Rewrite: I have changed relatively little in this chapter, just corrected a few errors and rewritten some bloated parts.
"Lights out!"
A click, and then the sound of a great machine being switched off, only magnified hundreds of times over throughout the capacious halls. Darkness fell with relief over the empty rooms, every single one thrown into blackness. A short mixture of sighs and shouts of annoyance rose from the dormitory Jounouchi slept in, followed by a clamour of shushing and reprimands.
In the debilitating dark, Jounouchi could just about make out the slim outline of Yuugi's bed next to his, the blurred silhouette of his poorly combed-back hair atop the pillow. He had gone to sleep half an hour ago, as had several of the other boys. The first day was always a shock to the system, becoming painfully used to the long school hours and the several hours of homework to be completed afterwards. They never got too much work on the first day of term, however, most of the first lessons just being based around introductory courses. It didn't change the exhaustion that you would have to deal with afterwards.
Insomnia had been a pleasant distraction throughout the holidays, Jounouchi had observed, staying up most of the night on coffee and late night hours of the internet and pirated music, but now it was a bane to him. If you didn't sleep, you couldn't function properly, and the day ahead would be impossible to get through. But you know that the moment you close your eyes, the moment you drift into sleep, you'll be awake again and you'll have to face the day over again.
He wasn't sure which was worse.
"Whose light is that?"
One of the boys at the other end of the dormitory had said it, and Jounouchi rolled over to look out of the vast windows north facing wall. The curtains were drawn far back, letting the moonlight stream into the room, casting elegant blue shadows across the beds. From this dormitory, you could just make out the windows of the north dormitories, and little else. But tonight, high up in the north tower, a little way before the top, a warm orange light was glowing gently. Pulsating almost, as if the light within wasn't electric.
"Janitor, perhaps?"
"Don't be an idiot," Faceless voices threw comments through the inky air. "The janitor lives in an outbuilding."
"A teacher, then?"
"No teachers live in the tower, you-"
"Shut up; all of you shut up!"
A tentative silence crept back into the room. Outside the faint sound of approaching footsteps was returning. They approached the door, stopping on the other side of the thin panel of rotting wood. Somewhere in the silence a student laughed, as though the entire thing was a joke. Another 'shut up' was hurled at them from across the room, and the door was immediately pushed open, a floodlight torch shining into the room. You could only make out the shadows that polluted the man's face, and the slight reflection of the light in his eyes. The room fell instantly silent, every horribly awake pupil staring at the figure in the doorway.
"What is all this?"
The sheer disdain with which he addressed the room was enough to hold the silence perfectly, the tone of a man who knows he is the best amongst his company. What his friends would describe as a portly gentlemen, the very epitome of wealth with two straining gold buttons on his waistcoat keeping his well fed stomach from spilling over his trousers.
They had all thought it was a mere prefect at the door, not a teacher. And of course, there were some teachers worse than others.
"I'm sorry, sir, we couldn't sleep," a quiet voice murmured from a few feet to Jounouchi's left, just perceptibly Yuugi's soft tones. Every student held their breaths as the man in the doorway looked over the beds.
"Well, I suggest you all shut your mouths and go to sleep. Not tired enough?"
He was addressing Yuugi solely now, as if he spoke for the dormitory. Indeed, he seemed to have forgotten anyone else was there at all. He had moved closer to the slim bed, leaning over the huddled figure.
"Yes, sir; we'll go to sleep now."
"Like fuck you will," the man said, driving his knee suddenly into the side of the blanketed figure. Jounouchi closed his eyes as he heard the other boy cry out, a screech sliding out from under the disturbed sheets of the bed. The silhouette of the man straightened, glaring blindly out at the beds. "One more word out of any of you and I'll shut you up personally, clear?" Only the affirmation of silence answered him, but this seemed enough. Satisfied, the thick dark shape within the blackness moved back towards the door, illuminating the floor before him with the harsh light.
The moment the door was closed Jounouchi leaned across the gap between the beds, tapping the back of his friend's shoulder. Yuugi's head turned slightly.
"You alright?"
He paused before he answered, his voice still carrying the last vestiges of the vicious kick. "Yeah, fine. Go back to sleep."
Sleep, seemingly impossible now, claimed the rest of the dormitory quite easily. Jounouchi wanted to say something, to make it all better, as Yuugi had done for him countless times.
He couldn't think of anything.
"You're up late."
Late… This room was made for 'late'. Lavishly decorated in foreign silks of red and purple, intricately patterned draperies hanging over every piece of furniture, exotic incense, countless tiny golden and blue statues covering a small table. A vast bed, heaving under countless lace and velvet curtains that hung around it.
In the centre of the bed, Seto looks up from the battered volume he has been poring through to the man standing in the door. "I'm always up late. You're usually just asleep at this time." His eyes drop languidly back to the book. "You're up late," He turns a page, but he's lost interest now. "Anyway, I thought you were wanted to check the security logs. Make sure everything's- hey-"
The book is lifted out of his fingers by his father's hand, the man flipping it onto its side to read the scrawling title. "'Beyond Good and Evil.' Why do you read such impractical drivel?" He tosses the book back onto the bed, walking over to the disgustingly overpriced wardrobe, rifling through a selection of similarly ostentatious attire for a preferred maroon robe. "Honestly, Seto, we have a whole library of half decent literature and you have to read pretentious trash like that."
