Warning: a ridiculously one-dimensional antagonist ;)
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A fat, middle-aged man in a uniform smelling of fried chicken escorts Joey into yet another small, dimly lit room with nothing but two folding chairs set across from a grey desk. No sound save for the faint buzzing of the ceiling lights, ragged breaths of the asthmatic man and the occasional squeaks of the rubber soles of Joey's inexpensive new shoes.
Without a word, the older man coarsely motions for the youth to take a seat, closes the door behind them and he uncomfortably takes place on a metal folding chair that is way too narrow for his way too well-fed bottom. He then proceeds to blow his pore ridden nose in a fabric handkerchief that he places back in his pocket. Looking away, Joey lets his eyes browse around.
Sadly, he sees nothing more than bleak walls. Because his new bound life is permanently drenched in artificial light, Joey can't tell what colour they are. Even the skin on the back of his hand would look blue to him if it weren't for the fresh, raspberry hued wounds on his knuckles.
He resists the urge of balling his fist in impatience at the unhurried bureaucrat - the healing skin would crack open again, and he doesn't wish to be seen bleeding in front of whoever-came-to-see-him.
He inhales, exhales, and that calms him down a bit. He takes in these unfamiliar surroundings.
Never been in that particular room before, and it's not quite what he had imagined. Every square inch felt deceptively familiar. All equally impersonal, cold, uninviting, just like the cafeteria, the cell, the bathrooms. Around him, no windows, no plants - everything is blank and nameless, save for a second door.
Behind it, the visitors' room. Joey knows this.
He can hear indistinct chatter, a baby crying. A few other inmates might be there. Surely Yuugi is, too. Or Honda yes, she s definitely there. And Anzu. Maybe even Serenity or one of his parents... No, that's highly improbable. And he can't think of a nice thing to tell his runaway mother or neglectful father.
But lonely as he is, he wouldn't mind seeing them. Surprisingly.
At any rate, Joey would be pleased just to see anyone. Anyone he actually knows, that is. Not a therapist trying to pry his soul open, not a lawyer eager to find a good case to win, not a jaded social worker.
Just talking to someone he shares memories with would be nice, even if the memories themselves might not be.
The man in uniform wipes his nose with the back of his wrist to get rid of an itch and clears his throat comfortably. It's obvious that this task is a hassle for him; he really couldn't bother less if the youngster in front of him gets a visitor or not. Neither does he care that behind that white metallic door, the guests in question might be waiting.
He sighs loudly and finally starts rummaging through the piles of paper covering the little desk, his motions slow and heavy, like his arms were waving around in thick molasses. He is clearly bored out of his skull.
"So... looks like your chinko friends got your message."
The blonde briefly feels the man's gaze on him, but doesn't return it. He wonders what his so-called "chinko friends" will think of his ample, bright orange shirt and trousers. More than the fabric, the one thing he hates about this clothing is the irritating caress of the cheap fabric on his skin.
And no, after two weeks, he still hasn't gotten used to that difficultly bearable textile molestation.
What he longs for is a pair of jeans. His have been sealed in a locker along with his modest belongings. He misses them - they were a second skin to him.
"Sure took a while to get back to you." Joey's not sure whether the man hopes him to respond or if he's merely content with a slow paced monologue.
Satisfied with his remark, the fatter man licks his already greasy thumb to get a grip on the form he'd been looking for, and proceeds to scribble on it.
"Makes you wonder if they care, eh?" He throws the mute young man a quick glance, a peep, hoping perhaps to see a snicker or a hint of sadness.
In vain. Joey is lost in thought, expressionless.
The mute thump of a stamp against the plywood of the desk marks the start of Joey's allowed visit time. He turns eagerly to find out the man is staring at him intently, immobile in his throne. Joey freezes, unsure how to react.
Seeing how the blonde isn't going to address the staff's rude remarks, the man in uniform scoffs, handing him the sheet.
"Once you sign this form here, you can spend thirty minutes in that room."
A nondescript header to the common mortal, but the next best thing to freedom for an inmate like himself: Non-contact Visit Form.
The blonde signs hastily. Handing the form back to the other man, he can't repress his knees from bouncing nervously. He takes another deep breath.
"Take it easy, boy," he adds with a lazy smirk.
As gracefully as he sat, and as slowly, as well, he stands up and shuffles through his keys. He coins another unpleasant comment that went right past Joey's ears. All that matters now is that the lock clicks deliciously.
Joey crosses the threshold to see a camera and the eyes of another staff following him intently. There are five booths lined up, and four of them are occupied by inmates he hasn't really gotten to know yet.
He walks up to the very last booth, the one he presumes is his, glancing at his neighbours' visitors on the way - a young girl with earrings bigger than a hoola hoop and a squirmy baby on her lap; a tough looking but very short man; a guy who looks like he belongs inside with him, an old lady with heavily bleached hair, tied in a tight ponytail...but no one is sitting across his own fortified glass panel.
No, rather, a tall brooding Asian young man can be seen taking long strides in circles, narrow shoulders draped in an unassuming black turtleneck, no trademark laptop or suitcase in sight, arms crossed, eyes condescending as they turn to the blonde, slender lips parting slightly to let a glistening tongue moisten them, ready to spill elegant profanities...
Brown eyes lock into hazel. Joey can't believe it.
Seto Kaiba.
The CEO stands before him, alone, ruled, and... amused? Kaiba grabs his own receiver quicker than his pride would usually let him. "You missed your master, mutt?"
