Author's Note: Hello, FF! It's been numerous years since I have last been on this account. Ten, to be exact. But this is a story I'm revisiting that I started back in 2014, but decided wasn't worth pursuing so I scrapped it. With quarantine in full swing, I decided to revisit my favorite fandom and otp of all otp's to rework this fic and give it some fresh life. This is going to be a slow-burn romance with the body-guard trope for puppyshipping/violetshipping. I hope you guys enjoy the ride; updates will occur once weekly. Thanks for sticking around!
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any characters depicted.
Brooklyn, New York City, New York. 7:04 PM EST.
The brisk autumn breeze clatters loudly against the open window, sending a gust of frigid air whipping through the small space with little remorse. Seven o'clock in Brooklyn had always been a bitter affair in the throes of October - but even the ambient sound of screeching tires, blaring car honks, and the occasional siren did little to disturb Jou's heavy sleep. The tendrils of icy air creeping against his exposed cheek only manage to pull a slight shiver and a tired groan from him.
He tugs the blanket higher now, pulling it up and over his head to protect him from the cold before his sleeping figure rolls listlessly upon his futon; while Jou had moved to New York nearly five years prior, he had yet to fully grow out of his preferences for Japanese style bedding. His futon was far cheaper than a Western-style bed and conserved quite a bit more space - a welcome blessing, considering all the blonde had managed to afford was a cramped studio tucked in the asscrack of Williamsburg.
When Jou was younger, more naive, the sun dipping below the horizon at seven o'clock had meant only one thing - that another day of game-related adventures with his closest friends was slowly winding down and the only thing left was to laugh around a large pizza (half pepperoni, half cheese; Yugi always insisted on eating plain cheese while he and Honda would squabble over the last slice of pork-y, cheesy bliss under Anzu's dismayed gaze) until exhaustion took hold of the quartet.
Seven years had passed since graduation, though - and with the sudden shift, the familiar dynamic of comfort Jou had leaned on so heavily for support during his adolescence began to slowly dissolve.
Anzu moved to the States as she had promised, pursuing a career in dance after securing an acceptance at Juilliard's. Honda had moved to Tokyo alongside Shizuka - much to Jou's chagrin, initially - to start a future with the girl he had been so enamored with for years prior. Yugi, too, had future plans - and while his grandfather's game shop had been left under the youngest Motou's name, the King of Games had many appearances to make.
His first two years following graduation had been painfully uneventful in comparison to those closest to him; dead-end odd-jobs that hardly paid the bills and an alcoholic father who found comfort in slurring his rage when Jou had the misfortune of crossing paths with him did little to quell the emptiness that lingered in his chest.
In retrospect, prosperity had come for those closest to him - but he had a rather unlucky streak preceding him. Jou was never that surprised, really, that the shit end of the stick always seemed to be thrust into his hands time and time again. He endured, nonetheless.
It wasn't until his mother fell ill that Jou decided to bid Domino his final goodbye. It was an unfortunate circumstance - and while both Shizuka and himself had little contact with the woman who had birthed them since they were children, neither could turn a blind eye in good conscience.
Jou was twenty years old when he packed his bag and left the shabby abode he had called a hell-hole for the better part of two decades. A scribbled note on a leftover index card was the only goodbye he had offered his father before the door closed shut behind him, hinges creaking and uneven.
He had little recollection of New York - and while his mother hailed from the Big Apple, Jou had hardly ever visited. He maintained a vague memory of Christmas when he was little more than a toddler where he and his mother had wandered through Manhattan to admire the tree settled in Rockefeller Center, but the more Jou had thought about it, the more he was convinced it had been a fever dream.
The transition to settling in New York, while strange, hadn't been altogether unwelcome. Tending to his sick mother had been taxing and long hours as a barista close to NYU had proven to be a grueling experience (there was nothing quite as tiresome as bundles of spoiled college brats barking at him in English to make their caramel-salted-foam-macchi-whatever A-SAP,) but Anzu was nearby and having a familiar face so close lifted his spirits enough.
But as it always happened in Jou's case, his luck slowly began to taper out. Anzu's dance career relocated her to Los Angeles, leaving the blonde-haired man to his own devices once again - and as the years passed him by, his mother's condition began to deteriorate. Hospital visits became more frequent and overnight stays eating up a majority of her last few months. Jou hardly had time to visit her, though, taking on more hours than he could humanly tolerate.