"I happen to like it," Seto replies, picking the book up again. "And I've read half the library as it is. You need to get some new books in." He looks up to his father, then looks back down immediately. After so many years he still feels uncomfortable at the sight of his father's body. The discomfort nearly amuses him.
"Hm. You shouldn't be wasting your time with fiction and philosophy any way." For a moment, there is nothing but domestic silence punctuated by the quiet rustling of clothes being removed. Seto tries to concentrate on his book again, willing away the panic and disgust rising within him. "Speaking of the security cameras," Gozaburo continues, shutting the mahogany doors and walking over to the bed, pausing at the side of the mattress to look down at his son. "Who is he?"
"Who's who?" Seto knows perfectly well who he means, and knows how unconvincing his lie is.
"The blond. I saw you talking to him on the tapes. Who is he? I don't believe you mentioned his name."
Damn. He knew this would happen. Only a handful of words had been exchanged between Jounouchi and himself, and immediately it's picked up, written down, recorded, analysed and presented to his father in a handy little scathing report. He hadn't even been the one to initiate the conversation. "I'm not sure who you mean," he's playing for time, turning another page of the book, whose words might as well have been unreadable for the amount of attention he's paying them. "I've spoken with a lot of people today so-" His words die on his lips as the slap lands on his cheek. A brief moment of pain, and then the usual comforting stinging sensation that follows sets in. He takes a breath, his hand moving to the reddening area. "His name's Jounouchi Katsuya. We went to school together, before this place. I just happened to run into him."
"Oh, did you? Out of lessons, in a deserted corridor? Sounds more like an illicit meeting to me."
This time he does laugh, the sound dry and strange to his ears. He laughs so rarely. "An illicit meeting? In a corridor smothered in cameras, constantly monitored by people tracking my every move so I don't 'misbehave'?" He looks up, forcing himself to meet those dark eyes. Sometimes hazel, sometimes the colour of honey. He wonders if honey can ever taste bitter. "Really, dad, it was nothing. I won't ever say a word to him again if it makes you happy." He slips his foot out from under the blanket, nudging his father's leg, naked under the dark red gown. "Don't worry about it."
The moment of appraisal, and then it's all forgotten. He's forgiven for a crime he never committed, and his father pulls at the strings of the robe and slips it off, letting it fall to the floor and climbing into the bed next to his adopted son. The white sheets are shifted around as he slides into the middle of the bed, lying down next to Seto, who is still staring blankly at the book he had been trying to read. The familiar kiss on his bare thigh. The unwanted warmth of an arm around his waist.
"I don't know why you object to light conversation with the students. It's not as though I'm going to leave this place," Seto says, leaning over to put the book on the bedside table, balancing it precariously between an ash tray of cigar and cigarette butts and two empty glasses of tequila. He flicks off the gaudy tiffany bedside lamp, made of nothing but coloured glass and an abundance of tassels, and slips down beneath the duvet, staring at the dark blue canopy above him. "I have no one to talk to."
"Mm. Not true; you have me."
"Yes, but," It's already pointless. "I'd like to talk to someone my own age. Just every now and then."
"Seto," The voice is slightly muffled by his son's soft skin pressed against his lips. "If you don't shut up I will beat you until you do, alright?"
A thick stretch of dusky night air and musty corridors away, Yuugi frowned as he rolled over in his sleep, his fresh bruise pressed into the side of the mattress.
"I was only making a point, sir," Seto stares at the canopy above him, the rich blue velvet and the little gold stars sewn onto it making the elegant pattern of Scorpio. His bare shoulders prickle in the chilly air, his white collarbone stark against the empty shadows under his neck. He swallows, wondering, then speaks again. "I haven't talked to anyone in months. Do you really not trust me to have friends, or-"
"You know," The irritation has melted into anger in his father's voice, the man pushing himself up onto his forearms, the well defined muscles below his shoulders tensing slightly. "The reason you don't have any friends is because you're socially retarded. It's nothing to do with me."
Seto would rather protest, even if he believes it to be true. "But you never let me talk to anyone-"
"Because," The man moves closer, his face an inch away from his son's. Even in the lightless room Seto can still see the undeniable power in his eyes, the utter contempt for his son. "You embarrass me. You look good until you open your mouth. You think I want people associating me with someone as useless, as disgustingly humiliating, as you?"
Near the window, a slight draught disturbs one of the myriad wind chimes.
"…no, sir. Of course not, sir." Seto's eyes drop, seeing under the duvet the faintest outlines of their naked bodies. More silence pounds through the room, and Seto looks up to the canopy of the bed, tracing with his eyes the familiar zodiac mark, fully aware of his father studying him in the darkness.
