Enjoy, and please comment!
"Time for Moving On"by: Rosalyn Angel
When Mokuba turns sixteen, he goes out every Friday and Saturday night. He and all his friends learn how to drive, and then they earn their cars, ranging from convertibles to pick-up trucks. Mokuba is always already on the doorstep by the time a blue, red, white, or black vehicle pulls up. He races down the stairs and hops in, and the crowded car pulls away into the dark of the night, to who-knows-where, only to return after Seto can stay up no longer.
Seto watches his little brother leave every Friday and Saturday night. He tells him he needs to be careful, and to maybe come back early this time. Mokuba nods and says yeah, yeah, I will; but he never does. Seto always stays at the window, trying to get a good look at the kids taking his brother away. He watches until he can't see the car any more, then he sits at the table with his laptop and works, glancing at the clock worrying, until he falls asleep with his head on his arms.
And every time Seto thinks to himself that this time he'll put his foot down and bring up the rules, that there's a curfew that Mokuba should abide to because he's only sixteen for Christ's sake, and that Seto should know where Mokuba is going and he at least should call if he's going to stay out past midnight, because Seto can't take growing any more gray hairs when he's only in his early twenties and he's put so much into keeping Mokuba safe and happy.
But then he sees the big smile on Mokuba's face when he's leaving, and suddenly Seto can't do anything but make suggestions.
When Mokuba turns seventeen, there's one Saturday night when he doesn't return. Seto wakes up early on the couch with his brown hair astray and checks his little brother's room as he always does, but there's no sleeping body on the bed. The covers aren't even turned down. There's a heavy weight in the middle of Seto's chest and he can't breathe; his brilliant mind is thinking of all sorts of possibilities, none of which he enjoys. He has no idea where Mokuba went; Mokuba never gave him any sort of phone numbers to call and check on him; and suddenly Seto feels horribly stupid for trusting a seventeen-year-old to take care of himself.
He rushes to the phone to call the police; he'll get every man and woman they have out searching for his little brother if he has to. He'll have his limo driver come in on his day off and they'll drive down every street and road and ask every person they see if they've seen this boy—
He hears the front door open and close. He freezes, the dial tone blaring, until the phone is dropped and he's sprinting to the main hallway to see a tired Mokuba trying to sneak upstairs.
When he's caught, Mokuba's gray eyes widen and his mouth opens to try and explain, but Seto won't have any of it. He puts his foot down and projects his voice out, yells that there are rules Mokuba needs to abide to, that this is unacceptable and he should know better, that he can't go out at nights any more because he obviously can't manage himself—
Mokuba yells back. He says he's not a little kid anymore, that he doesn't need Seto's protection as he once did. There's other things mingled in the raised voices, but that's all Seto hears and all that registers after Mokuba is stomping upstairs and slamming his bedroom door.
And Seto doesn't feel any better.
When Mokuba turns eighteen, he graduates. Seto is there to see him walk down the aisle all dressed up in his gown and cap, receive his diploma and throw his cap up in the air at the end. Seto stands off to the side while Mokuba's friends gather around him. Seto sees how tall Mokuba has gotten and how his voice has deepened. His eyes aren't quite as large as they used to be, aren't quite as innocent, but his smile is still there and familiar and lovely.
Seto is smiling too, but only person who can tell is Mokuba.
At least some things don't change.
When Mokuba turns nineteen, he wants to leave the country to go to college.
Seto's heart jumps and constricts. He remembers worrying about late nights. He remembers his brother's wide smile and thinks about how it wouldn't be just around the corner.
Seto says no, there are plenty of colleges nearby that are just as good as anywhere else.
But Mokuba isn't a little kid anymore. He's not as tall as Seto, but he's thicker with muscle, and he can shout louder than Seto's quiet nature allows him to. He says that he's nineteen for Christ's sake, that he doesn't need Seto's permission on where he goes and he doesn't need to call; he can keep himself safe and happy.
Then Mokuba says something that makes Seto shut up.
It's time for moving on.
Seto walks away, and Mokuba wonders if he's gone too far.
There's a tentative knock on Seto's door before it cracks open and Mokuba slips inside. Seto is working furiously on his laptop, so intent and focused that he doesn't hear the door or Mokuba calling out softly.
But somehow it still registers that Mokuba doesn't call him 'big brother' anymore.
"Seto?"
It takes two more tries and a tap on the shoulder before Seto's concentration is broken.
"Seto, please look at me."
Seto's fingers still over the keyboard and he sighs, turning in his chair. His dark blue eyes level with his brother's. "What is it?"
Mokuba motions his head to the bed, where they can both sit on the edge. "We need to talk."
Seto glances to the side. He doesn't move otherwise. "We already have. I told you my decision."
Mokuba looks as though he's going to yell again, but he takes a deep breath and calms himself down. "Okay," he says, "we didn't finish."
Seto's eyebrow rises. He grunts unhappily and moves to the bed with Mokuba following. He sits down with his arms crossed and back straight while Mokuba sits close and slouched and unsure. He looks down at his hands and rubs them together, until Seto pointedly bites out a, "Well?"
Mokuba looks up, straight into his big brother's face, and blurts out, "You have to let me go."
"No, I don't. There's colleges just a short drive away—"
"That's not that I mean," Mokuba interrupts strongly, frowning. "You know there's more to this than the college."
Seto's face is blank and hardened. But Mokuba can look in his eyes and see the fear and uncertainty, the subtle way the blue darkens and turns in on itself. Mokuba reaches out and tries to take his brother's hand, but his arms are crossed too tightly.
"I'm nineteen now," Mokuba starts slowly. "Not twelve."
Every truth hurts.
"You can't keep me close to you forever, Seto."
Every fact stings.
"I'm going to go on to other things. I'm going to have my own life."
Every reality burns.
"I can take care of myself."
Seto meets Mokuba's eyes. They aren't as innocent. They're mature. They're older. They're capable.
It's time for moving on.
"Seto?"
And it sets in. It registers.
"All right."
Mokuba stops abruptly to stare. "What?"
Seto allows his carefully constructed exterior to fall apart. He's worried, he's sad, he's downright terrified, but Mokuba's steady gaze reassures him that it's going to be okay. Seto looks closely at his little brother and says, "All right, Mokuba."
Mokuba's face lights up, like it did when he was younger.
"As long as you call…"
"Seto!"
They're laughing. At least some things don't change.
fin