Aria: Because I could, I edited chapter 3. There aren't a lot of changes,
but there are some. Also, chapter 4 is up and running! Thanks to all my
reviewers and my beta, Lola.
* * * * *
Five months ago snow had been settled shyly against the dull brown-gray trees, with patches of still velvety, tired-looking grass reaching to weak yellow sunlight. Five months ago there had been a day of deep blue sky and slanting slivery sunlight, and warm breezes that smelled like melting snow flowing over the still frozen ground.
Five months ago, Seto Kaiba sat at his desk in school and worked, and then sat at his desk in his office and worked, and felt that he was dying by pieces. He remembered thinking that, that he was dying by pieces, and he remembered not caring, because most of what he'd cared about was gone already, so what difference did it make anyway? So he worked, and clipped himself slowly out of the world, and didn't care.
Five months ago he'd swiveled to look out at the golden blue winter sky and longed for green grass and green leaves tossing shadows onto his face.
He reached down and picked up the dog-eared novel he'd brought along with him, flipping it over and reading the back cover.
Again.
He was unspeakably bored.
For five days he'd been coming to the park every afternoon with this book, for five days he had flipped open his computer and stared at the screen with his fingers listless on the keyboard while shadows lengthened around him, waiting, he thought ironically, like "Patience on a monument, smiling at Grief."
Not that that particular situation had any bearing on his—Shakespeare wasn't omniscient, after all, and he wasn't waiting for anyone. Anything.
He flipped the book back over and ruffled back and forth through its pages, just as he had done for five afternoons, and was likely to do for five afternoons more, unless something changed.
And clearly something had to change. He couldn't afford, any longer, to come to the park everyday and sit in the shade and the sun---he had work, real work to do and these afternoons, pleasant as they undoubtedly were, had become a luxury he could no longer bask in. He needed to go back to his office, clip himself out of the openness of the park in summer and back into his strict, safe, margined world of glass and glowing lines of code, of testing and tweaking and details and power. There really wasn't time for him to be sitting in the grass, skimming the pages of a worn, dog-eared book.
But it was so nice.
He turned to the front pages, his computer sitting humming softly in the grass next to him, forgotten for the moment in favor of soft worn pages and names that he scanned carefully before licking a finger and turning the pages to the beginning.
It was a nice day.
And he didn't, particularly, want to leave. Not yet.
After all, it wasn't his book.
He closed the soft pages around his finger, and flipped it to look at the front cover, the back cover. Again. Just like yesterday---and the four days before that.
He should really give the book back to Joey.
But, he thought to himself, watching the particular way the dark cover soaked sunlight and warmed in his touch, if he never saw Joey---since he never saw Joey---how could he give the book back?
That was clearly the question, and it was the one he put to himself to answer, sitting there feeling the bright warm sunlight glowing in his hair and on the back of his neck, choosing to ignore that rather more interesting question that it brought up of why Joey had left it there in the first place. There had been a muttered excuse, half-heard in the confusion of tennis shoes rustling grass and tripping over a root like an out-stretched hand, the thud of running steps and then he was gone.
He thought, idly, weighing the book against his fingers, that perhaps Joey was under some kind of stress, and then almost laughed aloud, hearing himself think about someone else, and Wheeler, of all people! he smiled, and didn't think about why the mutt had suddenly become Joey to him.
Not that he was really thinking about Joey, but, still, it was odd, the transformation the mutt seemed to be going through---when they'd first met in the park, it was Joey's easy-going attitude that had startled him into a reply---he entertained, for a moment, a memory of Joey sprawling lazily in the grass, one hand holding his book open while he chewed absent-mindedly on the nails of the other---and now it seemed like the pup always had something else on his mind.
It was wrecking Kaiba's concentration.
