Why Not Me? – A Jounouchi x Noa & Seto x Jounouchi story
Why me? Why do you always come to me? I know it's you as soon as the doorbell rings. You have this predictable habit of ringing it several times in sequence, usually forming the notes of whatever song is in your head that day. Seto won't let the butler answer the door when he hears that ring; he has to go to the door himself. Why does he do that? So he can act as if answering the door for you is the last thing he wants to do. So he can triple his usual pig headed arrogance into something that makes you feel like the lowest creature on earth.
He doesn't even speak to you. He pulls open the door, pretends that he barely acknowledges your presence and then storms back to his office and slams the door shut. You stand there for a moment, waiting until the last trace him of him has disappeared, until the breeze from the door has subsided and the echoing has bounced off all four walls, and then you come to me.
You pull open the door to the cupboard underneath the stairs that is barely big enough for me, let alone you, and crawl inside, flopping back against the pile of cushions in the corner and sighing dramatically. You've never even asked me why I'm there, why I'm forced to live in a small space with dust that causes you to break into sneezes each time you walk in, when the house has countless empty bedrooms.
I ask you about the bruise on your cheek, the blood staining your blonde hair, the limp as you walk, or the distinct look of grief on your face each time I set my eyes on it. You never give me a straight answer, but at least I ask, at least I care. I know what it does to a person; I saw what the father I loved did to Seto. I even try and make myself hate you, remind myself each time that you have a father and I don't, but it never makes any difference. I want to help. Why do you never want to help me?
I ask you if you want a drink, something to eat, and you never accept. You tell me you've just eaten, or that you will be eating when you leave, and then as soon as the maid comes round and asks, you jump at the chance like you've not eaten in weeks. Why do you always lie to me?
I always count the seconds until you ask your first predictable question. And predictably, it takes exactly thirty each time. Are you counting the seconds too? Wondering how long you can hold out? Worried about how desperate you look? "So has he said anything about me?" Your words shoot through my heart like an arrow, even though I expect the question each time we meet. Why do you ask me? Because I can remember each and every bit of information that passes through my mind, that I have a brain capacity far bigger than a human? Do you even realize how much it hurts me that you use me that way?
What do you want me to tell you? Seto never speaks of you, he never speaks of anyone but himself, you should know that and yet some part of your mind holds some shred of hope that he may have mentioned you in conversation. And what do I do? I make that little fantasy in your mind a reality. You don't want to know the truth; you want me to tell you what you want to hear. So that's what I do. I tell you that each time you're not on time for our 'appointment' he comes out of his office and wonders why you're late, that the reason he answers the door for you each time is that he longs to see you as much as you do him, and that the reason he is so cold towards you is that he's scared of revealing his true feelings.
What more do you want? Why do you keep coming back? I could tell you he had a shrine to you in his bedroom, would that work? Would you stop coming and using me like you do? Why am I even asking? I know the answer. It's not me you come for, the interest in what I have to say for you is nothing compared with the interest you have on setting your eyes on the man you love each time you enter the house.
I know what you want. I know why you come round each time your father has punished you. You want him to notice, you want him to care. You want him to put his hand on your injured cheek and kiss away the pain. Don't you realize he isn't going to do that? Don't you know that he doesn't care, and that once he goes back into his office he'll bury himself in his work and not give you a second thought?
Do you even know why I ask this of you? Can't you see the jealousy in my eyes? You think so much of him and he treats you like a dog, and I would give my life for you and you don't even realize. What would you do if I told you the truth? Would you forget about Seto and tell me you felt the same? No. If I told you the truth I'd lose that half an hour of time with you each week that I treasure, you'd hate me, I can't risk losing you like that. So my lies will continue, until one day you forget about Seto and find someone who deserves your time and dedication.
Even as I sit here gathering my thoughts and asking questions that will never be answered, that distinctive ringing echoes throughout the main hall of the house. I don't recognize the song, but then I never do, music taste isn't something we have in common. As always, the door to Seto's office opens and he strides across the room, each footstep echoing throughout the building and vibrating the floor underneath me. I can see him practicing his dirty look, and muttering to himself as if for your benefit even though you can't even hear him.
I peek out from a small hole in the room which allows me to see everything going on, and watch as he pulls open the door so furiously that it slams against the wall beside it and makes your body jump slightly. I sit and wait for Seto to leave so I don't have to view that look of admiration on your face for any longer, but he doesn't leave. Not this time. He stands for a moment, and stares right at you.
Your injuries are worse this time, I know, I can tell. He won't notice, I have, why don't you come into my room instead of standing there with him? I watch Seto's feet turn towards his office, and wait for him to storm off, but he doesn't. He wants to, his feet shuffle back and forth as though he can't make up his mind, but no matter how many times they turn to walk away, they always move back towards you. He steps forwards, once, twice, and then a third time while you stand and watch him, looking completely entranced by his eyes. Why isn't it me standing there so close to you? Why do you never look at me like that?
He lifts his hand up slowly, unsurely, placing it on your cheek as gently as he can, as if it will break like glass if he puts too much pressure on it, and he strokes it with his finger, running them over the purple bruises beginning to form around your eye. Then he moves his head forwards slightly, as you move yours, until his lips meet yours, and he closes his eyes as he begins to kiss you slowly and passionately, moving his hands up and burying his fingers in your hair.
I close my eyes and try to imagine the feel of your lips against mine, but it's impossible. It would be, wouldn't it? You never let me get that close to me, you moved out of the way even when my clothes simply brushed against yours. A single tear drips from the corner of my eye, running off my chin and landing on the spot you sat each time you came to see me. It's over now. We'll never talk like that again, after all, why would you want to spend time with your boyfriend's brother. After all the questions, thoughts and feelings running through my head, only one thing remains, other than that my mind is numb. Was I really that bad, that you never even thought about feeling what you do for him for me? Why did you choose him? Why not me?