"Fuck it," Gozaburo murmurs. Seto watches in curious silence as he rolls back onto his side of the bed, reaching for and taking a sip from an expensive bottle, then replacing it amongst the heaps of pills and condoms contained within the small drawer of the bedside cabinet, closing it again. "It's not worth it."
He lies back down in the bed, not even facing his son any more. Seto can only stare at his back in silence, completely unaware of the boys in the dormitory far away who had watched the light switch off.
Jounouchi doesn't dream that night. He lies awake instead and remembers the slices of pleasure and happiness that had eaten through over the last year, snippets of sitting on the red brick wall and laughing with his friends. He remembers his mother writing to tell him how proud she was.
That might have been the only reason he truly came back. He could have run away; he had saved enough money. If he had chosen to, he could leave and catch a flight far away from here, perhaps get a job in a diner or a bar. Meet a nice girl, settle down. It wouldn't have been idyllic, but it was a life that would have suited him fine.
But those tiny, ever so lopsided letters praising him and apologising for leaving all over the page. Telling him that she couldn't believe what he had made of himself, and how she had been wrong about it all…
A tingling heat of shame and horror crept through his body suddenly as sharp flashes of what his mother had said to him so long ago. He kept telling himself that he didn't blame his mother for what she said and felt. It was his father's fault that she didn't trust men, that she didn't want her only son around. She didn't mean it when she said those things.
He closed his eyes and finally began to fall asleep, the last thought before he drifted off of his mother. He could see so vividly her smiling face, her pride, see Shizuka standing beside her at his graduation from this place, finally welcoming him back to their family.
It was not the dream itself that worried Seto - he had been having peculiar dreams for years - but more why he should have it now.
In the dream he was standing in his father's bedroom, staring at the mirror and trying to place why there was a mirror there. There wasn't one in real life, so why was there one in his dream? He would stand there, looking at his hands in the mirror. Never his face or the rest of his body, just his hands. Thin and tapered, even more so in the dream. And then he would look up, and he would be outside, in the middle of a vast field. At first it would be a plain green, not quite the colour of regular grass, and then he would look down to his right. The green would have gone, and nothing but yellow stalks of wild, African plain grass would be left, knee high. Between the stalks, there would come the sonorous rumble of a tiger's growl. And for the briefest moment he would see its eye, framed between the stalks, and then it would all dissolve into blackness.
Sweat. He so rarely woke up sweating, or frightened, or for a terrified, panicked moment thinking the walls were falling in on him before realising it was just his heartbeat. Hot silk sheets and pillows, red with golden dragon designs, sticking to his naked back in the darkness. The cool expanse of air above the bed and below the canopy. The sound of someone shifting next to him.
Slowly, it all pieced together, the snippets his senses were feeding him melting into place, and Seto remembered where he was. Nausea gripped him, swirling persistently in his stomach, and for a moment he wanted to scream, to flee, anything to get away from the person sleeping beside him. The perverse man who forced Seto to call him father. He took a few deep breaths, feeling the sickness gradually dissipate.
Next to him, the silhouette of a head raised itself from the pillow. "You alright?"
"I…" Breathe in. Breathe out. "…yeah. Yes. I just had a nightmare, sir." Taking dry swallows, eyes starting to make out vague shapes in the darkness. The sheets were plastered uncomfortably to his skin. "I need to take a shower." He swung his legs out from under the heavy duvets, sheets and blankets, accumulated over the years from various overpriced fanciful stalls. His feet welcomed the cool red carpet but as he moved to pull the layer of sheets off his torso a firm hand gripped his wrist, pulling him back against the bed. He turned to see his father holding him in place, undoubtedly annoyed by his son's disregard for asking his permission.
"Go back to sleep, Seto."
Seto shifts under the thick duvet, every pore of his skin screaming out for cool water. He rolls onto his side, staring at his father's closed eyes. "Dad? Please?" No answer to the question, although he certainly hasn't fallen asleep yet. That feeling of resignation, so familiar to him now, settled once again over his bones. Dipping his head a little, just catching his father's lips on his own. Gozaburo's eyes open suddenly in the darkness, caught off guard. Seto adopts his gentle pout and perfected childish eyes. "Please?"
A tense silence itched through the blackness, and then there came the sigh of irritation as his father rolled over to face the other way, and said the wonderful words: "Alright. But get to work as soon as you've finished. You've got the results of the August report to finalise."
Seto pulled back the heavy sheets with a new energy, pausing only for a moment to turn back and kiss his father on the cheek, before walking swiftly off to the bathroom, his naked body painted with a gentle rose in the approaching dawn. It was the little things that added up to this painful harmony that he managed to live by. The occasional kisses, the affectionate looks… He could keep his father happy, and then his father would allow him his own modicum of happiness. It wasn't much, but it was enough to live by.
It was the sixth chime that woke him up, the first five only vaguely managing to invade his dim dreams of senselessness and weariness. Jounouchi had become wonderfully accustomed to the lie-ins and perpetual laziness of the glorious vacation, and it was a jarring reality to wake up to the clanging bells and shouts of the other boys of this… institution.
