Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.

Seas between us braid –

(Sequel to 'Tis the Season)

As my plane touches down in Japan for the first time in almost two years, I can't help but feel glad to be home. Though I spent the bulk of my time in Germany getting to know my brother all over again, I could never have made it permanent. I belonged in Japan.

Gods, I'll have to practically learn to speak my native language again, it's been so long. Well, except for the rare phone calls to Yami.

I wonder how he's been. We haven't spoken in almost a year, not since he decided he couldn't live with the mockery of a relationship we had anymore. I understood. It wasn't like I had any idea when he'd see me again. Once, we came close, when he played a Backgammon tournament in Switzerland. But Mokuba took a header off of a ski lift while on a weekend trip with friends.

It happened in June, six months after I'd moved to Germany. Yami called, excited that we might be able to get some time together and save our wrecked relationship. We'd planned everything down to the minute detail. I was minutes away from boarding the plane when my cell rang, and a completely freaked Seigfried told me what happened. I raced out of the airport, catching a cab back to the house and he and I rode in one of his limos to the scene two hours away. The doctors would only speak to Siefried, so I had to wait to find out that Mokuba had suffered some head trauma and a broken collarbone. They couldn't tell anything really until he woke up, which didn't happen for almost 35 hours.

I was a wreck and didn't sleep the whole time. I couldn't lose him now. We'd barely had time to bond. I was so focused on Mokuba's well being that I completely forgot about Yami until after Mokuba had awakened and been given a neurological clean bill of health a few days later. I'd stayed in the hospital the whole time. Siegfried has taken a few hours to go to a hotel and sleep while I crashed in the waiting room.

When those groggy, confused green-gray eyes first cracked open, I nearly screamed with joy. Only the need to keep my identity secret stayed me.

It was while riding back to the house after Mokuba's discharge that I finally turned my cell back on after needing it off while in the hospital.

"You have 15 new messages," the polite voice said when I went to check my messages. They were all from Yami and ranged from "Koshi? Where are you? Did you miss your plane?" to "Dammit, Seto! Why aren't you answering me? Where the hell are you? I thought you wanted to see me?" finally ending with "Fuck you, you prick! I knew you were just fucking with me."

I sighed to myself at the last message, saving it like the others 'for 40 days'.

'At this rate, that's the last time I'll hear his voice,' I was musing to myself when the phone rang. It was Yami again. We argued. Loudly. He didn't want to hear whatever excuses I had for standing him up and making a fool of him like that and I kept trying to explain. Finally he hung up on me and I threw my phone at the privacy partition, smashing it into a million pieces. Then I screamed at how stupid that was and pulled at my hair.

"I'm sorry," Mokuba had said forlornly. "I made you miss something important, didn't I?"

"Not more important than you," I'd replied.

And I meant it.

A few weeks later, Yami sent me an e-mail, formally saying good-bye. I responded with an explanation of what happened and how I wished things could have been different between us. He replied that he didn't realize I'd disappeared because of Mokuba and that he wanted to try again to at least be friends. I agreed. The e-mails continued another few months interspersed with several brief phone calls before he confessed that he couldn't take it anymore. Hearing my voice and 'talking' to me via e-mail without being able to hold me or even know if we'd ever touch again was taking a heavy emotional toll on him. He had to move on.

"Maybe I'll get back with Anzu," he'd written. "I don't know. I just can't do this anymore, Seto. I'm sorry."

I understood completely. Frankly, I didn't know how he'd lasted that long. Yami is a very sensual being. When I still lived in Japan, anytime we were alone, he'd find a way to touch me.

"You're doing it again," Mokuba's clear voice pulls me from my memories.

"Sorry, Mokuba," I apologize sincerely.

He shrugs.

"I don't really care if you space out, big bro, just don't do it while driving."

It felt good to hear him call me that. A little over six months ago, he still referred to me as 'Set', the nickname he'd given me after I'd lived with them for a while. When I first told him who I really was, about a month after his 18th birthday, he refused to believe it. Then he thought I'd abandoned him on purpose.

Gods, it hurt when he accused me of that.

It had taken many weeks to convince him otherwise, even with all of the evidence at my disposal. Weeks where I feared he'd fall back into the depression he'd finally lifted himself from about the death of his adoptive parents. At Siegfried's urging, I moved out of the house for a while. When Mokuba came to me to talk things through, I couldn't have been happier.

"So where are we going anyway," Mokuba interjects into my reverie.

"To visit an old friend."

"Oh. Wouldn't you rather do that without dragging your little brother along?"

"No, because I want him to met you. It's very important that he meet you, actually."

"Why?"

"Because he knew me for four of the years I searched for you and even helped me."

A pause.

"We're going to see Yami?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, big bro?"

"I don't know."

I'd told him about Yami earlier this month, right before Christmas. He caught me staring out the window and asked me what was wrong. I'd started talking before I thought and spilled it all. I told how I'd left Yami abruptly to come to Germany to be with him, how we'd tried to find some common ground as friends until he couldn't deal with anymore, how much it tore at my heart to lose him, but that I couldn't chose between them. It was a lot to take in as, up to that point, he didn't even know that I was gay or that I knew anyone of importance in Japan.

"That's who you were meeting in Switzerland, isn't it," he'd asked after I finished.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered much later. "For everything."

"Don't be. You did nothing wrong. And Yami knew where my loyalties lay."

We didn't talk about it anymore after that. I'd already planned to bring Mokuba to Japan for New Year's, but, until that conversation, I hadn't decided whether I'd try to contact Yami or not.

