Rite of Passage

by yllimilly

In which Mokuba becomes a Kaiba. Written for contest.

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Rite of Passage
mokuba x yugi
post-canon

In which Mokuba becomes a Kaiba. Written for contest.

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A common birthday gift for a fifteen year old male could be a pair of skates. Or those guitar lessons that would finally unleash his creativity. Frugal families will go for fast food and a movie, or pool money for a video game; wealthier ones will offer a simple card that holds the promise of a surprise trip to Disneyland.

Mokuba Kaiba received a business suit.

The anthracite vest brought out his ebony hair. His eyes would shine a more normal shade of blue when contrasted with the purple hue of the accessories. The tie felt supple and soft in Mokuba's hands, and it had an understated satin finish that he liked.

You better like it, Seto had said. From now on, I'm expecting you to be wearing it on KC grounds.

Even for coding? Mokuba had asked. Yes, even when 'just' coding.

So far Mokuba's roles within the company had revolved mainly around the technical and creative aspects of their product line. That Seto summon him so formally and on such short notice was hard for the boy to interpret. Mokuba stood still before the door of his brother's office, checking his pocket watch every ten seconds, rolling the dark opals of his cufflinks between his fingers.

At 1:59:47 the Chief Executive Officer opened the door to his office, sparing a faint smile for his little brother. "Come in, Mokuba."

Seto wasted no time. "Goyal's mother passed away this morning. She was supposed to take care of Cedar Bay."

"Ah." Mokuba had to think fast; Deepika Goyal was a high management retiree now volunteering for the many charities overseen by Kaiba Corp; Cedar Bay was code for one of Gozaburo's summer estates, one which had been 'donated' to the Kaiba Children's Foundation. It was now a non-profit summer camp for disadvantaged children, the majority of which came from orphanages and foster homes.

As Seto put it, the employee turnover was far too great at this point in the summer. In addition, it was losing more money than usual - while they weren't for profit, any money they made would go back to being reinvested to the company and thus, would go to benefiting the children.

Mokuba didn't exactly understand how any of this applied to him.

Until Seto went on to explain that he would be the one to go there and do a thorough appraisal that everything was being managed properly on the premises. Time to send in 'one of the higher ups'.

"I'm not one of the higher ups."

"It's not something you can't do, Mokuba."

The suit, the business hours formality with his brother, and now - this. It was too much. Mokuba reminded his brother that he wasn't qualified, that he had neither training nor experience, and that he was fifteen years old. If anything, he'd be barely older than the campers, and definitely younger than any of the employees. How was he supposed to micro-manage a business that he'd never even attended as a patron? When Seto said nothing, Mokuba just sat back in his chair, his gaze haggard, looking for an argument that would convince his brother. The doe-eye look wasn't an option anymore.

"Don't make that face," Seto laughed, "it's not exactly torture. There's an old growth forest and a windy waterfront. That's where Gozaburo taught me to sail."

He paused.

A heavy silence settled in the room. Mokuba would not allow himself to interrupt Seto's thoughts.

"It should be different without the villa, but the view is quite striking. And the fresh air... I think you'll like it. I think you'll do a fine job, Mokuba. I'm counting on you."

.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe there were other benefits to this than to 'get hands on experience'. Maybe Mokuba just needed someone who wasn't Seto Kaiba to frame this differently for him.

Yugi would know.

Yugi always had something wise to say about everything and anything. And he was nice and patient and accepting, and he never judged anybody. And he never complained when Mokuba went to him for needed advice on certain matters, no matter how busy he was being a pro duelist, with his tournaments and the PR work he did for various organizations, from food giants to sick kids charities. While Seto Kaiba was an exceptional individual, his pragmatic understanding of the human heart wasn't exactly what a confused teenager needed. Consequently, Mokuba Kaiba and Yugi Mutou had become pretty close, as close as can be considering the age difference and the gap between the mileage of their respective life experiences.

Reaching for Yugi's cell phone number on his own speed dial was thus a second nature to Mokuba. He never called the landline; Yugi and Joey were roommates, and Mokuba didn't want Joey to feel rejected whenever he inevitably ended up asking '... so is Yugi home?'

"Mokuba, that's great!"

"... You think?"

"I do. Back when Grandpa still had his license we'd go to the woods at least one weekend every summer. I know camping isn't the same as summer camp, but it should be pretty similar. Leaving the city behind, just... Being one with nature and everything. It's so relaxing."

"Well it better be. I'm totally stressed out right now."

Yugi laughed out loud.

"I think your brother's right, Mokuba, I think you'll do a great job. I'm not worried at all."

"Well, I am."

He laughed some more. Mokuba heard some kitchen sounds at the other end of the line; utensils rattling in a drawer, and indistinct wrappers doing their characteristic, well, wrapping sounds. "Do you mind that I eat while we talk? I'm heading out in like five minutes to meet up with Jo. Hey, we're going to watch The Avengers II, wanna come?"

For some reason, Mokuba didn't feel like he'd belong in a dark room with the two inseparable friends. They had a special, opaque connection that was hard to pierce through.

"Um, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Just come, Mokuba! It'll take your mind off your worries." Then Yugi bit into something crunchy.

"I think getting actual competence in the field will increase my feelings of self-efficacy, and thus naturally root out any feelings of inadequacy I have about myself. And make me less worried. I'm going to stay home and read."

Yugi stayed silent for a while, probably fazed out by the barrage of jargon. "Er... Well, see? You already sound like you're at the top of your game, Mokuba. You're doing good. You should just come and watch the movie with us. Have some fun like a normal fifteen year old, you know?"

"No, well, thanks but no thanks. Say hi to Jo."

He heard a sigh at the other end of the line. "Okay, then. When are you leaving again?"

"Three days."

"And you say Cedar Bay is how far?"

"It's a four or five hour drive."

Yugi munched on some more unidentified crunchy foods. Mokuba guessed he was mulling something over.

"M'kay. I want us to hang out before you leave, okay? Make some time for us. Promise?"

"Alright."

They brought the conversation to a close.

Mokuba could finally begin his staring contest with Effective Management: Human Resources in Small and Mid-Sized Companies (hardcover).

'Evaluating the Effectiveness of Training and Development Programs'

'Performance Appraisal Methods'

'Alternative Dispute Resolution'

Mokuba winced. He felt dizzy in the gut.

.

"So I thought of something."

"Go on."

"You can't read your book and listen to me at the same time."

Mokuba put down Effective Communication Strategies for Non-Violent Conflict Resolution: A Handbook. "Okay, I'm listening."

"No, come here with me." Yugi patted the empty spot next to him.

Mokuba got off the swivel chair, walked away from his desk and settled on the couch with Yugi. "Okay, I'm listening and watching and touching," he said, poking playfully at Yugi's thigh.

"You silly bee. So here's the thing; ever since you put images of mountains and lakes and forests in my head I keep thinking about how I miss it and well... it wouldn't hurt to treat myself. So I thought I could come with you. You don't need to be there a long time, do you?"

"No longer than a week," Mokuba uttered, a bit stunned by the suggestion.

"That would be perfect for me. Jo says he needs his car back before Friday to help a friend move. So that would give us six days, minus two for travel. Does that work out for you?"

"Oh... Can I think about it?" Think, think, think... Six days alone with Yugi... "Yes."

"Great! That's about what my agent says I can afford, too, so it works out great for both of us."

"I'll have to cancel my train ticket, though."

"You better! We're driving together!"

That whole scenario, which until now had sounded downright crazy to Mokuba, suddenly became much more palatable.

.

Contrary to Mokuba's every expectation, riding six hours under a cruel sun in a crusty rusty car with no air conditioning could be extraordinarily fun. Yes, Yugi did talk about Joey a lot, but that was partly Mokuba's fault. He wasn't one to speak about himself, preferring to want to know more about his interlocutor instead. Plus, Joey and Yugi had always been the bestest of friends; it should come as no surprise that they do everything and anything together, including a trip to Six Flags last weekend, during which Mokuba had been fixing coding all day, to then accompany his brother at night to (watch him) entertain a supplier visiting from abroad.

"How do you think the kids are going to react when they see you?"

Yugi mulled this over, his eyes on the road. Mokuba looked at him.

"I don't know, to be honest. They probably will recognized me, won't they?"

Mokuba stopped riding the air like his hand was a dolphin. "Probably, yeah. I think every kid in this country either plays Duel Monsters or eats cereal, or both, so yes, I think it's a fair assumption to make."

Yugi gave out a thoughtful smile. "You're starting to sound like your brother. But in a good way."

"Hm."

Mokuba wasn't in the mood to dig into his conflicted feelings toward his brother, to dive back to that state of mind where he both wanted to condemn him and defend him at the same time. So he ignored that part and simply took Yugi's compliment and tucked it somewhere inside his heart, where it settled comfortably.

"Joey buys that brand on purpose, you know. Just to annoy me. He totally knows I can't stand to see my own face on a cereal box."

Mokuba chuckled.

.

On accounts of his special status as a Kaiba Corporation ambassador, Mokuba Kaiba had a little, two-bed wood cabin all to himself. It was located on the property but in retreat from the campgrounds, and a little closer to the road than the other buildings. Plus it had electricity wired in, so he'd be able to work at night. There was no water piped in and he'd have to eat cafeteria food, but he had access to early servings and a slightly more interesting menu.

Of course, Yugi had these same privileges and even more, seeing how his only job was to have fun. And of course, he was to share Mokuba's accommodation.

"Up or down?"

"I'll let you choose," Mokuba said.

"Up it is, then. If it's okay with you?"

"It's okay with me."

Yugi dumped his duffel bag on the upper bunk bed. Mokuba sat on the lower one, then proceeded to meticulously unpack his travel case. There was a desk with a little lamp; a wooden commode, a few crooked coat hangers on a hook fixture on the wall, and a mat near the door. There were two little tiled windows doubled with bug screens and run down curtains. The whole thing was barely larger than Mokuba's walk-in closet, and smelled of old damp wood. Well, they only had five nights to spend here, and time would fly by anyway.

