When I was very young, maybe around age six and definitely before my parents split my family, I used to want to be a weatherman. The kind that was on TV, you know. I would proudly stand in front of it, waving my arms around, glancing between the screen and the rest of the room, trying to come up with anything that sounded halfway coherent as the charts popped up relentlessly on the screen, one after another after another. My baby sister would sit on the floor in front of me, looking in my direction, amused. Sometimes she would ask me questions. Especially questions about what was really on the TV, not just what I was trying to extrapolate from the rapidly shifting graphs. She was blind.

I don't really know what happened to me now. I don't know why I'm not a weatherman, why I'm planning on making my living with some god-damned psychology degree that's basically a perfect way of saying "I didn't know what to do, so I did this" to potential employers. Maybe my problem is that I care about people too much.

I knew my sister couldn't just go and get the weather report off the television alone; so I helped her. When the opportunity came up for her to have corrective surgery while I was in high school, even though we had been separated for years after our parents' divorce, I got her the money (and that's a long story). I did everything I could think of for her. Maybe, I guess, I just thought I should do a little something for everything else too. My problem was my generosity, I think.

If you were to ask my friends, however, they'd probably come up with something like "Joey's one of the most loyal, happy-go-lucky people in the world! Let me go introduce you to him." You better believe it, too. Life's too short to sit around moping all day. That's a lesson I learned the hard way. It took me a while, though, to figure out that other people shouldn't mope around either.

Most people have learned not to mess with me, even though I try to be nice if you give me a chance. I was too soft when I was little. After spending years with my drunkard father post-divorce, I was molded into a bully by sixth grade. I was protecting myself from everybody else that might do something like what he did to me…. and maybe I was protecting myself from myself. By high school I was living a lie - I wanted to give and give and the only things I gave were insults and punches. My sister's operation helped my character out a bit, yes; it brought me back to earth a tad. But also I met my lifetime friend Yugi Moto during those years. The best man at my wedding. I had never thought of him as anything but a friend. But that didn't mean I think my 'soft' nature hadn't gone too far.

In high school, part of my problem, other than my giving complex, was that I never could admit that I was a bisexual. It seemed an unnatural idea to me, logically. Guys liked girls; girls like guys. That was the way it was. But that's not what my conscience told me. Sometimes, during tests in economics or math or some other boring class, I would glance up and look around surreptitiously. Sometimes I would see a face, or other body part, I thought was attractive. Most of them belonged to girls; I stared at those without shame. But every now and then I saw a guy that…. and I ducked my head sheepishly, and quickly. Usually, it was that same guy, too.

That guy. What a dude to have a crush on. Never mind that you won't admit to yourself, just dare to to even talk to the actual crush about it. I don't know how he even lived, then or now. I can't imagine how I must have lived, either - life without my sister, life where I'm mean for no apparent reason, a life full of malice. The "good" old days. No, this guy was everything impossible and beyond – a top student, basically a single parent of his smaller brother, and in charge of a nationally recognized gaming company. In my school. In my classroom. And he never looked tired. He just kept the same vacant, emotionless, piercing gaze… and that damned smirk…

I never told him how I felt. Now I'm standing here, my life as a bachelor just finished as wedding guests flood around me, some moving past me to get some food; to talk to other classmates that they haven't seen in a long time; and others – like Yugi – coming by to chat, just like always, the congratulations simply being understood by warm sincerity. Tristan is here and so is Duke. They fight over my sister. I'm kind of used it now; she can fend for herself now that she can see what's coming, and they squabble among themselves so much over who's better for her that nothing ever happens between any of the three of them. It's almost fun to watch. It was worth it, having my mind distracted.

After I met Mai… it was as if she were my sister Serenity. But she wasn't quite as close emotionally at first. Someone to look at from afar, and admire, and just be friends with up close. But never quite… forgetting… about her as you went to sleep and began to dream. I remember the first time I met her, and trust me, the first thing I noticed was not her face. I lost contact with Mai for a long time. My early adulthood was crazy, and so was hers; let's leave it at that. And then out of the blue, one day, there she was. A brand new little green sports car, her wild blond hair waving in the spring breeze, leaning lazily on the driver's door, sort of lazily smiling as she recognized me and raised a hand in greeting…

Mai's my wife. Mai's my wife. It was almost too good to be true. Ever since I proposed to her and she accepted, back almost a year ago, it was like that other side of me, the one interested in everyone in that unacceptable way, simply vanished, leaving not even the slightest wind in its wake. In one way I was relieved; I could act normally without fear of scaring myself, without being afraid that somehow I would subconsciously do something so bizarre it would disgust everyone around me. With the aid of retrospection I was almost sad that I had lost it.
I wasn't regretting it. No. I was sitting alone now, a plate of cake mostly eaten lying dejected on the tacky fold-up chair to my left, and I wasn't regretting it. My own wedding. No, this is what I had wanted. I loved Mai. I knew that, deep inside of me. She was perfect. Her spunk, her charisma, her charm… her trust. There was no reason to be sitting here like a bridesmaid with an overactive imagination.

I looked up again. He was still there, the bastard. He sat across the room from me, legs crossed, coat draped over the back of his chair. He hadn't changed since high school. Frankly I was appalled he even came. There was no practical, business-like reason for him to worry about me, or my wedding. Sure, I had talked to him a few times – mostly insults, which were always shot down with his more "genius" ones. I had even participated in some of his little publicity tournaments earlier on in my life. But… I was sitting here, almost regretting everything. He had re-awoken that soft side again, that dangerous one, the one I had always tried to hide, by being here. The one, maybe, that had given me the psychology degree. And Mai. And my friends. And….

