I Don't Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

Thank you angel_dove for your continued support! And welcome lafiel, FlutterVi and Sarina to the story! Hope you'll enjoy the chapters to come! Love, Milly

I (don't) know why the caged bird sings

chapter eight - day six (II)

.

Two surprises.

One. Mokuba Kaiba was ticklish.

Two. There was, so far at least, one room in the mansion that felt almost normal.

Actually more like the 'wicked awesome version of every teenage boy's dream bedroom slash gaming room slash living room'. It was ripe with cushions and fancy sleeved blankets (all stashed inside a wooden bench-chest that Joey had renamed The Treasure Chest) and last but not least motherflipping beanie bags, which had always been Joey's ultimate childhood non-sexual fantasy.

At the moment of writing, our hero was surrounded by a good half-dozen of them, carefully arranged in a rather comfortable nest-like contraption that Mokuba had happily helped build in exchange for a truce; if Joey tried to tickle him some more he'd only end up destroying his plush fort and the master of the gaming room made it clear (putting the seemingly hereditary Kaiba stare to good use) that he wouldn't help him rebuild it, nor would he any forts of any kind in the future.

And, well, Joey was, secretly, quite fond of forts.

So.

So now Joey felt compelled to sit upright , because his near horizontal position was nowhere near propitious to the vehement button-mashing of the one sequence that would enable his character to effectively grab Mokuba's (character's) legs, spin him in the air and smash him on the ground. He'd done it by accident once and hadn't been able to replicate the miracle.

As for Mokuba, his infuriatingly deft handling of the controller was earning him a savory winning streak. The pre-teen's agile fingers barely seemed to move at all, like hummingbird's wings, but they did, as Joey was able to ascertain right before one earlier, and particularly humiliating, virtual defeat. And the boy wasn't even maxing the game, no, he was doing this rather annoying thing where one purposely lets the CPU pick one's chars and weapons, because 'I always do that anyway, Joey'. It was rather obvious that he had a thing for the swift little female dancer slash fighter, because whenever he got her all he did was annoy the heck out of Joey by dodging all his blows and striking him from behind exclusively.

When he got her for the umpteenth time Joey adopted two tried and true techniques, one consisting of 'not even bothering anymore' and the other of 'pressing A over and over again'. The good thing with that plan of action is that it allowed Joey to blink from time to time. After having spent the last day and a half fully awake, his eyes felt dry, especially when staring at a TV screen so long.

"You're not even trying," Mokuba protested in a raspy voice.

"I'll catch up, I'll catch up. It's only... seventeen to three. Erm."

Mokuba paused the fight.

"Okay," Joey began, "I'll make it up to you, but some other time." He gently tossed his controller aside. "Just go ahead without me. I'll watch you go on adventure mode."

Mokuba made one of these faces that make one want to end world hunger, but four seconds later he was restarting the console. Surely having a gaming companion was a rare and treasured occurrence for the younger Kaiba. But anyone who's played video games a bit knew that there was at least equal pleasure to be had in being watched playing solo by friends and siblings. Or by a sibling's non-friend, in Joey's case.

The blond knew he should properly unplug and stash his controller away, or at least sit up adequately so he could be closer to Mokuba. He didn't want the boy to have to strain his voice to chat with him.

Unfortunately for his good manners the blond actually felt quite comfortable as he was, and decided the controller wouldn't suffer from spending a bit more time on the carpeted floor of the super special awesome Kaiba gaming room.

Actually, he should really go home. The salty streak on Mokuba's cheek, the only reminder and remainder of his earlier bout of this strange thing Seto would attribute to hormonal imbalance, had long dried up, and the kid's eyes were no longer red around the rims. It looked like Joey's job here was done.

Not.

Somehow Joey got the irking feeling that things weren't alright between the two brothers.

They'd always been inseparable. Their faith in one another, unquestionable. Two sides of the same coin... Or was it a double-edge sword? Gosh was Joey tired.

Maybe that was how real life really was between the two brothers, when their existence wasn't being threatened by the evil forces surrounding them and the world in general. Maybe there was, in a tiny rip of the space-time fabric, room for Seto and Mokuba to be ordinary human beings with quarrels and struggles, an alien form of sibling rivalry that was otherwise unheard of to their fellow mortals.

Maybe that was a a sign Joey should stop meddle with their affairs. This wasn't his world, his place to be.

He wanted to open his mouth to tell Mokuba that he was leaving, but a yawn sneaked out instead. His jaw muscles tingled pleasantly from the stretch and he scrunched his eyes to bleed out the mist that had risen there from fatigue. He shot a last glance at Mokuba's still form, his calmly hunched over silhouette, entirely focused on beating digital villains to a pulp, then Joey judged it wise to stretch his eyelids, too, or let them rest, or relax, or whatever.

