Souvenir

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks

Heartfelt *snugs* to my fabulous betas: Bahen, DW, Miko and Nenya. You are all hugely wonderful for your encouragement and support and I am heartily grateful.

Turn

“Have you spoken to Mokuba?” Yami asks casually over breakfast.

His question catches me by surprise. I’d expected him to ask about Gozaboro’s death, not Mokuba.

He came home that night after the news to make sure that I was okay, but I wouldn’t let him in my room. After an hour of coaxing, he apologized for having to leave me and went back to the hotel. Though he’d called several times the next day, I didn’t pick up the phone, just listened to his messages afterward. He came home again last night after I was asleep.

“What?” I murmur around my glass as I lift it to take a drink of water.

“I asked if you’d talked to Mokuba,” he repeats. “I’m certain that your stepfather’s death is international news.”

Swallowing thickly, I look down at my plate.

He’s right. Gozaboro was too well known a businessman, and Kaiba Corp. is too large a company for the news of his death not to spread throughout the world.

“No,” I confess quietly. I hadn’t wanted to intrude on Mokuba’s life before that bastard’s death, and now...

No, it’s best that Mokuba sever all ties with both of us. It’s not as though I have anything to offer him anyway. Everything I own, Yami bought. I can’t take him out for dinner like I used to when he lived at the orphanage because I don’t have a job. I can’t even give him a place to live because I don’t have that either!

Upset by my train of thought, I scramble from the table and up to my room.

No, it’s my assigned room. I own nothing. Not even myself. Whatever I feel for Yami, whether I think of him as my friend or not, eventually I’ll still have to pay him back for all of his kindness.

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Though his house isn’t so large that I should be able to, I somehow manage to avoid Yami for the next few days. I suspect that he’s giving me some space, which I admit enables me to get a loose handle on things.

Gozaboro is honestly dead. The topic has been at the forefront of the news for several days, reporters continuing to speculate on his reason for being in Yami’s neighborhood when he died.

I’ve been absorbing it all in fascinated horror. I don’t know why I care so much or why I can’t let go of it. Everyday I sit in my assigned room watching the news, reading the newspaper articles and looking up related stories online using an old laptop Yami gave me. I’d like to say that I have only noble reasons for not calling Mokuba, but the truth is that I’ve been far too wrapped up in this morbid past time.

I do miss Mokuba. But as much as I want to talk to him, I don’t think he needs to hear from me anymore. And now with Gozaboro gone, he won’t have to worry about ever going back to that hell. All my presence can do is remind him about Gozaboro. I just want him to stay as happy as he was when I last saw him, so I’ll let him grieve for me and heal from Gozaboro. That would be best.

Sure of my decision, I go back to trolling for information.

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I stop evading Yami after about a week. It’s not like I could have kept it up forever anyway, and I admit that I’m starting to miss his fawning over me.

We slip back into the routine of eating our meals together, taking care of his house and garden, and watching TV in his living room most evenings; though Yami’s penchant for making me pastries almost seems to double. I suppose he’s hoping the sugar will help me to deal with Gozaboro’s death better. It doesn’t, but I don’t mind the indulgence.

“Seto,” Yami begins, sitting beside me on the couch one Tuesday night while we watch one of his sappy dramas, “do you consider me your friend?”

“Yes,” I frown at him. “Why do you ask?”

“So if I do something for you as a friend,” he continues, “you would be okay with that?”

I hesitate at the odd question, quickly coming to one conclusion.

“You called him,” I murmur numbly. “You called Mokuba and told him about...”

“Seto – ” he initiates, laying a hand lightly on my arm.

Feeling hurt and betrayed, I pull away.

“You had no right, Yami,” I admonish, purposely not looking at him. “I didn’t want him to know that I...I didn’t want him to think of me as...”

I can’t even say it. I wanted Mokuba to remain untouched by my misery. I’ve never even told him about how bad it was with Gozaboro! And for Yami to randomly spill all of that...

“Seto, listen. It’s not as bad as you think...” he inserts into my distraught thoughts.

I glare at him, tears of shame and fury prickling my eyes. He can’t fix this with kind words and pastries.

“I hate you, Yami,” I spit, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. “Never come near me again.”

Purposefully, I head up to my assigned room, the pain of losing Yami’s friendship and whatever else we could have had weighing me down. I can’t stay here anymore. I shouldn’t have stayed this long.

I shouldn’t have trusted Yami with my secret.

I shouldn’t have trusted him at all!

As I start packing some things into the same suitcase I came to Yami’s place with, which I also don’t own, I realize that I have nowhere to go. I can’t go back to the streets. I can’t go back to Gozoboro. Yami is the only friend I’ve ever had...

“Seto, listen to me...” Yami ventures from the doorway.

“I told you never to come near me again, Yami,” I snarl, refusing to turn and face him.