He looked at the book thoughtfully, remembering the panicked flash he'd caught of brown-gray eyes before Joey had turned and left, forgetting his book behind him. Clearly he'd been startled by something, or afraid of something, but what it was, Kaiba didn't know. He'd certainly never seen that particular expression aimed at him from Joey---all he'd seen, in the past, was the ridiculous bravado the mutt put on, the stubborn will that still, even now, never failed to surprise him when it blazed into life, and, more recently, the surprising friendliness that he'd never expected to find.
He frowned a little. Puppy had been acting very odd lately. Not looking at him, finding excuses to leave early, and---what had surprised him most--- snapping out retorts. So maybe the word wasn't "odd", exactly---maybe Joey was finally back to acting normal.
At least, normal for them.
But that was almost certain to cause problems, because Seto, at least, knew that he was no longer acting within any semblance of normality, and he liked it this way. He liked being able to sit in the shade and put aside his work and his life and his responsibilities for just a little while, liked how he could lie, like Joey, back in the grass and close his eyes to the sun.
But he didn't want to do it alone.
"You miss the mutt," he said softly to himself, eyes closed and arms crossed behind his head.
His eyes opened. The park suddenly seemed very lonely.
* * * * *
In all fairness, Joey hadn't really meant to find Kaiba. He'd gone to the park with the express purpose of finding Kaiba, yes, but that hadn't meant that he actually wanted to find him---and, to be perfectly fair, he hadn't thought past finding him at all, or if he had, he forgot it now, hitting the toe of his scuffed tennis shoe against the edge of a laptop that was hidden in the thick grass and seeing the familiar lanky figure just beyond, blue eyes open and filled with sunlight.
It was enough to make him choke on his ice cream.
Kaiba, typically, didn't turn, didn't even blink, but he did tense a little, and then, relaxing, told Joey calmly "please not to break my computer."
"You shouldn't leave it lying in the grass then, moneybags," he retorted, stung into defensiveness, before pausing, thinking, and wanting to smack himself in the head.
One silky brown eyebrow quirked up, but Kaiba didn't respond, looking up into the guileless blue sky while Joey stared at his feet and forgot about the ice cream melting in his hand.
"You forgot your book."
Joey jumped. "What? Oh," he looked down at the book Kaiba was holding up for his inspection. "Yeah. Thanks." He sat down and took the book, flipping it over and rifling through the pages absent-mindedly, until the trickle of cool vanilla that had been slipping down the side of his cone slid onto his hand, and he looked up to see Kaiba watching him, expressionless.
He flushed, and licked at the melted vanilla, hiding behind his thick bangs and wondering what on earth he was going to do next. Having actually run into Kaiba, he didn't want to leave, but he knew without the hope of a doubt that he would do or say something stupid, or possibly let slip—
He flushed harder and bent his head down further, staring at the book in his hand and trying to convince himself that he looked nonchalant.
He was as good as done for.
So he concentrated on his ice cream instead, concentrated on licking off the melting layers and biting away at the cold solid core, the book forgotten in his hand, his eyes still down, and vanilla in his mouth and on his fingers, smooth and sweet and much more comforting than staring back into Kaiba's hard blue eyes.
"Scared of me, Joey?"
He jerked up, thinking in a sudden panic that Seto must be able to actually read minds now.
"What?"
Blue eyes blinked at him in sudden surprise, and turned back up to stare into deeper blue sky. "Just wondering why you haven't been around lately. Not scared of me, Wheeler, are you?"
"Me? Scared of you?" He laughed, awkward and forced. It was that mask he'd worn so long around Kaiba. It felt familiar, and comfortable, and stifling.
He wanted it off.
"I've been busy," he said more easily, biting into the cone of his ice cream and sucking away a way-ward drop of cool vanilla, before tossing his bangs out of his eyes and looking up at the other boy, an expression of cool interest studiously stretched over his face.
"Busy?" was the only response he got. Kaiba didn't even move.