Among the slowly abating chaos amidst the clamouring students of the dormitory, Jounouchi slipped out of the warmth of his own cotton bed and crossed the distance to Yuugi's, gently shaking the boy's shoulder.
"Hey? You awake?"
After a moment of slightly shifting blankets Yuugi's violet eyes opened and blurrily focused on his friend, blinking a few times before he sat up a little. "Yeah… Yes. Good morning, Jounouchi…"
"I wanted to check that you were ok," he said, perching on the end of the bed. He laughed forcibly, the familiar defence mechanism of humour kicking in. "Although you're probably tough as anything, what with the pharaoh looking out for you."
Yuugi smiled appreciatively at the light attitude, but there was still the painful absence of the golden pendant around his neck. It was something most definitely not allowed by the school, and it lay nestled under his bed hundreds miles away at home. By now all the students had managed to get themselves down the rec room - the recreation room - leaving Yuugi, Jounouchi, and Bakura in the dormitory. Bakura had not yet got up, listening to Jounouchi's and Yuugi's conversation from his place sitting up in bed with his knees drawn up to his chest.
"He had no right to do that," Bakura said, toes wriggling beneath the thin blanket. "Yamamoto, he had no right to hit you."
"It's not like we have rights here," said Jounouchi. "The teachers can do what they want."
"Just because they can doesn't mean they should," Bakura softly replied. "It wasn't Yuugi's fault-"
"I'm not saying it is."
Yuugi sighed. "Yes. I should have known better."
"I didn't mean that," started Jounouchi, but a look from his friend silenced him.
"Yes, you did," he said softly, smiling sadly. Yuugi continued staring into space for a moment, smiling at nothing, then looked back at the room. "Right, I better go put some cream on that bruise."
Jounouchi spared a moment admiring the new uniform after he had dressed, scowling at the tailored fit. He missed jeans and loose cotton already. All their day clothes would be taken and stored behind a locked door until the end of the year, or the next holiday. And so until then he would be stuck in the hideous garments he wore now.
Still, at least he had the early morning off. Lessons conventionally didn't start until nine, but most of the students were already working by half past six to study or complete the various assignments they had been set. But it was the first day, and no one had any work to do just yet. He hated the claustrophobia of the brick walls already, and made purposefully for a small closet he knew lay nearly unused towards the south of the school. Once he came upon it he slipped inside, eyeing the camera suspiciously. He shut the door behind him and clambered over some buckets and discarded clothing to the back of the small room, fumbling for a handle on one of the walls. He found it and, with a savage twist, wrenched the rusted door open and stepped outside into a blinding light, the huge green school field spread out before him.
The field itself was freezing this early, glossed over with a low hanging mist. It was completely inaccessible, however, separated from the gravelly road that ran around the school by a huge fence. The road rose in a steep incline towards the east of the school, the fence cutting into the cement floor until its top was level with a stout red wall. You could sit on that and, if you didn't mind a few broken bones, drop over onto the other side of the fence. It was Jounouchi's favourite place in the school. No one came here because it was so difficult to get out of the school without anyone seeing you.
"What are you doing out here?"
Jounouchi turned sharply, seeing to his surprise Kaiba standing several feet away from him with his arms folded, frowning in annoyance.
"This is my spot," Jounouchi replied, jabbing his finger against the wall. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, it was my spot."
Jounouchi glared back and turned away, refusing to look at him. "What do you need a spot for; you own the damn place."
Behind him, Kaiba tutted quietly to himself. "I don't own anything, my father does. You shouldn't even be outside at this time of day."
He moved to stand next to Jounouchi, arms still folded tightly as he stared out across the field. Jounouchi looked at him askance, dimly noting that Kaiba smelt of cigars and incense. The cigars… He had his last cigarette before he boarded the coach the day before, the last of a long summer of rebellious drinking and partying. Now he was up for another term of healthy living and hard work. He hated it.
"What are you doing out here anyway?"
Kaiba didn't reply. His face was a dark profile against the bright sky. Silence passed, and for a good moment Jounouchi pondered going back inside to get to his lessons early, but he decided that he preferred the cold morning air and the unwanted presence of Kaiba just a little bit over facing his teachers. "Enjoying the dawn, then?"
Kaiba smirked, relishing his return to authority, glancing disdainfully at the boy besides him. "Not particularly. I see it everyday from my bedroom window."
"Why bother coming out here then?"
"I wanted some time alone." He threw a pointed look at Jounouchi. "Thanks for ruining that."
"Hey, I was here first," the blond replied in indignation. "Find your own spot."
"I could call a teacher and have you dragged back to the school if I choose to," Kaiba said idly, looking at Jounouchi as though it were a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Jounouchi slammed his hand down on the wall hard, glaring at Kaiba in silence and desperately trying not to shout at him. Then he turned violently back to the school and walked swiftly back to the door he had come out from. Kaiba didn't watch him go, but listened to his footsteps on the gravel until they finally faded away.
Unbeknownst to either of them, high up in a thin leaded window Gozaburo stared down at them, watching them intently.
