[to his credit, kaiba sits still. he stays silent. no laughter or commentary of any kind, not a single peep. his eyes follow each line and he listens to every word. his features may seem harsh but it might just be they always look that way; it may just be he can't shut it off, any more than monika can squash that all encompassing desire to be loved.

it was almost sad, listening to monika lose herself in the moment. such a sorry piece of work, a flimsy excuse for a girl. after that hellish nightmare, he should've known to stay away. not because he was afraid of anything he saw, or because he scorned the truth, but because it was simply a waste of time. it was a waste of time to convince someone like that to take a different path. a waste of time to program, or reprogram, something that fundamentally broken. she belonged in the garbage bin. she deserved to be recycled.

but she sounded so real. realer than most real people he had met. she really and truly believed in what she had read, in the idea of love, even if she could never feel it.

and he can't help but admire that, the pursuit of the impossible. he couldn't help but admire it because he believed in the same thing -- not in love, but in breaking boundaries.]

Hm.

[kaiba props his elbow on the table, leaning his head on his hand. eyes drifting away.]

I don't really get it. Saving yourself for one person. Seems like you're setting yourself up for disappointment if they don't feel the same way.

[they flicker back to her, even. neutral. inscrutable. she can read her books, but she won't read him.]

Is that why you keep trying? You think you're going to find the one, by playing your hand as much as possible?