevator. In his company. No one had seen him like this. He hadn't betrayed anything to anyone...

"Sir?"

Licking his dry lips, Seto forced himself to fill his lungs beyond capacity and hold the painful breath as he straightened his posture. He didn't release the breath until he felt the fingers of dizziness begin to feel their way around his senses. He blinked once, unhurriedly, and slid his tongue along his teeth, grounding himself with the action of self-comfort.

"Sir? Is everything... okay?"

Oh, the desire to flee was still present. Very, very much so. But he was Seto Kaiba. He didn't acknowledge desire outside the success of the company. He didn't have desires outside the company. He didn't give in to desire, period. But...

... but as he raised his phone back to his ear, and the uncertain voice on the other end tried to capture his attention, and his heart continued to pound against his chest and his skin twitched with anxious unease...

"Run it again. Bring in the hourly people if you must, but you are not leaving until that unit has been shipped. Do it now." Seto turned off his phone before his employee had a chance to complain.

... yet as he stood with his cell by his ear and his briefcase hanging from his arm, not once having been released while Seto had been in his elevator...

His cell phone rang again.

... that desire to flee that he refused to indulge continued to dance and push and pull at his senses as it tried to coax him to - just this once - accept the temptation and with it run off into the comforting seclusion of night.

In the silence of the elevator Seto couldn't drown out the scintillating voice of rebellion that whispered in his ears.

There was another shrill ring from his phone. Seto turned his eyes to see who was calling him this time around. After a moment's pause, he turned and quite calmly swung out his leg and kicked the wall of the elevator. Satisfied, he pulled himself together and brought the phone to his ear.

"What?" His voice, again, was noncommittal.

As his secretary began to explain the reason behind her call, Seto's eyes wandered aimlessly over to the wall he had just reacquainted himself with. His fingers tightened around his briefcase... and then casually relaxed in an uncharacteristic display of ease.

There was a scuff mark on the wall from where he had kicked it. He looked at it curiously before dismissing it completely. It didn't really matter.

It was his elevator, after all.

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"Took you long enough, Seto."

"Patience is a virtue you refuse to learn."

A soft chuckle floated over the phone. "It's not like I've ever seen it put into practice, Onii-san."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Seto's lip, but failed to induce a larger expression of amusement as he clamped his free hand over his ear in an effort to drown out the noise. The club he had stumbled upon during his erratic walk through the city was bright and excessively loud. He mused over the fact that he had never heard of the establishment, and about the few people mulling around outside its doors. It looked like nothing more than an obscure hole in the wall that only the unfortunate or else very deliberate would ever find.

That smirk finally made its way onto Seto's face.

"Geeze, where are you? That place is making more noise than our stockbrokers," Mokuba commented as he was forced to hold his phone away from his ear at the sheer volume of the club's music.

"Out of the way, hopefully," Seto said while he stared at the club's inviting front doors. The bouncer, though he wore a neat shirt and slacks, was lacking in presence and appeared to be more interested in the two scantly clad women standing on the corner than in anyone who might want to enter the club. This meant that Seto most likely wouldn't be recognized and no questions would be raised about why he was at a club rather than the office. It was the perfect place.

"It's after two, Seto," Mokuba said softly when his brother had been quiet for a while. "It would be nice, if, you know, if you weren't at the office that you might come home for a while. Not long! But just, you know..." The request lingered in the air, supported by the concern Mokuba felt for his brother. He knew how dedicated Seto was to the company. He also knew the toll that dedication was taking on both his brother's physical and emotional health.

Mokuba felt as though he was standing on the edge of a giant deserted beach, watching it crumble grain by grain as the ocean's waves beat harshly at its shore. Through the sparse conversations and brief encounters with his brother, Mokuba was being forced to keep his distance as he witnessed his beloved sibling's methodical decline. He hated it with a passion, but all his attempts to reconnect with his brother had failed. He was at a lost at what to do, so he resorted to trying to soften the blows hurled at Seto's shore.

Seto vaguely heard his brother's plea on the edge of his senses, but the energetic and rhythmic pulse of the bass-laden music of the club was far too alluring to ignore. It was tantalizing, soothing, almost hypnotic in nature as its double beat invited one to unsheathe their restraints and give in to the call of the night. Seto knew he was being seduced, knew it was a ploy to lure him into the hornet's nest. But there in lied the difference between him and so many others. He was aware of the deception and welcomed it with open arms.

"Eat something before you go to bed, Mokuba," Seto said distractedly. The comment was not without merit, and he was not as unobservant as Mokuba thought he was towards him. His thinning frame and dulled features had not escaped Seto's notice, and the older brother within was dreadfully concerned for Mokuba's welfare. But in all honesty, Seto didn't have a clue how to rescue Mokuba from his demons when he himself was so completely controlled by his own.

The phone was immediately shoved into his coat pocket and forgotten as the allure of the club completed its web and dragged him through its open doors. The air inside was not so eager to see him, its harsh and thick smell of sweat and alcohol mixing into an abrasive fragrance. That heady scent should have been repulsive. It should have made Seto want to turn and run for safety. But it was precisely the reason the air smelled so foul that made Seto's decision to remain in the club absolute. It was the smell of sweat that spoke of the excitement, the desire, the effort and the want of the bodies inside. The alcohol resembled the freedom of inhibitions, the freedom to choose to liberate and eliminate all metaphorical bindings that kept one from being true. In no way did it resemble the acrid smell of the cleaning solutions used religiously at the office, and on that reason alone Seto fully embraced the new fragrance.

The lighting was a far second to the impact of the club's aroma. There were no dramatic pulses of light, no randomizing of color through their spectrum or dizzying arrays of strobe-lights to mute out the details and sharpen the images. Red lights recessed in the ceiling created a hazy shadow along the surface of the people and things within the club. Along with the darkened windows, the minimal lighting created an atmosphere of such complete ambiguity that Seto found the layers of his identity easily melt away.

Kaiba Corporations didn't exist here. It was probably never even heard of.

Perfect.

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to be continued...