WAIT FOR YOU FOREVER (A.K.A. SLEEPLESS II)

WARNING/S: Mokuba. Coffee. Sugar. Hallucinations.


WAIT FOR YOU FOREVER
CHAPTER 9


Mokuba once stayed up for an entire weekend, Friday to Sunday, to watch a horror film marathon with Jonouchi Katsuya. So he was not unfamiliar with the feeling. The skin below his eyes was attached with invisible threads to his torso, so that when he held his head up his face felt like it was falling off. He had learned, on that weekend, the perils of keeping oneself awake for days using various forms of caffeine and sugar, and had sworn never to repeat the experience. That oath now sat beside him on the zoo bench and mocked him as he tore open a fifth sugar stick and dumped the contents into his jumbo sized coffee.

"Shu-uuhh-tup," Mokuba groaned brokenly at his oath, but it looked at him with all the wisdom of his fifteenth and sixteenth years, and shook its head. At fourteen, such foolishness was forgivable - one needed to practice leniency with such experiments. At seventeen it bordered on ridiculous. Mokuba moaned pathetically and took a large gulp of his coffee.

What was he doing? Everything hurt, especially his shoulders and his legs. Especially that spot just under his ribcage. He was tired and - weirdly - a missing person. He'd never considered what it would feel like to be a missing person, but (now he was one) he felt surprisingly the same. The same, except he was sitting in a -zoo- of all places. And he was tired (even if he didn't want to admit it). And a bit lonely. And worried. Worried about... Worried for the people worrying about himself. Yugi - if he knew - would be upset. Grumpily, he supposed Seto would also be... well, -someone- must have declared him missing. Even though he wasn't. Missing. -Can't a guy go on a weekend bender in peace?- He poured some more coffee down his throat. He felt tired.

A passing giraffe tutted at him, and he imagined that she was probably Anzu's aunty, because its expression reminded him of Anzu, but it couldn't be Anzu because -she- wasn't a giraffe and didn't live in a zoo. At least he didn't think so, although everything had begun to blend into a multi-day experimental film. Sleep deprivation. He couldn't quite remember if the spindly girl-thing from Ring had actually started crawling out of the screen, or if Jou had just described it so vividly that his over-stretched mind supplied the graphics. Drinking the last of his coffee too fast, and sloshing a little over his hands, Mokuba shot a Kaiba glare at the giraffe, just daring it to start crawling out of a well at him. "No, didn't think so," he scoffed, as the giraffe went meekly on its way.

What he needed was -more coffee-. Hot, sweet, beautiful coffee. He was tired. These were two things he was sure of. He looked around at the bench as he headed off for more caffeine, but his oath seemed to have disappeared. -Oh well-. He trudged along, tiredly, back across the park, past the kangaroos and the butterfly enclosure, where he was sure some sort of deadly serial killer was lurking. "I mean just look at it," he said, looking at it. "Look at it." He looked at it some more, but a few of the elephants shook their heads wisely. "No, you're probably right," he told them. "Serial killers don't usually come out at," he looked at the Seto-watch, "Ten in the morning." He gazed back at the greenhouse, at the fantastic swirls of emerald and blue wings against the glass. Then he glanced at the sky and shivered. Looked like rain. He was tired. He needed coffee.

At the cafe, the waiter looked at him and said, "Are you OK, kid?" and Mokuba nodded. Because he -would- be once he got his coffee. But it annoyed him that the waiter asked in that tone of voice, like Mokuba was nothing but, well, a -kid-, who didn't pose any threat, and in fact inspired pity, despite being clad in a hardcore PVC outfit. And he felt a bit foolish for not buying some different clothes. And then he thought of all the poisons that the barista might put in his coffee to knock him out, and how the sushi chef might carve him up and serve him with soy and wasabi to rich customers, and he got annoyed with Jonouchi for making him watch all those fucking horror movies, even though it was actually his own idea, and he?d had to pull out every stopper to get Seto to let him go for the whole weekend, to not just -anyone's- house, but to -that dog's- apartment to watch not just one fifteen plus movie but a whole two days worth of them, and he remembered how Seto had made him promise to call on Saturday night and then insisted that he come and pick Mokuba up in person on Sunday afternoon, even though he knew how embarrassing that was, because Mokuba was old enough to look after himself.

And Mokuba remembered being so tired that he fell asleep in the car on the way home, and how, even though he was foolish and fourteen, and even though someone might have seen them, he had let Seto carry him into the house and to the softest, most appealing bed Mokuba had ever encountered, carefully tucking him in, and fluffing up the pillows. Mokuba had thought he'd somehow arrived in paradise, and wouldn't let go of his angel-brother's hand, because paradise wouldn't be the same without Seto. So Seto had sat beside him as Mokuba drifted further into sleep, stroking the hair off his forehead with long, cool fingers. And Mokuba had mumbled, almost incoherently, -Love you... love you-, as he finally slipped into blissful senselessness, and he heard Seto reply, carefully, like the words might break in his mouth, -I love you, too-. Mokuba was never quite certain, but he thought he felt lips ghost across his cheek.

He was startled out of his reverie by a feathered waiter, who asked if he was OK, which he was because she had brought his coffee. So he thanked her, and went tiredly outside (it was cold), and sat tiredly on a street bench to drink his coffee (which was very hot). A flock of flamingos waltzed past with shopping bags, and got into some waiting taxis. And Mokuba didn't feel too well, because he didn't think he -was- in a zoo. He was just so, so -tired-. And he remembered being wrapped in Seto's arms, being carried inside, and all of a sudden, he didn't care -how- grown up he was - he wanted to be able to curl up and go to sleep and know that someone was looking after him.

He kept his head down as he stood up, because the threads between his cheeks and his torso had shortened dramatically, and he didn't want his face to fall off in public. He felt a bit weird, and a bit stupid, as he slowly - almost grudgingly - began to drag his sore and sorry arse home.

NOTE/S: If you like Mokuba, Jou and Seto... and ANGST of course... read "Blood" by Ceresi. Go on, do it! ALSO!!! As you were all so desperate for Seto's POV, please read (and review) "Some Things." It's a tie-in.