He looked up then and I looked down. It was almost like our high school game now. I kept stealing glances at him, wishing to see those azure eyes that bored into everyone he looked at, and simultaneously fearing for my life should we make eye contact. Should I tell him? I didn't feel that weird tug anymore, did I? Not after everything he said to me (and what I said to him, too, I guess). But it had been years since I had last seen him. He might not look any different (and kudos to him for that), but if I know anything, people change. Parents divorced. My sister was no longer crippled. A friend grew into more. Been there and done that. I didn't learn it wisely, but I learned it well.

What would he say if I went up and simply said that I used to like him? Before we even really knew each other; back in high school. Say that as an icebreaker. He hadn't spoken to anyone here today insofar as I was aware. Maybe that was a bad sign; that was the way he was before. Or maybe it was because everyone here was used to him being a self-centered prick with far too much on his plate to deal with anybody else, so they just avoided him. Just like he would want them to.

Should I? Or shouldn't I? Should I? Or shouldn't I? Screw it. You only live once, and I've missed too many chances already. I got up and crossed the room, politely excusing myself as I wedged through conversations, my eyes trained consistently on the hard wooden floor.

"Hey."

The man didn't look up at me, but he tensed slightly. So at least he wasn't deaf; he might even recognize my voice.

"Where's your brother? I haven't seen 'im here." That should get him to talk.

"He's taking care of my company while I'm here watching your pals shove cake in each other's faces making complete fools of themselves."

Same old, same old, I guess.

"Listen, I just wanted…. I wanted to say…. thanks for comin', man. It means a lot."

He looked at me then, his face completely impassive. It was like he didn't have facial muscles. I know he did though; I had seen them enraged on several fleeting and unlucky occasions.
"Pleasure." So quick, lacking in gravity or true feeling. He turned away from me again.

"..Ya really mean it? Ya know, after everythin'?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, you're not as much of a dweeb as the rest of your pals are."

"Were."

"Excuse me?"

"Tristan's a linguist. Mai has her own fashion show. Yugi… he's livin' like a king, simply showin' up at tournaments and waving his hand around like the Good Witch before he walks home with his wad of cash. None of them are working in the sewers like you might think."

"Hnn. That's nice," he said, and to my surprise he continued, "Mokuba's been taking an interest in languages too. He even made one up and tried to make me learn it once."

"Really? That's….cool." I realized that I still thought that Mokuba would still be as small as he was when I last saw him, when he was what? Fifteen? But by now he should be just as tall as his I-am-god older sibling. The whole 'make-up-a-language' deal was a bit out of my league though. I decided to move around it and cut to the chase.

"Listen, there's something else I wanted to mention."

"Still?" He was getting tense. The fact that he was talking to me at all was a good sign, though, so I kept going.

"I…. you see, a while back… back when we were still in school….I…"

"You didn't hate me, did you." It came out of him, just like that. I couldn't respond. It was one of the more odd phrase to throw out at me. Did it mean that he knew I…liked…him? Or was it literal, as if, our fights hadn't started and he thought we should hang out later or something? Or was I over-thinking this?

"I guess, yeah, but…"

There was a silence in the conversation, but the reception just kept on getting noisier around us. Glasses clinking as toasts were made. A wave of female screams; Mai must have just done of her wedding ritual things. She had talked about wanting to do them for months. Actually, most of this wedding was her idea. It was her idea, even, that he should come. Her idea that I should give him a chance.

Now he needed to give me one, the ass.

"I kind of liked you."

"That's what I said." His voice was impatient, gruff, clipped.

"…you…knew? Is that why you…?"

"I was mad at you for not accepting who you were. Trust me, Wheeler, I'm not an imbecile. I have eyes; I remember your little games of peek-a-boo across the math room when we were testing, doing homework, even during lectures sometimes. I know that you're not gay, Wheeler; but I know that miss Valentine isn't everything in your world either."

"What the hell are you-?" I was panicked. I ignored the fact he referred to my wife with her maiden name.

"Listen to me." He shifted his weight and actually turned his head, gracing me with his oh-so-important attention. "You were sitting in the corner doing what you did back then again - playing jack-in-the box like a schoolgirl. You want to tell me how you felt about me. Do you still feel like that?"

No. Not at this rate. I'm the kind of…person…. that feels attraction to….guys…. only at a distance. When I get close, no, it's more normal. I'm perfectly straight. Mai made sure of that when she came into my life. So then what was I doing here?

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, you creep! I was gonna tell ya that…. that…."

There was a pause that lasted forever as my brain frantically searched for some other legitimate response.

"I thought so." Kaiba moved up in a single movement, rising to his full height, towering above everyone else in the room. "You see, the only reason I came to your little party was because I was curious to see if you had grown up from the dweeb I knew from back when. To see if you had come to grips with yourself. You've answered my question, mutt. Now get out of my way."

"Why'd ya even bother comin', rich boy?" I was trembling in rage.

"Sometimes people change." His voice was like coarse velvet as a broad, skeletal palm effortlessly shoved me roughly to one side.

He… wasn't any different, the jerk! He was wondering if I had changed! If I was the one that had somehow went outside myself to act like the complete and total prick instead of actually caring about some people, instead of having friends!

"To hell with ya if you think I should go under some wacko personal crisis just to please ya! What about you? Have you grown up from that ass that ya still are? You-"

The room had gone quiet. Dead quiet. Mai was gasping at me, her red, red lips slackened into an uneasy o.

"Who are you yelling at, Joey?" She asked, her voice shrill, barely under control. She seemed genuinely distressed about having her precious dream day ruined.

"I'm yellin' at-"

But he had gone; not even his magical billowing trench coat rippled in the still air.