"I am so hot and sweaty. I think I'll skip the shower and jump in the lake instead," Yugi announced, seemingly done with his own unpacking.

"Oh, okay."

"Wanna come? Or I guess you're busy," Yugi said, sounding like he really did seek the companionship.

"Oh..." He glanced at his watch. It was a little after one; the perfect time to start meeting with employees. "Maybe some other time."

Mokuba had an eerie feeling that from today on, he'd have to get used to saying that sentence a whole lot more than he'd like.

.

"And who's in charge of... Accounts Receivable?"

"That would also be me," the middle aged woman said between pursed lips.

"Okay." Mokuba looked for something to 'check' on his 'check'-list. "And um, you said you also handled some of the resumes-"

"Peggy does most of it, really. She's the one in charge."

"Yes, but-"

"You'd have to ask her about that." The woman turned her back Mokuba and resumed working away at her paperwork.

Peggy wasn't around at the moment. Peggy was the camp head, and this morning she had something to deal with at the nearby village. She'd be back for dinner time, and Mokuba couldn't afford that great a delay on his investigation.

"I was hoping to look at the training manuals and employee contracts today," Mokuba told the woman's nape.

"Peggy," she shot back, not even bothering to turn around.

Mokuba told himself to take a mental step back. He looked around the bizarre 'office in a log cabin' setup. Wires hanging everywhere, yellowed memos pinned on the bare wooden walls, computer equipment exposed to direct sunlight. Not to mention heaps of fly friendly, smelly styrofoam containers piling up in every visible garbage can.

"Surely you know where they are," Mokuba offered pacifically.

The woman put down her pen, pushed her chair back, and without so much as giving Mokuba a glance, walked to a filing cabinet that had coffee stains and an unstable, standalone fan on it. She retrieved one, two, three binders and a one inch thick, legal size file that had a rubber band around it.

"Thank you, ma'am."

The lady gave him one last look over before resuming whatever she had been doing before the intrusion. Mokuba very much felt like he was alone in the room.

Well, nobody can be perfect on the first try, he told himself. He'd get plenty of practice over the next few days anyway.

.

"You didn't pick the best time to do this, son," said the chef, a burly man with hairy hands Mokuba wished he didn't have to see from up close. Mokuba feared that either his spine or the floor under him would undergo permanent damage if the man didn't stop patting his shoulder.

"I'm not going to interfere, I only want to watch."

He tried to make a subtle move to get out of the man's reach without offending him.

A younger kitchen worker came from around the corner with a soaked mop, forcing the chef to move away. Some strands of the mop came washing over Mokuba's shoe. She didn't apologize; she didn't even seem to have noticed. The chef turned his back to Mokuba, reaching in a cupboard for an industrial-sized pack of flour that only he, undoubtedly, could carry around.

"Come back tomorrow!" He bellowed over the loud radio. "Then you'll see us working."

"You're working now," Mokuba said, louder than before.

"Come back tomorrow, kid," the chef said with finality.

Mokuba had to think fast. If he tried too hard, he'd come across as weak. If he gave in, he'd come across as weak. The girl gave him a look, then lazily grabbed her mop and had it fall on the floor with a wet splat. Soapy droplets came splashing on the lower end of nearby appliances.

"What time do you start?" Mokuba asked, in a voice that was meant to sound authoritative.

"Four thirty," the chef roared. The song on the radio was at a particularly noisy chorus. "You make sure you have a good night's sleep, son," he said again, and Mokuba knew this was the last bit of conversation he could extort with the man today.

Supper had ended an hour ago and the kitchen staff were either working on tomorrow's dough, mopping the floor, or preparing the evening snacks. A fourth member of the team was missing in action.

Mokuba jotted down some notes for appearances' sake. He didn't wait to be expelled to take his own leave from the premises. There was another hour gap between now and his first official meeting with the camp head, and Mokuba had hoped to put that time to good use by doing this inspection. He stood right outside the backdoor, taking in the empty terrain that stretched to the communal showers.

He sat on an upside down milk crate that seemed to lay there for that very purpose. There was a makeshift ashtray made out of a can of stewed tomatoes, rusty and battered. Mokuba hadn't been given a formal tour of the premises yet. He hadn't even gone to the lakeside. Yugi was somewhere with the kids, helping out the counsellors, just playing and having fun. Or so Mokuba imagined. Yugi had been eating his meals with the kids in the cafeteria. The last time Mokuba caught a glance of Yugi, he'd had some tribal paintings on his face, and a grin that made him look half his age.

Well, good for him.

.

He was going over the second to last active contract when Yugi barged in, panting.

"Mokuba, inviting me here was the best idea ever," he said in one rapid breath, and before Mokuba could turn around Yugi was hugging him from behind, with all his sweaty, muddy, kelp-smelling might.

"Haha, Yugi, you're choking me." Once freed, he turned around to see Yugi settle on a nearby wooden chair. "What have they done to you?"

"It's just, today was Flag Day, you know? And so the whole camp was divided in two teams, and I was in the reds - " he said pointing to his smeared cheeks, catching his breath. "Oh, it was just so, so, so much fun, Mokuba! I haven't had this much fun in ages."

Good! Good for you. At least Mokuba was honest enough to admit his own envy to himself. Yugi went on.

"I got to help, too, I would take the scraped knees and elbows to the infirmary. They said it was good that I was here," he added in one breath. "They said they were short-staffed."

Well, you tell me about that. Mokuba hadn't even begun to crack the why and the because of the mystery of the High Employee Turnover. "That's nice, Yugi."

He deliberately kept the conversation on Yugi's side of things because, well, he didn't want to be asked about his 'fascinating' day. It might have seemed productive from an outsider perspective, but Mokuba didn't feel like he'd achieved much of anything. "Looks like you've been adopted, now."

"I know! They even gave me a name." Yugi began undressing like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You have to guess," he said after he'd dumped his ruined t-shirt on the wooden cabin floor.

"Dark Magician," Mokuba immediately said like the one uncle never tries too hard when it comes to pleasing children.

"No, come on. Too easy. Well actually, one of the counsellors already had it."

"Kuriboh."

"It was taken, too," Yugi added with a pout. He stood up to unfasten his belt. His bermudas instantly fell to the floor. His skin was pinkish white above the knees; below, fauve brown patches of dried mud clung his light leg hair. "Banjo."

"Banjo what?"

"It's Banjo, silly!"

"Banjo? How's that even related to Duel Monsters?"

"Well, one of the counsellors was Pikachu so I figured, hey, it doesn't really matter. Plus I don't have to be all about DM all the time! I love it, but I'm here on vacation, so, meh."

Fair point. Mokuba couldn't help but chuckle. "Banjo, huh," he said again to test the sound of it. It did roll - no, it did bounce off the tongue quite nicely.

A very lightly dressed Yugi - down to his whities - stretched up to reach for his duffel bag. His limbs were lean and supple, and it made him look rather young for a twenty year old, Mokuba thought. There was a appallingly red half circle printed below his nape.

"Yugi, you have sunburn," Mokuba said, sounding a little alarmed.

"Really? Where?"

"There," he pointed, standing up. Yugi had brought his luggage down to the floor. "You should use some moisturizer."

"Oh crap," Yugi said. "I knew I had to bring sunscreen, but I didn't think about moisturizer."

"Um, I have some."

"You're a lifesaver. Just let me, um, I have to change underwear, it's so wet it's gonna drown my wee-wee, haha," he said with a slightly nervous sounding laugh.

Mokuba raised both eyebrows, not knowing what to say to that. "Uh, okay, let me know when you're done." He headed for the door.

"Oh you don't need to leave, I mean, we're both boys right? I doesn't matter, I know you won't look."

"Uh, okay."

Mokuba returned to his spot and faced the wall like he was taking an oath. He tried to chase the weird mental image Yugi's declaration had just summoned. Mokuba winced it away.

"I'm done."

Thank god.

Yugi plopped down on a chair and Mokuba proceeded to rub some of the lotion into the dermis of his nape. It was incredibly soft. And way too warm. Yugi's ears were the same. Not soft, obviously; but also very warm, and a deep lobster shade of red.

"You have twigs in your hair," Mokuba said, tugging at one tentatively. "Gee, what is this flag game?"

"No-no-no-no! Don't, I'll get it. But thanks," Yugi said, suddenly sounding tired. He let his head fall back on Mokuba's midsection. "It's just a very wild game," he explained. "We hide a flag and try to get the other team's first."

"Oh." That wasn't a particularly appealing explanation of the game, but Mokuba didn't mind. The soft weight of Yugi's head on his tummy felt rather nice. Warm, but from the inside.

Yugi straightened up, reluctantly resuming the use of his neck muscles. He went for his discarded pants and fished around in their pockets. "Give me your hand."

Mokuba obliged, extending his arm towards Yugi, palm up, fingers joined. But Yugi didn't place anything in the expectant hand; instead he snaked something around Mokuba's wrist, something light and reasonably soft.

"We lost, so we had to make bracelets for the other team. I was quick, so I had time to make one for you!"

Mokuba felt, for a lack of better words, like his whole skeleton was turning into jello. Which was ridiculous - this was a little braided bracelet, the thread in which was be worth a dime at most. It looked dark against his pale skin, the colour indiscernible in the monochrome light.

"You can't see very well, but I chose purple. Like your eyes."

You know when they talk about the little things money can't buy? Mokuba though this was exactly it.

.

"Hello, I'm Peggy Waters."

"Mokuba Kaiba." He extended a hand and gave the firmest shake he could.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you arrived, and for arranging our first meeting so late. At least we did get to have it on your first day. Has anyone made you tour the site?"

