I
Jounouchi still remembers how Kaiba smelled when he stepped out of the shower. Kaiba never wore cologne – it was just the slightly sweet scent of his body wash and the spice of his deodorant. Even as far apart as they are now, Jounouchi can smell it like Kaiba is standing behind him.
Even in the desolate reek of the morgue, Jounouchi can smell it. His shoes tapping the blank tile as he crosses the room, he looks down at Kaiba, bare on a gurney, and wonders if it should be overpowered by death, or maybe if it's permeating from the box of his personal effects on the floor.
Accidental. Jounouchi reaches out to touch Kaiba's pallid face, but the nurse grabs his wrist. "You'll want to keep him uncontaminated until the police arrive. The fewer prints..."
"My prints are already on him," he says – his voice sounds foreign. She blinks at him without comprehension for several seconds before he realizes that he's spoken in English. He repeats himself – he's already left prints on the body. It seems an understatement. His prints are burnt into Kaiba's skin, permanently etched, like the faint web of scars across Kaiba's back. Jounouchi's prints will follow Kaiba to the grave. She looks around like she expects to be caught before she lets his wrist go.
It feels like a century later when the police arrive. Kaiba's face is chilled.
#
When Mokuba arrives he's wearing jeans and a t-shirt – Jounouchi vaguely remembers that it's Saturday afternoon. They had been planning to have dinner to meet Mokuba's fiancée. It all feels so dim, like recollections of a story he read a long time ago. Mokuba's face is still, his lips set in a straight line. He looks like Kaiba in some ways.
"He looks like pictures of our father," Mokuba says. Jounouchi remembers, with sudden and uncomfortable clarity, the morbid morgue photos Kaiba acquired when they were nineteen. Nineteen had been a rough year – morgue pictures of the birth father had been the least of it. Jounouchi feels a prickling in his chest. "When – "
"This morning," Jounouchi says – it slips out in English again, but Mokuba understands. "On our way – " He chokes on the word "home." He stumbles to the trash can in the corner and retches. His cheeks are wet, and despite his lunch being at the bottom of a pail he feels heavier than ever.
#
Mokuba's fiancée seems appropriately upset when Mokuba and Jounouchi arrive at the estate. It looks the same but feels like someone else's house. They had moved out when they were twenty, locking the doors and leaving it to a handful of caretakers. Kaiba and Mokuba, with an unsure Jounouchi in tow, took off for California. When Mokuba was twenty-two he had moved back to Japan to run the branch of Kaiba Corporation. Jounouchi wants to go back to the condo, back home where Kaiba's pillows still smell like him. Jounouchi can feel his chest shrinking as he thinks about their bed.
Mokuba's fiancèe's name is Elle. She has tight brown curls and narrow eyes, and she follows Mokuba dutifully as they make their way through the mansion, back towards the den. Mokuba takes a seat on the couch, and she stands near the door with one hand on the knob. Jounouchi takes the chair next to Kaiba's favorite armchair (next to the patio doors in case he ever needed to make a run for it).
"You should stay with us," Mokuba says. Jounouchi shakes his head – in a small way Elle mirrors this motion. "You can't go home yet. It's too soon."
Jounouchi looks over at the patio doors. The seat to his left is too empty. He doesn't want to speak, just in case he breaks. He manages to open his mouth and breath deep. "I keep expecting him to..." The sentence squeaks to a halt, and Mokuba looks at his hands.
"I know." Mokuba's voice is thick. "I told the police to contact me if they find anything." Jounouchi doesn't point out that Mokuba takes charge like his brother. Elle is still standing in the doorway. Jounouchi can't help but feel like she's intruding.
"Is anyone...? Tea," she says, and exits quickly. Jounouchi hates tea. He looks at Mokuba; Mokuba stands and closes the den door and locks it. Leaning against the door, Mokuba lets himself cry.
"Mokuba – "
"I don't want her to..." Mokuba wipes his face with his palms. Now Jounouchi feels like the intruder. "I don't want her to tell me that it's okay." Mokuba is staring at the empty chair. "Please, just stay tonight. We can talk again tomorrow."
By the time Elle arrives with the tea Mokuba is composed. Jounouchi feels like he's falling apart.
#
Being alone in Kaiba's old bedroom is awful. Jounouchi remembers the first time they fell into this bed, shortly after a fight and too much gin – remembers the way Kaiba smiled in the dark like Jounouchi wouldn't notice. Thinking about Kaiba's smile, Jounouchi buries his face in the musty pillows and lets his heart break.
[tbc]
Notes;
I embark a series of uncomfortable things here, the least of which being that I haven't written really thoughtful fanfiction in a long, long time. Not to say I think this is really thoughtful, but more than what I tend to go for when the mood hits.
But I haven't finished this piece. I have the basic frame of where I'm going with it, but it's been a long time since I started posting without at least a detailed outline. It's been so long since I've written consistently, though, and I've decided than an audience is the kick in the ass I need.
Also, I don't have a beta reader anymore. I'm so removed from the fandom that I wouldn't know where to start looking anymore. (On that note, any takers? XD) I looked around on this site for a while, but had no luck. So any glaring errors are 100% my fault. The hard part is tense; I'm doing something a little off here, and I like the style, but later I catch myself using the wrong tense.
I've been kicking this around since I was pregnant, to be honest. (For frame of reference, my son is nine months now.) It was supposed to be a drabble, and then it became a one shot, and now... Well, now we'll see what it becomes. Thanks for reading, and have a great holiday! =D
Ashes doesn't own YuGiOh. No characters or concepts. Nothing. All for fun.