Heva: I've had this floating around my laptop for ages. I wrote it ages ago and never uploaded it because, well frankly I thought it was a horrible idea.
Coel: There's no slash?
Heva: No it's not slash and its just a short thing I wrote in a rather depressed mood. I found it again this morning after I had a row with my now ex boyfriend and edited it. So here it is.
Coel: Heather doesn't own Yu-gi-oh or any of the characters or Seto would be main character and 4kids would never have been allowed to destroy it.
I'm not the same as Seto whatever Mokuba tells me. We are different.
I'm the failure, the one never able to meet my father's demands. The unperfected child who he stopped caring about. Who he never cared about.
Seto's the child who replaced me. The one darling dad preferred and tried to shape into his own desires. The perfect child who excelled where I failed. The one who beat my father at his own game
We are not the same.
I heard the front door slam and rushed foot steps towards the stairs. A glance towards the sofa showed that Mokuba was still sleeping soundly after waiting for his brother's return. I had tried to persuade him to go to bed but he refused until Seto came home.
The footsteps continued upstairs in a manner that suggested their owner didn't want to be disturbed and I guessed Seto's day could have gone better. Days like this were getting more frequent recently as a new tournament was approaching but the equipment that needed updating was running behind schedule. The fact that someone had leaked this information to the media was slowing things down even more due to security against reporters having to be introduced on top of the already overworked staff.
Seto had changed a lot about the company since he took it over and it had become one of the nicest places to work according to a newspaper run poll that Mokuba showed me. I think its Mokuba's influence on him that gets the changes done, and I'm jealous of Seto.
We aren't the same; he always had Mokuba, I had no one.
The slamming of a door upstairs roused me from my thoughts and I glanced back down at Mokuba. He shifts slightly in the seat but shows no other signs of waking. Seto had come home yesterday in a mood like this and I had been about to follow him upstairs when Mokuba stopped me.
"He needs to be alone. He's dealing with his stress. Don't get involved."
Mokuba just has this effect on people around him which makes them do what he says. I feel guilty, like I've let him down if I don't. He's asleep now which leaves me free to follow Seto.
I'm just a computer hologram which means that I can turn off my visible projection and walk around the house unnoticed by the others. Seto designed it all and even linked up every room in the house and most of the gardens with projector systems, similar to the ones his company makes, that allow me the freedom to walk around as if I was human again. He even connected up the majority of electronic systems into the house's electronics so that I can do things like set up the tv to show a film or switch on the coffee maker for Seto in the morning.
It's the small things that usually mean the most to me as far as Seto's concerned. It was the way he put a projector system into the garden beside the lake, next to the bench, where I used to go to be alone when I was younger, that made me smile more than all the time he spent working to make it happen. He also smiles at the little things, like how I put on the coffee maker in the morning for him.
I guess we do have similarities, but doesn't everyone appreciate the little ways that people say thank you or show that they care? Seto gave me a new life and trusted me; I at least owe him a coffee in the morning.
I walk silently up the stairs to Seto's room. It's shut and locked but I can walk straight through it and see a disturbingly familiar sight.
The room looks pristine as it usually does on first inspection, until you notice the small selection of bandages out on the bed. They are already cut to the right length and placed next to a pot of cream. Sounds of water running from the bathroom made me realise what had happened. I didn't need to look but I did anyway. Maybe me and Seto aren't as different as I thought.
The redness of the blood as it poured away down the sink was horrible. I can't begin to explain quite how disgusting it is to watch someone else hold the knife over their arm and cut. An exhale of breath that could be mistaken for a sigh of relief from Seto made me look at his face. His expression was one of relaxation as he watched his own blood trickle from his arm. I was transfixed by the sight of that silver knife draw red lines across pale skin. It was almost hypnotic and I felt the sting in my own arms as the water in the basin became an increasingly vivid red colour.
The memories of doing this myself a long time ago washed over me and I felt ashamed by myself, yet here was one of the most important people in my life doing exactly the same thing. For once Seto seemed to be down on my level.
Seto finished his macabre ritual of slicing his arms and washed them in the water before cleaning the knife. Each of the cuts seemed to fall into an appalling pattern of parallel lines. He placed the knife into the back of the cabinet on the wall and walked into the bedroom.
I followed.
He hissed as the cream connected with his wounds but continued to rub it into the cuts before winding the bandages around his arms.
I watched.
He eventually sat down his bed and just sighed.
I took a step forward.
Then he burst into tears. They soaked through his bandages as he brought his hands up to his face. The red of his blood was beginning to seep through as the tears cascaded down. Only one line was audible through the sobbing.
"I let them down."
Yes me and Seto are the same.
Me, Noa Kaiba, who never lived up to my father's standards, and Seto Kaiba, who cannot live up to his own, are the same.