Jou sat down on a little chair beside the fireplace in the bedroom of the neat penthouse in uptown Domino. Our apartment. Seto had almost always slept in the Mansion, but he came to stay there whenever he could spare the time from work.
In his lap he held a little stack of letters in his hands. Letters penned onto pages with The CEO of Kaiba Corporation's letterhead, scraps of legal pad sheets, even a paper napkin folded carefully into an origami dragon. Emails are too easy to trace, the words written in looping, cursive English, we'll use paper and ink instead.
At first it had been exciting, the novelty of secret love notes. As time went on, he treasured them: the physical symbol of their love he couldn't get anywhere else outside their apartment. Some proof in the empty rooms that it was real.
He opened the oldest letters, the paper yellowed with age. The sweet words left for Jou on Seto's empty pillow when he woke in the morning. Painting the magic picture of their future together. When things were stable, they'd live together and have each other and their love.
What had he had to defend against that? He'd fallen, hard and fast.
Now he tried to ignore his stinging eyes and folded the paper back up. With eyes squeezed shut, he crumpled the yellow paper into a ball and tossed into the flames of the fire.
It was a journey from the sweet hopeful, watching hesitation and paranoia seep into the lines and poisoning every moment in hindsight.
They can't know, words, a small letter folded inside the jewellery box of an expensive, antique wristwatch. They can never know what this means to me. What promise it symbolizes. You can't wear it, but I want you to have it—to know what you mean to me.
No they could never know that Kaiba Seto was in love with Jonouchi Katsuya. The loser-dog, the broke kid, the ex-gang member, the guy.
KC's reputation is tenuous enough as it is. We can't risk alienating families when their children are our primary sales target.
That one he tore in half before it joined the flames to transform into glowing ash.
Because he couldn't show that he was in an honest, loving relationship with another man, but – he turned his gaze to the newspaper on the desk in the corner. But the world could know that he had been fucking the beautiful young starlet Kisara for months – the married young starlet. He could splash every secret email and text on the gossip columns, photos and interviews confirming the relationship her husband had tried to blackmail him with.
Because it mattered how the world saw Kaiba Seto. But it didn't matter how it hurt Jou to see the news everywhere he looked—when he'd never know about it before.
I don't care that you keep the letters, he'd written, early in their relationship, as tokens of my love. But if this ever ends, I'll need you to burn them. Never use them against me. Can you agree with that, koibito?
He could do it. Seto had destroyed what was between them—with his secrecy, and his willingness to expose that relationship to the world when Jou couldn't even have his phone number because call logs could be traced.
I love you, Katsuya. Is that enough?
It had been enough. It had been enough when he was Seto's, and Seto had been his. But had Seto ever been just his? Some of the emails were as old as Jou's letters.
Kisara's husband had tried to blackmail with information he thought KaibaCorp would never wanted released. Jou had in his home, their apartment, paper evidence of the information Seto had begged him to keep secret above all.
But he could never use it. KaibaCorp's history was already blackened, Seto didn't want more. His relationship with Jou would be another lump of charcoal on the whole scandalous story of Kaiba's sordid affairs of the past few years.
So he was erasing himself from the narrative. The world would never know how he reacted when Kaiba broke his heart. Seto had torn it all apart.
But the world didn't need to know. The world would never know if Jou had thought or felt or said anything about the matter. Nobody would ever know he was involved at all. The world didn't have the right to his heart, their bed, their home.
And Kaiba had forfeited the same rights. He'd discarded Jou like he was nothing. Maybe he was nothing to him, after all this time. So Kaiba could have their home, their bed—but only the memories of when Jou had been in them too.
The last of their letters, a delicate origami dragon, crumpling and uncurling as the flames caught until I love you were exposed and burned up.
Jou stood up then. He crossed to the desk and the newspaper, thrown open on Seto and Kisara's smiling face. He carefully opened the watchbox, looking at the expensive shining platinum, the glittering diamonds and sapphire one last time. Then he sat it down on top of Kisara's face in the picture.
Everything had been turned off and unplugged. Maybe Kaiba would come check it out when he got the power bill and saw the difference in use. Maybe he would smell the smoke, and come in, see the newspaper and the watch and the ashes in the fireplace and know what he'd done.
Or maybe his letters would pile up by the door. Maybe the apartment would stay locked up and forgotten forever. Like Jou had been.
He sighed and slipped out of their apartment. Kaiba's apartment.
I saved every letter you wrote me
From the moment I read them
I knew you were mine
You said you were mine
I thought you were mine
Do you know what Angelica said
When we saw your first letter arrive?
She said
"Be careful with that one, love
He will do what it takes to survive."
You and your words flooded my senses
Your sentences left me defenseless
You built me palaces out of paragraphs
You built cathedrals
I'm re-reading the letters you wrote me
I'm searching and scanning for answers
In every line
For some kind of sign
And when you were mine
The world seemed to
Burn
Burn
You published the letters she wrote you
You told the whole world how you brought
This girl into our bed
In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives
Do you know what Angelica said
When she read what you'd done?
She said
"You have married an Icarus
He has flown too close to the sun."
You and your words, obsessed with your legacy…
Your sentences border on senseless
And you are paranoid in every paragraph
How they perceive you
You, you, you…
I'm erasing myself from the narrative
Let future historians wonder how Eliza
Reacted when you broke her heart
You have torn it all apart
I am watching it
Burn
Watching it burn
The world has no right to my heart
The world has no place in our bed
They don't get to know what I said
I'm burning the memories
Burning the letters that might have redeemed you
You forfeit all rights to my heart
You forfeit the place in our bed
You sleep in your office instead
With only the memories
Of when you were mine
I hope that you burn
Hamilton: An American Musical, "Burn".