Author's notes: There are going to be mistakes in this. I've tried to make this as authentic a Japanese New Year fic as possible, but chances are that the research I've done is far from perfect. Also, as Domino is a fictional city in Japan, I've had to make up fiction places within it, which is something I'm not very good at.
Also, this was supposed to be a light, fluffy New Years fic. Well, that idea got shot to hell after the first paragraph. SPOILERS FOR END OF BATTLE CITY ARC, by the way, as a large part of this story deals with Jounouchi dealing with some of the consequences of the tournament.
Added note: Takes place after Battle City, but before the DOOM saga. Obviously.
The 105th Sin.
The snow that stains the landscape closer to grey than white belongs far away from the pretty postcards that are available at every vendor down the main street of Domino city. Dulled rolling hills resemble far more the postcards of yester year, Katsuya thinks, if only because the thin layer of dust that covers the cards that live in his desk are about as dirty as the 'picturesque scenery'.
It is bitterly cold.
He doesn't know why he is here.
He keeps walking.
The path is paved badly, unadvanced by either technology or the fear of lawsuits. It is cluttered, yes, but it is a clutter of dead twigs and decaying leaves, the throngs of people that crowd the entrances to Kayto or Minoya temple represented only through the occasional slug that he must share the battered stones with.
Cold. Bitterly.
Or perhaps just bitter.
He doesn't know why he is here.
If he was a child, he thinks that perhaps he would leap from stone to stone, playing some silly game about trying not to break his mother's back. Deciding that sixteen really isn't that old when ones does the math, he decides to jump between them anyway, although the chant is slightly different. But no less morbid.
One jump, two jump.
He doesn't quite make the third one.
Death to daddy. Oh, well.
The temple that he reaches quickly in his haste to 'accidentally' kill off as many people as painfully as possible is hardly worth the effort of travelling several miles out of the city. It is no more authentic than the tacky transformations that the larger temples in the city have undergone. Kayto and Minoya at least were once historically more than an enticement for tourists and an empty promise to those who still believe that they can dispel all their evils of the past year by simply wishing it away in the correct fashion. The temple he is before now does not even have a name, has no history to call its own. Even its age cannot impress, as the wooden panels and wide, beckoning arch are less than half a century old. The pathway that he has just left is all that remains of the shrine that stood here once, before vandals decided that burning down the ancient building sounded really 'cool'.
He doesn't really care, either way.
For a moment, he tries to do.
Desperately, desperately tries to.
He finds that it is only the memory of fire that bothers him, and the flames hold little connection to the badly constructed building before Katsuya. Phoenix flames wrapping around him, strangling, charring, drowning. Phoenix flames that began their torment as fire and ended up staining the duelling arena in a red of a different kind.
Phoenix flames that bring thoughts of only pain and defeat. And Marik.
Marik.
So cold.
So bitter.
So very much screwed up.
At least his mind is his own once again, even if it is far more messed up than it was several months ago. Perhaps that is why he has come all the way out here, not to seek some sort of answers from a shoddy temple but to numb himself on the apathy the blanket of snow that surrounded it offers. It is a silly notion that he dismisses instantly, not because the snow is anything other than apathy defined, but because the blank and empty feeling it projects is the only other emotion he has been able to feel in the past few weeks. Drowning in flames or awash in nothingness. Hot or cold.
But always bitter.
What a wonderful way to usher in the New Year.
He decides to sit. He cares little for the stains that form almost instantly on his jeans as he plonks himself down on the pathway, the cleaning duties they endured earlier in the day having already destined them to 'rag duty' in the new year. Clean house for a clean start to the upcoming year, a notion just as silly as being able to wish away your sins, but Katsuya finds himself indulging in it every year, regardless. There is no desire to enter the temple; he is here for the bell ringing only.
Katsuya is not stupid, or at least, not always so. He notices when the figure sits down beside him, he simple chooses not to acknowledge the trespasser into his reflective moment.
"I would have thought you would have been at some stupid party with those idiots you call friends."
Until said intruder decides to speak, of course.
"I would have thought you would have been indulging in the spirit of New Year's by putting someone out of business."
They are like lines from a distant play, one he can remember enjoying once, but cannot really recall more about it than that. Pretty lines, clever lines. Familiar and yet so very foreign, lines.
