Howdy, Yu-Gi-Oh fandom.
This isn't my first Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction, but it's the first I'm posting to this site because the other is a work-in-progress (a Thiefshipping story, to be precise). I've made it a goal to not post any works onto this website until they've been previously completed, as I don't want to let anyone down in search of updates.
Anyway, here's a Puppyshipping oneshot inspired by a quote by Kirsten Smith. Here was the prompt: "I hate the way you read my mind and the way you're always right. I hate it when you make me laugh — even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and I hate the way you lie. But I mostly hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a bit, not even at all."
Anyway, this story is first-person in Kaiba's perspective. The personalities are my own whacky blend of their canon and abridged personas, along with a little dash of my own interpretation. Enjoy!
What I Hate About You
Wheeler has this way of making me tense, which only reinforces my numerous reasons to keep my guard up in his presence. Aside from that, he's one of Yugi's friends, he's broke, he has a deadbeat dad, and he was formerly in a gang — the first reason of which is dangerous for obvious reasons, and the other three of which give him good motives to rob me. That would be a dumb move, but I could believe someone in his straights would try. He wouldn't be the first. Then there's also the fact that he's disgusting. And a mutt. I think I'm allergic to him, in fact. That would certainly explain why my gut feels so fucking wobbly in his presence. And the nausea. And that damn recurring fever that occasionally concentrates at my face when I'm with him for extended intervals of time. Clearly, I must keep my wits about me.
Although that's kind of difficult when he's just so goddamn easy to relax around.
Yes, relax. He makes me tense, he makes me relax. Tell anyone and I'll have the Kaiba Corp private police seek out where you live and arrest you.
"Kaiba?"
Damn.
I turned my head to look at the mutt, all medium-height and blond and honey-eyed. The midday sun looked admittedly nice against his hair, but hell, I could probably find wigs a nicer color. Maybe. Somewhere in the world. "What is it, Wheeler?" I asked, giving him my trademarked icy-eyed glare. "Finally have an idea in that dumb dog brain of yours?"
At that Wheeler let out an elongated 'nyeh' in irritation, scrunching up his nose. I couldn't help but notice that. Not sure why, but I did. It stood out to me. "I'm not a dog," he drawled in that thick Brooklyn accent that sent invisible shivers up my spine. From distaste, I'll bet. "You ain't looking too good, Kaiba," he grunted. "You never stare off into nowhere. You's always focused, 'specially on schoolwork." He tilted his head a bit, looking more or less worried. "Are you all right?"
Wheeler pouted slightly, almost looking like a legitimate sorry puppy with that expression and that hair parted kind of like a pair of floppy mutt ears. When I caught myself staring a little, I wanted to slap myself. Why do I keep focusing on everything he does? I mean, I've always been observant — you have to be, to be as good a duelist as I — but what's bringing me to care? Damn, my gut is churning again. Must be those allergies.
Yeah.
"That's none of your business," I replied, keeping an even tone to my voice. He gave me a hard look.
"Listen, Moneybags," the mutt growled, being the only living person with the gall to refer to me in such a manner, "I can tell when something's wrong, and obviously something's very, very wrong if the high and mighty Seto Kaiba can't hide it in that perfectionist way you do. It wasn't just today, neither. You was like this all this week. You seem troubled."
How dare he make such a claim, regardless of the fact that it's correct? "I still fail to see how this is any concern of yours, Wheeler."
For some reason, the mutt took that moment to sigh a little, expression softening into a frustrated pout. "I can't help but feel it is, though," he mumbled, looking away a bit. At that moment, I felt a pang of something unpleasant in my stomach. Allergies again? He must be shedding a lot today. "I mean," he continued, "you's never like this around anybody else. I see you in the lunch room and in our science class and you look like you's acting like normal, focused, rich-boy Kaiba around everyone else. It's only when we's by our neighboring lockers or out here—" he gestured our surroundings, the Domino City Arboretum "—working on our botany project that you act like this."
I maintained a poker face, though inwardly I couldn't suppress an instinctive flash of panic. How could I have been so transparent that Wheeler, the most oblivious person in the goddamn world, has seen through me? I can't have been losing my touch. I'm too rich for that. I hope.
Still… deep down, in spite of all these questions, in spite of all my worrying as being seen as too open, I couldn't help but mentally congratulate him. Good job, Mutt, I vaguely recall thinking, You were right about something.
But then I reconsidered giving him my internal congratulations, because this is not even remotely the first time he's been right about anything about me. In fact, he has yet to say something absolutely wrong.