America was fucking expensive and the money had to come from somewhere.
One year, three months, and two and a half weeks ago, his mother had finally succumbed and exhaled her last breath.
The weeks following that night were a blur; Jou hardly remembered the details, just that his extended family had finally made an appearance to organize the formalities. Shizuka had flown out from Tokyo and to Jou's much needed relief, Honda had joined the pair of siblings when it came to the funeral and all. Yugi, Anzu, and even Otogi had messaged him their condolences - and after the convoluted maelstrom of misplaced emotions and confusion had finally subsided, Jou had been left with a choice.
He no longer had business to tend to in New York - but the more he thought about it, he realized the same was true for Domino. With no friends or likeable family left in the small town in Japan, Jou opted to stay where he had settled his roots. He emptied the apartment he had shared with his mother, packed his things, and downsized to a place of his own. It wasn't glamorous, but none of his prior residences had been anything more than simply "liveable."
He quit his job at the cafe and found himself locked in a vicious cycle of temporary employment followed by an abrupt termination. His last three places of employment had fired him without warning after a handful of months, blaming it on his flaring temper sometimes and on his lack of punctuality and responsibility at others. All bullshit, if you asked Jou. He was personable and mature enough to win a few national tournaments, for Christ's sake.
The unfortunate circumstances could hardly be supplanted by his tremendous skills at Duel Monsters no matter what Jou wished, so he resigned himself to job-hunting when plausible.
The last six months had granted him a rather comfortable position as a security guard for an upscale apartment building in the heart of Manhattan; the benefits were handsome enough and the pay steady, but the hours were truthfully a hassle. Night shifts some weeks and ass-crack-of-dawn shifts on others, it was unpredictable. But hey, Jou could hardly complain.
His sleeping schedule took a hit, though - hence why 7 PM wind hardly roused him from sleep. It isn't until his phone roars to life, offending alarm blaring at the highest volume, that Jou startles himself awake.
"Fuckin' hell-!" he snaps, heart lurching in his chest as he bolts upright. One hand flies to rest upon his chest as Jou focuses on steadying the racing thumps beating against his ribcage. It takes him a long moment before he finally groans in defeat, slumping over slightly. The hand hovering over his chest shifts to instead run through knotted blonde hair, tugging distractedly in an attempt at loosening the matted bits as best as he could.
Another day, another goddamn dollar, he thinks to himself.
Wordlessly, he lets his thumb click down onto the lock button of his phone, allowing the brick to clatter to the ground listlessly. His insomnia had been acting up real badly as of recent - and with the ever-changing nature of his shifts, it seemed as if Jou had no choice but to resign himself to never having a fitful night of sleep again.
"Whatever," he finally grumbles to himself. His words taper off into a wide, loud yawn, and arms stretch high above his head. Muscles quiver slightly at the exertion before he goes limp once more. "Dunno if I've even got any food in the fridge," he continues before heaving himself to his feet.
He had a long commute ahead of him. There's no use in procrastinating on getting his day started.
Domino City, Japan. 8:04 AM JST.
" Idiots ."
He spits the word out through gritted teeth, all but seething as the door to his personal office slams loudly shut behind him. It was hardly past eight in the fucking morning and yet, his board of department heads still managed to soil his already rotten mood.
Slender fingers flex before grasping the headrest of his leather chair, spinning it around with a sharp movement before Seto Kaiba finally resolves to sink into its plush depths. "Christ," he hisses under his breath, head lolling back. He pinches the bridge of his nose before inhaling sharply in a last-ditch effort at managing his quickly-climbing blood pressure.
With the latest model of the KC-patented virtual reality technology going live for the mass market in less than a week, he had been anticipating a few missteps along the way - but royal fuck-ups weren't on his agenda. It had taken what little self-control he still possessed to keep from firing everyone in the room on the spot. Instead, he opted to give them all a cutting tongue-lashing and an infuriated demand to fix the server complications the latest debug had unearthed. Now .
