Yesterday my cousin and I had the most interesting conversation.
One I kind of wish did not happen.
Because it got me thinking about my not-crush on a certain someone even more (as if my thoughts didn't wander to said person often enough), threatening my blissful veil of denial, which already sported tatters and holes, and, now that I'm three-fourths over the fact that he's male, a rip tearing.
"Are you going to confess to Yugi soon?"
The question sprang out of thin air and had me half spluttering, half choking. The Sprite I had been drinking went up instead of down and into the wrong pipe, leaving a burning sensation on the back of my throat and inside my nostrils. The carbonated liquid spurted from my nose. Gross.
Did Seto wait for the exact moment when I was chugging my Sprite to ask that question?
His timing was just too glorious.
My cousin had been droning on about the weather or something minutes ago—conversational cues from Aunt, no doubt—then suddenly that came up. I was usually the one who started the Yugi topic here. This was a calculated move, I was sure.
Seto must want to make a soda fountain out of me.
"W-what?!" I managed to spit between my coughing. It took me a minute to clear my throat.
"You owe me a Sprite," I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand and vaguely wondering if some snot had mixed with the liquid—again, gross. "And what the hell are you talking about?"
He raised a brow, disappointed at my response. His deadpan face was practically asking: Really, Yami?
He knew that I knew what it was, and pretending to not know wouldn't work with him, but the extent of what he knew was what I wanted to know, and that scheming smirk meant that he must know a lot, the omniscient being he was, but, damn, what did he know?!
...Did my vocabulary just shrink?
"You're a closet narcissist. Yugi's the perfect match for you," he continued when I didn't respond, like a tolerant teacher who was stating a fact his student was too stupid to notice.
"Narcissist? Seems like you're speaking from experience. Did the cloning experiment finally work? Am I meeting Set-2 anytime soon?" I feigned excitement, peering behind Seto for his hypothetical clone.
Seto's eye twitched, a sign of his slight annoyance and my small victory.
"By the way, you should name her/him that: Set-2. It'll stick," I added. This time, I was the one smirking.
"You're a closet narcissist. Set-2's the perfect match for you." When I tossed his words back at him, it was all the more satisfying.
"So you won't be confessing to Yugi?"
And we were back on topic. He just wasted my skillfully executed subject change right there.
"We're just friends." I emphasized the word so it would be imprinted in that thick head of his, not that it made it convincing. "Where are you getting these ideas from?"
Did Aunt force you to watch teen dramas with her to cope with her midlife crisis, again?
I would have followed with that if Seto didn't know about Mom's monthly Chick Flick Sundays (mandatory bonding time). The Mama's boys we lot were; at this point, Mokuba would become the manliest kin.
"With the way your eyes and legs trail after him, if Yugi wasn't so incredibly dense at times, you'd be labeled a creep by now," Seto stated in that condescending tone of his.
How did he even know that? Did he install cameras in school—wait, the school probably had them beforehand. Then, maybe he hacked them, or maybe he had a spy, which could be why I never saw any friends of his in school because they were actually ninjas. Bets on the Kuro kid who rarely showed up in class.
How else would he have known? I made sure to be subtle when I asked about Yugi, displaying nothing but curiosity and only asking every other day. I was quite proud of my acting skills.
It shouldn't have been that obvious.
"It's so obvious."
I swore I'd find the secret to his omniscience soon and use it against him. I'd be a blackmailing prodigy right after that.
"Is it as glaring as your unrequited love for Blue Eyes?" I retorted, referring to Seto's fanatic interest on the Blue Eyes White Dragon cards that stemmed from when we were six and festered as we grew older.
There were only four of the cards in existence, and three were in Seto's hands while the fourth continued to elude his grasp. Seto was thirteen when he gave up the search and had a Blue Eyes themed room built in their mansion to settle his frustration. He even dyed his hair green back then as a symbol of how he was green with envy for the person who held the last card and wished the card would just perish if it wasn't ending up in his hands.
Aunt absolutely shrieked, and since then Seto received special attention from her and steered away much of her meddling from Mokuba.
Mokuba and I agreed that it was the best birthday party ever.
Now, at seventeen, Seto had a Blue Eyes White Dragon jet. How obsessively awesome.