Classical literature was Jounouchi's first lesson, and it was taught by Yamamoto. Jounouchi spent most of the lesson staring at him in hatred, last night's memory of the man kicking Yuugi's ribs still fresh in his mind. Yamamoto was one of those men who had clearly poured all of his expansive wealth into his body, frittered away on gourmet dinners and fine wines. He constantly looked like he had run up a flight of stairs, with a face flushed eternally red with vintage wine and an insistent wheeze.
The students could have embraced these habits with a raucous joviality, perhaps, if he hadn't been one of the most unpleasant men in the school.
"Ascanius," He said, the first lesson of the new year, the study of Virgil's Aeneid, sitting to balance precariously on one of the front desks, his thighs half covering the student's work. "Also known as Iulus, accompanied Aeneas to his climactic battle with Turnus - which goes on for a few hundred fucking pages, you'll find." He shifted on the desk, one hand falling on his own leg, which he began to stroke as one would a pet cat. "Ascanius was a spritely boy of ten or so - we never learn exactly how old he is, but I always imagined him as a young, lithe boy with… Oh, maybe golden curls and nice big blue eyes. Riding around with his father on a great strapping stallion." He paused, staring down at the boy in front of him and leaning towards his face. "Bouncing up and down." He smiled broadly, as a toad would had it been told a particularly disgusting joke that amused it. "Bounce. Bounce. Bounce." He shook his head from one side to the next with each word, as though attached by the strings of a puppeteer with a love for the grotesque.
"So." His hand dropped from his thigh reluctantly, his gaze leaving that of the boy before him. "That's Ascanius."
…sum of the terms, n over two, bracket, formula, close bracket, calculate, half, add to first value - twenty four - square route, goes into decimals - change to surds - twelve route two.
Seto repeated the answer out loud unconsciously, the numbers dissolving before his mind like sandy shapes covered by the tide. He swallowed, the click of a stopwatch sounding next his ear. He looked up expectantly as his father flicked to the back of the text book, searching for the answer as though he would rather be anywhere else on earth.
"Yes, you're right." He peddled the golden watch between his fingers idly, his other hand rhythmically turning back the pages with licks of his finger. "You could have been faster. Much faster." He looked down at his son, sitting straight backed at his desk obediently, waiting for his next instruction. "I mean, it wasn't exactly a difficult sum, was it?"
"No, sir." The automatic, groomed answer. "But there were many facets to it."
"That shouldn't matter. That won't matter." Seto can't tell if his father is reassuring himself or his son. "You'll learn. We all do in the end."
Seto looks up sideways, eyes seeming so much younger in the shadow of the older man, who has turned away to extract the Instruments of Correction from their high shelves. The final part of the lesson has to commence.
Seto's hands twist in his lap, the fingers brushing over and under one another like gently insistent fish, all trying to swim somewhere different. He has the potential to be everything. He knows this, and still he would rather make the continuous ephemeral patterns with his slender hands. He watches his father, because his father watches him. It's a silent symbiosis, this gentle shifting of the ache. His father knows that he's ruined, that he's alone at the top of his electronic tower in hell, and if he manages to bring his son down to his level then at least neither of them will be alone anymore. And Seto isn't ready to give up. Not yet. There's too much left that he still has vain hope in, things that Gozaburo forgot about long ago.
He can't forget these things. The memory of happiness is all he has, that collage of old visions of a smiling boy with wild black hair dancing over his closed eyes. He's been beaten before, and he'll be beaten again. But he knows that he isn't being beaten now, even though he's bent over a table, stripped and with little drips of blood finding their way to the carpet as the black crop comes down again on his skin, because right now he's… His mind rewinds through his jumbled memories, eventually settling on an image of his brother and him sitting in the vast garden together, eating berries from a bush. Yes, that's where he is now. The pain is from the thorns he's leaning on, and even that pain is good because it's a reminder that he's here with his perfect little brother, and not -
The memory jars, the reality slapping against his bare skin as the pain resurfaces. Seto tries to call back the sun and his brother's smile, but nothing comes to the canvas of his eyelids. It's gone.
Yamamoto's lesson ended anticlimactically, with the quiet closing of a room of text books and the familiar screech of chairs across the floor. An essay to do, of course; the first assignment of the year. They'll have a few more by the end of the day, as always.
Jounouchi blinks several times, the constant waking slumber that this school puts him in being shrugged off for a few moments so he can get to the next class. He barely passed this class last year, and he doubted that he would even scrape that by the end of this one. He didn't care. If it wasn't for his mother's scratchy inked words, he wouldn't be in this building at all. He would be on another continent, running away as fast as he could. It wasn't in his nature to run, but sometimes there is too much to face, too much to fight. He had made that choice before, that it was easier to turn your back on something than face it, and he knew that sometimes it was the only option.
He was sure, in the long run of the universe, that it bore no significance that he was thinking these things as he walked past Yamamoto's desk, about to turn out into the corridor, when the man said his name.
"Oh, and Katsuya?"
The boy turned at the door, seeing Yamamoto-san staring up at him with a strange expression that he couldn't place, ignoring every other student for a single moment.