It's rather ironic, how he's so perceptive and so clueless at the same time.
"If I ever feel like telling you," I started, giving Wheeler a hard look, "I will. I'm in no way shy."
Somehow, that simple statement brought a jubilant energy into the mutt's being. He beamed his dopey grin at me, eyes wide and fists clenched together towards his chest in an eager manner. "Nyeh, really?" My God, he couldn't look any more like a dog if he had his tongue lolling from his mouth and a wagging tail protruding from the back of his pants.
…I did not just picture that. Nope.
I've been with the mutt too long again. My face is feeling hot all of a sudden. Damn it.
"Don't count on it," I mumbled, my mind too busy trying to rid the image of a half-canine Wheeler to raise the volume of my voice much higher.
"But if you wasn't planning on it, then why would you give me hope?" Wheeler countered, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling my body close to his. "It ain't like the great Seto Kaiba to give his enemies hope when he can take it all away." He smirked, nose scrunched and brown eyes filled with that confidence he never seemed to lack. The proximity combined with his expression only increased the intensity of that awful, allergy-imposed whirlwind in my stomach.
Then, at that very instant, something terrible happened.
Maybe it was the allergic reaction that had messed with my brain at that moment, or perhaps aliens somehow tapped into my skull from lunar orbit, but with an expression that contagious, even I felt its effect. In other words…
The corner of my mouth tilted upwards. "That is merely one of my many strategies."
If it's even possible, Wheeler smiled harder than before, laying a light punch to my shoulder in a way that was both offensive to my social status and brotherly at the same time. If it were anyone else, I'd have sued. I wonder why I'm not so insulted when it's him. Probably because it's how his low-class kind expresses their brutish admiration. And I'm more than willing to be admired — even when by a mutt.
"Well, take out your science strategies, then, Kaiba. We's sat around talking nonsense long enough."
He let go of me then, and while the tornado in my chest waned in power, I could still feel little tremors where he had touched me. I rubbed the spot where he had playfully hit my arm. And I was still smiling.
How do I justify that?
I couldn't think of anything at the time, though; I was too busy watching Wheeler make a fool of himself by attempting to collect leaves from the higher branches for the project and landing on his rear no less than eight times. I'll admit, my smile grew a little watching that silly display. Not so much from the Schadenfreude, but from Wheeler's stupidity. Dumb mutt. Dogs aren't supposed to climb trees.
You can imagine my surprise when my smile began to grow a bit noisy after a particularly graceless fall, one in which Wheeler landed on one foot, lost balance, fell backward into a pond, and began chuckling to himself and smiling in that dorky Wheeler way, holding up a ginkgo leaf in triumph.
It was a short burst of laughter, no more than six seconds, but the mutt heard it. He gave me a mocking glare, eyes clearly joking but voice full of malice. "Shaddup, Moneybags."
Something in that tone snapped me to my senses. I immediately resumed my frown and soul-piercing glower. "Don't refer to me in such a manner, Mutt." Wheeler was silent for a moment, his look turning much fiercer. And more hurt.
Weird stomach pain: leave me alone. I feel no urge to call a doctor about you.
"You's no boss of me," Wheeler huffed, shifting himself into an angry, defensive crouch. "You ain't lifted a single rich-boy paw to help me gather any of these leaves, neither."
"That's not my job," I responded, tone cool in spite of that goddamn gnawing emotion. "I do the research and written analysis, remember? I'm in my element when I write memos. You're in yours when you fall off trees and land on your ass."
By this point, a very soaked Wheeler had climbed back onto the bridge, growling like the unpedigreed dog he is. His eyes were practically glowing with rage. "If this is the way you treat your employees," he snarled, stomping dangerously close, "then I wouldn't work for you if it was the last job on earth!"
His gaze didn't waver even as he stopped, looking up to my face, literally toe-to-toe with me as he stared with his furious, unblinking brown eyes. I didn't falter.
"You say that as if to imply you could ever have the credentials to obtain a Kaiba Corp job in the first place."
Wheeler punched me in the stomach.
In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. I'm no pushover, but one of his blows is still enough to make my back hunch outward, a winded puff escaping my nose. Even though he's a failure, I'll give him this: the mutt is strong. My whole body felt heavy in that instant, like my organs' personal densities spontaneously increased. Even my heart was heavy. In a medical sense, of course.
"Take your leaves and memos. I'm outta here." He shoved the leaves in my hands and abruptly turned around, storming off the bridge towards the exit from the arboretum.