.

He was stirred from his dreamless nap by a hand putting pressure on his chest, then withdrawing as if a spring. There were footsteps; hurried, irregular. Retreating.

"Mister Moke?"

Instead of the murmured reply that a half-asleep Joey was expecting to hear came a sigh that any human, no, any primate would have unmistakenly interpreted as deeply annoyed, bordering on furious.

Still, the blond's sleep-deprived brain found it hard to give any, pardon the language, fuck, to give about the intruder's mood, and willed its body back to sleep. Joey would have rolled back in his sheets if it weren't for the sudden red light peeking from behind his eyelids, and a vague feeling that warmth was missing somewhere.

He opened his eyes.

This wasn't his bed; this was a nest made of beanie bags and cushions, and Joey knew from the sight of a blanket strewn carelessly a few feet away that the pressure on his chest had been a person, had been a little sleepy Mokuba. There was a plate with a sandwich crust on it, a little bottled juice and another of those wrappers he'd seen in the lobby earlier. How long had he been sleeping like this, that Mokuba felt the need to play nurse with him?

Next to the television set stood Kaiba, impassible, arms folded in a hostile pose, threatening to utter his impatient sigh of doom once more.

"Mgnh," Joey managed in his amoeba-like mental state. His eyes felt heavy still from the short sleep, his brain was a dry sponge stuck inside an even drier skull, his sweaty hair reassuringly clinging to his forehead. "Oh man. What time is it?"

Kaiba's glare intensified. Joey took it for the answer it was.

He sat up - inefficiently, mind you - and proceeded to unceremoniously rub the moisture off his eyes. Mokuba was nowhere to be seen, but the game - it looked like it had been set on mute - wasn't even paused. The kid had scurried away. Joey exhaled and cleaned up his act.

"I'm leaving," he said hastily, untangling his legs from the plushy masses. He knew Kaiba was pissed; he knew he wasn't going to beat him up, either. So long as he got out of his sight soon enough.

"You have twenty minutes," the unintentional host said, turning on his heel, and Joey had the bizarre thought that maybe Seto also had rolled his tongue seven times in his mouth, just so he wouldn't utter whatever he pointedly didn't tell his unintentional guest, just a few seconds ago.

Twenty minutes for what?

Fuck, I have mid-late-afternoon-morning wood.

Kaiba was out of sight when Joey finally managed to piece everything together. He breathed out an incredulous 'fuck me' before he decided to tail Kaiba once and for all.

Kaiba was nowhere to be seen in the maze of hallways and closed doors, but Joey knew if he could find a familiar spot he could retrace his room.

And if he wasn't there, then that meant Joey wasn't wanted.

Two turns and exactly fourteen doors later, the decor had become inorganic, metallic, cold. Joey had an inkling where he was but he didn't want to push just any door. The last thing he wanted was to be kicked out of the property for having trespassed, inadvertantly set off an alarm.

The door at the end of the hallway was definitely familiar. He risked opening it.

It was the octagonal room. With the tall rouge curtains, the useless antique furniture, the paintings.

The black sculpture (was it an angel? Joey couldn't remember) at its center. The tips of the young man's wings were drenched in setting sunlight.

Wow. It was just that late. Now Joey wouldn't be able to sleep properly tonight, and his sleep pattern would be back to SNAFU in time for the school week. Joy.

A chill woke the little hairs on his forearms and Joey remembered he was only down to his preppy polo. The sweatshirt had been left somewhere in the gaming room out back.

He'd taken it off to remove the wet stains from Mokuba's sight. And now he wished he hadn't; this room was either on air conditioning, or just very badly lit, because its temperature was as chilling as its looks. Joey's eyes had found the ghaslty sacrificial painting (Genesis 22, brought to you by Sunday School sometime when Joey was in grade 5, which is way too early for any child to learn about how a father nearly killed his own son).

Screw that shirt. Joey wouldn't go and get it. Good riddance. It didn't matter. He hated it anyway, and he could always let his mom pester him into clothes shopping for him if she wanted so badly for him to wear another one. She seemed to be on a generosity streak those days, although with those ever shifting moods of hers, Joey had better count his blessings.

He allowed himself to walk a bit more freely around the room. No one was around, no Clarissa, no one to follow. The windows gave in to a more attractive landscape, if you can call a few mid-size trees an embellishment to an otherwise barren looking place. It was bright out but dawning on evening. Evening? He'd been sleeping that long?

And most importantly, Mokuba had… He'd been staying right next to Joey all this time? Let him sleep? Gone for lunch and come back?

Joey turned on his heel and headed toward where he knew Kaiba's bedroom was.

Hm. Fourth door on the right.

Or was it?

He knocked, for good measure.