"Where's Mokuba?" There are no excuses this time, although Katsuya doesn't know why he is the one to break the silence that follows their little 'greeting'. His companion pauses for a moment.
"At some stupid party. With some idiot school kids in his year."
Katsuya almost smiles then, almost. If their previous exchange had been lines from a well-loved play, then 'Katsuya Smiles Freely' is surely the title. It isn't that he never smiles anymore, far from it. It's more that he just seems detached from the smiles that reach his lips, almost as though they are merely automatic and have no real connection to his thoughts. Not forced, not fake. Just … not his.
He doesn't ask in the end why Kaiba is here, he simply doesn't care. It's one of the aspects he has grown use to of his personal flames and ice. No matter how long and brilliantly the fire burns or how devastatingly cold the ice becomes, the end result is always the same.
Numb.
Empty.
Bitter.
"When I was a child, my sister and I would stay up until midnight and wait for the bell ringing, every New Years," he tells the wind and the trees, the snow and stones. And Kaiba, if he is listening. We used to try and count 108 sins for each of the chimes, what with the whole point of the bells to be to ring away the 108 sins of man." Katsuya laughs, and while Kaiba doesn't join in, he is sure that he hears a chuckle or two from the trees. "The most we could ever come up with was six. And even then we were often pushing it." Six sins. The day his sister had left, he discovered another two dozen.
"The bells should be starting any moment now." Cold. Uncaring.
Perfect.
"I know."
They do start then, a tinny sound that is unlike the beautifully hollow ringing that haunts his memories. And yet, it is almost as though his loving sister is at his side, and not some pompous bastard.
Ring.
Breaking your sister's favourite toy.
Ring.
Blaming your brother for an untidy room.
Ring.
Drawing on the walls.
Ring.
Being naughty.
Ring.
Making papa cry.
Ring.
Making mama yell.
Ring.
"Forgetting your brother's birthday."
It is not until Kaiba adds his own sin that Katsuya knows that he has been speaking aloud after each ring. He doesn't turn to the other boy as Kaiba goes on, in a voice that sounds like it should be lecturing in some boardroom instead of wasting precious breath out in the middle of nowhere. Coming home late. Working through the weekend. Always looking inwards. Inability after inability. Greed. Desire for power. Control.
Kaiba carries them through to 32, Katsuya takes the total up to 67.
"Pig-headedness."
Ring.
"Being weak."
Ring.
"Stupid. Stu-pid."
Ring.
"Fucking fruity trench-coats."
A snort.
"You don't even wear trench-coats, Jounouchi."
"Yeah, but your ones have taught me enough to know that they're a huge sin against nature and good taste."
Ring.
At 70, they start finally on the general sins, the ones that they would be more concerned about if it wasn't for the fact they are both generally too screwed up to care about little things like sloth and envy.
Ring.
Silence. Their sins are forgotten, their minds cleansed.
"You didn't care if he had ended up killing me."
Never. The bells echo too deep to ever be drowned out completely.
"No, I didn't."
"You cared more about some stupid card than the life of someone you actually knew." Katsuya speaks it conversationally, although hard eyes glazed with honey stare stoically ahead.
"Yes." Casually formal.
"That's screwed up Kaiba." Anger struggles through the softness of his tone. "Completely and utterly screwed up."
"I know."
There is nothing more to add, words that have been building up for weeks now useless when fought with the dirtiest defence of all: agreement. Kaiba, it appears, doesn't agree. At the very least, he doesn't know where to stop.
"The only person I've seen die deserved his fate. Even his death was … fairytale like, a disjointed and twisted form of reality that someone else appeared to be viewing, someone who just happened to borrow my eyes for a moment."
"Sin number 12, Kaiba. Selfishness. Isn't it a bit early to be starting on the corruption of your soul?" Katsuya does not want to hear this. Any of this. But Kaiba, as always, ignores him. Sin 27.
"Death was merely a different word for defeat. Defeat was like death and death was the ultimate defeat. I drew no line between the pair, saw no distinction. Neither touched me, and over time, they simply became … entwined. The more I let the card-game become some sort of substitute for living, the closer the definition of the two became until they were merely a substitute for the other."