"Yes, sir?"
That toad mouth of his stretched across his face, pulled apart by invisible forceps. "Wait for a bit; there's something we need to discuss."
Jounouchi looks up as Bakura, the only person he really knows taking this class, looks back at him questioningly as he moves through the door, carried on the tide of people to his next class. Jounouchi turns back to look at Yamamoto, moving reluctantly over to the man's desk.
"Please, have a seat," He indicated the small wooden chair a foot or less from the one he was seated in, and Jounouchi slowly lowered himself into it. He can feel the older man studying him, tiny black eyes creeping over his body like a pair of cockroaches. "You seemed to have difficulty completing your work last year. And I hate to see my students fall behind; I'm sure you understand, yes?" He leant forward, face inches away from Jounouchi's. The boy nodded, the legs of those black insects crawling over his face. "So I thought you might be interested in some extracurricular activities instead of the assignment -" His eyes flicked away from Jounouchi's face and over his shoulder. "Oh, Kaiba-san, can I help you?"
Jounouchi turned his neck to see Seto standing in the open doorway, holding a small pile of manila folders with a painful delicacy.
"You need to sign these," he said, placing them on an empty space on Yamamoto's desk, leaning between the man and Jounouchi to reach. His dark hair nearly brushed Jounouchi's face as he moved, and for a moment an overpowering smell of metal washed over him, laced with an oddly familiar cologne. He stared for a moment, time seeming to slow into eternity as his eyes alighted on a bead of dried red-brown liquid on his neck. The cologne… Jounouchi knew that he had smelled that before, somewhere in this school. And it wasn't on Seto.
The brunet straightened, waiting for Yamamoto to sign them so he could return with the documents. "Yeah, give me a minute, Kaiba," He turned his attention completely back to Jounouchi, blocking out the thin figure standing so close to them. In one slow, heaving movement he had moved himself forwards, his thick right hand moving down to grip Jounouchi's thigh. Jounouchi twitched at the contact, his touch seeming to burn him it was so unwanted. He sat stiff in the chair, knowing that Kaiba was watching them. "If you would prefer to forfeit your work this year - oh, and it is a lot of work - I would be quite happy to find something just as educational for you to participate in. Hm?"
That one moment seemed to last a thousand times longer than it could have done, Jounouchi finally wrenching himself away as he stood up, horrible shivers going over his body like he was about to vomit. "Yes, sir. I'll think about it."
Another beat, another moment standing there frozen, and then he turned and strode out of the door as briskly as he could.
Seto stared at the light cream of the sheets bearing Yamamoto's signature, lying amongst the various pieces of work and documents splayed over the floor of his father's study, and replayed the scene in his mind for the hundredth time.
Why? That was the obvious question. Why of all people choose Jounouchi Katsuya to be your new fuck toy? There were far prettier boys to be certain, ones that would be far more willing and cooperative. Yamamoto never looked to break spirits; he was simply in it for the sex. His father was the one who liked to destroy people's souls, he knew that from personal experience. Perhaps it was out of common human decency, or perhaps it was some desperate psychological need to liberate someone from this madness, but he knew from the moment Yamamoto had leaned forward and touched Jounouchi's thigh that he didn't want the blond boy to end up the same way he had.
"Do you know," Seto murmured, looking up from the jumbled spreadsheet he was annotating at his father, sitting across the room at his magnificent dark mahogany desk. "Why Yamamoto has taken such an interest in Jounouchi Katsuya?"
Gozaburo looked up, his dark eyes mixing surprise with his signature glare. "What? What is your obsession with that boy?"
Seto put his pen down, staring at the numbers in front of him blindly so he won't have to match that accusatory glare. "I was just thinking out loud. A strange coincidence for him to be picked up by Yamamoto just after our conversation about him."
Gozaburo returned to his work, completely uninterested by the conversation. He doesn't approve of conversations. "I suppose. What does it matter?"
"It matters because -" Seto knows that this is going to be difficult, that this is a delicate manoeuvre that he cannot get wrong. "- I don't want to see him raped."
His father looks up immediately. "Is that what this is about? Why the fuck would you care? I thought you said you barely knew him?"
"That's true," he says, hating himself already. "But he's…"
"Special?" Gozaburo provides, mouth curled in a sneer.
"Ordinary," Seto says lightly, the syllables surprising himself. "He hates it here, and I think it would destroy him if Yamamoto had his way. I just felt some strange urge to prevent that. Call it a passing fancy."
His father studied his pensive face, weighing up the options. A strangely cruel and yet benevolent smile formed on his lips. "If you care so much, I'll make you a deal." Seto is paying close attention now, staring at his father's eyes as though standing at the edge of hell. "I'll give you my word that Yamamoto won't touch the boy - won't touch him, won't fuck him, the works - if you provide me with a little entertainment."
"Entertainment?" He's used to providing men with 'entertainment'; it's something he's been doing since he was ten years old. It wouldn't be the first time his father had made a deal with him to earn his complacency, but there was something in the man's tone that suggested he wanted something else.