Nothing.

Looked down at his feet, just to see if there was light coming from under the door.

But there was a stopper, something tight, soundproof perhaps.

"Kaiba." He knocked again. "Come on. Let's talk."

He heard a handle rattle, then the door next to his opened and was left to rotate loosely at its hinges.

Well apparently it was the third on the right.

Joey walked in measured steps to the opened door. Kaiba was waiting inside, sitting at his desk.

Well, waiting is a big word.

"You've used up six of your minutes," the host said idly, and in Kaiba-ese 'idly' meant 'deliberate', meant 'calculated'.

He was performing a rather good impersonation of the deftly busy businessman, but Joey knew better. Kaiba's hands looked healthy and useful alright. And the man didn't look all that skin and bones, either.

Maybe it was all that sun-soaking he'd had with his little brother. Not that Joey was complaining.

Lukewarm remnants of his early-evening-morning wood?

Check.

Awkward much?

Check.

"Er, I won't be long, anyway."

Kaiba's shoulders stiffened. His typing slowed slightly, and his eyes began flickering here and there.

"I hope you've had a good day," Kaiba dropped icily, a mortifying attempt at small talk that felt like foreplay to a torture session.

"I told her you did the paper all by yourself," Joey began, warming up his humility muscles in view of the salvageable apology to come. "The teacher."

Kaiba dropped whatever excuse he had of looking too busy to grant Joey his full attention and pushed his swivel chair back, the tips of his fingers hanging on to the edge of the desk, his forearms still like a precarious bridge.

"… Your loss, then." Meaning: there's nothing I can do for you.

"She said she'd let me redo it with an extension. By myself." Had he insisted on that last word? No. Had he anything to prove to himself? Certainly not.

Kaiba twirled to face Joey, not crossing his legs quite yet. He sat there, stuck between two course of actions Joey couldn't fathom.

"What is it that you want," Kaiba said like a reprimand, like it wasn't a question at all, like he really meant for Joey to aim at his head to ensure a painless death, which from Kaiba is as merciful a gesture as it gets.

Joey took a step forward.

"I want." A pause. And then an inhale. Joey focused all his energies on trying to muster the- the 'serious'- the 'earnest' required to muster the guts necessary to speak his mind. "Um."

His eyes were fixed on Kaiba's, who was holding his gaze with fierce integrity.

Then the CEO dropped his gaze, and let his head, and voice, drop a little.

"How much."

Joey blinked. Or maybe it had only been a frown so deep it had drastically reduced his field of vision. "Huh?"

"How much. Dollars. Numerical values. You can count, can't you?"

"I don't want to buy your stupid book, I just want to borrow it." Stupid book? Really, Joey?

The left corner of Kaiba's lip turned upward, then the man's midsection was shaken by a violent spasm followed by a sharp exhale of air through the nose and mouth - something resembling a chuckle.

"A book."

"You know," Joey frowned, foreseeing a decline in his sense of wit proportional to the rising dissatisfaction he felt at being mocked by Kaiba, "The Catcher in the Nile."

Kaiba stared at him.

Then made a move to reach for his phone.

Without thinking Joey surged forward, almost pouncing on the receiver, enclosing his hand on top of Kaiba's, securing the contraption where it belonged. Kaiba's hand felt warm. Joey's boxer briefs felt a tad tighter.

"You're not kicking me out," Joey growled. "Deal with me like a man." He then withdrew his hand, and Kaiba did the same.

Kaiba smiled to himself.

"What?"

"I wasn't calling security. You think I can't handle you by myself?"

Kaiba's tone was a bit too… sour for Joey's tastes. And as far as Kaiba is concerned, just a little sour is too sour. The blond took a deep breath and stepped back, figuring now was a good time as ever to roll his own tongue inside his own mouth before making an even bigger idiot (according to Kaiba, apparently) of himself. It was only then that he noticed the inconspicuous check book comfortably set on Kaiba's desk, next to his keyboard.

"For your information I was going to call the Research Center of Primatology, see if they could pick your brains to find the Missing Link."

"Very funny."

At least it wasn't a mutt joke?

"But I think the Humane Society is what you need."

"Oh, fuck you."

It rolled, no, it flew off his tongue, too fast for him to hold back.

Kaiba gave out a half-hearted, dry laugh, and a muttered reply.

"Fuck me."

It was meant for no one in particular, yet it surprised both men in the room.

From the way he indolently swept his downcast eyes everywhere on the desk, on the keyboard, on the expectant check book, Kaiba didn't even look like he wished he could take it back.

Joey found himself filled up with a sense of dread he'd never before experienced.

He isn't a robot. There's a human trapped in there.

Joey found himself looking for any kind of twitch in Kaiba's fingers.

