Disclaimer: Not a speck, nay, not a jot belongs to me.

Two Hours' Traffic

Chapter Six

The stranger looked up.

Mokuba's world stilled.

Even from this distance, he felt drawn into the young man's eyes. He'd never seen anyone so unguarded—annoyance, confusion, dawning interest chasing each other across that open face.

He could not look away.

Beautiful.

Mokuba smiled.

The young man's eyes widened, his lips parted—

And someone touched Mokuba's arm.

Mokuba came back to his immediate surroundings with a jolt, air rushing into his lungs. Was I holding my breath?

It was Mrs. Kanekura who had tapped his elbow. Now she was blinking at him coyly while Seto conferred with a staffer.

"Your brother's told me of your talent. My nephew's graphics firm could use your skills, I'm sure. What would you say to a little informal meeting between the two of you?"

For a long moment he just stared at her, unable to form a reply. Seto's voice re-entered the conversation, deep and smooth.

"Just email me your nephew's contact information, Mrs. Kanekura. Mokuba will be in touch. But let's not discuss business on his birthday. Besides—I have an errand for you, Mokuba."

"On his birthday?" riposted Mrs. Kanekura.

"I'm afraid so. But it's a private matter."

Mrs. Kanekura fluttered off; Mokuba quirked an eyebrow at Seto. "Private?"

"Yes." Seto bent down to Mokuba's ear and muttered, "Go have fun. Now."

After a fruitless glance around the room, Jounouchi scowled down at the toes of his Honda-approved shoes. Mingle, huh.

An exasperated chuckle bubbled up inside. He straightened his shoulders, raised his head. And found himself staring at a boy whose eyes were fixed squarely on him.

Slight, golden-skinned; a mass of dark hair pulled back from a vivid, almost stern face.

Do I know him? No. That face I wouldn't forget. ...Maybe he's trying to figure out what the weird intruder is doing propping up a wall.

The boy smiled.

Jounouchi's heart contracted. It was a smile like Yuugi's had been years ago; bright, alive, inviting.

No. It wasn't Yuugi's shy twinkle. This boy's smile didn't just invite—it summoned.

Me?

Blood rushed to Jounouchi's face... as the boy turned away to speak with the elegantly dressed woman standing with him.

Idiot! Calm down, heart. Nothing happened—just my overactive imagination. Jounouchi pushed away from the wall and made for one of the side aisles. I'd better find a game to play before my mind plays another game with me.

Mokuba walked purposefully towards the back of the Big Web "midway," deflecting the approach of a few acquaintances with a grin and wave. Beyond a sliding partition wall at the rear of the huge room was the dining and dancing area. Nobody was supposed to be there as yet except for the caterers and, he hoped, Otogi. He wasn't sure why he wanted to find Otogi. Maybe it was the feeling that something had changed, something big, and Otogi was the most ... comfortable ... person in his life.

He came to a halt beside one of the potted palms that lined the back room, looked around. Over to the left, he spied the familiar ponytailed form, facing away from him.

His greeting died on his lips. Someone else was standing a few yards from Otogi, addressing him in a rough-edged voice. Mokuba strained to hear.

"Been a while, hasn't it."

Otogi slowly turned toward the speaker. "I don't recall your name being on the guest list." Mokuba had never seen Otogi look so drawn. He shrank back behind the palm.

The stranger—a dark-haired man, broad-shouldered—laughed without humor. "I was invited, though. Yuugi helped one of your boyfriend's workers figure out how to work that invitation gadget. Apparently Mr. Kaiba didn't think it important to make sure the man understood. And it seems the fellow was just too scared to ask him for help. Anyway, he was pathetically grateful, and invited the lot of us to come."

"Honda. Why are you doing this? It's been two years." Otogi's tone lacked its usual lightness.

"Two and a half. Yes. Time to move on. For me, that is—it's all water under the bridge for you."

Mokuba saw Otogi flinch. The other man continued, "Came across this among my things the other day; thought it was time to give it back." He grasped something in his pocket, pulled it out, opened his hand.

"That was for you to keep," Otogi said in a thread of a voice.

"Some things are too painful to hold onto, Ryuuji."

At that, something appeared to snap in Otogi. He took several quick steps toward the other. "You left me!" he hissed.

"No, you bailed on us. After you ditched your coworkers, I knew it was only a matter of time before you'd need to get rid of your lower-class lover; all I did was save you the troub--"

"Stop!" came Otogi's muffled voice. The two stood silent for a moment. Otogi's chest rose and fell as though he'd run a race.

"I didn't want to lose you. I never did." Otogi said at last. "Believe what you want, though. Whatever makes you feel like the wronged party. Just remember that while you were off sunning yourself—excuse me, fishing for salmon with Kajiki—I was dealing with my dad's episodes. He had to go into round-the-clock care. Not exactly cheap."

Honda started to speak; Otogi cut him off. "You could say I lost three loves that summer. Dad went into a tailspin, never really came back to himself. My business shipwrecked. And my boyfriend decided I was some loathsome backstabber—"

"I love you."

Otogi froze in mid-gesture.

Honda hunched his shoulders. "I know it's too late, I know you've got your beautiful new life, maybe some reasonable part of me is even glad for you."

"Hiroto—"

"But I had to say it before I let you go for good." Honda opened his hand, let what he was holding—a pendant on a leather cord—slip onto the table, and took a step back. Then suddenly he surged forward, threw an arm around Otogi's neck, and kissed him hard.

Mokuba didn't stay to see more—he whirled and fled.

Ducking into the restroom corridor, he took time to catch his breath. Otogi—comfortable? He's a walking soap opera. He couldn't decide whether he felt betrayed or guilty for not knowing his brother's boyfriend better, for never asking what Otogi's life had been like before they met.

A tray-table laden with glasses of red wine caught his eye. He helped himself to a cup. Tipping back his head, he hesitated, then let the sour liquid slide down his tongue, the aroma burn against the roof of his mouth. Seto would not be pleased to see him drinking, but Seto was otherwise occupied.

Slowly, he emerged into the midway again. He turned right and sauntered deliberately toward the half-doors in the rear corner. If anything could distract him from this yawning sense of instability, it was a round of pool.

Thanks to m'dear HushPuppie for beta-ing! Sorry for the delay, all. This originally formed the first half of a much longer chapter, which has now been broken down for easier digestibility. The next installment should appear shortly!

Useless Trivia Department: Honda's sally into salmon fisheries was inspired by "June Is A-Comin,'" a beautifully wistful song by Dana Lyons: "June is a-comin,' the salmon are runnin'/and I've got to be on my way..."

Hugs to Tuulikki and Ashes for reviewing the last chapter!