I saw his brown hair, and the nostalgia broke. His eye was twitching again; he knew where my thoughts had drifted. Must be the effective guessing we had developed over the years.
"I bet you'll fall for Yugi."
The way he changed subjects lacked finesse. He should really learn from me.
"I'm not playing this game."
Betting games were above my level of maturity, I just decided.
"Afraid you'll lose?" Seto challenged.
I wasn't 'afraid,' just too mature for this. It seemed, apart from height, Seto hadn't grown yet, and here I was, with the not-as-tall (shorter: forbidden word) height but with a higher level of maturity.
Ah... life's trade-offs.
And was it just me, or did Seto's lines sounded like it came straight out of a chick flick? Like one where the protagonist made a bet with the antagonist to date the school geek, later on, falling for said geek and dumped by said geek because said geek found out about the bet from the antagonist. It could as easily come from a teen drama when I thought about it.
I saw no pros in this plotline.
Then again I had fallen asleep towards the ending when I had watched that with Mom—Ugh. Mokuba watched action and horror movies... Officially the manliest.
"I don't need to play when I already know I'll win. It's boring."
"On the contrary, I think you don't want to play because you know you'll lose."
I leveled Seto with a glare. He returned it with a nonchalant stare.
My chick flick knowledge said I should refuse, so did my logic, but pride was shouting: Challenge accepted! And he was quite the boisterous fellow indeed.
"Fine. What am I supposed to bet with?" I conceded.
"Obelisk," he answered, the quick response a note for suspicion.
I remembered getting that God card when I was twelve. It was from a booster pack that Seto gave me and regretted giving after. He dueled me for the card and lost each duel during that week: Obelisk kept showing up and the two Blue Eyes Seto had back then were no match.
I'd grown out of the game two years ago, Obelisk was somewhere between my math book's pages, and I wouldn't mind losing the card to Seto. But just in case I did win...
"Bet two Blue Eyes, and you got yourself a deal."
"Deal." Didn't even skip a beat; he must be confident.
A faint yet audible voice said that losing this one was inevitable and that I should look for Obelisk when I get home, or else I'd be pressed for time when Seto asks for it later.
And that later might be sooner than I expected.
But I was oh so intent on denial.
A confession, after school and on the rooftop.
How cliché.
Except it's not spring.
It's the middle of November instead, the winds in such a height are stronger, lashing against bare skin. I can think of places I'd rather be: closer to the ground, indoors, or both. I'm not fond of winter, and being up here, where it's significantly colder than downstairs, just adds up to that sentiment.
The dreaded season came early this year. The snowing has been sporadic at most, and it isn't snowing now, but the air is colder than when it does. I feel the goose bumps already forming on my skin, and I wish I'd brought a thicker jacket (like the leather one I shouldn't have left in the laundry). My bottom lip is chapped when I bite it, my teeth peeling dead skin, and the dry air itches my throat when I inhale.
Three days' worth of snow is piled up on my yard, waiting to be shoveled, and the shovel is somewhere in the shed, waiting to be found. My mother will be in the house, nagging because I'll let the snow pile another day. Dad's away for business, Mom's the authority, and I'm the only son—thus the chore slave—but I don't feel up to manual labor when it's freezing.
A gust of wind blows harshly, the cold biting my cheek, and my irritation grows.
Why am I out here again?
"Sennen-kun," a voice interrupts my thoughts.
Oh yeah, cliché confession ongoing.
I'd almost forgotten she was there.
Complaining about the weather while a damsel is demanding my attention—it speaks tenfold about my sexuality, doesn't it?
My thoughts impulsively stray to Yugi. I wonder if he already went home. He and a classmate were assigned to clean the room, and I was going to meet him by the lockers after. We would walk home together, but not today, it seems. Mazaki called me out under the pretense of schoolwork, and I'm a bit annoyed that I missed Yugi because of her.
Mazaki and I are research partners in Biology, and a project is due next week. But the absence of reference books and the fact that she asked to meet in the rooftop—I was hoping it would be for the internet reception, but she didn't bring her laptop either, so no—mean there won't be any progress on said project today.
And it's been put off a week already. Sigh.