"Wait, Wheeler—"
He paused his walking and cut me off with a look that was far more hurt than it was harsh. Suddenly, I had run out of things to say, for I hadn't intended to say anything in the first place. It simply happened. I checked my hand; Wheeler had collected the necessary leaves we needed to complete the botany project, and all of them were in good condition in spite of having been manhandled by that mutt.
His glare intensified. I was silent for one more moment. "This ginkgo leaf is torn. You need to get another to replace it."
"Get it yourself, nancy boy."
And away he went.
I noticed myself stare at him as he walked away. The late afternoon light caught his blond hair again, highlighting it like 14-karat Kaiba Corp gold yarn, and his hips were swishing a bit as he walked. My pride wanted to slap me for essentially checking him out, but if I could reason with it, I would have told it to fuck off.
Wheeler had just punched me. And judging by that little tear pricking at the corner of my eye, it had hurt more than I thought it would. My internal organs aren't meant to take punches like that on a regular basis, you know. I could tell because somehow I had this fleeting thought that I wanted to die to just end the awful pain. Maybe he caused internal bleeding or some other problem that will just end me for me. I'd pay it about now, if it would make it go faster. Pain like this shouldn't be suffered. Especially by someone as rich as I am.
Fucking Wheeler.
After a few more moments of standing around and holding my stomach like a dumbass, I came to my senses and sat back on the bench where Wheeler and I had set up our stuff. In his hurry, he had forgotten to take his backpack with him. When I saw the slacking object, full of crumpled papers and scribbling doodles and a comfy mess that embodied the very essence of that damned dog, I mentally set it on fire. He was the last thing I wanted to think about right now, and if this was any indication, he would be back. Just what I need. The hotheaded, clearly-pissed-with-me mutt to return.
How… agitating.
I sat down and pulled out my Kaiba Corp laptop, opening the file that contained our research paper for AP Biology. How Wheeler ended up in that class, I have no clue. He's about as book smart as a box of moldy carrots. It was really just my sort of luck that he ended up being randomly assigned as my partner.
I had complained, of course, but the horrible, terrible truth is that I didn't mean a word of it.
With him gone, I had an opportunity to reflect on things like that. I was working, of course — I'm most content when I'm working — but I'd already done so much research that I could just type about the leaves and their structures and whatever without putting too much conscious effort into it. What my mind was really focusing on were essential questions. Things like, 'Why don't I mind working with Wheeler on a biology project?' And, 'Why did I lie in an effort to make him stay?' And, 'What brings me to care about little details like the way his nose scrunches up when he's thinking and the way his eyes glimmer with gumption and the way his Brooklyn accent makes my guts feel like they're disintegrating and the way…?'
Allergies. I always come back to that excuse, but I know it's just that: an excuse. Believe me, I've read just about every medical science book known to man in an effort to explain my wretched condition. Nothing helped. If those writers worked for me, I'd fire them.
From a cannon.
That would have improved my mood, at any rate.
While I dealt with formatting the project and organizing what information I had typed about each leaf, my thoughts kept coming back to him. It's dreadful, really. As soon as I attempt to focus elsewhere, my mind just instantly switches to Channel Mutt. I can't help but think about his sea of expressions, each distinct and easy to read, no two exactly alike. I can't help but think about his body movements and the way they reveal when he's nervous or calm, open- or closed-minded, lying or telling the truth.
I can't help but think about those damn fluffy whirlwinds in my stomach when he looks at me or touches me, and how even though I hate them I find myself craving strongly for more.
Pathetic.
Whatever disease is infecting me, be it from the mutt's origin or from something else, I have to find a cure for it soon. I'm starting to get the feeling I might have actually been a bit disappointed to see him leave in such a manner. Ridiculous, I know, for me to be disappointed about anything. I should be used to that by now.
When anyone else leaves, I'm content to be alone. When it's him leaving, it's harder to maintain that contentment. I'm a solitary individual. But, somehow, Wheeler makes me not want to be.
"Damn," I muttered, closing my laptop and looking to the side. I'd essentially finished the memos, though none of them were good and most were probably oozing sarcasm. I'm a clinical writer for the most part, but today brought out my inner snarker. Our teacher wasn't going to like that. I'll have to edit it later. I hate editing.
The sun was going to set soon. I could see it through the arboretum's sun roof, the sky turning a brilliant orange with faint shreds of pink and purple clouds. I put away my laptop and sealed the leaves into a Ziploc bag. With a swift movement, I grabbed my briefcase and leaned down to pick up Wheeler's slouching excuse for a backpack, hearing faint crinkling noises as whatever loose paper within crumpled further. I can't imagine how that's possible.
