***

"Because it's not okay," she said, words tripping over her tongue in her effort to get them out. "And I'm a rotten liar."

He looked away, staring at the poster of the Cezanne's "Still Life With Apples and Oranges" that her parents had purchased at some art exhibition or another. The Musée d'Orsay's name and the dates of the exhibition were the only words on the poster. As a child, she had been fascinated by the French lettering. The language of love.

"But," she continued, swallowing hard. Because it was now or never. "I can still touch you. If you want."

He still wasn't looking at her, but she felt as if he was. As if he had peeled back her skin and was looking at her muscles and organs like she were some sort of hideous science experiment. She felt as if there should be blood all around her, puddling on the linoleum because she was bleeding to death without her skin. But there was nothing around her, only the tension and Kaiba's eyes that wouldn't look at her.

"All right," he agreed, eyes still on the poster. "I dare you."

"…what?"

His mouth twisted up into a little self-satisfied smirk. Knew you couldn't do it was what the smirk said. She had seen it before, of course, namely on that horrible day at Pegasus' castle. Right after he had forced Yugi's hand and made him forfeit the duel.

"Would you have done it?" she asked him, voicing the question that had been in her mind – in all their minds – for the past year. "Would you've just given up like that? Taken that last step…" She couldn't make herself finish the sentence.

"I've never liked Cezanne," he said at length, voice rough and sounding like he'd run a marathon or smoked a pack of Marlboros or both. "All those fucking oranges. I hate oranges."

"Kaiba-kun – "

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against the kitchen counter. "What can I say?"

She wanted to cup his face with her hands, brush back his bangs, run her forefinger over the old, whitened scar against his hairline. She wanted to tell him she'd bake him a sunshine cake because that was the only way to appreciate oranges, Paul Cezanne and the French and the art critics be damned.

But to do any of that, she'd have to first get off the floor.

There were moments and then there were moments, and Anzu had just blundered her way into the latter. Blunder was a good word, Anzu thought, in an odd moment of detachment. It sounded clumsy. Unsure. Immature.

And she was definitely all three as she pushed herself to her feet, tottering as if she were still drunk, as if she were wearing high heels instead of being bare-footed.

Still, she had the satisfaction of seeing the surprise bloom on his face as she reached forward with her free hand and grabbed hold of his cuff, felt the sharp bone of his wrist.

"Didn't think I could do it, did you?" She could barely hear her voice over the blood pounding in her ears.

"Didn't think you wanted to."

And it was as honest as she had ever heard him. The weight in her stomach was dissipating, spreading like butterflies up into her stomach, through her veins. And she didn't care if Kaiba could see it. In fact, she rather hoped he did.

She felt as if she had finally found her courage, and not anything like the Dutch courage of the night before. "You don't know what I want." Because there was no way he could know if she didn't even know. And she didn't know, or rather she hadn't known. And it was rather funny that she had spent so much time trying to worm her way inside Kaiba's head, and instead, he had – effortlessly and without trying – managed to slip inside hers.

Anzu closed her fingers around his wrist. She could feel his pulse, slow and steady, under her fingertips. She twisted her thumb and forefinger, rubbing at it as if she could keep the hum of his pulse, just there beneath the skin, all to herself.

"You don't know what you want, either," he said, but it lacked the practiced polish of his usual, smart-mouthed responses. And then there was the warmth of his free hand on the curve of her hip, smoothing down over the jut of the bone.

His thumb finally settled into the crease where hip met leg, pressing so tightly against the thin material of her pajama bottoms it was like her pajamas weren't there at all. She swallowed. Tipped her chin up so she could look him in the eyes. Focused on the heat of his hand and the heat of his gaze and the flaring of heat inside her and wondered how she could suddenly just feel like this. With someone she'd seen day after day for an entire year and never given a second thought.