Seto flares his nostrils with one last inhale. His eyes crack open to stare blankly up at the ceiling overhead - and for a moment, he can't help but wonder why no one else on God's green earth seemed to care for results the way he did. The only conclusive answer that the brunette could draw was that everyone around him was simply incompetent - but the better part of the last decade had forced Seto to contend with the fact that people around him had very real and very complicated feelings that could impact their work ethic.
How inconvenient.
His lips twitch into a grimace. "Damn dweebs," Seto concedes bitterly to himself; Yugi and his army of brats had a strange way of pushing their Gung-Ho beliefs onto the nearest living creature - and while years of battling face to face with the King of Games and his loser mutt were behind him, he found himself occasionally reflecting upon that period of his life. Though, mostly, his thoughts concluded that their mushy, gushy, Heart-Of-The-Cards bullshit had been so painfully childish.
The corporate world was different from the realm of gaming - much to Seto's chagrin - and no amount of work was worth his compassion. Perhaps he ruled (figuratively) with an iron fist - but at the end of the day, Seto got the job done. And results were what mattered most.
The cogs in his head are already turning, piecing together the quickest and easiest method of taking the server down and reinstating it in an actually functioning state, when his phone rings loudly. It jars him only slightly, a flutter of his sapphire eyes and a stern scowl the only outwardly signs of his surprise.
"What part of 'no interruptions' did you not catch?" His tone is scathing as he lifts the receiver to his ear. "Whoever is calling me right now can wait. Put them on hold."
"Oh! S-orry Mister Kaiba… but it's the Vice President on the line and he-um, he really wanted me to patch him through, I tried to tell him that you were busy…"
Christ. Seto hisses out another strained breath through his teeth before pinching his nose. "What does he want?" He groans out.
"Ah! Well, um, I think he said he wants to meet with you? Along with Miyuki-san -"
"Fine." His tone is sharp and curt. "Tell him I said yes. Now don't bother me."
Seto didn't bother waiting to hear his secretary's squeaked agreement before he slams the phone back into place.
It was just his luck to start his day off with a meeting that lead to ruin and now a second appointment regarding God knew what. It wasn't like the Vice President to call upon Seto for an emergency discussion. Just the anticipation alone was enough to send little jolts of dull pain through his skull.
Heaving a tired sigh, Seto pushes himself away from his desk sharply. If he's going to have a migraine before the meeting even begins, he might as well fetch himself a fresh mug of coffee beforehand.
Manhattan, New York City, New York. 9:13 PM EST.
It shocked Jou just how bitter New York City's weather could become before winter had officially even begun; October was was relentless and with a sharp exhale, Jou tries his best to ignore the way his breath gathered at his lips in a visible puff. The subway stations were a strange in-between temperature, one that hardly prepared the blonde for the biting wind sweeping through the wind-tunnels created by Manhattan's numerous skyscrapers.
He tugs his gloves and shoves his hands into his armpits as he walks down the crowded block, trying his best to keep from treading on the toes of any wandering tourists. The apartment he works at is tucked neatly against Central Park, a short walk away from the MET, leaving the entryway heavy with foot traffic no matter the hour.
He nods his head in a curt hello to one of the doormen before ducking past the heavy glass double-doors. The concierge greets him with a pleasant "Hey, Joey!" as he walks by.
Once his jacket and outerwear were properly stowed in the staff-room nestled at the back of the foyer, Jou exhales a deep sigh and shakes out his shoulders. He had made it just before the fifteen-minute cut-off, considering his shift had technically started at nine o'clock sharp - but the orange line wasn't very reliable.
Adjusting his utility belt upon his waist, the blonde finally taps the shoulder of the guard he was meant to relieve. "Yo, Johnson," Jou greets calmly. Johnson - a portly man of roughly fifty - was a grumpy piece of work on most evenings and he was sure that tonight would be no exception. Jou takes an immediate step back as Johnson lets out a disgruntled noise at being awoken, the blonde assumes, from his short power nap.
"Joey! About damn time ya showed up!"
God, how Jou hated the way his English name sounded on the older man's tongue. He offers a lazy, lop-sided grin and rubs the back of his neck apologetically. "Er, yeah. Sorry, subway traffic," he amends as amicably as he could manage. The sooner he appeased Johnson and managed to get him to leave, the better. "But, uh. I'm here now, so… You can go home," he supplies helpfully, even offering a wide grin to punctuate his words.