“Seto, you can’t leave,” he persists.

“Why? Because you think I have nowhere to go? Well, I’ll figure something out, and I can stay in a shelter until then! So don’t think you need to keep me here to ‘save me from the streets’!” I yell before abruptly remembering that I’m banned from all of the shelters in Domino.

I shudder in realization that I’ll have no choice but to go back to the streets...

“You can’t leave because Mokuba and the Ishtars will be here Friday evening,” Yami reveals.

It’s as though he physically strikes me with those words.

Oh. Kami. Mokuba’s coming here...?

“N-no...I can’t see him, Yami. I can’t face him. Not now that he knows...you have to tell them not to come,” I plead, sinking down on the bed and turning to him.

“I can’t, Seto. Not if I’m truly your friend. You need to see Mokuba to know that he’s all right, and he needs to see you to know the same. And you both need each other to deal with Gozaboro’s death”

“No. He’ll be angry with me for not writing. He’ll be disgusted by me for...for what I had to do to survive,” I stammer.

“I promise you that all he’ll care about is that you’re alive and living well,” Yami assures.

“You’re wrong, Yami,” I whisper, shaking with the thought of seeing Mokuba’s disgusted face. “And I hate you even more for forcing me to talk to him about what happened to me.”

“The only thing you’ll have to explain,” he begins confidently, “is how you got mugged when you were moving and lost all of his pictures and the Ishtars’ address. Then you can add how your best friend Yami and several of his co-workers started from scratch by calling all of the Ishtars in Egypt until he found them.”

“You...Yami...” my throat closes at the realization of what he’s done for me.

“That’s all you have to say? What about, ‘thank you for being such a great friend, Yami’?” he teases lightly.

“Thank you,” I murmur gratefully, still struck by his further acts of kindness.

“I can’t wait to see you and Mokuba together,” he grins before heading back downstairs.

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By Friday afternoon I’m a nervous wreck.

“Yami!” I call frantically as he whips up some confectionary delight in the kitchen.

“Hmm?” he looks up at me distractedly.

“What do I tell Mokuba when he asks why you called and not me?”

“Tell him the truth,” he replies calmly, tasting his batter before sprinkling more of some spice into it.

“The truth?” I balk.

“Yes. Tell him you were afraid that he wouldn’t want to talk to you, that he’d think you’d died and you didn’t want to open a wound of mourning, and that you were afraid he’d think you’d abandoned him and would hate you.”

“H-how did you...?” I stutter incredulously. Those were almost my exact thoughts the night that I threw the number away.

“Because I really am your best friend, Seto,” he smiles.

I nod contentedly, losing much of my tension about the evening.

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Once, while I was homeless, I snuck into a movie theatre to stay warm. I didn’t really care what the movie was, though it turned out to be some sappy love story that Yami would probably have loved. Most of it made me gag, but the male lead said something that stuck with me.

“The most important moments in our lives always seem to move in slow motion.”

When Yami opens the door and I see my little brother standing there, I swear time slows to a crawl.

He’s grown quite a bit taller and now reaches my shoulders. His wild, black mane has been tamed into a long ponytail at the base of his neck; a quivering smile adorns his face.

I quickly crush him in my arms.

Moments later he’s sobbing against me and I’m clinging to him like he’s my lifeline. Eventually, Yami leads us all into the living room, where he serves the rest of the Ishtars an excellent selection of his delicious pastries and green tea. While they eat and sip their tea, bantering about the differences between Japan and Egypt, Mokuba and I just cling to each other, not participating at all.

The twins enjoy the treats almost as much as Mrs. Ishtar, who, it turns out, has the real sweet tooth in the family. Semi-jokingly, she begs Yami for more pastries once they’re all gone. After their treat and some juice, the twins run over to watch TV, Yami handing them the remote to his 32” console once they’ve settled themselves on the floor. Mokuba stays nestled in my arms on the loveseat.

After the twins are settled, the Ishtars try to include us in their renewed conversation, ignoring my monosyllabic responses and Mokuba’s silence. Their continued efforts are shortly halted by Yami’s deft manipulation of the subjects they’re discussing. I offer Yami a grateful smile, quickly hidden when Mrs. Ishtar glances my way.

As I listen with half an ear to Mr. and Mrs. Ishtar’s quiet conversation with Yami, I catch snatches of my name with Mokuba’s and a few instances of Gozaboro’s. Tuning in fully, I soon realize that they are discussing that bastard’s death. Not wanting the mention of that man to mar this perfect reunion with my brother, I interject with a request to have Mokuba stay the night.

“Since we haven’t seen each other in such a long time,” I insert.

“Of course, Seto,” Mrs. Ishtar replies soberly. “I’m certain that you have a lot of things to catch up on.”

“Yes,” I nuzzle into my little brother’s hair.