"Yeah." He felt the full ridiculousness of the statement looking at Kaiba. Busy. Because sitting around at home flipping out over some crush is so much harder than running a company. The studied expression slipped away, and he flushed hard, his eyes glinting behind thick gold bangs.
"I see."
They stayed for a moment, in silence, Joey staring at the grass after he finished his ice cream.
His hands smelled like vanilla.
"Thanks for bringing me my book," he said, quietly, and, hesitating, looked up to see Kaiba's response, but the blue eyes were closed and the lean chest rose steadily and smoothly in even breaths.
Joey just looked at him, studying the paleness of his skin, the smooth material of his shirt, the way brown silky hair weaved into soft green grass. Leaning forward, he traced a strand of brown, feeling the smoothness against his callused fingertips.
His eyes closed against the bright sunlight, Kaiba smelled vanilla, and almost smiled. "You've been acting strangely lately," he offered, feeling his chest sink down, his back pressing into the warm grass. No wonder Joey was always sprawled out like this, he thought. It's perfect.
There was a pause, and a rustle, and as Joey snapped back into himself, panicked, Seto cracked open one clear blue eye to see him place long fingers against his forehead, sinking them deep into thick autumn-gold hair. He couldn't see his eyes.
"What?" he asked, a little annoyed.
"I have a headache," Joey muttered, eyes downcast and staring at the grass between his tennis shoes. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his elbows on them, staring, wide-eyed, down, as he felt his heart careening into his ribcage.
What if he'd been caught?
Later, Seto couldn't have said what prompted him to do it, but he opened that one eye further, reached out and patted Joey's bright hair softly. "Puppy ate his ice cream too fast," he said as he pulled his hand back and rested his head back on it, closing his eyes again to the empty blue above him.
Joey's hair was so soft.
He didn't see the way Joey froze, the way he lifted his head slowly to look at him, didn't see the surprise and sudden hope that were in the brown eyes, didn't feel the way breath hitched in Joey's chest.
He did feel the slight pressure against his leg as Joey leaned back against the tree, stretched out one long jean-clad leg until his toe nudged Seto's calf, and began to read.
It made him smile.
* * * * *
* * * * *
Five months ago snow had been settled shyly against the dull brown-gray trees, with patches of still velvety, tired-looking grass reaching to weak yellow sunlight. Five months ago there had been a day of deep blue sky and slanting slivery sunlight, and warm breezes that smelled like melting snow flowing over the still frozen ground.
Five months ago, Seto Kaiba sat at his desk in school and worked, and then sat at his desk in his office and worked, and felt that he was dying by pieces. He remembered thinking that, that he was dying by pieces, and he remembered not caring, because most of what he'd cared about was gone already, so what difference did it make anyway? So he worked, and clipped himself slowly out of the world, and didn't care.
Five months ago he'd swiveled to look out at the golden blue winter sky and longed for green grass and green leaves tossing shadows onto his face.
He reached down and picked up the dog-eared novel he'd brought along with him, flipping it over and reading the back cover.
Again.
He was unspeakably bored.
For five days he'd been coming to the park every afternoon with this book, for five days he had flipped open his computer and stared at the screen with his fingers listless on the keyboard while shadows lengthened around him, waiting, he thought ironically, like "Patience on a monument, smiling at Grief."
Not that that particular situation had any bearing on his—Shakespeare wasn't omniscient, after all, and he wasn't waiting for anyone. Anything.
He flipped the book back over and ruffled back and forth through its pages, just as he had done for five afternoons, and was likely to do for five afternoons more, unless something changed.
And clearly something had to change. He couldn't afford, any longer, to come to the park everyday and sit in the shade and the sun---he had work, real work to do and these afternoons, pleasant as they undoubtedly were, had become a luxury he could no longer bask in. He needed to go back to his office, clip himself out of the openness of the park in summer and back into his strict, safe, margined world of glass and glowing lines of code, of testing and tweaking and details and power. There really wasn't time for him to be sitting in the grass, skimming the pages of a worn, dog-eared book.