"Yes. You think very highly of yourself, don't you?"
Seto would have laughed if it wasn't so dangerous to do so. Self-esteem was hardly something he would list among his strong points- years of physical and emotional abuse had taken care of that. But Gozaburo didn't seem to require an answer and continued.
"Well, you're always complaining that I never let you socialise or make any friends-" he spoke the word as though the very idea of a platonic, healthy friendship was abhorrent to him. "-so here is a golden opportunity to make one. Now," he leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm no fag, but I'd bet you and that blond boy would look quite the pair together, hm?"
"I don't understand," Seto said quietly, his stomach lurching a little at the slur. He didn't know what his father actually thought of homosexuality, but he had always been clear to his son that it was entirely inappropriate- unless, of course, it was for his own sick amusement.
"Well, you and that boy make an attractive contrast. There's something undeniably alluring about it."
Seto picked up his pen again and stared at it determinedly, his mind subconsciously displaying rapidly changing images of Jounouchi, testing the waters as it were. Physical or emotional attraction no longer seemed to matter to him when it came to sleeping with people; it had been years since he had been with someone he actually cared for.
"I don't think Jounouchi's gay," he said delicately, not meeting his father's eyes. "I don't think he would go for me."
"Then look upon it as a challenge," Gozaburo replied, going back to his work. "I'll give you until half term. That's plenty of time to make someone want to fuck you." He looked up again, smiling with a mix of affection and delicious cruelty. "Hey, it only took you three weeks to get me to do you." His smile widened for a moment into a wild grin and then dropped as he turned finally back to his work. Seto studied his hands, idly tracing a pattern over the network of faint scars that covered them with his eyes.
"It doesn't matter," he murmured. "Let Yamamoto have him; I don't care any more."
"Oh no, no," Gozaburo leaned back from his desk and folded his arms, staring levelly over at his son. "You can't go around promising things and then going back on them."
"I didn't promise-"
"I'll tell you what," The light tone had completely left his voice, leaving the cold power of sheer sadism. "You'll fuck him, and then you'll bring him here, and then we'll see if you and him want to put on a private show for Yamamoto, hm? And if you refuse-" He drew his jacket back a little, indicating the silver gun tucked into his belt. "-I'll kill him." He said it with the same casual conviction as if it were nothing to him. Seto knew he wasn't lying; he'd killed people before. What did one kid matter to him?
"Alright," Seto said quietly, smiling a perfected fake smile. "You don't need to act like that." He waited for Gozaburo to go back to his work but he continued to stare with a quiet hatred at his son, one hand resting on the gun. Seto leaned back a little, resting his hand on his thigh with a practised motion. "I'll do whatever you want."
A hollow crash echoed steadily around the concrete ground of the back of the school as a small rock ricocheted off one of the large green metal bins. Jounouchi watched it fall and then moved to pick it up, throwing it with same viciousness at the next bin, slowly making his way towards the school field, enclosed by the high metal fence.
"Bastard," he muttered, not a camera or prefect in sight to hear him. Lessons seemed to have only just ended, and yet the sun was already beginning to set, sending black stretching shadows towards him across the grey ground. "Fucking assholes. As if they have any idea what it's like for us. Like they could cope if they had to go through what we go through."
He threw the stone violently at another of the bins and it bounced suddenly back, landing on the other side of the fence. Jounouchi stared at the motionless bit of rock for a moment, quite out of reach now, and then moved quickly onwards, breaking into a light jog as he made his way along the fence. It was so thickly meshed that you could barely see through it, just a green blur of the thinly trimmed grass.
Jounouchi came to a halt at the foot of the small red wall, breathing deeply. Jounouchi sat down on the wall and swung his legs over onto the other side, staring out across the dismal, dew laden field. It was the closest to an escape you could get here, and mercifully quiet.
If he had been the crying type, he probably would have bawled. Instead he sat in quiet fury, wishing to whatever would help him that he could get out of this place. "Fuck," he spoke to the silent field. "What am I gonna do?"
Seto found Jounouchi that evening sprawled out in the same deserted spot in which he'd found him that morning, the blond boy's eyes shaded from the setting sun by the long shadow cast by the brick wall. Seto regarded him in silence for a while, wanting very much to turn and go back, but he knew that wasn't an option. He swallowed his pride and trepidation and approached the drowsing boy. Jounouchi opened his eyes as Seto approached, looking up in shock to see if it was a prefect or teacher, but he soon dropped back to the concrete when he saw who it was.
Seto paused next to him and looked up, staring at the bright sky, yellowing with the approaching dusk.
"I trust you enjoyed your time with Yamamoto?"
Jounouchi's eyes flashed open again, full of hatred and, despite his attempts to hide it, fear.
"What do you want? Come to mock me?"
A grim, honest smile. "Well, you are such an easy target." It feels so brilliant to be the one in control, the superior one.
He closed his eyes once more, bending his head so it was further submerged in the shadows. "Oh sure, it's alright for you rich people," Seto could just hear his voice cracking. "Lounging around all day, no one to answer to. Like you have any conception of what the real world is like." He kept his face in darkness, but Seto could hear the slight tremor in his voice. "Self-involved asshole."