I keep my annoyance to myself, though; I've been raised better and girls should be respected. But still, I am annoyed.
Mazaki is fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. She's dressed up in pastels and cotton, lovely to the eyes but flimsy against the freeze, and I think her efforts are wasted on me.
"Actually, there's something I've been meaning to ask." She looks so nervous, lips quivering, yet her words don't come out as a tremble.
She's known to be quite the social butterfly, considering that she's Kujaku's friend, but this girl standing in front of me is out of character.
She acts shy around me. I've long noticed her crush, but quite some time has passed, so I've not thought she would choose to confess now—especially at a time when I've gained a (not so) vague idea of what genuine attraction is like, making me feel sympathetic towards her. It almost seems strategic on her part.
The wind tussles her hair, but the brunette strands swiftly return to their place, framing her face nicely. Her blue eyes are often bright, though they are hidden by her bangs at the moment. She is pretty. Not as pretty as—still, pretty. And she's nice, from what I've heard and noticed myself.
She would be a perfect girlfriend. A lot of guys would want to be in my shoes right now, falling at the sight of this girl, saying yes even before a confession.
But there's a lingering voice that says I can't fall for her.
Because I'm falling for someone else.
And as I look at her blushing cheeks, I see Yugi's instead.
I could tell the truth, or I could lie through my teeth, either way my answer is no.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asks, her gaze on her shoes instead of making eye-contact. She has a habit of phrasing thoughts into questions instead of getting straight to the point.
Her hand is rubbing against her arms; it's either the nerves or the cold. I'd lend her my jacket if it wouldn't possibly mislead her. (The last time I lent my jacket to a girl, it was never returned, and a rumor of me dating said girl broke out the next day.) It's better to just end this quickly, so we can go back inside, where it's warmer.
(And maybe I could still catch up to Yugi if I'm lucky.)
"No." At the answer she raises her head, azure eyes looking hopeful, and I feel a pang of guilt. Maybe I should have lied.
"I don't want one," I state bluntly. Her eyes dim in a second, face crestfallen, and it makes me think I should have soften the blow.
I can only imagine how terribly nerve-wrecking this must be for her, but I wonder if she has any idea how awkward this is for me. How it always is. It's difficult to comfort a crying girl if you're the cause of her tears. And I'm out of practice. I haven't received any confession in a while since I avoid them like the plague.
I think it should be the guy who courts the girl, not the other way around. I've rejected all of the confessions before, and news travel fast in this school. I have an inkling that someone has been keeping a list of the rejected.
The others know that making advances on me is pointless, so I'm not sure what prompted her to do this when many are dissuaded. Should I applaud this girl for her determination?
Her posture straightens, and she looks me in the eyes, her own ablaze. The confidence that has always accompanied her stance is back. Mazaki's not easy to give up, and she's just making things harder for me. "Sennen-kun... I—"
My phone interrupts her, Jaws Theme Song playing—I got a text from Seto. I regard it as a welcomed intervention despite its dooming tune.
I take the phone from my pocket. Seto's name appears on the screen, and I'm struck with an idea for escape.
I've already given my answer. Even if she can't accept it, I'm not obligated to please her.
"Sorry. It's my cousin. I have to go."
"Jaws... for Kaiba-san?" She sounds apprehensive.
I set the ringtone this morning; I had a feeling that I pissed Seto yesterday, and I wanted a warning before his payback. He's more vindictive than Ushio, and picks at the slightest of things, I swear. But I'm not telling her that.
"Yeah. It means it's urgent," I comment, opening the text.
Your crush has a date. Burger World.
My mind instantly relays that it's a bait and that I'll lose Seto's game if I bite.
But my legs don't have ears to listen, and I'm heading to the stairs. I turn to Mazaki, halfway out the door. "Bye," I bid curtly, not waiting for a reply.
"But—" her voice is cut off when I turn the corner.
It comes to mind how rude that was of me, but it's an afterthought I'm not going to dwell on; Burger World is a while away, and I've miles to run. I would hail a taxi, but my wallet is in my leather jacket, which is at home. I really shouldn't have left it in the laundry.
I see Seto leaning over Yugi, and I feel a spark of jealousy ignite.