Her fingers went slack on his wrist, and he used the newfound freedom to rub at the small of her back, a split second of gentleness before he pushed her up and into the hard, harsh lines of his body. She clutched at his suit coat lapels, buried her face in his neck, right above his shirt collar, her cheeks flushing as hot as the rest of her.

It was better than this morning, especially because she got the opportunity to open her mouth and lick at his skin. See if she were right about the taste. Heard the way he inhaled. Sharp and sweet, and she felt him stiffen between her thighs.

Even the beep of the oven timer couldn't spoil it, though when Mokuba came crashing back down the hallway and into the kitchen, she removed her fingers from Kaiba's wrist and helped Mokuba get the cookies out of the oven.

***

Dinner had an air of unreality to it. Mokuba, despite having thoroughly stuffed himself with cookies, ate enough to satisfy any number of children. Or perhaps he was eating for both himself and his brother. Kaiba wasn't really eating. Just sort of picking out bits from the curry with his chopsticks and setting it back down in another part of the bowl. She wondered if this was a usual occurrence or if he had particular dislike for this meal. She wondered if she should ask him what he liked. If she should make him bento like they suggested in the teen magazines, with themed handkerchiefs and cute, molded onigiri.

Her mother was still hyperventilating from the night before, even if she had managed to calm down somewhat. She talked of yesterday's court hearing, of Kaiba's new set of obligations, and of the particular dangers of Domino at night. Her father seemed determined to counteract Yoshiko's pointed hints with deliberate casualness, speaking only of his afternoon at the country club and recounting several amusing anecdotes about his own horrible golf-swing. These, of course, were utter lies as Anzu knew her father had a five handicap, but the stories provided some much needed levity at the dinner table.

She wondered if Kaiba would laugh if she made him lunch. Or if he would look at her, really look at her and give one of those rare, unguarded smiles of his. If perhaps –

She realized she had been asked a question.

"Sorry?" she asked.

Her mother frowned. "I asked if you had time to finish your chemistry homework," she said, obviously repeating herself.

"Um…not yet?" Anzu said, knowing this was not the response her mother wanted to hear but also knowing that any attempt to hedge her way out of this one to be a complete and utter loss.

"And yet," he mother said, voice carefully neutral, "you found the time to bake cookies."

Kennosuke cleared his throat. Her mother glared at him, and Anzu had the sneaking suspicion that he had either pinched her mother's thigh or stomped at her foot. Anzu wondered if Kaiba would ever do that to her because, all wishes to the contrary aside, she was rather like her mother in the fact that she just didn't know when to quit. Or maybe she even worse than her mother. She knew when to quit, but she just couldn't stop herself.

"What course were you at?" Mokuba asked, mouth full and eager to fill the silence that descended around the dinner table.

"Mokuba," Kaiba and Yoshiko said at the same time. "Don't talk with your mouth full." They then pretended not to glare at each other as Kennosuke seemed to struggle not to laugh.

Mokuba closed his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then reached for his water. "God, it's in stereo now," he said.

***

Monday morning brought Kaiba back through Anzu's kitchen door, though this time, he was entirely expected. Mokuba was swigging the last of his juice, all ready to run out the door and into his brother's arms.

Kaiba had his school-issued athletics bag slung over one shoulder and a too-studied casual nod of greeting to her mother. The model student of the past few weeks had definitely returned. Mokuba walked between them on the way to school, chattering about the field trip his class was taking to the local aquarium. They dropped him off a block from the elementary school, making sure he had both his lunch and his permission slip.

"He's much happier," she said, as they watched Mokuba race towards a group of boys that were loitering by the school's jungle gym.

"Yeah," Kaiba said. Then, haltingly, "Are you – that is – could you drop him off tomorrow?"

She knew what it cost him to say that, and so she kept her flippant Who do you think has been dropping him off for the past month or so? to herself. "I'll be here," she said instead.

"I can drop him off the day after," Kaiba continued, and if she hadn't seen him completely out of control over the past weekend, she would have thought him completely unconcerned. "It's just that I have early track practice tomorrow morning." He unnecessarily shifted the bag on his shoulder to emphasize.