Joey replaces his quizzical look by an all too familiar frown, and a feeling of self importance emerge on the brunette's features - but the cold salute curbs Joey's enthusiasm over the visitor. His swollen lower lip curls in disgust.
"Save your own fucking breath, Kaiba. Your English sucks."
It doesn't, in fact. But Joey is more than happy to have found in the arrogant CEO an imperfection to gnaw at - his horrendous pronunciation.
"Oh, and I assume that underprivileged accent of yours is better?" He chuckles - and Seto Kaiba usually saves his chuckles for the misfortunes of others. Still, there is no trace of the usual anger or resent in Seto's voice, and Joey can't begin to guess the reason behind his good mood.
Did the CEO come here just to mock him, to rub it in? That would surely be his type - to take comfort in the misfortunes of others. But would he fly the Pacific just for that? Again, that would be plausible, given Kaiba's eccentric tastes and renown wealth.
"Listen up, no one asked you to come here. I'm sure a big shot like you have better things to do than fly all the way to the asshole of America and insult worthless scum like me. Let's just switch to Japanese before you say anything that gets me in deeper shit."
There is a certain delay before Kaiba opens his mouth again - Joey can tell he's not used to hearing American English spoken so fast to him.
"I never said you were a low life scum, Katsuya."
Joey misses on the almost apologetic tone of the brunette's reply. His mood darkens abruptly, like he had lost the temper stamina he used to have when it came to fighting with Kaiba. Hazelnut tinted eyes look away.
"Don't call me by that name."
The blonde's voice, full of intent, managed to silence Kaiba momentarily. He wants to say that he doesn't want to be called a mutt either, or any name for that matter.
For a while, they just eye each other up through the tarnished glass, wordless. Kaiba looks like he dressed overly casually. Perhaps on purpose;
Judging that he has come up too strong, Kaiba corrects the blonde, this time without a trace of the mockery that was present in his earlier lines.
"Not low life. I said worthless." He casts a seemingly neutral look that was meant to come out as gentle. "I hate being misquoted," he adds with an upward lip curl that was meant to be an... awkward smile?
The blonde, not used to so many never-before-seen facial expression from the CEO, misinterprets the sympathetic smile as inquisitive, and scoffs at the lame attempt at humour.
"Worthless, yes, that does suit you better." He pauses, gives Joey's attire a second glance, slightly disdainful this time. Chilling blue eyes lock into brown ones again. "Just like that outfit. Lovely. " It was a voice sour like a man's wounded pride, and the blond willingly let the venom seep into his mind.
"You sound like a bigger prick in Japanese. Maybe we should switch back to English. I was getting used to you sounding retarded."
"You like it when I sound like a prick, don't you?"
"Shut it."
"We are here together to do precisely the opposite - talk. "
"You are. I ain't."
The two young men's sharp remarks flew too fast, lacked the suggestive taunting that lingered between them a couple years ago. Joey was being unusually sharp and serious - had he changed, or had he reverted to his true self? Where had the goofy, awkward, blushing blonde from their high school days gone?
"Cat's got your tongue, Kaiba? You here to waste my time or are you actually going to say something? You see, I find it interesting that you, looking how you've been avoiding me ever since -"
"If you think I flew all the way from Tokyo just to talk to you, you are wrong, mutt."
Hearing the dreaded nickname made Joey grit his teeth, but Kaiba did not wait for a reply.
"I'm here on business."
"Selling card games to rednecks? Good luck with that." Quick, sharp, tense. But the businessman knows when to grasp a good opportunity, even when worn out from an overseas flight, even when sleep deprived because of jet lag and especially when it comes to smothering his favourite target with spiteful remarks.
"Why do you despise your own kind so?"
"Oh, like you were born into royalty... Seto."
Joey doesn't like to hint at Seto's unfortunate upbringing, and he immediately bites his lip in regret. Tired and disappointed by his first face to face encounter with Joey in almost two years, the CEO doesn't see this. Defeated and annoyed, he furrows his brows, unwillingly revealing the hours of fatigue bagged under his eyes from the strain of the eighteen-hour-long flight.
This conversation is going nowhere. He feels his pocket, then looks at his wrist to realize that he purposely did not bring his cell phone and luxury watch along with him. He quickly estimates about eight or ten minutes have been wasted so far since the beginning of the unpleasant interview.
"Let me get this straight, mutt. You get caught at whatever illegal thing you were doing. You get in jail. You don't call a family member. You don't call your mob boss. You don't call Anzu who happens to be in America. You don't even call Yuugi or Honda. You call me of all people."
"I honestly don't know why I did. I must've been out of my mind," says Joey flatly.
"Oh don't play dumb. We both know why you chose me."
"No you don't." Seto's annoyance spreads to Joey like a virus. "Because I called you on a whim. And you know what? I fucked you on a whim, too. I know now that I really was out of my mind back then."
Not a sound save for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights blinking above the two young men drained by the quarrel they both know could have been avoided.
Taken aback by the strength of his own words, Joey finds himself unable to think of anything else to say. He casts a quick glance at the staff behind hind, forgetting for a moment that the man in uniform is completely unable to understand their conversation. He turns back to Kaiba who throws him the cold glare that makes his shareholders weep.
"I didn't come here to see how you were doing. I have come to visit my new property. You see, the chair you're sitting on, the floor underneath it, even the rags you're wearing, they're all mine now."
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Thank you to those who took the time to rate or review, or just those who have read the story up to this point! It means a lot to me.
There is a (short) prologue to this, Miranda Warning, in which most of the bases for the story are set.
Special thanks to quibbler149, Charger Warrior and Satsuriku-sama for the advice/beta'ing/proofing!