He knows where I live. Everyone knows where I live. If he wants it back, he'll just have to come get it from me.
"Moneybags?"
I turned with a start in the direction of the thickly-accented voice, and sure enough, there he was: the person I simultaneously wanted to see the most and least in all the world. The sunlight glanced at the water's edge, making fire of his golden hair. His honey-brown eyes looked glossy and red. I dimly wondered if something happened to his sister again. I don't even know the Wheeler family, but I'm familiar with his sister's medical record. Mixed emotions fought in my gut, one predictably positive and the other strangely negative. I blinked at him, keeping a neutral glare about me as I tried to decipher what that feeling was. I could only give it one name.
Concern.
I, Seto Kaiba, was concerned.
"You left your garbage here," I grunted, tossing him his backpack. I don't have the best arm in the world, but Wheeler caught it anyway. He has good hand-eye coordination, for a dog.
Wheeler was silent a moment, slipping the backpack over his shoulders. He looked at me with an indiscernibly sad expression, though I could not imagine the reason why. I hoped it had nothing to do with me. At the same time, I hoped it did.
If it did, that would give me an excuse to talk to him some more.
…
I'm pathetic. Really, I am. Desiring to talk to such a lowly mutt.
"Wheeler."
"Nyeh?" He gave me a look that was roughly equivalent to that of a kicked puppy, if it were also halfway angry.
I paused. "You were crying."
At that, his nostrils flared a bit, fingers twitching at his sides. "No I wasn't," he drawled, shooting me a gaze that looked guilty amidst the pain and resentment he was actively sharing. I knew his physical signs well enough to tell that he was lying to me. You might have well have just punched me again, Mutt.
"You're a dreadful liar," I scoffed, voice full of spite when I was more concerned and hurt than anything.
Wheeler looked away, voice barely audible. "I hoped you wouldn't notice," he replied bitterly.
Sure. Of course I wouldn't notice. Just like I don't notice every single solitary thing you do anyway. Seriously, though, if Wheeler knew just how many little details about him I see, how many of his mannerisms I've unintentionally memorized, he'd think of me as a creeper.
I'd pay a literal billion dollars to not have that happen.
"Hard not to," I curtly replied. "Your eyes are red."
"Shaddup."
He lingered. I knew in an instant that he wanted to say something. "Well?" I prompted. "You have your backpack. You can stomp away like a child having a tantrum, now."
Don't you dare fucking leave again or so help me, I will sick my private police force on you.
Wheeler looked me in the eyes again. He appeared, in a word, broken. "Maybe I will," he mumbled, though he showed no real signs of leaving. His expression melted into a disappointed scowl. "I hope you's happy, by the way."
I blinked. "What?"
"You always sit alone, Kaiba. Passing up all the boys and snubbing all the girls. You's a regular loner type. I thought all you needed was somebody to get you to cut loose once in a while to be happy." He turned around, flashing me a glare over his shoulder. "You seem so content pushing people away," he feebly continued, "but I wanted to know if it was possible for me to make the great Seto Kaiba laugh or smile." He gave me a small grin and my heart stopped. His voice grew stronger. "And, for a brief moment, I knew I could."
Wait… why am I hearing this out? He's just a mutt! A lowly mutt!
"I don't smile and I sure as hell don't laugh."
He turned about fully to face me, his body locked somewhere between being tense and relaxed — the exact way I feel when he's around me. I felt his defeated, good-natured grin playing my insides like a harp, plucking at each major organ with pangs of some indescribable urge. "I like your laugh," he chuckled. "It's a shame it belongs to someone who doesn't laugh at all — ain't it…" Wheeler's nose scrunched as a sassy smile replaced his beaten one, "…Seto?"
…Here comes that weird face fever again. If Wheeler had seen me actually shiver from the way he had said my name just now, all thickly-accented and Brooklyn and deep-sounding, I would have immediately denied it. To him, though. Not myself.
It's hard to deny that sort of thing when you're the one who felt it.
At any rate, I couldn't think of how to respond. He tilted his head up to me briefly and, for an instant, his honey eyes glowed gold in the arboretum light. It was a magical sight, his face illuminated by his radiant hair, his eyes, his cheeks, his very smile…
…
No, Seto. No. You shouldn't be… talking to such a… lowly mutt…
…
Such a lowly… b-beautiful mutt….
"You…" I began, struggling to find something to say so that he would stay here, even just a little bit longer. "You seem awfully cheerful for someone who's been crying."