"I haven't had the time yet. I'm still going through paperwork."

"You're a very serious young man."

"I try to be."

The meeting was taking place in her personal quarters, at a little round table that looked handmade. It was dark out; it was getting a little chilly as well. A moth was circling the overhead light above them. Between the small windows hung paintings of birds and wildflowers, and pictures of what looked like what might be her own adult children in graduation togas and wedding attire.

"Would you like some tea?"

"I'm good, thank you."

The woman smiled.

"So I understand why you're here. Now you need to know that the camp business - it's normal to have high turnover rates. The bulk of the staff are the counsellors, they are teenagers still. I like to see them as grown children. Have you met some of them?"

"Not yet."

Mokuba put his observational skills to work, trying to absorb as much as he could from the woman's appearance. Her dress, her hairdo, the photos that hung in her cabin. But nothing was as telling as the tone of her voice, and the immediate warmth one felt in her presence.

This was a kind person.

But perhaps that kindness was her weakness.

.

The meeting shouldn't have gone so well. Being at the top of the local hierarchy, it was essentially her legitimacy that was at stake. Mokuba had expected her to be much more defensive about everything that was presumed to be faulty about her administration.

The walk back to his own cabin was filled with cicada song and pocket swarms of little flying bugs and actually being able to see the stars for once. When Mokuba arrived, Yugi was fast asleep, snoring as loud as a such a lithe little body could.

He must be dead tired, Mokuba thought.

He silently slipped out of his short-sleeved dress shirt and clean looking slacks. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of shyness when came the moment to strip out of his underwear - here, in Yugi's presence. He took a good minute and a half to brace himself, to tell himself that it was okay. Mokuba wasn't really used to what felt like promiscuity to him. Having to shower in open stations, using public restrooms, sharing a tiny cabin. At the mansion, and even at Kaiba Corp, he had in time lamented the dead echo of his footsteps, the wide open spaces, the soullessness that lurked in the mansion - even in his own bedroom. He realized that it was a luxury, one that he had taken for granted.

Lying on his belly, in his bed, Mokuba put on a frontal lamp and began hitting the terminated contracts. There was no underlying pattern that could explain all of the departures, and the camp head didn't sound like she was at the root of the problem. She'd been at other camps before she got hired by the Foundation and had had a good record of manning the yoke here last year. Yes, the camp head was kind, but there was no indication that she was lax, either, as Mokuba had previously speculated.

So was it simply bad luck? A curse? Surely Seto wouldn't take that for an excuse. Everything happened for a reason, and there was a way to solve everything. Would Ms. Goyal have figured it out by now? At least, in coding, there are several possible solutions to one given problem. Here, he didn't even know what the source of the problem was, exactly.

At any rate, he'd gotten to a solid start, having gained almost a whole extra day with four full ones ahead of him. Mokuba set his alarm clock to four o'clock, extended his limbs as to maximize body heat loss. He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the wildlife chanting around them, rationalizing that of course at the time of packing it would have felt silly to think of bringing earplugs to the middle of the woods.

.

The cafeteria staff here didn't really rely on processed foods, hence the need for an early start every day.

The line cook had the decency to narrate everything he was doing to Mokuba as he went, but that didn't mean he would slow down for him. Similarly, the chef, having grown overnight to the idea of working under supervision, was a little more patient to Mokuba.

But when time came for feedback, all bets were off.

'That's how it's done' then 'I know what I'm doing' then 'I've been doing this for fifteen years, son!' countered the very reasonable 'you can work from pre-made dough' and 'there are ready made potato products as well' and 'do you have to bake your own bread?'

Of course it was great that they cook everything from scratch. It was undoubtedly healthier. But there might be a way to keep healthy and save both time and money (and thus, save more money, since time is money) by outsourcing some of the work to automated suppliers and tap into some of those government subsidies for certain food products.

But Mokuba didn't as much as plant a seed in the chef's head. The rest of the visit didn't go as smoothly as it had started. Mokuba felt like the chef was making his explanations sound deliberately obscure to him, using pseudo-jargon in every sentence. Acronyms popped whenever he was in the mood, FDA this, OHSA that, and some Italian and-or French cuisine terms as well because why not, right? He was evasive when Mokuba asked what he felt were good, tricky questions, and dismissive when he asked for clarifications on certain topics.

When the kids began to line up at the outside door of the cafeteria, the chef ushered Mokuba outside, through the kitchen backdoor, with his big fuzzy paws full of flour and oats, and that was the end of it.

Mop Girl was sitting on the milk crate, cigarette in hand.

"Taking a break?" Mokuba said, trying to make small talk.

"Yeah." Another draft.

"I'm Mokuba," he said, trying to sound friendly.

"Dooyka."

Mokuba wasn't quite sure what he'd heard. "Is that a camp name?" He didn't remember seeing her name on any of the contracts. Come to think of it, there was a healthy diversity amongst the staff, but the downside of that was that every name was so unique that none appeared more salient, more memorable than the other.

"D-U-I-C-A, Duica. It's my real name," she said, obviously used to, and annoyed by, the reaction. Mokuba wanted to slap himself. He'd let his guard down and as a result had gotten off to a bad start with the girl.

"It's a lovely name," was the best he could think of at the moment.

"Yeah."

"It's pretty early." No, it wasn't that early anymore. Why didn't she start at four thirty like the others? Was she late? "Must be tough waking up so early every day, huh."

"Yeah."

"So what do you do?" He couldn't very well come back and watch her, so he figured he'd ask her himself.

"A little bit of everything."

A pause that Mokuba hoped would yield more information. Nothing.

"How long have you been working here, Duica?"

"Two weeks?" she replied, as if to state something painfully obvious.

"And how do you like it?" Mokuba prodded.

"It's okay. Look, I got work to do," she said as she threw her half consumed cigarette on the grass, letting it fume there. She walked into the kitchen without a words, not bothering to prevent the slack wooden body of the screen door from slamming onto the frame.

Mokuba took a deep breath, lick-bit his lower lip to keep them moist, then closed his eyes.

When he unballed his fists, red and white spots vanished from the palms of his hands.

.

He spent a most unpleasant morning with Jean from reception and payroll and every possible branch of accounting.

They went over the thrilling business of contracting chartered school buses, justifying their current choice of telecom package, and everything else from unplanned infrastructure breakage management to insurance and more insurance. Insurance for things Mokuba didn't even know could be insured. A good portion of the campers were under Children's Aid, so there were a number of legal matters involved as well. And these all had financial repercussions that Mokuba had to keep in mind.

His head was starting to ache; he began to seriously lose faith in Seto for sending him here. The more he learned, the more ignorant he felt; there was no way he could make sense of this mess in four and a half days.

At a few minutes before noon he left, resigned, to grab his helping of chicken fillets and parboiled rice with frozen mini bites of colourful veggies that were undoubtedly meant to look attractive to the potentially picky eyes and mouths of young eaters. He ate with the nurse, who was miraculously not busy wrestling a bug trapped beneath a child's eyelid or some insect repellent in a child's eye or anything in anyone's eye. She made it clear how grossed out she was by orbs and how they'd sometimes made her doubt whether or not nursing was her true calling.

Mokuba greeted her rather informally. He didn't bother throwing his shoulders back to appear taller, didn't bother sitting up straight, didn't bother upholding her gaze like he'd seen his brother do with so many people. When he broached the topic as to why he was here, she was cooperative and held out a number of legal lists files accident report guidocuments that had Mokuba wince. He wasn't even done reading the training stuff.

When he asked if he could stay and shadow her for the afternoon she explained that there was a lot of medical knowledge involved. The implication was clear.

"You know what? You're right. I wouldn't understand anyway. I trust it that you know what you're doing."

He stood up and left.

.

Mokuba wanted to give himself the afternoon off, but knew he couldn't.

Wanted to phone his brother, but knew he couldn't.

He walked down to the waterfront, to remote spot that was technically on their property, but out of bounds from the campers. He sat down on the damp sand, taking in the view. The narrow bay looked vastly untouched, peaceful. Lush greenery crawled up the gentle slopes of the hills on each side.

He took off his shoes and dipped his feet in for the first time. The water was surprisingly frisky, and contrary to his expectations, the shore wasn't windy at all. Maybe further along the bay, where the surface of the water seemed to ripple more, where the two odd windsurfers progressed by, from a distance, what seemed like millimetres at a time.

Maybe there had been some good in this place before the camp was erected. Maybe Seto had actually enjoyed learning about knots and trailing winds. Maybe Gozaburo acted more laid back in a relaxing place like this.

The boy could only speculate. Back when Gozaburo was still alive and running the household, Mokuba's presence had been tolerated at the mansion, as the cherished, but otherwise useless, younger sibling of the boy genius. Mokuba had never been forced to undergo the extensive training and tutoring that Seto had, and he had never been taken on the so-called 'field trips', either.

And Seto never said so much as 'it was fine' whenever he would come back, a phrase that had already lost much of its meaning over time.

.

The rest of the afternoon he spent indoors, trying to take so many mental steps back on the current situation that he found himself caught in the abstract equivalent of climbing up a staircase but backwards. After a drawing number of cluster outlines, Mokuba came to a conclusion.

There was no conclusion. He had no clue what he was doing - doing wrong, doing here, or doing, period.

Maybe he hadn't read enough theory. Maybe he simply needed time to let everything sink. Or maybe he was doing things the wrong way, missing out on the things that actually mattered. But what, exactly?

He'd gotten only two hours of sleep since he arrived here. His body took for him the initiative to catch up on that.

.

"Mokuba!"

Yugi was shout-whispering in his ear.

"Mhuh?"

"Jazz, Kuriboh, Red Eyes and Doodle are making a campfire."

Mokuba rolled around limply and rubbed the side of his skull. This simple gesture had never felt so good. "Who?"

"There's a campfire out, with just the counsellors. I thought you'd wanna come."

