Mokuba marathons enough teenage soap operas so he knows how it's done. When school ends, he heads to the stationary store instead of the arcade. It's a garishly Sanrio-themed edifice, with Pochacco dancing around a winking green Kerropi. By some mysterious power, the ritualistic tango between dog and amphibian has attracted an afternoon crowd.
The girls from the local academies have just finished their last class and they walk down the streets in bouncy gaggles, busy laughing shrilly about the afternoon's gossip. They swerve blindly around lampposts but lack the ability to do so concerning short children with unusually untidy hair. Scowling, Mokuba rubs the back of his head when the third one elbows him. After the seventh attempt to get inside he slumps outside the shop's display window.
By four o'clock the crowd begins to thin down to duos and trios. All the elementary students have wandered away with their star stickers and bunny erasers. Most of the junior high school girls have gotten their floral origami paper and knitting needles. The high school pupils come clacking in their heels after cram school and perfunctorily clunk out with iridescent wrapping paper and stuffed penguins, their feet too weary for more delicate steps, and it's not like there are any boys to notice it – not above the age of ten, at least.
Around six, the last pack of perfumed females leaves. Mokuba makes his venture again – and the storekeeper slams the door in his face.
Sorry, we're closed.
A few curses and much stomping of feet later, Mokuba hefts his backpack off the dirty asphalt and begins the walk home. The street is littered with sakura, the sun still bright though it sinks further and further in the west. Mokuba's shadow elongates and Mokuba makes a game out of having it avoid any cracks in the sidewalk while whistling as petals swirl around his feet in a cloud of pink. He scoots by the Mutou Game Shop and after zigzagging another meter, zigzags backwards to the door and into the shop.
Waving back to Yugi through the glass, Mokuba ambles away with a plain brown paper bag and a few faded sheets of duelist stats.
Past the flower shop (also closed), Mokuba enters the grocery store where he discovers a purple cauliflower and a red marker. He smiles as the scanner beeps and the tray slides forward with a tiny tintinnabulation under the cashier's manicured nails.
That evening, Seto stretches his fingers to prepare himself for another all-nighter after dinner. With mechanical precision, he flips opens his laptop and there it is. At a rakish angle, across the space bar and besides a ribbon-ed vegetable in the laptop's briefcase: a paper folded in half with a red heart scribbled hastily across sepia newsprint.
There's also an apology. Apparently, Seto doesn't have a locker at home and the sender understands these types of notes should be secreted in such places.
Five minutes of silence.
Then there is a gentle fluttering of paper, and there are soft steps in the hallway, like those of a person traveling from one lonely place to another that is instead familiar and well-loved, all coda-ed with spontaneous laughter. Punctuated with a game of tag.
Remember, I love you still.