But it was so nice.
He turned to the front pages, his computer sitting humming softly in the grass next to him, forgotten for the moment in favor of soft worn pages and names that he scanned carefully before licking a finger and turning the pages to the beginning.
It was a nice day.
And he didn't, particularly, want to leave. Not yet.
After all, it wasn't his book.
He closed the soft pages around his finger, and flipped it to look at the front cover, the back cover. Again. Just like yesterday---and the four days before that.
He should really give the book back to Joey.
But, he thought to himself, watching the particular way the dark cover soaked sunlight and warmed in his touch, if he never saw Joey---since he never saw Joey---how could he give the book back?
That was clearly the question, and it was the one he put to himself to answer, sitting there feeling the bright warm sunlight glowing in his hair and on the back of his neck, choosing to ignore that rather more interesting question that it brought up of why Joey had left it there in the first place. There had been a muttered excuse, half-heard in the confusion of tennis shoes rustling grass and tripping over a root like an out-stretched hand, the thud of running steps and then he was gone.
He thought, idly, weighing the book against his fingers, that perhaps Joey was under some kind of stress, and then almost laughed aloud, hearing himself think about someone else, and Wheeler, of all people! he smiled, and didn't think about why the mutt had suddenly become Joey to him.
Not that he was really thinking about Joey, but, still, it was odd, the transformation the mutt seemed to be going through---when they'd first met in the park, it was Joey's easy-going attitude that had startled him into a reply---he entertained, for a moment, a memory of Joey sprawling lazily in the grass, one hand holding his book open while he chewed absent-mindedly on the nails of the other---and now it seemed like the pup always had something else on his mind.
It was wrecking Kaiba's concentration.
He looked at the book thoughtfully, remembering the panicked flash he'd caught of brown-gray eyes before Joey had turned and left, forgetting his book behind him. Clearly he'd been startled by something, or afraid of something, but what it was, Kaiba didn't know. He'd certainly never seen that particular expression aimed at him from Joey---all he'd seen, in the past, was the ridiculous bravado the mutt put on, the stubborn will that still, even now, never failed to surprise him when it blazed into life, and, more recently, the surprising friendliness that he'd never expected to find.
He frowned a little. Puppy had been acting very odd lately. Not looking at him, finding excuses to leave early, and---what had surprised him most--- snapping out retorts. So maybe the word wasn't "odd", exactly---maybe Joey was finally back to acting normal.
At least, normal for them.
But that was almost certain to cause problems, because Seto, at least, knew that he was no longer acting within any semblance of normality, and he liked it this way. He liked being able to sit in the shade and put aside his work and his life and his responsibilities for just a little while, liked how he could lie, like Joey, back in the grass and close his eyes to the sun.
But he didn't want to do it alone.
"You miss the mutt," he said softly to himself, eyes closed and arms crossed behind his head.
His eyes opened. The park suddenly seemed very lonely.
* * * * *
In all fairness, Joey hadn't really meant to find Kaiba. He'd gone to the park with the express purpose of finding Kaiba, yes, but that hadn't meant that he actually wanted to find him---and, to be perfectly fair, he hadn't thought past finding him at all, or if he had, he forgot it now, hitting the toe of his scuffed tennis shoe against the edge of a laptop that was hidden in the thick grass and seeing the familiar lanky figure just beyond, blue eyes open and filled with sunlight.
It was enough to make him choke on his ice cream.
Kaiba, typically, didn't turn, didn't even blink, but he did tense a little, and then, relaxing, told Joey calmly "please not to break my computer."
"You shouldn't leave it lying in the grass then, moneybags," he retorted, stung into defensiveness, before pausing, thinking, and wanting to smack himself in the head.
One silky brown eyebrow quirked up, but Kaiba didn't respond, looking up into the guileless blue sky while Joey stared at his feet and forgot about the ice cream melting in his hand.
"You forgot your book."
