"Why are we doing this, again?" he asks.
He grunts noncommittally, leaning back against the taxi-cab seat. Kisara presses her cheek against the window and stares out at the rows of almond trees that meld into a blurred pattern of trees and soil as they drive past on the freeway. The sky is overcast-dark and California winter-grey, with a slight fog that tinges everything with particles of dew.
It's been years. She should have gone home for Christmas, maybe, or for Thanksgiving, but it was a hassle, what with classes and final projects and ten-hour layovers for a six hour flight. One thing had led to the next, and they loved her, she knew, but nobody missed her. There was something eerie about coming back home after a long time away-like the spot-the-difference feature of an in-flight magazine, stashed in the front pocket of an economy airplane seat. Only she would never know whether or not she was right-how long the restaurant supply store has been closed for, or whether that house always had a broken window, or the exact number of frozen yogurt shops and mattress discount stores there were before she left. The last time she had visited home was before her graduation, which had been almost years ago. It felt improbable to her that so much could change in a small town in that time frame. The roads seem bigger, she thinks to herself. Wider. The highways have three lanes to them even when there aren't exits for miles. Domino is a metropolis, bustling in it's own right, but it's highways have nothing on California's.
She leans across the middle seat, nudging Seto with the back of her hand. "My parents' cafe is right there," she says, gesturing to a street on the left of an overpass.
He nods silently, then turns away without making eye contact. She frowns, tugging on her seatbelt so she can inch closer to him. His arms are folded tightly across his chest, and his eyes are narrowed into slits and looking at nothing.
"Hey," she says, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving a soft squeeze. "It's going to be okay. I know it's not"-she stops to think, carefully gauging her words, because she never knows quite what to say about family things. It'll never get easier, she thinks. How could talking about such a traumatic subject ever get easier?
"I know it's a lot to ask right now. But I want to move in with you and Mokuba. I know I'm an adult and everything, but it just...feels kind of weird, to do that without them ever having met you." She sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder and lacing her fingers around his. "It won't be so bad." His hands are cold and rough, and and the skin around his knuckles is red and cracked, making her purse her lips with disapproval. "I told you, planes are dry," she scolds him gently. "Good thing I brought some lotion."
x
He didn't know what to expect from her childhood home, but reality turns out to be surprisingly mundane-the kind of thing evades the imagination because it is so easily forgotten. To Kisara, home turns out to be a modest two-bedroom house, blue-grey with a brick chimney and a flat brick walkway. Oak trees tower over the house in the backyard, and proud, slightly droopy Bluebells grow under the windowsills in the front. She smiles graciously at the cab driver, offering him a few bills from her wallet, while he unloads the trunk, slinging her overstuffed duffel bag over one shoulder and hoisting his own matte black suitcase onto the ground beside him. As the driver pulls away, she smiles, prancing up to him and linking her arm with his.
"You're ready," she says reassuringly. "My dad's at the cafe, supervising dinner prep, anyways. He made reservations for dinner. The fanciest place in town. Something Italian." Her dark blue eyes have a playful twinkle to them. "I told them that you're, like, a fancy, high-tech CEO."
His eyebrows arch. "That didn't startle them?" he asks. He is painfully aware of what an overdone trope it is. He will never entirely live down the rags-to-riches orphan narrative. To some, he will forever be the little dreamer sixteen-year-old who turned a military weapons giant into a multibillion-dollar gaming company.
She shrugs. "We're not so far from the Silicon Valley. They hear stories like that." He can feel her scanning his face for some sort of reaction. Not finding what she was looking for, she adds, "It's not personal, Seto. They're not tech people, and they don't play many games."
"It's fine," he says coolly. "I'm just used to my reputation preceding me."
She shrugs, tilting her head to one side. "Must be kind of a nice change of pace," she offers.
It's an endearing trait of hers, always offering something gentle and positive. He smiles uncertainly. "Well, we'll find out, I suppose."
x
Kisara's mother is shorter and thinner than her daughter, with a longer, more oval-shaped face but the same wide, kind blue eyes and silky, snow-white hair. As she makes her way down the walkway, Kisara jogs forwards to greet her, and the two hug for a long moment. Seto slows to a halt a few feet behind them, awkwardly watching them embrace. How long has it been since someone other than Mokuba and Kisara had hugged him? He can't remember.