Katsuya punches him, then. A harsh powerful knock that would surely have done more damage if Katsuya's fist hadn't only grazed Kaiba cheek, his aim handicapped by the tears blurring his vision.
"Fuck you," he croaks, as Kaiba falls backwards, elbows sagging against the paving. "You selfish, fucking bastard." A mockery of a laugh escapes Katsuya's lips, as one hand comes up to bat angrily at the betraying tears. There is nothing now, nothing but the flames and the ice, he has lost the one thing that was keeping him sane. Blame. "You couldn't bear to even lose just this once, could you, Kaiba? Does winning really mean that much to you?"
Kaiba doesn't reply, simply looks up at him with expressionless eyes as Katsuya continues ranting. Raving. Bleeding fire, bleeding ice.
It takes Katsuya far too long to realise that Kaiba is acting as some twisted form of tourniquet, and that this letting of emotion has all been deliberately set-up.
This time, the punch hits Kaiba square on the jaw. The bruises will be beautiful, tomorrow.
The momentum of the throw is too much, or perhaps everything in general has been, and Katsuya uses it simply as an excuse. He crashes against Kaiba, robbing the other boy of any chance of stabilising himself after being hit, and they both end up on the ground. Katsuya however has an oddly enough Kaiba shaped cushion 'protecting' him from jagged stones.
"Feel any better?" It's a question that is so unlike Kaiba that even Kaiba snorts immediately after saying it. Katsuya doesn't move from where he is half sprawled across Kaiba's chest, too tired - too worn - to care.
"I don't know." It is an honest answer, if not the desired one. Perhaps later, when he has time to settle his thoughts he will discover that something within him has changed. Katsuya thinks that perhaps, just perhaps, he can already feel the stirrings of something, and that is enough, right now.
"Would it help if I told you that I only used to never care if you lived or died, part of the time?"
The elusive 'Katsuya smile' that has not been seen of late makes a tiny, brief appearance. It doesn't make him anymore attractive; it doesn't light up the dank clearing.
It does something far more important.
For just a moment, Katsuya feels as though he can actually breathe again.
"Oh? And what were your thoughts concerned with when my potential death bored you?"
"Sin number 106."
Sin 106?
Suddenly his Kaiba cushion is gone, and he finds himself between a layer of stone and a hovering Kaiba. The 'hovering' part doesn't last for long, before heated lips are crushed against his own. Shock penetrates first, but he quickly ignores the emotion, allowing something positive to - finally - seep through instead. Warmth, desire, heat.
This time, there is no fear. He is not burning or aflame, simply melting. There is a spark of something that comes not from the nightmares he finds himself unable to escape even in his waking moments, a sort of attraction and understanding that is uncomplicatedly based simply on the physical.
"I never knew you had such a reaction to earrings, should I warn Otogi?" Harsh breaths separate them, slightly bemused eyes looking up into emotionless ones.
"Excuse me?"
"Sin 106? When bad earrings happen to attractive people? Or where you perhaps after number 104, which had something to with – what was it? Lust, perchance?"
Kaiba's response is to simply stand, a slight rise of his eyebrow the only hint of humour. Katsuya doesn't follow his lead, instead only gets as far as a sitting position, eyes once again falling on the temple.
"I don't suppose you feel like explaining what just happened, Kaiba." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kaiba shrug.
"It seemed appropriate for the moment."
Appropriate for the moment. Indeed.
Next time he glances over, Kaiba is gone. He is hardly surprised, not the least disappointed. The world seems not quite so heavy on his shoulders as he gets to his feet, not close to being bearable yet, but devoid of the devastating crushingness of earlier. Kaiba's presence here has solved little, but that it has possibly solved anything is too strange a concept for Katsuya to quite comprehend yet.
Sin 106. Earrings.
Sin 104. Lust.
As he walks back along the path, back towards partial civilisation, he lets his mind wonder just briefly if it was really sin 104 that Kaiba had deliberately avoided by choosing the ridiculous. For, between Earrings and Lust, falls one more sin.
Culpability.
It is perhaps the closest Kaiba will ever get to an apology.
He finds that the wind is somehow slightly less bitter, by the time he makes it back to his bike.