It's hard to deny my feelings when I hear my insides shouting mine, mine, mine! I'm being unreasonably territorial, and to someone who isn't actually mine.
But feelings aren't rational.
And I'm feeling so much that I almost ignore the part of my brain commanding me to be rational.
The fact about Seto: He isn't gay.
If anything, he's asexual. Not gay. And for the slightest chance that he were, he wouldn't fall for someone who looked strikingly like his cousin. That would be kind of incest, a total turnoff.
He'd sooner bang his Blue Eyes White Dragon themed desk—God knows his attraction to that rare card is an obsession.
And if Seto had been hiding a secret desire for me, I'd be the first to notice. We've known each other for years, and I'm good at reading people. For instance: that sheen on Yugi's eyes as they look into Seto's is not attraction, but fear.
...What exactly is happening here?
Seto wears a condescending smirk as he retracts to his chair, like he won a battle. He gives a quick glance my way and got even smugger. I'm a second late on hiding. He knows I'm here.
Now that Seto is back on his seat, I have a clear view of a third occupant: a blond sitting in front of my cousin and wolfing on the food. The speed and amount at which he eats is astounding. He says something I don't hear, the other two simultaneously glare at him, and my thoughts wanders between blackmail dates and a triad.
"Is this a bad time?"
Yugi's head turns to my direction, so quick it's a snap. His eyes widen behind his glasses, the violets almost peeking over. Pretty as always. "Yami?"
"Hey." I wave a hand.
"What are you doing here?" Yugi asks.
I fight for the awkwardness not to show. God, I didn't think this through.
"Coincidence... ?" My eyes lock with Seto's, and I'm reminded of the text that brought me here in the first place. With a searing realization, I've willingly fallen into his trap.
Goodbye Obelisk.
At least, I've found my excuse: "Seto invited me." Not really, but he might as well have.
I spot my cousin's split second smirk before it fades to apathy. He must find this amusing.
"You did?" Yugi turns to Seto, questioning.
I pray to God that Seto won't tell on me.
"Of course, I did," Seto says with his routine indifference, the glint in his eyes contradicting his tone. Was that sarcasm? With Seto, it's hard to tell—unless you've grown up with the guy, which I have, then, yes, that was sarcasm. But Yugi doesn't need to know that. Can't have him thinking I'm his stalker now, can we?
"Ya must be Yami. Have a seat!" The blond greets in English. American.
He shakes my hand and pulls me to the chair next to his, catching me by surprise. Yugi is across the table, smiling sheepishly. There's a red mark on his forehead, a match with the tinge on his cheeks except darker.
Did he hit his forehead recently?
"How do you know my name?" I inquire the stranger.
"Yugi forum." I think he said something esoteric.
"It's an inside joke," Seto states before I could ask. Effective guessing is on its works again.
"By the way, you are?"
"I'm Joey Wheeler," he announces with a voice full of enthusiasm and a mouth stuffed with food. It's a wonder how he's coherent when he adds: "Yugi's brother."
Does no one share the same name in Yugi's family? Is this guy a half-sibling too? I face Yugi, honestly curious. "Another one. How many siblings do you have?"
Yugi sneaks a glance at Joey. The blond is stacking two burgers on top of each other and trying to fit it into his mouth. The lady at the next table is cringing at his version of decorum, and her company—I'm guessing her boyfriend—is taking a picture. "Right now? None."
"He's adopted. Yugi will not turn out like him," Seto assures. Joey throws a balled up wrapper at his face. Seto kicks him under the table. Joey kicks back, and the table is overturned. The fries flew, and some landed on Yugi's hair, now blending with his blond fringe, while a soda spilled on my shirt.
I have tough luck with sodas these days. It's a good thing I'm wearing black; the wet stain is not noticeable.
My cousin and Yugi's brother are bickering, the table is still on its side, and Yugi's picking fries from his hair and not paying them mind. The boyfriend is now recording a video, and we've gained the rest of the diners as audience.
Yugi scoots his chair away. He leans against our table, a hand shielding the side of his face and big eyes looking up—adorable—and whispers, "I don't know these people."
I follow his lead.
"Neither do I."