Joey jumped. "What? Oh," he looked down at the book Kaiba was holding up for his inspection. "Yeah. Thanks." He sat down and took the book, flipping it over and rifling through the pages absent-mindedly, until the trickle of cool vanilla that had been slipping down the side of his cone slid onto his hand, and he looked up to see Kaiba watching him, expressionless.
He flushed, and licked at the melted vanilla, hiding behind his thick bangs and wondering what on earth he was going to do next. Having actually run into Kaiba, he didn't want to leave, but he knew without the hope of a doubt that he would do or say something stupid, or possibly let slip—
He flushed harder and bent his head down further, staring at the book in his hand and trying to convince himself that he looked nonchalant.
He was as good as done for.
So he concentrated on his ice cream instead, concentrated on licking off the melting layers and biting away at the cold solid core, the book forgotten in his hand, his eyes still down, and vanilla in his mouth and on his fingers, smooth and sweet and much more comforting than staring back into Kaiba's hard blue eyes.
"Scared of me, Joey?"
He jerked up, thinking in a sudden panic that Seto must be able to actually read minds now.
"What?"
Blue eyes blinked at him in sudden surprise, and turned back up to stare into deeper blue sky. "Just wondering why you haven't been around lately. Not scared of me, Wheeler, are you?"
"Me? Scared of you?" He laughed, awkward and forced. It was that mask he'd worn so long around Kaiba. It felt familiar, and comfortable, and stifling.
He wanted it off.
"I've been busy," he said more easily, biting into the cone of his ice cream and sucking away a way-ward drop of cool vanilla, before tossing his bangs out of his eyes and looking up at the other boy, an expression of cool interest studiously stretched over his face.
"Busy?" was the only response he got. Kaiba didn't even move.
"Yeah." He felt the full ridiculousness of the statement looking at Kaiba. Busy. Because sitting around at home flipping out over some crush is so much harder than running a company. The studied expression slipped away, and he flushed hard, his eyes glinting behind thick gold bangs.
"I see."
They stayed for a moment, in silence, Joey staring at the grass after he finished his ice cream.
His hands smelled like vanilla.
"Thanks for bringing me my book," he said, quietly, and, hesitating, looked up to see Kaiba's response, but the blue eyes were closed and the lean chest rose steadily and smoothly in even breaths.
Joey just looked at him, studying the paleness of his skin, the smooth material of his shirt, the way brown silky hair weaved into soft green grass. Leaning forward, he traced a strand of brown, feeling the smoothness against his callused fingertips.
His eyes closed against the bright sunlight, Kaiba smelled vanilla, and almost smiled. "You've been acting strangely lately," he offered, feeling his chest sink down, his back pressing into the warm grass. No wonder Joey was always sprawled out like this, he thought. It's perfect.
There was a pause, and a rustle, and as Joey snapped back into himself, panicked, Seto cracked open one clear blue eye to see him place long fingers against his forehead, sinking them deep into thick autumn-gold hair. He couldn't see his eyes.
"What?" he asked, a little annoyed.
"I have a headache," Joey muttered, eyes downcast and staring at the grass between his tennis shoes. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his elbows on them, staring, wide-eyed, down, as he felt his heart careening into his ribcage.
What if he'd been caught?
Later, Seto couldn't have said what prompted him to do it, but he opened that one eye further, reached out and patted Joey's bright hair softly. "Puppy ate his ice cream too fast," he said as he pulled his hand back and rested his head back on it, closing his eyes again to the empty blue above him.
Joey's hair was so soft.
He didn't see the way Joey froze, the way he lifted his head slowly to look at him, didn't see the surprise and sudden hope that were in the brown eyes, didn't feel the way breath hitched in Joey's chest.
He did feel the slight pressure against his leg as Joey leaned back against the tree, stretched out one long jean-clad leg until his toe nudged Seto's calf, and began to read.
It made him smile.
* * * * *