"You should really calm down," Seto murmured, reminding himself why he is here and what he must do. He rationally tells himself that Jounouchi has no idea of what's going to happen or that is life is in danger, but it doesn't stop the quiet fury from bubbling up.
Jounouchi gave a bitter burst of laughter. "You know what? Fuck you. Will you just get out of here?"
For a moment Seto's stoicism slipped and he thought he might hit the other boy. But the moment passed and the urge was gone. He pulled the smirk back onto his face like a familiar jacket, standing straight again with folded arms. The perfect figure of superiority that he doesn't possess. "Careful, you might want to keep your anger on a tighter leash."
Jounouchi flipped him the finger and turned to stare at the wall, ignoring Seto. Seto remembers his father's words, remembers that the boy's life is in danger, and forces the rebuke back down his throat.
"Look," he said carefully, a peace offering. "I can fix it so Yamamoto never bothers you again if you like. As a favour."
Jounouchi sat up out of the shade, finally showing his face. He stared at Kaiba with suspicion from eyes reddened as though from crying. "Why would you do that? What do you want?"
"I don't want anything," Seto takes a certain satisfaction in that that isn't technically a lie. "I hate him as much as you do, perhaps more. I'm not particularly invested in helping you, but it's completely within my power to ensure that he never bothers you again." He shrugged artfully, trying to affect the right level of benevolent disinterest. "It matters neither way to me."
Jounouchi stared back at him. He seemed to consider it for a moment, although whether he was actually thinking about the question or simply trying to appear so out of pride Seto couldn't tell. After a few seconds of silence the other boy stood up, stuffing his hands stubbornly in his pockets as if to accentuate that he didn't want to be any part of this secret treaty.
"Alright," he mumbled, trying to match Seto's severe expression but succeeding only in a childish pout. "What do you want me to do in return?"
Seto's eyebrows twitched in surprise beneath his carefully combed fringe. He hadn't thought of a payment. "In return?"
"Yeah. I don't want you going around running me favours and getting me in your 'debt of obligation' or whatever," he said. "So what do you want in return?"
Seto opened his mouth to reply but stopped short, realising abstractly that it was a very long time since anyone had ever offered him anything so blithely. His mind flew over a veritable database of his thoughts and feelings, searching for something appropriate that could be appeased for payment. Nothing to do with work, that was certain. And his home life was something he tried to keep as locked up and private as possible, even if his father insisted on publishing all the nauseating details amongst the more unpleasant members of the staff. Finally his racing mind rested on a sparkling image that remained resiliently hidden from his father's prying. Mokuba.
He'd written a thousand letters, each one carefully folded and concealed in an old, unused textbook on a high shelf in their bedroom. He had intended to write everyday, and that was exactly what he had done, but Gozaburo had been more than clear about the consequences of sending letters, and so they had remained crisp and unread in their hundreds, one for every day he had been here. He had spent a little time with his brother in the holidays, spending every Sunday afternoon in his company in his only time off, but he hadn't had nearly enough time to say everything that he had poured into those secret pieces of paper.
"In return," he said, choosing his words delicately. "I would like you to mail for me some letters."
Jounouchi's eyebrows shot up into his fringe. "What? Anthrax letters or something?"
Seto laughed softly in spite of himself. "No, the regular kind. I don't have any access to post boxes or anything so I never have an opportunity to send them."
"Then why ask me? Why not one of your employees?" He stressed the last word with the same intonation that Gozaburo had used on 'friends' earlier. "I'm not your lapdog."
"I'm forbidden from sending them. Believe it or not, I'm subjected to even tighter security than you are. However, you should be able to deliver them for me without incident. Is that a fair deal?"
Jounouchi studied him, trying to work out an ulterior motive that he would never deduce. "Alright then. When do you want to give me these letters?"
"This Sunday," Seto said automatically. "Sunday evening. I'm free then. Just come up to the north tower at about seven and I'll be there."
"Right," Jounouchi said, standing and stretching. "Whatever. I have to go and finish an essay now."
He lingered in the sun for a moment longer and then walked away, glancing back at Seto once before continuing back to the school. Seto ran his hands over the wall, realising that they'd both stood here at sunrise and sunset. If he still had a sense of romance he would have smiled, but instead contented himself by sitting down in the spot Jounouchi had been lying, feeling the warmth of where his body had been before.
"I hope you're stronger than you seem, Jounouchi," he murmured to himself. He suddenly realised he had no idea how he was going to complete this… 'challenge'. Gozaburo had asked him to seduce plenty of people before, but they had all been perverts sexually inclined to young boys, and weren't exactly difficult to win over. He had no idea how he was going to go about it.
It suddenly hit him then, a small but sharp memory of not feeling like this. Not feeling dead inside all the time, not blindly obeying the man who controlled his life. Having a value on his body and soul so that he would never dream of whoring them out for favours. It wasn't something that mattered any more, of course. But then, little did.