As their greeting ends, Kisara's mother takes a step backwards, looking upwards into Seto's eyes. "This must be Seto," she says.
Kisara nods, spinning around and extending her arm in a gesture towards Seto. "Right. Mom, this is Seto. And Seto, this is"-
"Call me Kazu, sweetie." Sweetie. Maybe nobody has called him that before, ever. Some of the older executives in the KaibaCorp act a little bit maternal sometimes-bringing him homemade lunch in plastic containers and their children's homemade cookies during their meetings-but he would fire anyone who called him sweetie. Painfully aware of Kisara's eyes following his every move, he extends his hand towards her mother.
"It's an honor, Ms. Endo," he says.
The older woman chuckles to herself, grasping Seto's hand firmly in hers. Her skin feels cool and dry against his. "He's a gentleman, Kisara," she tells her daughter. "So tall, too. I wasn't expecting that." He looks down uncomfortably, meeting her kind, welcoming gaze. Her eyes are almost identical to her daughter's, except for the hint of crow's feet at the corners. "You have beautiful eyes, Seto."
He can feel a warm, awkward flush creeping up his cheeks. "Thank you," he says stiffly.
"Well, we should go inside." Kisara sprints ahead, flinging open the deep red front door. As he passes her, she pokes him in the forearm, and winks at him.
"Seto, we don't have a bedroom for you, but we set you up with the futon in the den." Mr. Endo, Kisara's father, is a lanky man with hazel eyes and pale, wavy hair. At first glance, Kisara bears very little resemblance to him; over the course of dinner, Seto begun to pick upon the subtle similarities: the same high cheekbones, the same thoughtful demeanor, the same absentminded way of drifting in and out of conversations.
He can't help but feel a little indignant at the idea of sleeping on Kisara's parents' couch-after all, they fall asleep together, night after night, together in his bed. He glances at Kisara for guidance, and she shakes her head quickly, her lips tightly pressed together.
"Of course," he says, giving Mr. Endo a polite nod. "If it's too much trouble, I'm sure I can find a room nearby."
Mr. Endo smiles. "It's no trouble at all," he says, smiling. "We'll show you our cafe in the morning for breakfast. It's better if we're all under the same roof." With that, he drapes his coat across the coat-rack, glancing back at Seto. "We're glad you're here, son. I'll be in the bedroom; if you forgot anything, Kisara has the keys to the car." He gives Seto a pat on the back before sauntering off down the hall, leaving Seto and Kisara alone in the living room.
x
"Don't be mad," Kisara whispers. She and Seto are seated on an overstuffed couch with a fading floral pattern; her legs are draped across his lap, and she rests her head against his chest. "They're my parents, Seto. We're not…." her voice trails off short of the word married, and she frowns slightly, a shadow of uncertainty cast across her face.
He gives her a kiss on the cheek. "I understand," he says. "It's going to be strange, though. I've grown accustomed to having you there."
She looks concerned, and rests her hand against his chest. "You're going to be okay?" she asks.
"Same as when I travel alone, Kisara. I'll be fine." He hates the look she gets in her eyes when they talk about the flashbacks and the panic and the nightmares.
She nods slowly. "Alright. I'm right down the hall, you know." She glances away, still looking troubled.
He rests his head against the top of hers, breathing in the smell of strawberry-vanilla-musk perfume. "I know."
They lie quietly for a moment, with her head leaned against his chest and his arms wrapped around her waist. He watches the gently bowing branches of the oak tree outside cast dappled shadows on the grass.
"You know, we don't have to go to bed yet," Kisara says suddenly. He looks down at her, recognizing an excited, slightly mischievous look in her eyes.
"What?" he asks. "Kisara, I don't want to upset your parents…"
She rolls her eyes. "C'mon, Seto," she says. "Let me show you around town."