Yugi hadn't turned on the lights, but it wasn't dark enough out that Mokuba couldn't see his silhouette.

"What did you do to your hair?"

"Exodia braided it. For fun." Laughter spilled out of Yugi's voice.

"Who?"

"Just get up, sleepy pants. We're going to make some s'mores."

Mokuba didn't budge. He'd been woken at the worst possible moment in his sleep cycle.

"What time is it?"

"Come on, you," Yugi grabbed Mokuba's armpits. His exposed armpits. And chest. He was down to his undies.

"I- I- I think I got it," Mokuba managed. "Just give me a minute." He began futilely patting his unruly hair for no good reason.

"No one's gonna care what you look like, Mokie. You should wear a long sleeve sweater though, because of the mosquitoes."

.

So, s'mores were like marshmallows, but grilled on a stick until they melted, and squished with chocolate chips between two honey graham crackers. Interesting.

Mokuba quietly savored this culinary discovery in silence, huddled next to Yugi, with whom he was sharing a blanket. Yugi Mutou, undefeated world champion of the card game that had won the hearts of every teenager on the planet, who of course was the inevitable center of attention. Mokuba lay in his social shadow, so to speak, content in listening to the other counsellors. He'd done enough talking in one day, anyway. Not that there had been a lot of talking; but his attempts at conversation had simply been so draining. Unexpectedly so.

"I think every kid said at least once they wanted to have you for counsellor," said a girl counsellor. There were maybe a dozen older teens in total.

"Man, I don't even know like, how many times a kid's come to me and went like, 'I know what Banjo's real name is'."

The statement was followed by a round of low, but hearty laughter.

Yugi smiled nicely. He was maybe two, three, four years older than the rest of the crowd. "Well I've gotten my fair share of confessions, as well. I've never heard my own name announced to me in my entire life."

"Even being famous and all?"

Yugi sighed. "Well, it has its perks, but it has its disadvantages too, I guess. So, do any of you guys duel at all?"

A collective, if not a bit asynchronous, 'yeah' emerged.

"I started when I was six," one guy said.

"That's awesome. That's earlier than me." A faint wind turned, sending the smoke in Yugi's face. Two kids instantly offered to swap seats. But Yugi was 'okay, really'. He'd handled the end of the world; he could handle a little bit of campfire smoke. "What kind of decks do you play?"

Attack. Defense. Mecha. Insect. Everyone had their little piece of wisdom to share. And of course, 'Kuriboh' loved to play Kuriboh, and 'Red Eyes' used to love playing his Black Dragon, back when it was still a strong card.

"I'm not gonna sell it but like, it's just not competitive anymore."

"Hm." Yugi tugged pensively at the sticky end of his cooking stick, and the crowd quieted down by itself, sensing that the King of Games had something valuable to say.

"I mean..." the girl named Red Eyes started.

"No, no, I didn't mean to say it was a bad thing. There isn't a single person who can tell you what's right for you. Personally, I think it's important to follow your heart."

That's Yugi for you, Mokuba thought.

"So do you play cards that you know are bad... just because you like them?" The other counsellors shied away, staring at their brash colleague.

A secretive smile formed on Yugi's lips. In the shifting, golden light of the fire, he looked beautiful.

"Sometimes. You could say that, yes." His eyes grew fond for a moment.

Mokuba reminisced the battles he'd seen Yugi fight, and the strong spirit he'd always exhibited. His style and Seto's had nothing in common.

When Yugi turned to give Mokuba a brief, knowing look, the boy's heart skipped several gears.

"It's all about faith," Yugi spoke into the crackling fire, his audience perfectly at attention. "If you can have faith in yourself, then you can have faith in others. And when you have faith in others, well, they will respond to that, and they'll have faith in you, as well. I know it sounds rather esoteric, but it's true. It's true in life, and it's true in dueling."

Little orange ashes floated from the fire erratically, and vanished one by one like shooting stars.

The King of Games had spoken.

One boy, who had remained silent during most of the exchange, finally broke the silence.

"Seto Kaiba doesn't think like that. If a card isn't fit for him he won't hesitate to discard it from his deck. If it doesn't fit with the others. Because in the end if he keeps that one cards he jeopardizes the others, he puts the whole deck at risk."

Mokuba craned his neck a little to get a better look at the amateur duelist who was trying to do pop psychology on his brother's dueling strategy. Yugi also leaned forward, as if to purposefully block the young man from Mokuba's view.

Another counsellor chimed in. "Yeah, but like, Seto Kaiba isn't the best. Like, he loses a lot compared to Yugi. I mean, right?"

Mokuba's lower lip hung low, ready to talk back. Had nobody noticed his presence? Didn't they know this was his brother they were talking about? He felt Yugi squeeze his hand underneath the thick felt blanket.

"We all have different styles," Yugi began prudently. "I really wouldn't know what is best for Kaiba. I think only he knows in the end. He has his reasons."

"Yeah but, bottom line is, he doesn't play the deck he wants to. He plays the best deck."

Four words to describe his brother.

Playing the best deck.

.

Yugi excused himself early. Mokuba tagged along.

"I'm super tired tonight, but tomorrow we could go skinny dipping." Yugi must've noticed Mokuba's stiffness, for he amended: "Or, I mean, clothes dipping. Whatever. We're both boys, right? Anyway. They say there's a huge blueberry patch somewhere, we could go raid that, too! Wild blueberries are the best," Yugi said, nonchalantly taking off his tank top, tossing it on his own bed.

If there was one thing that Mokuba would learn about Yugi from this trip, is that he was very comfortable with his body. He heard the familiar metallic clang of his belt buckle, immediately followed by the not so smooth landing of his pants on the floor. Pants normally didn't clunk.

"Oh! I forgot about Kevin's rock collection."

"Kevin's a weird camp name," Mokuba remarked.

"It's not a camp name, silly! It's a camper. Mokuba, you know you can be really really cute sometimes, right?"

Mokuba felt himself blush. He knew Yugi didn't mean it 'that way', but still. "That's not what my brother thinks," he slipped.

Yugi eyed him carefully.

Even though Mokuba did come to Yugi fairly often for help, or advice, or just companionship, it was never for anything directly related to his brother. There was so much at stake; not only the company, but the jobs of several hundred employees. Mokuba could not afford to slip, to create a breach of privacy.

"You poor thing." Yugi was next to him in a second, gently taking hold of his arm. He sat down, looking up at Mokuba with eyes that shouldn't be that pained. "You're going through so much, aren't you?"

Was it alright to open up to Yugi? He was one of Mokuba's closest friends, and he was the closest Seto could call 'a friend'.

"I can't complain." A safe route for now.

"Material security is one thing, Mokuba." There was a sequel to that sentence, but Yugi seemed to have decided against it at the last minute.

"He's doing his best."

Mokuba wanted to take it back. He didn't normally resort to defending his brother so quickly, even in his internal monologues.

Yugi let his hand slide down Mokuba's arm. Quietly, softly, he twisted the bracelet around until the gnarly knot lay on the underside of Mokuba's wrist, where the skin was soft and the veins exposed.

There was nothing else to say.

.

A great deal of thinking was done that night.

A great deal of observing the underside of Yugi's bunk was done, as well. There was no snoring. Just faint, regular breathing. And a distant philharmonic of frogs.

Seto was a complicated - no, complex, person. He wanted everything, but deep down he only wanted one thing. And Mokuba wasn't even sure his brother would ever have the true guts to look himself in the mirror and accept that he lacked, and wanted that one thing, and that it was all he really needed.

Love on the other hand wasn't a problem for Yugi. He gave it away like he didn't need it; and he found it where people typically wouldn't expect to see it. Everywhere.

As for Mokuba, well... He didn't know what he wanted.

Sometimes - and those were really dark times that he didn't like to think about - sometimes he wished his life had been different. That he had someone else for a brother. Not a completely different person; just a different Seto.

A Seto who was a little more like Yugi.

Sometimes Mokuba wished he had Yugi for a brother. Yes, really.

Sometimes he wished he had Yugi for a real true friend, not just a very kind and friendly person his brother's age.

Or maybe, even, something more. Something as much as possible.

.

Yugi was gone when Mokuba woke up.

The sight of a pant sleeve hanging from the upper bunk reassured him that he wasn't gone-gone, but still. It had given him a scare, he didn't know why. His chest felt heavy. He didn't know why, either.

The sun was high enough in the sky that Mokuba knew it was too late to get a warm breakfast. But at least he felt like he'd finally caught up on sleep.

The amount of paper on his desk far exceeded, in volume, the contents of all his luggage combined. Mokuba snacked on an apple he'd taken from the kitchen and began reading right away.

At noon, his optimism, albeit waning, still clashed with his fragmentary understanding of things. Everything was still possible; he'd go for a walk to let everything sink in, he'd have an eureka moment, someone would say something that was key as to why everything was kind of wobbly in here.

He exited the cabin to see Yugi walking towards him, a few hundred meters away. The heavy sensation in his chest, that had taken so long to vanish, and which Mokuba had blissfully forgotten about, reappeared, familiar as if it had always been there. Mokuba still didn't know why that was.

He met Yugi halfway.

"I thought I might find you here," Yugi said, grabbing Mokuba's hand like it was the one-thousand-and-first, rather than the very first time they were doing this. Mokuba was puzzled, but he didn't protest. Besides, this didn't feel as lovey dovey as they made it out to be in the movies. It was more like Yugi was dragging him somewhere. "Torrence packed us some lunches," Yugi said, "so we can eat wherever we want." So Yugi was on good terms with the chef? On first name terms with the chef?

"Aren't you eating with the kids?"

"I could, but I thought we could spend time together. You- you don't want to?"

"I do," Mokuba hesitated as to what to say next, "I... I don't know."

"You would rather be alone," Yugi hypothesized cautiously, letting go of Mokuba's hand, sounding very much like he would accept all and any requests, and not bat an eye at them.

