Disclaimer: I do not own YugiOh.
Denial /di-'ni-el/ n
1. Rejection
of a request.
2. Refusal to admit the truth of a statement or
charge; also: assertion that something alleged is false.
3.
Disavowal.
4. Restriction on one's own activities or
desires.
The Art of Denial
Seto Kaiba's life is filled with tasks, one after another. He likes routine, craves it even. He never admits it, but he always needs his coffee at precisely 7:34 in the morning, or the carefully constructed pieces of his life would come crashing down like a house of cards, toppled by a curious child who breathes too heavily on it.
Seto is always tense and his hands always shake as he grabs the coffee pot.
Mokuba is up and rubbing blearily at his eyes at the doorway by the time Seto finishes pouring a cup. Sometimes Mokuba's eyes clear and are filled with something like understanding. Seto freezes perfectly still and waits for the moment to pass. Mokuba always obliges him, so Seto never knows if he could have dropped his mug of java in shock as Seto sometimes fancies he could.
There is a part of Seto, a deep part of Seto, that is child and pawn who wants to see the pieces, maybe use them as an excuse to cut himself when he bends down to pick them up. He imagines if he cried out in pain, no one would ever think it from anything other than the physical cut of ceramic shards.
But Mokuba just bows his head shyly and looks almost c - no, grateful - when Seto spares him something more like a grimace than a smile.
For a long time, Seto has been trying to do better. He doesn't have anything at Kaiba Corp but work. He always takes his lunch break alone in his office, watching sun and snow and all of humanity in its living beneath a changing sky. The women - the men - that sometimes appear on his arm kiss him with lips that shape pleas and lies. Seto sends all of them away - as they call him cold, heartless - with all that money can buy, as if he's apologizing for lacking the thing that they only made the pretense of seeking anyway.
The part of Seto that's still young whispers, "But one might stay, someday." And so, for that one to come, Seto tries.
Sometimes at breakfast, Seto rests a hand fondly on Mokuba's hair.
Sometimes, it even slips and brushes a cheek.
Over the years, the sphere of Seto's personal life remains small although his company devours the world and orphans from around the globe are suddenly finding themselves heirs to mysterious fortunes. For Seto, there's no one but he and Mokuba growing older and losing transparency, becoming silent, hidden and closed.
Until the day Mokuba turns 18, finally meets Seto's eyes and curses Seto.
Seto doesn't go into work the next day and spends 24 hours without break, researching what might be wrong. He remembers Mokuba's angry eyes. He remembers Mokuba's slap to his usual caress and nothing more.
Seto's fingers ache for a long time in phantom pain.
When Seto finally heads for his penthouse office some time after, he overhears a conversation in his Kaiba Corp's lobby.
"You know kids," a red-headed man from Seto's PR department says.
"Yeah, sons always hate their fathers when they're teenagers," replies a man in black. The man's Special Technologies and Network Security badge gleams under fluorescent lighting.
Seto lies in bed that night awake.
His cell phone rings, but he doesn't bother to pick it up, so the message from STN Security that someone's broken into Mokuba's trust fund at 4:37a.m. and has taken everything, is forwarded to voice mail instead.
Seto's always loathed Gozaburo since the day he was adopted. It hasn't diminished since Gozaburo's death, so Seto didn't know strong feelings, be they hateful or kind, could change on whim.
Seto tosses and turns. Seto thinks he did something bad to make Mokuba angry at him anyway and believes himself to be no better than Gozaburo.
The next morning, Seto stumbles into the kitchen early with black rings around his eyes. Seto's hands shake more than normal, but the smell of brewing coffee is familiar and he calms.
There's a handwritten note on the kitchen table.
Curious, Seto sits down to read -
A Confession.
His eyes blur.
The world blurs.
Something cracks, breaks, splits apart...
And there's no one left to come through the door, no Mokuba to see and deny the universe from falling apart for Seto...
Good-bye.
...ever again.