The man levels Jou with an unforgiving side-eye before heaving himself up and pointedly leaving his post without another word. Jou puffs out a deep sigh of relief, wiggling himself into the seat security guards occupied for the better part of their shifts. It's still hardly half past nine, Jou thinks to himself; he won't have to start making actual rounds through the building until after quiet hours began. Which means…
"Game time," he snickers. He makes a show of glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one's watching him before fishing his phone out of his pocket. While Jou's group of friends may have all gone their separate ways physically in the past few years, there was little that could dampen their intense love for gaming together.
KaibaCorp had developed an online dueling application that had much of the same features of the holographic version of the game - except it was all online and didn't need to be conducted in real-time. There were numerous gameplay styles and competitive brackets happening constantly - but Jou usually used it to continue playing Yugi when he had the time.
He didn't necessarily win very often - and when he did manage to secure a victory, he was pretty sure Yugi lost on purpose to cushion his ego a little bit - but the sentiment was what mattered. Maybe moneybags made a point with this app, but Jou would never admit it aloud. Not that either of them had seen each other since… well, he couldn't even recall.
Yugi wasn't the only one he played. Honda, in spite of his measly record, indulged in a few rounds while Otogi challenged Jou at least once or twice a week. With everyone in different timezones, the turn-based cycle of the app helped him find some connectivity in it all.
The hours began to tick by as Jou alternated between playing his turns on his phone, staring at a wall, and attempting not to nod off before eleven - and when the doors to the apartment finally close and lock into place, the blonde finally heaves a sigh. He picks himself up with a tired mumble, pocketing his cell and rolling the tension out of his shoulders.
"Alright, I'm gonna start making rounds," Jou announces to no one particular - but the kindly concierge hoots his support before returning to minding the counter.
Jou's steps are slow and leisurely as he begins down the first corridor of the ground floor; each apartment unit holds bronze numbering on the front of it. Some doors were decorated while others were left plain. He had yet to really make any notable observations during his nightly patrols. The only real passing thought he maintained on any given shift was that he envied the rich.
It wasn't necessarily a novel thought, though. The blonde had battled his fair share of envy when he had faced off with his (former?) arch-nemesis. While it was impossible to escape Seto Kaiba's name in a world he all but monopolized with his products, Jou hadn't quite entertained any of his scathing dickery in years now - but the memories remained tried and true.
Jou almost reflects upon them fondly - or perhaps it was merely a rose-tinted lens that left his memories blushed with nostalgia. But all those days of bickering and sneering at one another had included many an insult on Jou's hatred for his prissy, rich-boy ass.
Well, at least he stayed consistent.
The sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket, however, stalls him. Jou lurches to a halt and fishes it out. As he turns it over, the screen comes to life and bathes him in a pale glow.
[ 1 UNREAD TEXT FROM MARSHAL SUPERVISOR. Received JUST NOW.
Please come to the employee's office. ]
Jou makes a face and before he can swipe the notification away, the device buzzes once more.
[ 1 UNREAD TEXT FROM MARSHAL SUPERVISOR. Received JUST NOW.
As soon as possible. ]
"Shit."
Jou can feel his stomach sink automatically. He'd been through this far too many times already and while a part of his personality maintained a level of optimism, the years hadn't been kind enough to let that feeling trump the sensation of icy dread that snaked through his chest.
He heaves a deep sigh and shoves his phone back into its place in his pocket. "Might as well get this shit over with," he mumbles tiredly, trudging in the direction he had originally come.
Domino City, Japan. 11:15 AM JST.
Three mugs of plain black coffee later, Seto finally feels caffeinated enough to take on whatever godforsaken meeting is coming his way. He does little to mask the clear annoyance etched into his expression. Lips pointed downwards in the makings of a harsh scowl and the jagged edge to cobalt hues is enough to frighten off any underlings in the office who dared to make eye contact.
His fourth cup is clasped tightly in a white-knuckled grip. He's careful to keep it from sloshing and otherwise soiling his (expensive, new) dress shoes. Seto comes to a halt before the door of the conference room, blue eyes roving over the frosted glass standing between himself, his PR director, and the Vice President of KaibaCorp. His free hand hovers over the handle - almost as if he's hesitating - before a low, ill-tempered groan escapes him.