It’s not too much later that they start to wind down their visit, inviting me and Yami out to dinner tomorrow night before they stand to leave. Yami politely declines the invitation, citing work, and then surprises them with a ‘goodie bag’ to take back to the hotel. Mrs. Ishtar thanks Yami profusely, and then hugs Mokuba and I goodnight. After Mr. Ishtar follows up with his own hugs for us, he calls the twins over to do the same. I smile to myself at Mokuba’s genuine delight about hugging his family.

I’m surprised that Yami’s slightly stiff politeness matches my own in response to their hugs. I’ve never liked being touched by anyone other than my mom or Mokuba, and now Yami, but I’ve always thought of Yami as more ‘touchy-feely.’ As Yami sees the Ishtars to the door in my and Mokuba’s stead, I belatedly realize that, until tonight, I’ve never seen him allow anyone near him except me and Raphael.

After they’re gone, Yami, Mokuba and I sit together on the couch watching TV until Mokuba falls asleep. Despite his newfound height, I can still easily carry my little brother up the stairs. As Yami only has two bedrooms, I put Mokuba in my bed after dressing him in a borrowed pair of Yami’s pajamas.

I sit on the edge of my bed, holding Mokuba’s hand and watching him sleep, warmed by the small smile on his face.

“Are you alright?” Yami calls softly from the doorway.

I can’t help smiling as I look up to answer.

“I’m head and shoulders above all right, Yami,” I whisper, not wanting to wake Mokuba.

“Good,” he smiles.

“Yami, would it be alright if Mokuba stays here for a few days?” I request.

“He can stay here as long as you need him to, Seto,” he beams.

“How can I ever repay you for all of this?”

“Did you know that my co-workers thought I was crazy to take you in?” he replies quietly, seemingly changing the subject.

“I did too,” I murmur.

“Do you know why I did it?”

I shake my head.

“Because now I have someone who can reach all the top shelves in my house and at the grocery store,” he grins mischievously before heading back downstairs.

Deciding to leave him that secret for now, I don my own pajamas and climb into bed beside Mokuba.

Mr. Ishtar calls the next morning before the whole family arrives around 11:00 am with clothes and toiletries for Mokuba and an offer for me to spend the day with them. Eagerly I take the chance to be a part of Mokuba’s family for a little while and we clamor into the SUV they’ve rented for the duration of their visit.

After starting out at a nearby mall to pick up a few things, we eventually make our way to an outdoor market near the pier. We wander along leisurely, though Mrs. Ishtar spends more time trying to keep the twins in line than actually shopping. Mokuba helps her sometimes, but mostly he stays by my side. After the market, we wind up in the very park where I spent many, many cold nights. I’m startled at first, once I realize where we are, but quickly hide my shock. It takes me a few moments longer to hide my fears of eventually winding up back here.

“Seto?” Mokuba’s worried voice inquires as he clutches my hand. “Are you alright?”

Hn. I guess I wasn’t fast enough.

“I’m fine, Mokuba,” I smile lightly.

The tight squeeze of his hand in mine says that he doesn’t believe me. I ignore it and move to catch up to the rest of his family.

After the park, Mr. Ishtar drives us around aimlessly as they try to decide where to go for dinner. Since Yami has to work and can’t join us, and Mrs. Ishtar is crazy about his pastries, I suggest that we eat at the restaurant where Yami works.

“That’s a great idea, Seto,” she smiles, her reason for agreeing obvious by the excited sparkle in her eyes.

We arrive at Yami’s restaurant at around 7:00 pm. By 7:45 pm Yami has already supplied Mrs. Ishtar with a small assortment of goodies and arranged for the Ishtars to stay in a suite at the hotel, free of charge, for the remainder of their stay in Domino.

In between the ‘parents’ profuse thanks to Yami for his generosity, I can only think of one thing that I want.

“Would it be alright for Mokuba to stay with me instead of at the hotel?” I implore once Yami has gone back into the kitchen.

They don’t answer me for a moment, looking at each other hesitantly as if in reassurance of something.

“Please?” Mokuba pleads when they seem to falter, adding a look that I’m sure has melted their resolve countless times in the past.

“I don’t see why not,” Mr. Ishtar replies amiably. “When we go check out of the other hotel after dinner, we’ll drop Mokuba off with you when we take you home.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, grateful to be allowed more time with my brother.

By the time we’re done eating, the twins are nearly asleep, so I help Mr. Ishtar carry them back to the SUV and buckle them in before we head to their current hotel.

Their goodnight to Mokuba after dropping his suitcase inside Yami’s front door is unexpectedly hard for me to watch; the way the Ishtars smile at him and the way they all hug each other tightly tells me how much my brother is loved. I swallow down my feelings of discomfort as Mokuba waves to them before they drive away.