Pulling up to the house, I'm surprised to find two small children playing in the front lawn.

"Stay here", I tell Mokuba as I get out and head to the front door. Finding that my key no longer works, I knock lightly.

A petite redhead opens the door with a polite, "Yes, may I help you, sir?"

It takes a moment for my brain to process that she's speaking Japanese.

"Umm, yes. I was wondering, does Yami Mutou still live here?"

"Oh no, sir. Mr. Mutou sold us this house almost eight months ago."

"I see. You wouldn't happen to have a forwarding address would you?"

"No, sir."

"Well, thank you for your time, Miss…"

"Mrs.," she emphasizes, "Yakamura."

Thank you for your time, Mrs. Yakamura. Sorry to disturb you." I bow politely.

Back in the car, I'm at a loss. I don't have the phone numbers of any of his friends or Jii-chan since I smashed my cell. And I never did have their addresses, though I do know where Anzu lives. Or at least where she used to. What if she moved too?

"I take it he's not there anymore," Mokuba intones.

"No, he moved eight months ago."

"So what now?"

"I don't know."

Suddenly, Mokuba's stomach growls loudly and we laugh.

"I guess maybe I should feed you," I chuckle.

"Yeah, maybe you should," he snickers. "And then we need to find a place to stay for the night. I'm beat."

"Sure."

We pick some restaurant at random and then check into a nearby hotel. I'd planned to speak to Yami and see if maybe we could go back to how we were or maybe start over before I decided what else I'd be doing here. I'm still not even sure about staying in Japan. What good is having a home if your heart's not there?

After a solid night's sleep, my head is much clearer and I get the idea to call Yami's agent to locate him. After all, he'll probably be appearing somewhere for New Years' celebrations this week since he's still the King of Games and still very famous in Japan. I'm opening my new cell phone to call information when Mokuba calls me into the living room of the two-bedroom suite.

"Hey big bro, come quick! Isn't this Yami on the morning show?"

I come rushing out and sure enough, there he is, tanned and smiling and answering the reporter with the same flippant arrogance I'd come to love. I grin happily to myself.

"God, big bro," Mokuba smirks after a few minutes of listening to the interview, "this guy's a prick! Are you sure that's the same Yami you told me about?"

I laugh.

"Yes. That's him. Great game-face, huh?"

"I'll say," he scoffs.

Mokuba walks away after a little bit, but I sit down in front of the screen, drinking in the sight and sound of my former koi, hoping it's not too late for us.

The rest of the day flies by swiftly. I don't bother to call Yami's agent, having learned all I needed to from the interview. Yami will be at a nearby mall tomorrow afternoon and I plan for us to be there to greet him. I know just how to get his attention.

Mokuba and I eat out that night in a part of town that seems familiar. I wonder why until we're heading back to the car and Mokuba pipes up with, "He big bro, let's go there!"

I look to where he's pointing to see the Karaoke bar where Yami and I first met. I smile. That place holds many pleasant memories.

"Sure, Mokie. Why not?"

We leave the car where it is and walk over to the bar. As expected, the place is packed. It takes an hour of standing in line to even get in.

"Wow! You think it's like this because of New Years," Mokuba yells as we finally make it in.

"Maybe. But it's like this a lot," I reply.

We grab drinks at the bar before I decide to rent a private room and avoid the rambunctious crowd.

Three hours later, we're having the time of our lives, singing as many stupid songs as we can find and trying to see who can get the worse score. Mokuba manages a negative 25 to beat my negative 10 and we decide to call it a night.

I've gotten all the way back to the car before I realize that I checked the car keys with my coat.

Still laughing to myself at how stupid Mokie and I were, I'm walking out the door when I hear a familiar tenor behind me. Standing in the shadows, I listen intently as Yami, standing behind his customary five bodyguards, sings the poignant melody of loss that I recorded for him more than six years ago. As the ending notes to the song flow back into the beginning notes, an obvious regular sidles up to me.

"He's good, isn't he," the stranger questions.

'You have no idea,' I think to myself.

"Yeah," I mumble.

"He does this almost every Thursday. Gets on the stage and sings that song five or six times and then leaves."

Every Thursday. That's right. It was a Thursday when we met.

I stand mesmerized as he starts the song for a third time until Mokuba swats me on the arm yelling, "There you are! What are you doing? I thought you were just coming to get your coat?"

"Shhh!" I admonish, not looking away from the shadowed figure.

"Seto?"

As the song starts a forth time, I step from the shadows and join him. His voice cuts out shortly after mine begins. I don't stop singing, but move closer.

"K-Koshi," I can see him mouth as he peers out from behind a solid bicep, not being able to hear him over my voice.

Recognition lights his face and he leaps from the stage, landing on me ungraciously. The next thing I know, I'm being kissed within an inch of my life, his tongue attacking mine roughly. I smile into the kiss and wrap my arms tightly around him. I hear Mokuba laughing behind us.

It's good to be home. This is where I belong, in Japan.

With Yami.

AULD LANG SYNE

Words adapted from a traditional song
by Rabbie Burns (1759-96)

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine,
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit,
Sin auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.

And there's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o thine,
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne

Meanings

auld lang syne - times gone by
be - pay for
braes - hills
braid - broad
burn - stream
dine - dinner time
fiere - friend
fit - foot
gowans - daisies
guid-willie waught - goodwill drink
monie - many
morning sun - noon
paidl't - paddled
pint-stowp - pint tankard
pou'd - pulled
twa - two