Seto can feel numerous eyes on his back and with one pointed glare shot over his shoulder, the wide-eyed throng of employees scatter. "Hmph," he grunts self-assuredly under his breath. Serves them right for staring.
Without another word, he pushes the door open.
"Seto! Finally! Miyuki-san and I just managed to run through the details already!"
The moment Mokuba's clear, light-hearted tone cuts through the air, the tension coiled deep within Seto's shoulders finally melt away. He raises his mug to his lips, taking a slow sip of the lukewarm liquid before he finally takes his designated seat at the head of the long, sleek conference table.
When he finally looks up, he locks eyes with his younger brother - and in spite of himself, the stern set to his scowl softens ever so slightly. Mokuba had matured greatly over the years; the young, thoughtless kid brother Seto had spent so long protecting had grown into a mature figure with enough smarts to hold his own. While Seto continued to complain that Mokuba was far too liberal with KaibaCorp's budget and that he was too soft when he should stand firm, he had to acknowledge that the younger Kaiba brother had made a name for himself.
Enough so that the Board of Trustees had accepted Seto's proposal to instill Mokuba as KaibaCorp's Vice President, effective upon Mokuba's 18th birthday. The raven-haired young man's first year as VP was well underway and he had earned his respect among their peers.
It filled Seto with a great deal of pride, for all he had ever wanted was for his little brother to have the life that he deserved.
Though, of course, Mokuba now felt like he had jurisdiction to make decisions on Seto's behalf. Which proved to be annoying at times, for lack of a better word.
"Well, what is it that you wanted to meet about?" His voice retains the characteristic, bone-dry cadence it always did - but the look he gives Mokuba from across the table is less irritated and more curious. Long fingers wrap snugly around his mug. "Clearly something important, considering I had to reschedule the lunch I had planned with the regional director for Golden Hope Bank." His words take on a shrewd edge as he fixes Mokuba with a look that reads This-Better-Be-Good.
Mokuba has the decency to look sheepish, but the woman seated to his right does little to mask the slightly-annoyed sigh slipping past ruby-red lips.
Yamagishi Miyuki, a woman no older than thirty-five, acted as the current head of KaibaCorp's desperately-needed Public Relations department. Her dark hair was cropped into a stylish angled bob and settled atop the narrow bridge of her nose were a pair of red-framed glasses.
That specific branch of the company had been underfunded for the majority of the industry's existence - but upon Mokuba's insistence, Seto had (begrudgingly) allotted a bigger portion of the budget to PR and in turn, Miyuki had been added to the team.
In spite of her cold, cutting personality, she had proven to be a wonderful asset. Seto merely found himself bristling due to her lack of fear when speaking to him. Mokuba had stated that attitude was what made her so formidable. Seto had declined to comment.
"Mokuba and I were discussing certain… aspects of your recent appearances."
Mokuba bobs his head in an excited nod. For a moment, he looks ready to launch into a long-winded speech about something, but he hesitates and instead retreats into his seat to allow Miyuki to continue.
Seto levels her with a flat glare but says nothing further, merely dipping his head in a curt nod to allow her to continue.
The woman reaches to carefully lift a stack of neat papers settled before her, manicured nails flicking through each individual sheet quickly before she taps them against the surface of the table to straighten them out. "And upon retrospect, it seemed as if you lacked any sort of security detail for eight out of ten of your last public outings. Most of those instances were at tournaments or speeches."
The brunette can't help but make a face. "And?" he growls, his tone low and cutting.
Miyuki seems unphased, merely fixing him with an equally cold stare. "The Vice President believes you are partaking in risky behavior. A man of your caliber should hardly be parading about with such a woeful lack of protection. It reflects poorly on the company's ability to protect our greatest asset."
Before Seto can cut in with a snide remark on how he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself, Mokuba quips himself into the conversation. "I know you're gonna say you don't need to be protected." Seto grimaces with muted grumbles. "But… you never know what can happen."
"Mokuba, you've clearly watched one too many Taken movies," Seto drawls out slowly. His dry comment is enough to earn a pointed glare from his younger brother. He can't help but feel a little smug.