He draws the line at buying apple-flavored liquor in a can from the gas station. Pouting momentarily, she settles for a cup of coffee, loaded with vanilla creamer and topped with a sweet, foamy layer of Cool-Whip. Exhilarated, she guides him by the hand around the store. "Hot dogs are good," she suggests. "And two for a buck. Two for one-fifty, if you want the jalapeno cheese-stuffed kind."
He rolls his eyes at her. "I'm fine," he insists. Aside from the attendant, who sits on a stepstool and texts from behind the counter, he and Kisara are the only ones in the store. He can hear the dim buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.
"Nobody's too good for cheap food," Kisara says in a singsong voice. "I see you stress-eat gummy sharks sometimes. Look-two for three dollars." Without waiting for a response, she snatches two bags from the shelf, nestling them into the crook of her arm. "I'll treat." She twirls the keys to her parents' dark green sedan. "Come on, let's go."
x
She pulls into an empty parking lot, turning off the headlights and parking the car facing a wall with a mural of dolphins leaping into a blue-green ocean painted on it. "We're here," she announces, yanking up the parking brake.
"This looks like a middle school," Seto says. One of the packages of gummy sharks is open on his lap, and the other is folded up and tucked into his pants pocket.
Kisara leaps out of the car. "Technically, it's a charter primary school," she corrects him, popping her head back into the car as she grabs her cup of coffee. "Come with me."
His eyes narrow. "This is weird, Kisara," he says firmly.
Kisara sighs. "It's a small town, Seto," she says emphatically. "We're not going to tip cows or shoplift or commit arson. We won't get in trouble."
Hesitantly, he unbuckles his seatbelt, stepping into the chilly winter air. Temperatures fall into the twenties at night, Kisara had warned-a good fifteen degrees warmer than night in Domino, but he hadn't been expecting the air to feel so cold and stinging against his cheeks. As if she could read his mind, Kisara smiles, touching her palm, warm from holding her coffee cup, to his cheek before extracting his hand from his sweatshirt pocket and leading him through the buildings.
x
"No. No, no, no."
Kisara stands before a rain-spout, bolted to the wall with metal straps just wide and sturdy enough to act as footholds. She drains the last of her coffee, tossing the cup into the trash can, and wedges her foot between the rain-spout and the wall. "Everyone does it," she explains. "Even the little kids, from the elementary school. You won't get in trouble, I promise."
Seto narrows his eyes, huffing slightly and releasing a swirling cloud of steam into the night sky. "It's not that," he says. "This whole thing is idiotic."
Kisara shakes her head. "It'll be alright," she laughs. "It's a good view from up here. Come on." Without waiting for a response, she hoists herself up, shimmying up the pole and onto the rooftop.
Seto groans, following her up. The footholds that Kisara used, which appeared at first to be very flimsy, are surprisingly sturdy, and he lifts himself effortlessly onto the rooftop next to her. She grins, scooting over to make way for him to sit beside her; the roofing material is cold and slicked with a melting layer of frost that glitters in the moonlight. Kisara leans back, resting against her palms, and tips her head upwards to stare into the moon. Seto catches himself staring at her for a moment, transfixed by the way that the moonlight casts soft shadows on her cheeks. Without breaking her staring contest with the dazzling silver half-moon, she gropes for his hand, wrapping her fingers around his and resting their interlocked hands against her knee. Under the pleasant spell of the moonlight, the wind that nips at his cheeks is lightened to a soft tickle on his skin. Attempting to mimic her pensive stare, he shifts his attention from the glowing pattern of light and shadows on her cheekbones to the moon, which blazes brilliantly in the Winter sky, vividly contrasting the dark navy of the sky. The midnight sky is almost the same color as her eyes, and the silver-white moonlight bears a certain similarity to Kisara's long, pale hair...he loses himself in wondering whether Kisara was shaped from a piece of the night sky…
x
"Hey." Still holding his hand in hers, Kisara taps his hand against her knee.
"Mm," he says shortly, craning his neck upwards to get a better look at the stars. A few lone grey clouds drift across the sky, stretching like pieces of damp black cotton across an otherwise radiant sky. A gentle, pulsing red light makes its' way across his field of vision, peacefully carrying its' passengers through the night.