"No, not especially, it's just-" Mokuba searched Yugi's eyes for his true motives. "You sound a bit strange."

Yugi smiled bashfully, as when caught red-handed. "You got me. I wanted to check on you."

"For what? I'm fine."

"I've heard you sound more convinced than that, young man. Okay," he said, his tone changing completely as they walked round the corner of the cafeteria building, "cheese, egg, or ham?"

"For what?"

"Sandwich."

Mokuba wasn't picky and honestly didn't mind, but he didn't want to sound like he was apathetic to the point where he didn't care about his sandwich fillings. They took the mud-battered path that lead to the kitchen buildings. When they walked by the arts and crafts cabin, Yugi received an astounding welcome - a few kids even stood up to come and embrace him, despite their respective counsellors' reprimands. Mokuba Kaiba, with his stormy hair and unusually formal attire, was stared at cautiously by the children, if at all.

Nearing the kitchen back door, Mokuba caught of a whiff of a smell he didn't know. Not quite like cigarette, not quite like the glistening coals of the campfire. Alien, but vaguely pleasant. Mokuba recognized Mop Girl sitting on The Crate, and she promptly threw her cigarette as far as she could before darting inside. Mokuba winced when the door slammed.

"What's that smell?" He had a vague idea what it could be, but Yugi probably would know better.

For all answer, Yugi put an index to his lips, winking playfully at Mokuba.

They entered the kitchens, Yugi loudly chanting the chef's name with a mock foreign accent. The word BANJO was immediately uttered back, in the same manner. Mokuba stayed behind, by the door, observing the fascinating if not otherwise mildly irritating show that was Yugi being incredibly friendly with the whole of the kitchen staff barely 48 hours after their first contact. Yugi was leaning nonchalantly on the counter, saying jokes while the line cook packed his choice of sandwiches, little salads in styrofoam containers, some fruit and some disposable utensils. Napkins were thrown in as well, and on accounts of something that looked like nepotism, little somethings in shiny wrappers were taken from an obviously 'secret' cupboard and were thrown in the mix, as well.

All in all, they were set to have a pretty decent picnic. The chef saw Yugi off for what felt like a solid, unproductive minute, and didn't spare a look for Mokuba. At this moment a random maxim of his brother's popped through his head. Forgive, but don't forget.

.

Yugi had picked an elevated spot he knew (for he expertly knew the wilderness of the site by now) yielded an impregnable view of the bay.

And he'd let Mokuba have all the cheese sandwiches out of the infinite kindness of his heart.

"So how is your work going along? What is it you do exactly?"

Mokuba did his best for the first answer to sound positive, and for the second to sound down to earth. What he failed to though, was to sound confident as well. As for Yugi, he also failed to hide the gauche mix of 'disheartened' and 'uneasy' in his smile. It was too obvious, too quick, like he'd had something on his mind from the beginning. Mokuba began to wonder just what he'd meant when he'd said 'just check up on you'.

Well, it looked like whatever thought Yugi was toying with wasn't ripe enough to say, so they merely ate in a silence that was almost companionable. They looked at the water, at the motorboat bee-lining through the bay like a zipper undoing the side of a boot.

Yugi's 'pensive' turned into 'concerned', turned into 'dissatisfied'.

Mokuba didn't know better than to lecture Yugi about the direction his career - yes, career, Mokuba realized at this very moment - was taking. He found himself doing a surprisingly good job at sounding sincere and almost passionate, like he had genuinely enjoyed the mounds of paperwork and failed attempts at micro-management.

Then he told, too candidly, of his birthday present, and how he was becoming a real man now, and that he could finally be of some use to his brother. Mokuba both believed and did not believe what he was saying. The cheerier his voice, the darker Yugi's features grew, the more nervous and uncomfortable Mokuba became.

At some point Mokuba put an end to his babbling and set off to eat one of the sweet snacks. Were these bought on the budget? They definitely fit nowhere in the children's nutritional requirements. And it bugged Mokuba that Yugi look so upset. Just why did he look so upset?

Yugi refused to partake in the sweet snacks with a handwave. He kept his eyes focussed on the waterfront and his fingers busy with the multiple friendship bracelets he'd come to accumulate. He'd eaten but a few bites of an abandoned egg sandwich, which lay between the boys at the mercy of a few grateful ants.

"Seto used to come here when he was younger," Mokuba said in an attempt at non-sequitur.

Judging by the prudent alert in Yugi's eyes, the revelation had been too quick, too raw. That was not what Yugi had wanted to hear; maybe he felt that was none of his business. Maybe, and Mokuba knew this was a more likely scenario, maybe Yugi was annoyed that Mokuba was being unsincere, that he was avoiding the real topic at hand. Then again, if only Yugi could say outright what he had in mind, it would make things easier for both of them.

So Mokuba waited.

Yugi threw his apple core into nothingness.

He looked at Mokuba in the eye, his voice strangely level.

"What is it you want to become, Mokuba. What do you want to do in life." This hadn't sounded like a question. Not even a request. More like... a dare.

Mokuba looked away. This was the first time he was asked. And also the first time he was giving this question a try. It wasn't as easy as it sounded. What did he want?

Unlike others, he didn't have to ask himself that daunting question. He was blessed with a floor plan for his life, and some footsteps to follow. But Yugi wouldn't want that. The duelist who played the cards he liked to play wouldn't want to hear that. So, to gain time, Mokuba grabbed an orange from the bag, and rolled it between his palms to undo the skin. He knew Yugi to be staring at him still. Mokuba had the decency not to avoid his gaze.

"To be happy, maybe? I don't know. I think I can be happy working for my brother. I'm used to it."

"What are you talking about, 'used to it'," Yugi scowled.

"I am, though-"

"How can you know? When you never knew anything else? How can he know?"

The bite in Yugi's words and the hostile edge in his eyes made Mokuba flinch, the boy's heart hit by a stray bullet that had been meant for his brother.

"He- he does his best, Yugi," Mokuba said wearily, a stone on his chest and an invisible hand around his throat.

"This is not alright," Yugi glowered, "none of this makes sense."

He stormed off, leaving Mokuba to stare at the immense property that bore his unfathomably powerful last name, alone at the mercy of a legacy he didn't fully understand.

.

The path to the cafeteria was littered with the empty shells of water balloons. The juvenile crowd had split and deserted the battlefield; one half moved to the waterfront for a canoe trip, the other further divided in various sheltered workshops, busying themselves on crafts in the shade. Mokuba's bet was that Yugi was attending the latter activity.

"Could you turn off the radio," Mokuba called as he set foot inside the kitchen, holding the door behind him so that it wouldn't slam.

A spindly teenager was manning a loud, steamy hose and a pile of shock resistant dishes. The girl named Duica was, once again, mopping the floor.

"Excuse me?"

The two employees turned to look at Mokuba's call but, they did nothing more.

Mokuba calmly walked himself to the radio and turned it off. The floor was too wet in places; dirty rags hung loosely from the edges of the stainless steel counters.

"Where is Torrence?"

"On break."

"Where?"

"I don't know. In his cabin maybe. Could you turn on the radio?"

Mokuba held tighter onto the clean sheet of paper in his hands. "I'm here to talk to you."

The girl resumed mopping, leaving the boy to interact with Mokuba. "I don't know... If Torrence isn't here..."

"Then go get him."

"He's on break," the boy repeated. "He comes back at three."

"I can't wait for him a whole hour."

"Well he's probably in his cabin or at the showers. Could you turn it back on?"

Mokuba took a deep breath before exiting the premises. Behind him, the door rattled again, and when he turned, he saw Duica lighting herself another cigarette, leaning on the wall, glaring at him.

.

The chef's motorhome smelled of real Italian coffee. "Never take a break, son?"

Mokuba invited himself in. "I'm here for a meeting. I have a list of recommendations-"

"I work from four in the morning to eight at night, son. You gotta let me have my break."

"I'm only here for two more days."

"And I'm here all summer! Why don't you just leave these here, huh? What do you think."

"I'd rather we go over them together-"

"Not now. You're going to have to wait."

Mokuba regarded the man for a moment.

"Fine."

He turned on his heel and left.

.

"Oh but we tried, honey. You think we didn't try?"

Mokuba shifted his weight on the uncomfortable office chair. A nearby fan was sending loose strands of his hair in his face.

"Well, you'll have to try again."

The accounting lady, Jean, raised an eyebrow at him. "We'll have to try again," she repeated, marking his words.

Mokuba swallowed. He wasn't going anywhere with her. The phone rang; she gave him a forced smile before rushing to it. "Hello, business office."

She wasn't in a hurry to conclude the conversation. Which actually, sounded suspiciously like a semi-personal conversation. Something about logistics, and 'the kids' and 'tonight'.

The fan wasn't doing anything but brewing hot air in the small office. On an angry whim, Mokuba shut it off. The room grew considerably more silent, and the lady turned to see what had happened. Then she caught sight of Mokuba's eyes.

"I have to let you go. Bye now."

Before Mokuba said anything the woman grabbed the conversational yoke from his hands.

"Look honey, those are really great ideas you have here," she said pointing at Mokuba's less clean, slightly wrinkled sheet of paper, "but really you have to let us do our work. We've been doing this for a while, and we know what works or not. And this," she pointed at the list again, "this just isn't going to work out, honey. We barely manage as it is, there's nowhere we can cut without sinking this boat. If we're going to lose money then we're going to lose money and that's that. You can't always win all the time. One day you'll understand."

She grabbed Mokuba's hands in her own, a gesture which he did not approve of. She gave him a resigned farewell face. "Okay?"

Mokuba could not think of a way he could change this woman's mind, nor steer the conversation on favorable terrain. So in the immediate he chose to follow her advice; to accept that he was losing. A battle, maybe, but not the war.