"Seto. We just think that maybe… a personal bodyguard would be g—"
" No ." He's much more stern now than he had been moments earlier, expression hardening. "There's no way in hell that I'll allow a stranger to tail my every move." Call him a control freak; Seto valued his private time and even the thought of an intrusion upon his solitude made his skin crawl.
"With all due respect, Mister Kaiba," Miyuki cuts in, her tone sharp and pointed as nails tap against the mahogany surface, "I insist that you reconsider your hesitation. The Vice President's request for a security detail on your behalf has already been accepted by the Board. The adjustments to the budget are already underway."
Bastard .
Seto's incredulous stare slowly turns to fixate upon Mokuba — who has already begun to sink sheepishly back into his chair. Though the brunette was certain that he noticed a mischievous glint in the depths of his dark eyes. "The request has already been processed." His tone is quiet, measured, and almost tense. " Before I was even consulted."
Miyuki gives a brisk nod of her head. "That is correct."
He's seething slightly now, grip tightening around his mug with enough force that Mokuba considered it might shatter in his brother's hand. "Then why bother with this meeting at all?"
"Erm… I was hoping that… I might get you to feel like it was your own idea?"
Well, he's just as shrewd of a Kaiba as Seto is , he thinks to himself. He couldn't fault Mokuba for thinking ahead, really — but still. He swallowed back the bitter taste on his tongue before lurching upright abruptly. "Then I suppose this meeting is over." Seto's tone is curt as he sweeps another glare over the devious pair sitting across from him.
Mokuba looks pleased with himself, hardly bothered by Seto's acidic and nettled nature. He saluted his brother playfully and even hazards a teasing smirk. "Leave it to us. We've got a few candidates in mind already. Miyuki-san and I are gonna vet them together."
As if to back him up, she gives another nod of her head and tucks a pen neatly behind her ear. "We shall send for you once we've found a candidate that meets all necessary criteria."
"Hn." Seto snorts with an unabashed eye roll. "Don't disappoint me," he cuts in brusquely before downing whatever coffee is left in his mug. He wastes not another second on them, instead turning his back and striding out past frosted-glass doors.
—
Manhattan, New York City, New York. 12:34 AM EST.
"Can I get a refill over here?" His voice is almost baleful as he rests his head in his hands, elbows propped uselessly against the countertop of the bar. Jou's head is already pounding but he's not drunk enough just yet. The bartender eyes him suspiciously before sliding the blonde his third gin and tonic.
He snatches the glass with a muffled grumble, brows furrowed and lips twisting into a scowl. He wastes no time in tilting his head back and downing the clear liquor as fast as he could. It burns as it slides down his throat, a familiar pulse of heat coursing through his veins. "Fucking finally ," Jou hisses to himself as fingers flex. "These drinks are weak as fuck, bro," he adds on loudly.
He's lucky that the bartender only scoffs in response, opting to ignore the half-drunk blonde instead of taking the bait. Much to Jou's dismay, though.
" Shit ," he curses to himself with a defeated huff, raking his fingers angrily through messy locks. He wasn't sure what he had actually expected when walking into Marshal's office earlier that evening — and while Jou knew that the only logical answer was that he was being fired yet again, it still fucking hurt to hear it.
You've been consistently late for the past few weeks and we can't tolerate that kind of unprofessional behavior. So unfortunately, we will be letting you go. Effective immediately.
His supervisor's — or, technically, former supervisor's — nasal tone echoed in his mind painfully, bouncing against the inside of his skull without remorse. He holds his head in his hand again and shuts his eyes tightly — as if shutting the world out for a few extra minutes will make it any easier.
The knot of dread settled in the pit of his stomach seems to only grow heavier and heavier the more he thinks about it, tightening within his core until Jou feels almost nauseous. With an ill tempered growl, he snaps his head up and takes his empty glass. " Oy !" He grunts, smacking the glass sharply against the counter for emphasis. "Vodka soda," he crows out, hardly waiting for the bartender to even come near him, "an' I want that shit pronto ." At least the alcohol will numb the feelings of self-hatred.
