A Late Afternoon in August

By Katsuya Kaiba

One-Shot series: Seto Kaiba 1.0

AN: Oh, boy. It's been awhile, hasn't it? But…I bring thee tidings of Puppyshipping. All this time, I've still been writing, it's just all hidden away. Consider me Roger Waters, and consider this my Wall. This whole series of one shots is intended to tell a story…somewhat, although it's a story in pieces. Each one shot is based on a picture of Seto and Joey that I have somewhere up on my wall. Yeah. This particular one shot, the very first in the series, is actually the very last chapter. Because I'm vague like that.

You made me feel like…living.

You made me feel like living again. Maybe I had lost that, somewhere along the way. In a place that I met before I met you. A time that exists in the same way that you exist, in the past.

That's true, isn't it? You only exist in the past. I'll never see you again.

My skin is burning, but it's only burning with this feeling. It means nothing. I'm not going to leave this room. Not anymore.

The air in here, it still tastes like you. It still sounds like you, ringing off the walls and echoing around the room. I feel…I feel sick. Perhaps it's the bad taste in my mouth, the one you left behind. There are a lot of things that you left behind. Maybe I'll hold onto them for you…just for a little while. In case you decide to come and claim them. Would you take me with you?

My throat constricts. It does that on it's own. Whenever I think of you, I can hardly breathe. I should try to stop, if only for a moment or two. Try and catch my breath, and hopefully a piece of yours as well. There must be some in here, hidden away with the scent and the sound. The sheets are cold now, colder than they ever were before, even before you came to lie underneath.

It's so cold…it always was. But then, I suppose that it was you, you were the one who was always so warm. Smile like the sun, just once more, and I might not be so cold inside. You always did know what to say.

I lift my arm and pull myself up. I feel nauseous. I clench my teeth together and stave it off. I haven't eaten, and it won't help. Neither one will help.

I lie once more on a pillow that isn't mine, but it isn't anyone's now, so it doesn't make a difference. Staring at the ceiling thoughtfully, I try and think of how much longer it will be. It can't be too much longer, I've been waiting in here for what feels like years. But perhaps it's only been hours, minutes, seconds…I can't really say.

My eyes close. I think of you, and the nausea returns. I think of nothing, and the nausea returns. So I think of you, because there isn't much else left to do in here.

I think of you again.

When I think of you, I can feel something, a tightening of the muscles, a small emptiness centered in my chest, and I think that maybe if I try hard enough, I can find it. I could, if I thought of you with all my strength, I would locate the exact place in me that ached so badly, and I would tear it out. I am not afraid.

I could tear it out. But would you leave alongside?

Was that where you were this entire time?

Perhaps it's already gone. If I reached in to pull it out of me, would it really be there? Would it be gone, the way that you are? I think that it's best if I leave it be. I don't want to risk losing you. Any more than I already have.

The skin on my forehead is freezing, I know, but it's so wet, and I have been sweating. In a room that is this cold and unaware, and I feel as though if my throat would open, I might laugh. But it doesn't, and I can't. I never really wanted to.

I won't sleep. I won't.

I have to try and stay awake.

But it's been awhile.

And the last time I slept…you were here. And it was so awful. Because you weren't here, and I woke up.

When I woke up, you weren't really there. You hadn't ever been, not that night. And I had been so happy to have you back, but it wasn't for anything. It only made things worse. I dreamt that you were here. But you weren't.

My eyes are closed. I remember something from long ago. Your voice and something that you told me.

As long as you're here…I'll always be able to go back home.

I don't think that you meant the home that I thought you meant. You meant…me. You meant that I was home.

I'm still here, but now there's no way for you to come back home. And now how will I ever find my own way there? I never got the chance to try.

As long as you're here…and I am here. I wonder why.

You were always so…sunny. And I was always so…well, I was someone that I had to be, but you liked that. I still am that way, mostly just for you now. It's nothing, really. It's easy for me.

But to have you around…God.

You were…you are always just like the summertime. A late afternoon in August, remember? The day where the sun had been so bright and strong, and the air was heavy and warm and it smelled just like you.

It smelled like the grass, and the sky, and the stars…just as the sun was setting. It looked just like you.

The sun, I mean. And the sunset.

Most things look like you, especially nowadays. I hold my hand over my eyes, for whatever reason, and lie silently. It reminds me of you.

My chest tightens again. I was expecting it, and I hardly even notice it happen. It's just that place, the one that I can't seem to remove, for fear of you. For fear of losing you.

Which is ridiculous, because you've already gone. But I knew that, anyway. I just didn't pay it any mind. I can still smell you, and until that fades, I don't think that I'll believe a word of it.

And when the scent of you does finally fade, I'll find something else. Something else that makes me think of you.

It won't be difficult. You're everywhere.

Maybe I'll open my window and let the sunshine inside. The sunshine won't ever fade away. It makes me sick…to think that it's all I've got left.

Sick down to my heart. A late afternoon in August…maybe I'll see one this year. If I do, I'll be sure to show it to you. I hope that it reminds you of me.