A small puff of laughter escaped his nose. "Who's to say talking to you didn't make me feel better?" Wheeler grinned, winking one of his brilliant eyes in a way that made my chest throb. "I know you like to flaunt about your riches and your business and whatever, but that doesn't mean that deep down you's a cold and uncaring person." His eyes flashed sadly for a moment — a fleeting second — before he continued. "You may hate me, but that doesn't mean the feeling's necessarily mutual."
He looked startled for an instant, having a face that portrayed exactly the level of shock I felt when he uttered those words, before he blinked hard and turned around, fists clenched in embarrassment. He stomped away, and I was frozen in place, head and heart yelling different things and I could scarcely hear either.
Wheeler didn't hate me.
Wheeler didn't hate me.
Wheeler didn't hate me.
The notion was enough to propel me forward, putting my long legs to good use, and I grabbed one of his fisted hands. I'm not sure why I didn't put my hand on his shoulder like any other boy would, but whatever instinct I had acted upon decided to take his hand instead. They were bigger than my own, moderately tough and calloused, but still smooth on top. Wheeler had stopped immediately upon feeling my fingers clench around his fists, not turning to face me, but obviously listening.
"I don't hate you, Wheeler." Those words felt so alien on my lips, but as I said them, I realized just how true that statement was. "Not even close."
His eyes met mine, sweet and soft and confused as hell. His fists unclenched and I felt him twine his fingers with mine. Somehow, that gesture made my whole ribcage feel like it was fluttering. It was weird. I couldn't say I entirely disliked it. The proximity and intimacy of this gesture were wiping my mind clean of most rationality. I could even feel my chronically-frowning eyebrows relax a bit. I sensed my face was burning, which didn't help. In that instant, I wondered what I must have looked like to him. I was stiff as a board, yet also eased from the physical contact. My whole body felt warm and… nervous? I couldn't tell. What I did know is that I felt about as much embarrassment right now as Wheeler obviously had when he revealed the same thing mere moments before.
"Really?" My… the dog murmured, tilting his head a bit and taking a step closer. For a moment more, he was silent, looking me over once quickly before his eyes sparked with some kind of realization. He flashed me a cheeky grin all of a sudden, giving me another gesture that scattered most thoughts from my brain: wrapping his hands around my waist, pulling me closer to his doubtlessly warm, strong, shorter mutt-like body. "You's pulling my leg," he snickered.
I'm not sure if it was the disease that did it or my vague recognition of the social norm that hugs ought to be returned, but in any case, my arms wrapped around Wheeler's neck as though under a will of their own. My tongue felt very much tied. Humiliating, for a billionaire. "I… uhhh…."
Wheeler waited for a few moments, looking downright curious, but I quickly saw his Brooklyn impatience get the best of him. He stood on tip-toes and removed his arms from around me, pulling down my coat collar so that my face was pulled towards his. "Look me in the eye," he breathed, a chortling 'nyeh' reverberating in his chest. "I wanna be sure you ain't lying. That you, Kaiba, don't actually hate the 'mutt' that you so tease."
I nodded curtly. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my face. His hair smelled like a medley of different kinds of shampoos, a cornucopia of scents. I was filled with the sudden urge to get away, a need to assure no future embarrassment. It was hard enough saying that the first time. How am I supposed to—?
"You have words, Kaiba," he huffed. "You don't hate me? Not even a bit?"
He tilted his head slightly. I could feel the warmth of his lips, though they weren't actually touching mine. I swallowed. To mask my discomfort, a teasing smirk tempted the corners of my mouth. "Not even at all," I confirmed. "Joey."
The mutt promptly meshed his lips with mine. Doubt fled my mind as I immediately deepened it, leaning down into him, hearing him growl in his dog-like way as he fought for control. Though I could no longer think, it was at that moment I finally understood. He had recognized whatever meager physical signs I had to my condition, and not only did he acknowledge it, but he revealed he was inflicted with the exact same illness. This was no mere allergy. This was a chronic disease, a malady whose only cure is that which caused it in the first place.
Joey Wheeler and I were lovesick.
I suppose we'll just have to deal with that together.
One of my friends told me that I had made Kaiba act kind of uke in this piece. Honestly, I was sort of going for that. In my mind, I just don't see him as a seme type. I'm not sure why. Fortunately, writing Kaiba is all about different levels of (not-)subtlety, so I'm hoping that all of you who believe that Kaiba would seme in Puppyshipping won't despise me.
Also, these two are just too cute. I believe that should be my final comment here.
Reviews are always loved!