He reaches for his wallet, thumbing out a few loose bills as his vodka soda is slid across the bar in his direction, hoping that whatever he had left would be enough to cover the tab. At this rate, he wouldn't even have spare change to fill up his MetroCard. "This shit better be strong," he mumbles to himself as lips wrap around the thin straw.
Jou slurps at the drink noisily, savoring the heated burn chasing each subsequent sip. He nearly chokes, however, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. "Ah, fuck," he groans, jolting in his seat. He wiggles off of the barstool and as he does, he can't help but sway ever so slightly. The sudden, jarring movement is enough to send the room spinning around him and in an attempt at steadying himself, one hand catches the edge of the bar countertop.
He hastily fiddles with his phone, squinting against the glare of the screen to read the contact name.
PRIVATE CALLER.
Jou makes a face, scoffing to himself. Usually, he'd let nameless calls go to his voicemail but all his half-drunk mind could think is that perhaps Marshal is calling to ask Jou to return to work. The thought is enough to make him smirk triumphantly and without another thought, he impulsively slides to answer it.
"Oy, already beggin' to have me back, huh? Well, tough luck, jerkwad ! It ain't happenin'!" He slurs loudly.
There's a moment of static-y silence on the other end and Jou nearly deflates. He opens his mouth to pester again, when a voice that certainly doesn't belong to Marshal hesitantly piped up.
"Jounouchi? Ah—is… is this a bad time?"
The quiet, calm sound of Japanese on the other end along with the almost childish cadence… Jou is dumbfounded.
"Mokuba? The fuck?"
"Sorry, I should've realized. You're in New York, aren't you? The time is probably insane right now…"
Jou flips back down onto the barstool, one hand running through his disheveled blonde locks. "Er… yeah. Kinda. It's past midnight over here." His native tongue rolls off of his lips with ease and for the first time that night, Jou feels the tension within him actually dissipate. "But never mind that. How'd you get my number? I haven't heard from you in… years, actually."
"It wasn't that hard."
Right . The kid's brother did own half the world and then some.
There's rustling on the other end and Mokuba finally clears his throat. "If you're busy, I can call back at another time."
"No," Jou says hastily — almost too quickly. "I'm not… I'm not busy. Just hangin' out, y'know?" He feigns an attempt at being chipper, but even he has to flinch at how painfully forced it sounds.
"Okay! That's good. I'm actually calling you about.,. Well, it's gonna sound really weird. But… we've got a job opportunity here in Domino."
Jou's mouth runs dry almost immediately, amber hues blinking rapidly as his alcohol-addled mind attempts to piece together Mokuba's words.
The younger Kaiba takes Jou's silence as a green light and continues calmly. "You don't have to commit to anything, but… it's a solid position. And the pay is good. We also offer lots of benefits to KaibaCorp employees. There's a lot of other minor details, but—"
"I'm in." Jou surprises even himself as he blurts that out.
"You're— I didn't even finish telling you about it!" Mokuba sounds amused, nonetheless.
"I don't care. I'm in." Jou reiterates brazenly, a renewed sense of vigor coursing through him. He had always been looking for a positive change and while his might had started off with an awful occurrence, maybe this was Lady Luck's way of putting the cards in his favor.
"Okay, well—that's perfect! Wow, that was… way easier than I thought." There's a small laugh from Mokuba's end. The sound is enough to pull a small grin to Jou's own lips. "So… um. If you're in, then… I'll call you tomorrow. We gotta arrange for you to come to Domino…"
"I can book a flight once I'm home…"
"No need," Mokuba interjects sharply. "We'll arrange for one of our planes to bring you here."
Duh . He almost forgot that the kid was rich as balls.
"A private jet? For me?" Jou hoots incredulously.
"Yeah, something like that. How soon can you get packed?"
"Uh…" he scratches the back of his head absently. "Maybe by the end of the week?"
"Great!" Mokuba chirps on the line. "Alright. You get home and start packing then. I'll call you tomorrow. So glad you said yes, Jounouchi!"
"Yeah, me… too." By the time he finishes his statement, Jou realizes the line had fallen dead. Drunkenly, he blinks in surprise. Did he just accept a job offer from Mokuba Kaiba? Without any explanation?
Christ . Jou hangs his head and uses his hands to massage his temples. "The fuck have I gotten myself into?"