"Have a good day," he said, tearing his hands from her claws. He heard her click her tongue and sigh as he walked the door.

Standing outside, he exhaled deeply, vainly trying to purge a knot that he knew wouldn't leave his throat anytime soon. He turned to look at the wooden wall of the log cabin. Were he, at this very moment, to give in to the urge to bang his head against it, he'd end up with a bruise on his forehead that would match, in hue, the pretty tie he'd gotten for his birthday.

.

The camp head was stepping outside her quarters when he arrived, her flowery summer dress bringing out the mature elegance of her tan legs.

"Mokuba, dearest! I was just about to go to the afternoon counsellors meeting. How is everything going along?"

His silence wasn't hard to interpret to the woman who had built a career on handling children and teenagers.

"Oh, sweetie."

He ignored her concerned look. "I have a few ideas," he said, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn't crack.

"Sweetie," she repeated, with more heart this time, punctuating her empathetic sigh with a slight shake of her head. She made a move, a very faint and slow move to bring her arms forward, as if to come near him. But Mokuba flinched, and the embrace was aborted. "You do look very young," she said.

"I am very young," he stated, his voice thin.

There were no croaking frogs, no motorboats, no distant children shouts to disturb the silence.

"I assume you were coming here to meet me," she said.

"I was. But you can go to your meeting." He didn't bother trying not to look or sound resigned.

"I appreciate that," she said, but only for politeness' sake. She saw the 'list' in his hands. "Did you want me to read those? If there's anything that concerns the counsellors, I can pass it on to them."

"No, that'll be alright," Mokuba said, the wheels turning in his head. "There isn't anything that applies to the counsellors in there."

A meeting.

"I could read the list, and pass it on the others as well. Do you want me to talk to them?"

Mokuba looked in the distance, just above her shoulder. Then at her eyes again.

"No, this is something I have to do myself. There's one thing you could do for me, however."

She stood patiently, barely letting it show that her meeting was probably scheduled to begin as they spoke. "And what would that be?"

"You can ask everyone to gather for a meeting. I'd say tonight would be the best time."

"I could do that but... Jean lives in the village."

"Surely she can drive back," Mokuba said, his voice perfectly level.

.

Yugi resumed having his meals with the children.

Mokuba asked for a lunch bag to be packed for him, and he got it. He dragged it to the waterfront and sat at the very end of the dock, wondering if his brother had once done the same, letting his feet soak in the cold water up to his ankles. Maybe Seto had been shorter at the time. Maybe it had been a different dock, too. It didn't matter.

He sat and watched until night began washing over the sky, layers of violet blue ink rising from the horizon in the east, but he stood and left before the stars began to show.

.

"My name is Mokuba Kaiba."

His young, clear voice echoed in the near empty cafeteria. Everyone was focused on him. Every employee was there, even the mopping girl.

"I'm the younger brother of Seto Kaiba. I've been working with him ever since he took over Kaiba Corporation. That would be eighteen months before the Foundation was created, and two years before this camp was founded."

The opener had the effect he intended it to have on the small crowd. It left everyone mildly stunned.

"Perhaps you know of my brother and of his methods. I'm not using his methods. I'm not my brother. I work differently. That's why he sent me here."

This he had just made up on the spot, but it sounded right.

"Someone else was scheduled to come here in my place. Maybe things would have run more smoothly with her. But I'm here. And you can choose to work with me, or against me. But I'd rather you didn't pick either of these options. In two days I'll leave this place and might never come back ever again. So you'll have to work for yourselves, and for the children. Which is really why you're here. All of you mentioned in your interviews that you loved children."

Gazes began to drop. Hands began to unite in pairs.

"I was raised in an orphanage," he said, stretching reality to his rhetoric advantage, "so these kids are especially important to me. And it might not matter to you, or you might simply not realize it, but every shortcut you take, every little thing you waste or neglect or misuse, every time you're not doing your best, we're losing money. And what this really means is we're losing a child. Every penny saved," he said emphatically, punctuating each word with a hand gesture, "goes toward making a change in another child's life."

Everything he said wasn't exactly true. But Mokuba wasn't going to win them over, to move them with a detailed lecture on accounting for non-profit businesses.

"I have a list of recommendations here." Mokuba brandished a newer, cleaner copy. "If these are followed closely, and barring unexpected circumstances, they should contribute to reduce the deficit to next to nothing by the time the summer ends, and that is including the costs of the sewage accident in June.

You have 24 hours to get acquainted with them. That leaves you another extra 24 hours to come and seek me for any questions you might have. I'll be going over these with Peggy as well, so she should be able to assist you when I'm otherwise busy. I won't be breathing down your neck to tell you how to do your job. But if this summer ends with the forecasted deficit, Peggy will be held accountable, and I'm sure you don't want to work with a camp head that lacks her kindness and humanity."

The implications were clear. On the adults' faces flew a blend of realization, swallowed pride, and resignation.

"I'd also like to invite you to re-read your contracts. We have clauses that forbid the possession and consumption of illegal substances on camp property," Mokuba said sternly, doing everything he could not to make eye contact with Duica, "and there are sanctions as well for those who contravene."

The room fell silent.

"If you have any questions - now's the time."

The room remained silent.

"I wish you all a good evening."

He left the cafeteria through the front door with a certain confidence rolling in his shoulders, climbed down the elevated porch with a spring in his step; he was in a mood to crunch on more numbers, to do another speech, to call his brother home. The campsite was dormant even just a few minutes after curfew, and the toads had started singing again.

Mokuba walked in the solid, long strides that were so characteristic of his older brother.

At this very moment, he felt extremely good about himself.

.

Yugi was hunched over the desk, reading a book under the little lamp. He immediately sprang up from the chair when Mokuba walked in. "Hey."

Mokuba stayed on the mat, closing the door to keep the bugs out, otherwise remaining still, and silent. It was impossible to read Yugi's face, his thin silhouette back lit by the desk lamp.

"Hey."

He then walked to his bunk and sat on it, waiting for the conversation to unfold on its own. Yugi fiddled with his book. Mokuba threw the first rock. "You're not going to the campfire with the counsellors?"

Yugi put the book on the desk, pulled the chair back and sat facing Mokuba. "I was just-"

"Just checking on me. I'm fine, Yugi, really." His tone was lighter as if to feel reassuring; as if to carry greater meaning, send his words soaring.

"Okay." Yugi let his shoulders droop and looked down, let his hands hang limply between his knees. "I brought you some blueberries." Delicately, he grabbed a folded bandana that was sitting on his pillow, cradling the little package in his hand, and gently, he opened the fabric flaps to reveal a modest heap of the fruit. Yugi extended his arm towards Mokuba, an invitation for him to help himself.

"I'll have a few, thank you."

"You can have them all," Yugi insisted. Mokuba popped a first berry in his mouth.

"I'm fine. We can share."

It was something simple, nibbling on nature's stolen bounty, their only distraction a pair of moths tracing ellipses around the yellow light bulb of the desk lamp.

"What's your book?"

"Oh, just something I've been meaning to read for a while. Mokuba-" he began, his tone clashing with the previous sentence. "About lunch." He fiddled with the half dozen braided bracelets he himself was wearing.

"What about lunch?"

"I just wanted to say sorry. I think I got carried away... I don't know what I was thinking. I really- I got upset over nothing, didn't I?"

"You weren't upset," Mokuba said to alleviate his obvious guilt.

"I almost screamed at you and you didn't deserve it. Just - just ignore anything I've said. I think you can become anything you want to. And if you want to work for your brother then that's fine," he finally slipped, betraying his actual opinion on the matter. "As long as you're happy."

Happy.

It was a simple word, really.

Mokuba hadn't expected it to shoot straight to his heart.

After feeling so powerful doing his speech, he felt very little again. It just wasn't fair that it couldn't last.

"Mokie, are you alright?"

There is a giant rock on my chest.

"The meeting, did it go well?"

Mokuba bit his lower lip. Something was swelling inside. Oh please no.

"Hey." Yugi set the berries aside and joined Mokuba on the bed. He threw an arm around his shoulders and held him close. Even at his short height Yugi used to be taller than Mokuba but this wasn't the case anymore, since Mokuba had started his own growth spurt.

"It's alright to cry, Mokie."

"I'm not crying."

He couldn't be. He wasn't- he wasn't even sad! Just... disoriented.

"You've been going through a lot this week. Everything is new for you."

Mokuba opened his mouth to speak, only to find out that he had to keep it open if he wanted to keep breathing.

"You've got your whole life ahead of you, Mokie. Come," he said in the gentlest voice, reclining until he was lying on his back, dragging Mokuba with him.

They lay there side by side, Mokuba rolling into Yugi's torso. Their legs bent awkwardly at the knees and their feet touched the solid surface of the cabin floor.

When Mokuba allowed himself to ring an arm around Yugi's chest he felt a strange sort of warmth blossoming through him. This wasn't something he'd experienced before, even with Seto. Seto used to cradle him in his arms like a little bundle, way back when he was very little. Mokuba couldn't even remember when was the last time it happened.

Yugi's body felt damp and refreshing in the summer heat. His supple arms, his lithe frame, the closeness; it all made Mokuba feel more like an equal to Yugi, rather than a lesser sibling, a junior. A child.

Don't think of him this way because he doesn't think of you that way, he thought. Don't think of him this way because he doesn't think of you that way.

Don't think of him this way because he doesn't think of you that way.

.

Mokuba woke up in late morning to the sound of Yugi carefully climbing down the precarious ladder that linked his bunk bed to the floor. Mokuba kept his eyes closed so as to look like he were sleeping. Yugi was quick to prepare and left the cabin, closing the door carefully so as not to make any unnecessary noise.

He kept his eyes closed. The stone inside his chest didn't feel so much as a stone now, more like a tree taking root, encroaching his gut and his throat and his heart.

.

Today Mokuba Kaiba wasn't invisible anymore.