Just - oh God. Kaiba wasn't even furious or anything. Just... exposed.

"You know I lied the other day," Joey began, regretting instantly to have started a conversation he didn't want to have about cocks, more specifically his own, and what kinds of things he'd like to see performed on it, and by whom.

"Oh did you."

Had Kaiba's voice not dripped with hostility, or with not as much hostility let's say (one has to be reasonable), Joey would have gone on and explained what he had lied about the other day. But the trademark Kaiba smirk was a remarkably efficient turn off, and Joey wasn't in the mood to baby-sit the emotionally stunted anymore.

"Never mind."

"Never mind what?"

"I'm not up for your mind games, Kaiba."

"You're the one who invited himself here."

And ruined an otherwise perfectly happy morning with my little brother, was the subtext. Oh, Joey was smart enough to read between the lines when he wanted to.

"Yeah well I'm sorry I did."

That came out... harsher than intended.

"I mean I was just dropping by on my way home-"

"Dropping by. Yes."

Fucking Kaiba and his fucking sarcasm.

"Do you- Like, are you actually enjoying this? Oh you do. You so do. You spend your nights alone, here, being all like, pathetic, in your pathetic room-"

"Do you enjoy telling yourself you're straight?"

Joey froze.

Kaiba looked at the blond pointedly, like he had just played a Fool's Mate.

"I think you do," he went on, "you're like a six year old, blowing candles off a cake, wishing the same thing year after year, keeping it a secret not to jinx it."

And then a snicker.

"Shut the fuck up," said Joey's rage, to which Joey approved. "I'm not like you."

"Repeating it won't make it true," Seto insisted.

Joey glanced at the check book. "I'm not like you," he repeated, though this time it meant something completely different. He even felt a little calmer for it. "I'm not desperate enough to think anyone who steps too close to me, they want to, uh-"

"Do you need a hand with that retort? A dictionary, perhaps?"

"You thought I wanted to blackmail you, you stupid, pathetic fuck."

A tremor on Kaiba's features. Too brief to be caught with the naked eye.

"And you think anyone on this planet would want to blackmail you of all people? You're a chronically broke, incapable loser. Anyone can smell the failure from miles away. It's in your DNA."

"Yeah, well, I don't know where you learned how to be such a, uh, such a fucking, pathetic, loser asshole reject, 'cause I swear you and Mokuba don't look like you're related."

"Shut up," Kaiba hissed. In the blink of an eye he was standing up, palms spread flat out on his desk. "Shut your trap, mutt."

"That's all you can fucking say, huh, telling me to shut up. And you call yourself smart."

"You're a waste of oxygen."

"Not very original, either. You're starting to sound like my old man. Good night, Kaiba."

And he headed for the door, not giving Kaiba a chance to come at him again.

God knew why he of all people had to be the target of his sexual fantasies as of late.

"I..."

Joey stopped in his tracks.

"... I thought you had something to tell me."

"What, because you're going to listen?"

Don't turn around, don't give him the upper hand.

"If you're not yapping."

Fuck, Kaiba you're not making things easy for me.

"I thought my twenty minutes were up."

Kaiba The Caustic Human Clock glanced at his monitor, readying himself to keep his guest posted on the exact status of his self-appointed countdown of sorts, but then, um, nope, nothing.

Joey smirked to himself before spinning on his heel to face the man who, a few days ago, had not so subtly groped his knee in a possible attempt to, uh, communicate a desire to…

"I wanted to know why-"

"That's a question, Wheeler. Telling and asking are two very different things."

Joey huffed at the insufferable nature of his imaginary masturbation companion. Be the better man gotta be the better man-

"Okay, then." Joey stepped forward. "You were away on Friday. I mean you weren't at school."

Kaiba gave him a sideways look. "That's it. That's your revelation, so important you had to show up on my doorstep on a Sunday morning."

"You make what you want of it." And then Joey crossed his arms, readying himself for the wait, curious to know what plan of action Kaiba would take next.

Kaiba sighed. "… I was on a business trip."

"Right."

"You make what you want of it," mimicked Kaiba, upholding Joey's gaze.

"Hpmh."

A scoff.

They weren't going to go far if they were to rely on Kaiba to row the pride boat.

Joey made a face - internally - like he was going to eat cold liver soup, or week old leftovers, or something. He let out a sigh so deep and loud it felt almost theatrical, even to himself.

"You know I'd be pissed if I were you, too."

There.

Out.

SUCCESS.

Trap card: Apology: Activated.

---

AN

Hello lovely reader folk, Milly here. I've been insanely busy over the last two months but I'll have plenty of free time over the next two months, so you can expect us to switch back to our regular schedule of updating this fic more than once a month. In the meantime, keep being awesome, and leave a review!



-Milly