"Thanks for coming with me," she says. She folds back, laying on the rooftop.
He looks at her for a moment, then joins her in lying down on the roof. The material is freezing-cold against his back, and he shivers. With a soft grunt, she edges her way closer to him, propping her head against his shoulder.
"So you'll help me move my stuff, when we get home," she says thoughtfully. "It's been a year since I got that place, you know. I'm gonna miss it, in a way."
Seto scoffs. "You're going to miss your walk-up studio apartment," he says in disbelief. "You told me you kept coming over because the airport was too close to your house, and you couldn't sleep over the sound of all the planes landing."
Her sigh of resignation is enough to tell him that he's won. "I guess," she concedes finally. "But you'll help me move my stuff?"
"Well," Seto says, taking pleasure in revealing this suprise to her, "Your stuff is being moved now. You'll have your own private room, although, of course," he smiles to himself, "You're always welcome to bunk with me, as well."
Kisara is silent for a moment. "I hate moving," she says after a long while. "It's such a hassle. Thanks for looking out for me, Seto."
He grins, deeply pleased with himself. "You're welcome, Kisara."
He watches the sky, observing the gentle twinkling of the stars. Other than the occasional soft rushing sound of a car on the nearby road, the only sound in the world is Kisara's even, measured breaths.
"Hey, Kisara?" he asks, holding his breath as he waits for her response.
He doesn't have to wait for long. "Yep."
He takes a deep breath. "Do you know what you want?"
He can hear the thoughtful bewilderment in her voice. "Like...what I want to do tomorrow? Or in the broader sense?"
He thinks for a moment. "The broader sense," he says at last.
"Mmmmmm…." she carries on like this for a moment, humming a soft, high-pitched note.
"I think I'd like to have a job, soon. I started with the idea of graduate school, but I think I want to be working. I'd like to know that I have a source of money."
"You have me," he reminds her teasingly, smirking.
She sighs. "You know what I mean. I'm just in school right now, but I'd like to think that if something were to happen, that I could take care of myself. Get an apartment on my own credit score. That kind of thing."
His heart hammers in protest at the stark, objective tone in her voice. "You mean, if something were to happen to me," he corrects her.
"Not necessarily. I mean, things happen to couples. You might not want me anymore. I just want to know, that if that does happen"-she places a firm emphasis on the word does-"I can fend for myself."
Seto sighs, rolling himself onto his stomach so he can look into her eyes. She stops staring up into the stars, and their gazes lock.
"Kisara," he says.
"Seto," she whispers back.
"I want to take care of you, Kisara." Overcome by a surge of emotion, Seto rests his head against the hollow of her shoulder and her chest; she places a hand protectively on his back. "I want to know you, forever."
He can feel her soft, pleased laugh in the rise and fall of her breath. "I know, Seto." She grows quieter, and her voice becomes more serious, "I want that, too."
"You know," she says after a long pause. "Back at the house."
"What about it?"
"I almost said we couldn't sleep together in front of my parents, because we're not married."
Seto's heart skips a beat. "Well, that's the fact of the matter," he responds composedly.
"I know. But Seto…" she trails off. "...I dunno, I didn't even think about it, until I said it out loud."
Seto huffs with disbelief. "I don't believe that," he says flatly. "You never, never once, considered that we might get married."
"Well, no," she corrects. "I mean, of course I thought about it. It just never….." She draws lazy circles on the back of his coat with the tip of her finger. "...it never felt so real, is all." Her voice is shaky and timid. "Do you….do you think that would be something you'd ever want?"
He thinks for a moment. "I think, yes," he says slowly, agonizing over the importance of each word. "I'm not in a hurry, and things change, of course. But from where I am right now…" he looks into her eyes, gently brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. "I can see that, yes."
Clearly pleased, Kisara smiles back at him. "I'm glad," she says. "You don't mind that I want to get a job, right? I'm not going to clean your house for you."
"Kisara, you can barely keep your house clean."
Kisara laughs. "Okay, okay, fair enough."