He was properly greeted. Listened to. He held his shoulders high. Kept his features, his body language in check, even down to the bending of his fingers and the placement of his feet on the floor. He simply couldn't afford to lose the little ground he'd gained yesterday.

Strangely enough though, he detested it.

He hated that these people had needed to be talked down to listen to him. For the first time in his life, he felt he had developed an understanding, or at least an appreciation for Seto's work, for his attitude toward life.

But that was where Mokuba decided he would draw the line.

Seto was this harsh character. Affectionate words and gestures were visibly a chore, a sisyphean task to him. Even though Mokuba didn't doubt that the affection his big brother felt for him was real, it was visibly painful to articulate. Seto couldn't enjoy acting as he did towards everyone around him. His frigid demeanour was the less costly outcome, the tolerable way through life.

Mokuba didn't need it. He might not be a genius, but had an asset, a gift that his bother didn't have. And while he understood that he had to plough through this botched assignment with a cold heart and an iron fist, he knew that next time, if there was one, could and would be different.

At lunch time he ate his first meal in the cafeteria. He sat with the table populated with the youngest, most pitiful, thin, destitute children he could find. When asked about his name, he said 'Mokuba' without thinking. A little boy with missing two front teeth said it was a weird camp name.

Mokuba laughed, and the other children laughed with him.

.

"Duica, I'd like to have a word with you." Mokuba was leaning against the wall next to the infamous milk crate, arms crossed.

"Can't. Gonna be late for work."

"That's exactly what we're going to talk about."

The girl ran her tongue inside her mouth as if to clean something between her teeth, giving Mokuba an annoyed look.

"Surely Torrence told you about the changes, hasn't he."

The girl said nothing.

"He tells me he has. Should we go and ask him together?"

"No, it's fine."

Mokuba eyed her for a moment. He had all the time in the world, and understanding that made a huge difference. "Let's go for a walk," he offered, uncrossing his arms, peeling himself off the wall.

"Yeah but not now, I gotta work."

"I think they can get by just fine for a few minutes. Let's go." To be perfectly honest, Mokuba was both thrilled and appalled at the way he was addressing the girl. Thrilled because it worked - behind the layer of defiance he started to see her uncertainty peer through, and appalled because in an ideal world, no one should ever have to handle another human being this way.

He began walking steadily away from the cafeteria, away from the children's play area, and he let her tag along.

"Do you like working here, Duica?"

"Yes."

Mokuba looked for the right words, gentled his voice. "If there's anything that you're having trouble with - anything that could interfere with your work, for example." Mokuba winced internally at the unfinished question. That was not the worse he could've done, but it was horrible by his own standards. No way she'd open up. And indeed she didn't.

"No."

While they hadn't been heading in any particular direction, they were now walking on the gravel path that leaded to the main road.

"The other kitchen staff have been telling me that you're very often late, and that you were taking a lot of cigarette breaks. They say - they say you're not pulling your weight."

Too strong, Mokuba, too strong. Yugi would never have said anything like that. The line cook had been pretty direct in stating his opinion of her work, though. Mokuba needed to find his own voice, not to let other people's seep into his understanding of the situation.

The girl was scowling.

Mokuba swore to look for not the right, but for the best words this time. The girl was glaring daggers at him.

The soft crinkling of car tires against gravel made itself heard. Approaching. Mokuba's interest was piqued. A car emerged from the tree lined lane, circled as if to exit right away, and a blond young man emerged.

Jo. Joey Wheeler.

"Can I go now?"

"I'm not done with you," Mokuba said, his voice clearly not as loud as it should be.

She was a little put off. "I- I gotta go work," she insisted.

Mokuba hadn't the faintest idea what Joey was doing here, or who had driven him here. The car rolled out a bit faster than when it had come in, and Joey stood there with a scruffy backpack at his feet, stretching like there was not a single worry in the world.

Mokuba turned around - he didn't want to be seen. He didn't want Joey to see him. There was no reason; he just didn't want to. He wasn't hearing what the girl said to him over the Yugi Yugi Yugi plundering the insides of his skull.

"Yeah, you can go BUT-"

The girl stopped running.

"I want to see you after the dinner shift."

She sighed in a dramatic manner, then took off again, leaving Mokuba to wrestle alone the thick sinuous roots that had just seized his ribcage. He felt like he had a whole trunk emerging from his chest - and his throat felt so tight he had to stop walking.

What is he doing here, he thought. Why is he here, he thought again, seriously expecting an answer. And what does it matter that he's here, and why do I keep thinking of Yugi.

He stilled himself, taking in the sight of a million tree leaves fluttering in the wind.

I like Joey, why don't I want to see him here?

"Mokie?" The blond called from behind. "Hey, Mokie Man!"

Joey not only caught up to him but caught his neck in a headlock to ruffle his already untamable hair in the most infuriating way. "Hey little buddy! What's up?"

Mokuba forced a laugh when Joey released him, but it sounded - strangled, and totally unlaugh-like.

"Sorry bud, I went a little hard on ya, didn't I."

"Uh, yeah." Then he giggled, but he was still gasping from hair, strangled from the inside.

"It's good to see you here, where's Yugi?"

Mokuba couldn't help but frown.

"Did something happen?" Joey's voice had suddenly grown much more serious.

"Um, no, no, it's just, I'm surprised to see you here, that's all. Yugi is probably playing with the children. How-" he swallowed- "how come you're here?"

"I just wanted to surprise Yugi," the bashful replied with a grin that had a distinct je-ne-sais-quoi to it. "He's gonna be pretty stoked, dontcha think?"

"He doesn't know?"

"Nope. We're gonna have to leave a little earlier though, I had to swap shifts to get here today. That alright with you?"

"Um," Mokuba thought fast, still giddy over this inexplicably relieving feeling that 'Yugi hasn't been hiding that from me oh thank god'. His job here was pretty much over, Mokuba thought, and he indeed could afford to leave tomorrow evening rather than the morning after. "I think it should be okay. I have to introduce you to the person in charge, though. And we have to find you a place to sleep."

.

Mokuba had spent the rest of the afternoon touring Joey through the premises, carefully avoiding any hordes of children that could potentially have a talking Banjo among them.

"Man, I wished I got to come to a place like this as a kid. Your brother isn't as big a dickhead as I thought he was," Joey announced like it was truly a fine, fine compliment to give. And he had that stupid grin again on his face. And he was tan. And he was tall, and let's face it, he looked pretty handsome underneath his gruff look. Normally Mokuba liked being around Joey and all, but today he was all Yugi Yugi Yugi, and that... that irked him, quite frankly.

"Here's Yugi," he warned, and Joey crouched behind Mokuba, whisper-shouting for him to hide him!

"Are you hiding something?" Yugi asked humorously. "Are you hiding a camper?"

"Um," Mokuba began, not really knowing what to say. Then after too many seconds Joey 'appeared' and so did, on Yugi's face, the hugest grin of shock delight mock-anger it was possible to have at once.

"You! You you you! I was kidding when I said you could come!" The argument turned into a playful sort of physical joust, which involved tackling and head locks (of course) and a massive spank on Joey's bottom which left Mokuba completely speechless.

"Not here, Yug'," Joey managed to say between fits of laughter. They were both sprawled on the ground, half trying to mock-hurt the other (Mokuba couldn't begin to understand the rules of this, it involved some groping as well), but lazily so.

A minute and many a laughter tear later they were both up, patting their hair into place and patting each other's pants for dirt like they had done this all their lives.

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"They have a spot for me in the dorm or something but I thought I could just sleep on the floor in your cabin. Mokuba told me you guys had one all to yourselves?"

Yugi looked at Mokuba, a bit embarrassed, a bit shy, and Mokuba wanted to know why that was.

.

"Hello again, Duica."

Joey and Yugi were spending some quiet time alone in the cabin.

"So how was your shift?"

Joey wasn't too shy about changing in front of other boys, either. He'd been sweating throughout the car ride - he'd hitchhiked his way here (no way he was paying for car insurance AND bus transportation) - and he needed to shower really badly, he'd said. Yugi said he'd show him where they were and how everything worked.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"It was okay," she repeated louder as if Mokuba had been deaf.

"Well, I was told you took five cigarette breaks just tonight. Don't you think that's a little too much, Duica?"

"You're not pronouncing my name right," she spat.

"You're not answering my question." Mokuba's blood was boiling. Already.

Joey was a touchy feely kind of person, too. He'd always been like that. He was like that with Mokuba, too. But with Yugi it was more gentle in a way. Everything about Yugi was gentle. Yesterday night had been extra gentle. Mokuba had cried.

"-to relax. I'm a stressed person. Everyone's alright with that. Nobody complains that I take a break to smoke, I'm right there if they need me. They know it. Everyone's alright with that."

"They say you're not pulling your weight-"

"Whatever you say! You're not there! I bet you've never worked a real job a single day in entire your life!"

"We're not here to talk about me."

Joey had asked Mokuba a few questions about the assignment Seto had given him, but Mokuba could see the glazed look on his eyes when he'd started talking about his task in more detail than just 'making sure everything is alright on the camp'. But Yugi had listened. Mokuba couldn't blame Joey for not being interested - it's just that he'd gotten used to Yugi being super interested in everything about him and it had created a dangerous precedent.

"Excuse me - come again?"

"I said I didn't give a fuck. You're not my boss. I don't have to listen to you."

"I've addressed you with noting but respect so far, and I'm expecting you to do the same. I called your previous employer and they said they'd had to 'let you go'. What do you have to say about that?"

It was normal that Yugi and Joey have a special bond. They were best friends. They did everything together. They were the same age. They even lived together, for sakes. It didn't mean that Yugi liked Mokuba any less! Didn't mean that Joey liked him any less! They just had more in common, because they'd gone through a lot of the same things, and they had the same interests and came from similar backgrounds. They could never relate to Mokuba about certain things, and he to them. And that was okay, too. That was part of life.