Anzu kept her voice deliberately light. "Because of the meet tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yeah," Kaiba said. The first elementary bell rang and all the kids – Mokuba included – scattered for the school's front door. He turned and gave the two of them a final wave. Anzu grinned and waved back. Kaiba did nothing, but he waited until Mokuba had disappeared from view before turning on his heel and starting towards Domino High.

"How is it?" she asked. "Being on the track team?"

"Weird," he admitted. He shoved his hands in his pockets, but he kept his pace slow enough that she didn't have to jog to keep up with him. His lips quirked slightly. "But then I'm sure you just said that to make conversation as I know you've heard my several monologues on the subject of group activities."

"Why, Kaiba-kun," Anzu said with mock-surprise, nudging him with her shoulder as they walked. "Was that, by chance, a joke at your own expense?"

He kicked lightly at her foot. "So long as you don't tell Jounouchi."

They separated at the homeroom door: Anzu went over to Miho's desk and Kaiba went to his own, book out (Foucault at the moment – not that Anzu would admit she was monitoring his reading choices).

Kaiba's model student routine well into third period.

But then the conversational English instructor (who was new and terrified of her class) decided to pair them up and (stupidly) paired Kaiba with Jounouchi.

They managed to get into a shouting match within minutes, arguing over a verb tense that Jounouchi swore up and down was right when even Anzu (and she lacked the formative years spent with her American birthfather that Kaiba had) knew it to be incorrect.

The English instructor looked like she was going to burst into tears at any moment, and it was only due to the arrival of the math teacher from the classroom next store (wondering what the commotion was) that stopped it from becoming a fist fight. Both Kaiba and Jounouchi were sent into the hall to contemplate their wrongs, and class – haltingly – started back up again.

Anzu had been partnered with Yugi, and usually he ranked up there with Miho and Honda in terms of her three favourite classmates to be partnered with. But there were too many things they weren't talking about. Too many things she didn't want to hear, and too many things she didn't want to tell him, and it made her feel both simultaneously relieved and like a terrible friend.

And so her smile was extra fake and her laugh extra false, and Yugi seemed to be more withdrawn and living inside his head than normal, and she couldn't wait for class to end.

They had a math quiz fourth period, and afterwards, Anzu escaped to lunch, making sure to keep away from the familiar haunts of cafeteria and the school roof. She wound up on the front steps of the school, sort of poking at her lunch and wishing that she were somebody else. Anyone else. Or at the very least, very far away and living another life.

And then she thought about what a coward she was, and wondered what had ever happened to the Mazaki Anzu that had – just Saturday afternoon – reached out and literally grabbed what she wanted from life.

It was during this bout of self-pity that a lanky boy in a dark-blue uniform settled down next to her.

"Go away, Jounouchi-kun," she said.

"He's looking for you," Kaiba said. "So's Yugi, actually."

She lifted her head and hooked her hair behind her ears.

He picked up one of her kappa rolls. "They're all worried about you," he said and popped the kappa roll into his mouth. "And let's face it," he said as he ate another kappa roll. "This," and he gestured – wide and dramatic like he did during his duels – and she smelled the licorice and some sort of spicy hair gel, "isn't you."

She looked down at her rapidly disappearing lunch. "I guess I deserved that, didn't I?" Because God knew she had been pushing Kaiba to own up to his mistakes since day one. And Kaiba had always been more than able to dish out as good as he got.

She could feel his eyes on her. "I think you deserve," he said, voice low, and Anzu really wasn't sure she wanted to hear this, not at school and possibly not ever, because once he said – once he confirmed – there was no going back, "everything."

And her legs were jelly, breath jerky, as she reached blindly for his hand. Squeezed it extra-tight, like he was somehow going to disappear off another parapet if she didn't give the right answer.

"I'm going to make you your own lunch from now on," she said at length. "Because this eating mine thing? Really isn't going to work."

***