Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Newton's Third ❯ Tempus Fugit ( Chapter 4 )

NEWTON'S THIRD by Kiraya

Stream-of-consciousness, Seto's POV.

~*~*~

I was rather surprised when I looked at the calendar this morning.

The day after tomorrow, it'll be a year since I lost my little brother.

Time is strange. It feels like it's been so much longer, but at the same time, I can remember it as if it happened yesterday...

Don't think about it, dammit!

Has it really been an entire year - only a year? - since Mokuba was killed, since my world fell apart, since I let down my guard and allowed someone I'd always thought of as an enemy to help me pick up the pieces?

I thought it was a mistake at the time, letting Yami get involved in my life. But, looking back now, I have to admit my assessment that first night, before I called him, was correct. I had to do it, for the sake of my sanity. Otherwise I'd probably have followed my brother from this world not long after his burial.

I still have the dreams, but not as bad, or as often, as I used to. In the beginning, I would call Yami every night - I couldn't sleep at all otherwise. Now, most nights, I at least get enough rest to function. All those early-morning talks helped more than I can possibly say.

But they got him in trouble, at one point. I had an extended business trip to New York about three weeks after Mokuba died, and I was still having a lot of trouble dealing, so there was a great deal of calling back and forth. When the monthly phone bill arrived at the Mutou household, a certain old gameshop owner became quite upset - and, to help pay for it, made Yami get a job at the local McDonald's.

It lasted all of a week. And they still won't serve him there.

But he eventually found another job - one that doesn't involve rancid fry grease and cranky old ladies. And one that pays a hell of a lot more than minimum wage.

Sure, he's got the looks for a model, but I still have trouble picturing him as one - except when I look out my office window and see the enormous billboard just down the road, featuring the King of Games clad in the hottest stuff from some chic European company's new fall clothing line...

Damn. Those tight-fitting leather pants should be illegal.

~*~*~

Well, Yugi knows, now, what happened between Yami and me the day of the viewing. But it doesn't bother me like I thought it would. They're so close; I could tell the subterfuge was painful for both of them. And I could also tell it was one of the hardest things Yami's ever had to do, keeping secrets from the one he calls aibou.

He really is a good kid, once you get to know him. Reminds me a lot of Mokuba. I still can't stand any of his friends, though... not that I ever expected to be able to.

It's kind of eerie how similar the two of them look, Yami and Yugi, considering the fact that they're not actually related. Yami tells me that they're telepathically connected through that Millennium Puzzle - more like brothers-in-spirit than anything else.

But the way they act - Yami so solicitous of his younger companion, who looks to him for help and guidance - it's hard to believe they're not blood kin. Sometimes it hurts, watching them. It makes me think of my little brother and me, together, before...

I don't think I want to pursue this line of thought any further. I may be learning to deal with my loss, but some memories, I think, will always cause me pain.

~*~*~

I like to consider Yami my friend - if not the only one I've ever had, the only one I can remember. I can be completely open with him in a way I can't with anyone else. It's refreshing, being able to let down one's guard and act like yourself, not like people expect you to be.

I've finally beaten him in a duel. Six times. Of course, that really doesn't mean too much when you look at the fact that we duel almost every day... And he did seem rather distracted those times, like his heart wasn't really in it.

Ah, well. The fact that he's a better duelist than I doesn't bother me as much as it used to.

Besides, I can cook better than he can.

(That sounded incredibly... stupid, didn't it...?)

He started giving me lessons a couple of months ago, and so far I've been able to surpass every one of his dishes, much to his (pleased) annoyance.

There's only one thing he can make that I can't.

Suddenly, there was a yell from across the kitchen. "Aha!"

"What is it?" I asked, looking up from the vegetables I had been dicing.

Yami turned to face me, smiling broadly. Licking the fingers of one hand, he held up a tiny cake in the other. "Try this," he said, and popped it into my mouth.

It was out of this world. Crisp, thin layers of flaky pastry and finely chopped nuts drenched with the golden sweetness of honey... Sighing, I licked my lips. "Mmm... what was that?"

"Baklava, a Russian pastry," came the reply. "Yugi's grandpa picked up this recipe some years ago in his travels, but completely forgot he had it lying around the house. I found it the other day when I was looking for something interesting to try."

"Let me see that," I said eagerly, reaching past him for the slightly yellowed paper.

Grabbing it first, Yami hid it behind his back. "Not on your life," he scolded. "Can't have the student outdoing the teacher in everything, hmm? I think I'll keep this one for myself." He grinned up at me, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

Such an unusual color, I mused, feeling slightly lightheaded. Nice, though... I snorted. "And I think someone's on a sugar high," I snapped, glaring at him peevishly.

His grin simply grew broader, and he laughed.

~*~*~

I wonder... what must it be like to be really close to someone? So close that, if you tried hard enough, you could know what they were feeling; sense their thoughts; perhaps even understand what's going on behind that strange, almost wistful look in their eyes - that look that always makes you feel as giddy as a lovestruck-

There it goes again; lately, my mind's had a distressing tendency towards wandering off all sorts of places on crazy tangents. But I have to admit they're pleasant, in a slightly odd, feels-like-I'm-on-some-insane-thrill-ride sort of way-

Get a hold of yourself, Seto. Before you start composing bad poetry or some such rubbish.

Ugh. Can you imagine - me, writing poetry? "Bad" probably wouldn't even begin to describe it. Perhaps, with some practice - about three million years' worth, or so...

But how do you respond to that strange, wistful look in those beautiful eyes, to the tenderness in the gaze that, for some reason, makes the whole world spin out of your control? Do you pretend you don't notice it, or do you... do you...?

It scares me, a little. But at the same time...

At the same time...

~*~*~

To be continued.