—Mokuba.

Mokuba, waiting for Seto, six eternal months of torment; his only reassurance something florid and vague from the same guy who did this to Seto; caring so much that he takes his one memento and rips it in half, like the Blue-Eyes, but he rips it out of love instead of malice.

Mokuba, waiting a second time, this time with no reassurance, only a dreadful directive, You're in charge; and when Seto's back at last and bereft and tortured and screaming, God, I've lost him! I've lost him!—without a word he hugs him, lets him weep.

Mokuba, trapped, experiencing death, dying and left for dead by him and still, still believing in him—what a fool—what a terrible burden it is, love—love for someone like Seto.

Mokuba, babysitting Farida, teaching her how to pull stunning pranks; together they crouch in the foyer and cackle at the chaos, and together they're read the riot act, but Seto can't stand up to two forlorn faces—he can't bring himself to be angry at all.

Mokuba, strapped in behind him, messing with the seat controls and blasting pop music, moaning that he has to pee when they're over the middle of the ocean; firing off sarcastic commentary and almost causing a plane crash, so fraught is Seto with laughter.

Mokuba, late at night, letting himself into Seto's office and asking him, Are you alright? How do you feel about it? and Seto pours them drinks and spills everything, his jealousy, his anxiety; his empathy. Yuugi loves him, Mokuba. What else matters?

Mokuba, ever at his right hand, hauling his heavy briefcase full of cards, cheering, cheering for Seto; cheering when sometimes tens of thousands were booing, no matter what—no matter if Seto deserved it or not: His Niisama was the best! The best in the world!

Mokuba, not really liking chess, he never would; letting Seto teach him and loving him for it, because who else would play with him?—and which "him" did he mean?

Mokuba, sitting with him, falling asleep on the sofa, suggesting his favorite games to program; and testing IDI first, since Seto's afraid that Atem won't be there, but he is there, and Mokuba meets him first, and with tears in his eyes he drags his disbelieving brother to the table.

Mokuba, begging and pleading to go to the theme park, to Aqua Star; driving Seto up a wall 'cuz how could he ever take him there?—so he builds one in the sandbox for him and leads him through the playground, shouting, Welcome to the grand opening! Welcome to Mokuba Star!

Mokuba, over the moon, catching his own flight and hugging the life out of him; almost upset by the question Seto probably didn't need to ask, Best man? Of course, Niisama. Yes. Yes!

Mokuba, asleep, stirring when he hears the shower; blinking up at Seto's gentle smile, confused by the towel wrapped over his hair, turning over, asleep once more.

Mokuba, sliding barefoot on the wet grass, sitting with Seto on the concrete step, stealing a drink of his soda, asking him if he's having fun.

Mokuba, hidden and growing, learning Seto's voice, to trust it in the dark.

Mokuba.

"Mokuba."

The boy—little Seto—gazes at him.

"The last piece," Seto says. "It's Mokuba. Our little brother. Mokuba."

Speaking his name speaks life. The wind stirs their clothes, their hair. The puzzle lights up. Little Seto's eyes do, too.

"Mokuba," he breathes, remembering it all—present and future and past.

Seto smiles. "He has it. Go find him."

Little Seto nods. He turns to the reeds, parts them, takes one step in. But he turns back, gripping the puzzle.

"Thanks," he says, and vanishes.

Seto casts his eyes over the river. The mother and child are gone. He reaches out and snatches the sketchbook; brushes the dirt off. A cursory flip-through; the strange drawings are gone. Seto's heart fills up with a blend of relief and profound sadness.

It's quiet. Seto ventures, "...Yuugi?"

"Sorry!"

And there's Yuugi, tromping down the path toward him, cheeks red with exertion and none the wiser. "I dropped my phone back there—on the trail—somehow. Found it, though!"

Seto flexes the hand that got wet, freezing now, and extends the other. "Here's your sketchbook," he says.

"Oh, thanks!"

Yuugi stuffs it into his bag and helps Seto to his feet. He surveys their hideaway, hands on his hips.

"Whadda you think?" Yuugi says with reluctance. "Should we head back? What time are we meeting Mokuba, again?"

Seto smiles. "Soon," he says. "Let's go."

Yuugi smiles back. "Mm."

They leave together without looking back; and so neither of them sees the White Dragon burst from the river, resplendent, sending down a shower of a thousand rainbows—aiming for the sun that has just emerged, carrying two little boys on her back.

THE END

Doctor's Note: Thank you for reading and for all your support and love! It means the world to me. I've loved sharing this story with you, and I hope you found meaning in it.

Is it corny to say that Seto and Mokuba are probably pieces of my heart puzzle, too?

Love,

Dr. MP