"Duica what we just said about respect-"

"Fine. It's none of your 'hm hm' business. Happy?"

"Is- Is there something that I said, that offended you? I don't understand why- the hostility-"

"Fuck you."

The words shushed Mokuba's unrelated internal monologue.

The world started spinning or rather, time stopped and Mokuba felt acutely aware of the relative position of the Earth to the stars, or something along these lines, something that he could anchor himself unto, something that made sense.

"I have to fire you."

The girl herself didn't recover too quickly from either her own words, or Mokuba's. She lost a bit of her might when she replied: "You can't fire me. I didn't do anything."

"I could. I can. I'm firing you on account of your poor performance."

"That doesn't mean anything. I- I didn't do anything." She shook her head in disbelief. "You can't fire me! You're not my boss!"

"Then Peggy is. Peggy Waters, Head of the Kaiba Children's Foundation Cedar Bay Summer Camp is telling you, tomorrow morning, that your contract is being terminated on grounds of absenteeism, poor performance, and consumption of illegal substances on camp property."

"... You can't prove anything."

"THC is traceable in blood 48 hours after inhalation. All we need to do is a blood test. Which will be deducted off your severance pay."

The immediacy of her newfound joblessness finally sunk into the girl.

"All that bullshit about being pro-children. You think you're gonna get more kids if you save money firing me? I'm not fucking stupid. The camp's already at full capacity. You don't care about the fucking kids. All you care about is the money. Money money money. It's all about the fucking money!"

She stormed off, and Mokuba let her. But ten or twelve steps later, she spun on her heel and shouted at him.

"All you rich people do is just sit on your asses while we do the hard work! I hope you enjoy your jet plane, you jackass!"

.

The immediacy of 'what did I just do' had yet to sink in for Mokuba.

Walking erratically, as if drunk, (although he'd never experienced drunkedness), well not quite erratically, but definitely not in the long assertive strides he admired his brother for, Mokuba made his way back to the cabin. Yugi was giggling; there was no Joey in earsight, but it was obvious that Yugi wasn't giggling all by himself.

So Mokuba opened the door.

And then Yugi drew a loud, deep breath.

And Joey slowly turned away from what he was doing and just looked at Mokuba blankly.

"Oh um, hey Mokuba."

There were many things wrong with this picture. Rather than to start making a list Mokuba went for the one element that had an immediate impact on his life:

"You're on my bed." In it, more accurately.

Yugi melted in a puddle of 'oh I'm so so sorry' while Joey buckled his belt in silence. Then Joey grew more uneasy, began scratching his hair while Yugi bombarded him with quiet little 'I told you' and 'we should've waited'. They were both topless; they were both embarrassingly wet and red around the lips.

"So I guess you know now," Yugi declared.

Something - a word, just the one word - was obstructing Mokuba's thought process.

Roommates roommates roommates.

.

Mokuba had already established that yes, it would have seemed pointless, at the time of packing, to think of bringing earplugs. Of course Yugi was too polite to want them to share a bed; of course Mokuba didn't want to be rude to their guest and have him sleep on the floor, so he, the lightest of them three, ended up climbing up the ladder and take Yugi's spot on the upper bunk bed.

Even with the pillow over his head Mokuba couldn't unhear the chuckles, the wet sounds, the heavy and irregular breathing. The breathed, all exhales and giggles that sounded like elated hiccups. The sounds replayed inside his head in a loop, and whenever Mokuba felt the structure of the bed shake, he wanted to curl up and hug his knees even more. But there was a tree stump in his chest that he could not compress, and he only had so many hands to hold the pillow in place. He was almost tempted to leave and take that free spot in the counsellors' dorm, but that would imply letting Yugi know he was bothered by his enthusiasm over reuniting with his ...

He didn't know what they were to one another. He knew but no, he didn't, he refused to think about it.

.

She just had to turn her departure into an event.

Red faced and teary eyed she stormed out the kitchen, stomped her way across the cafeteria. Mokuba dodged her eye daggers, leaning toward scrawny little Kevin who only liked his oatmeal when it was loaded with sugar.

The door slammed on itself. Breakfast went undisturbed for every starving human being in the room - except for Yugi Mutou's immense heart that always had vacancy. Mokuba watched him stand up (he was seated at another table, out of earsight from him) and jog to her, deftly making a way for himself between the tables and chairs of the crowded cafeteria.

The door slammed on itself a second time.

Yugi. No. Yugi -

Mokuba's eyes darted to Joey, who seemed quite unfazed by it all, like it was commonplace and no actually, like it was so commonplace he actually hadn't noticed. The blond sure was in his element, almost blending in the crowd, if it weren't for the low register of voice, audible across the room whenever he laughed. He looked very much like the grownup version of every kid in the room combined.

.

"Don't you think that's a little to much?"

There was no question of cradling Mokuba to sleep now. Yugi had been moved by another soul's calls for help. Mokuba had been bumped.

"You can't do those things halfway, Yugi." Mokuba wanted to melt in the wooden wall of their cabin. Joey had made up an excuse to stay away from an argument he knew to be 'none of his business'.

"You couldn't just - talk to her?"

"It doesn't work that way-"

"Yes! Yes it does! Your brother is wrong, Mokuba. People are not robots! I thought- I thought you knew- you- you have to talk to people, Mokuba! Try and understand them! I didn't know-" Yugi just waved his hands around in the air hopelessly - "Can you even do this?"

Yes, he could. Yes, it was his privilege to do so. The word privilege should be a positive concept; it wasn't to Mokuba. Not anymore.

"It's not like I liked it-"

"Mokuba this isn't about fun," Yugi snapped back. "This girl just lost her job."

"Her attitude was being a problem," Mokuba said defiantly, hating the way it sounded, hating the maggots that were feasting in the hollow trunk inside his chest. "There was no reasoning her."

Yugi just stared at Mokuba for what felt like a pocketful of eternity, and it hurt. It hurt inside Mokuba's throat.

There was a group song happening in the distance; words mashed up and yelled, echoing unevenly. Mokuba couldn't make out the words. Chanted jibberish. One hundred and four clapping hands.

Yugi placed a single motherly hand on Mokuba's forehead, which the boy pushed away.

Don't touch me.

"This is not like you, Mokuba," he explained.

Yugi wore that same expression he had when he had accused the universe of giving birth to nonsense and dumping it on Mokuba's doorstep like an infant in a basket. He was dark and unbecoming. Yugi this is not like you, Mokuba wanted to say, but instead he merely hardened his own gaze. Stop telling me what to do. Stop telling me what to do when you have dirt on your hands.

Don't blame me. Don't judge me.

"Mokuba. It doesn't have to be that way. You don't have to be like him."

The boy turned adult turned heartbreak glowered. "Seto would have fired her the second he'd found out about the marijuana. I gave her a chance."

"What do you mean 'give a chance?' Don't you think maybe she gave you a chance, too?"

"No one ever asked you to work here. All you have to do is have fun with your boyfriend."

An unreadable look passed over Yugi's features.

"Is this what this is about?"

Mokuba didn't really see why he'd have to dive inside himself to grasp the meaning of Yugi's words.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He brushed past Yugi, swung the door open, and let it slap against the wooden frame.

.

.

.

Mokuba's hand was a dolphin riding the interstate's hot airwaves of this late July afternoon. If he looked far enough he could see watery puddles on the asphalt.

"Joey," he began abruptly, breaking a silence made only barely tolerable by the low background noise of the radio, "what kind of deck do you play? The philosophy behind it, I mean."

Joey turned once twice thrice to Mokuba, looking at the road in between, and cracked a smile. Mokuba noted that Yugi stayed immobile in the passenger seat.

"What kind of deck? All my decks are awesome," the blond declared. "My philosophy is awesomeness. Haha."

He glanced at Yugi expectantly. Mokuba knew just exactly why that gesture was, like the blond was expecting a reaction out of his close friend, like the ghost of a poor kid fishing for negative attention. Because of course Joey would say that all the time, and Yugi would be tired forhearing it. They have been 'it' for so long now. It was ridiculous. Mokuba had been ridiculous.

"Why d'you ask that?" Joey enquired when Yugi's silence made it clear he wasn't gonna reinforce his attention seeking behaviour. "Huh? What's yours, Mokie?"

Mokuba rolled and twisted the little bracelet in the palm of his hand, staring at the meaningless gesture absent-mindedly. The thread wasn't exactly blue-violet, more like a sweeter, redder shade of purple. Sorry, Yugi, but that's not my eye color. That's yours.

He held his hand out the window and watched the knotted threads thrash against the winds, oscillating faster than the naked eye could see. Then, Mokuba met Joey's amber eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"I play the best deck."

He opened his hand and set the bracelet free.

.

.

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Epilogue

.

"And how did you feel about the termination?"

Mokuba sat up straight, an emblem of internalized discipline, before his brother, Seto Kaiba, Chief Executive Officer and Head of Research and Development of Kaiba Corporation. Founder of The Kaiba Children's Foundation. Son of the late Gozaburo Kaiba.

"I hated it." Curt and clipped; this was how every answer should be.

"You never quite get used to it, believe me."

Mokuba did believe him. His brother went on. He knew when his brother was thinking, when he was about to say something, when it was time to wait for him.

"But you didn't have to fire her. This camp exists for tax deductions. Losses are actually a good thing."

"I know."

"You played to win," Seto summarized eagerly, enthusiasm showing in his voice.

"No. I think playing to lose is necessary, sometimes."

Seto's jaw tensed. Around the eyes, some rare crinkles.

"One day, you'll be sitting in this chair."

The office felt bright and vast, energy pouring in and out the windows. And at the center of it all, two brothers; united by blood, bound by the past, the present, the future.

"I know."

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Rite of Passage
mokuba x Mokuba Kaiba

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