Needed a break from 'Homecoming', and up popped this. It's...a bit different. Trustshipping and powershipping. Ooooh yeah.
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh and all characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi, and that's sure not me.
Warnings: Contains yaoi and gratuitous use of the f-word. Also, the chronology jumps around a bit, so stay sharp :P
My little playlist for this story includes 'All I Wanted' by Paramore, 'Dirty Little Secret' by All American Rejects, 'Everybody's Fool' by Evanescence and 'Speechless' by Lady GaGa. Just in case anyone likes atmospheric background music.
What Goes Around
By Fiver
The engagement ring was so beautiful it almost made you want to hate it. It gleamed smugly on Isis' finger, the silver band (platinum, most likely) and cluster of diamonds resplendent against her caramel skin. No one wanted to ask how much it had cost, because they knew the answer would probably make them want to retch.
"You're so lucky, Isis," Mai said instead, taking her friend's hand and examining the offensively lovely ring more closely, "Who would've thought you'd bring back a rich fiancé from a damn work placement?"
"I'm not marrying him because he's rich," Isis giggled, which was quite unlike her. She'd never been the type to giggle. Her friends, and now bridesmaids-to-be, found they liked the bright-eyed, giddy happiness that betrothal seemed to have given her.
"What did your family say?" Anzu asked, "Do they like him?"
"Yes, they love him. Because he's rich," Isis said with a laugh, "Their faces were pretty funny when I told them, though. They were gobsmacked."
"Who wouldn't be, if their daughter came home after a year with a ring on her finger?" Mai said, shaking her head, "I'm gobsmacked. You didn't even tell us you were seeing someone!"
"Well, I kept it quiet for a while in case things didn't work out..." Isis said, "And then I just wanted it to be a surprise."
"How did Malik take it?" Shizuka piped up suddenly, looking worried, "You know how funny brothers can be about their sisters and guys."
"I think that's just your brother," Mai said, rolling her eyes.
"He was more surprised than anyone," Isis admitted, "And you know what Malik's like when he gets a shock – he goes all quiet. You'll never guess, though – it turns out he and Seto went to high school together."
Her friends stared at her mutely for a long moment.
"Seto was a few years above Malik, of course," she added hastily.
"For a second there I thought you'd bagged yourself a toy-boy," Mai said with a cat-like grin, "So he went to that stuffy all-boys place too? And he turned out normal? Not many of them do."
"Malik did," Shizuka muttered huffily. She was crushing on him and they all knew it, so no one argued.
"Small world, isn't it?" Isis said happily, "They looked so shocked to see each other again. It was quite sweet."
"And do they get along ok?" Anzu asked.
"Yes," Isis told her with a brilliant smile, "In fact, they seem really fond of each other."
Seto had had a few concerns about meeting his fiancée's family. This, however, had not been one of them.
He could do nothing but stare while Isis introduced him and jubilantly announced their engagement. He barely heard the shrieks and sobs of her mother, hardly felt her father shake his hand and pat him on the back. He just stared, and the object of his attention stared right back. And he thought, quite simply, Fuck. Fuuuuuck.
Isis soon noticed his fixated gaze. She seemed to mistake his gut-crushing horror for polite curiosity.
"Seto, this is my brother, Malik," she said, beaming. The name ripped through him like an instantaneous dose of food poisoning. Brother. Oh God.
"We've met," Malik spoke up softly. For one blood-curdling moment Seto thought he was going to tell them, open that vicious (sweet, soft) little mouth of his and tell them everything. And then for an even worse moment he thought that Malik didn't have to tell them; they knew, they could tell just by the look in his eyes-
"What?" Isis said, frowning. She looked a little irked that she had come here to deliver a surprise and had immediately got one fired right back at her.
"...School," Seto said when it became clear that Malik wasn't going to do any explaining. His voice came out rather hoarse and he hoped no one noticed, "Domino High."
"You never told me you went there!" Isis said, delight flooding her face again, "You were Malik's upperclassman? That's adorable."
It wasn't. It was the furthest possible thing from adorable. There was nothing at all adorable about the fact that he had just walked into his future in-laws' lounge for the first time and found his one and only dirty little secret standing waiting for him.
Malik looked at him silently. His eyes were cold. At length Isis gave him a subtle nudge and, without hesitating, he stuck out one hand for Seto to shake. He accepted it because he had to, because they were watching. Malik's grip was lax, but as their hands came together his face spread into a wide smile full of pearly-white teeth. It was an insincere smile, with malice lurking behind it, but that didn't stop it sending a shiver through Seto. (A shiver that started at the back of his neck and finished at his crotch.)
"Mum and I are going shopping," Isis said brightly as she bustled into the kitchen, "Do you need anything?"
"Can't think of anything," Seto replied, "Do you want me to come with you?"
She obviously didn't pick up on his pleading tone.
"No, no, I know you hate shopping," she laughed, pulling her coat on, "Anyway, I've been keeping you all to myself for the last few days. I thought maybe you and Malik could do some catching up – talk about guy stuff, I don't know."
She gave another breezy laugh. Seto forced a wan smile into place, for her sake. Malik, who was sitting at the table staring into a mug of coffee, glanced up but didn't say a word.
"Well, I'll see you later," Isis said, leaning up to plant a light kiss at the corner of her fiancé's mouth. Something murderous flashed behind Malik's eyes but he remained ominously silent. Seto knew, however, that that silence wouldn't last once his sister left the house. He was right.
"So, did you catch the game the other day?" Malik piped up, a sardonic smile twisting his features, "You like sports, yeah? 'Guy stuff'? Say, should I go rent us a porno and we can spend the whole afternoon doing 'guy stuff'?"
"Malik..." Seto started uncomfortably. He had no idea what he was planning to say but he didn't have to worry about it for long – Malik took over.
"Shut up," he snapped. He looked reviled, "I always knew you were going to finish up marrying some woman, but my sister? Isn't that just cute?"
"I didn't know," Seto ground out, Malik's expression of abject disgust causing his temper to rise, "You don't have a monopoly on the name 'Ishtar', you know."
"No," Malik agreed, that sickly smile returning to his face, "But I bet you noticed. I bet I was the first thing you thought of when she told you her name."
Seto glowered at him. It was an arrogant assumption to make – which only made the truth of it worse.
"Does she remind you of me, just a little?" Malik asked sweetly, "I think she does."
Seto swallowed hard, his Adam's apple doing a nervous little jig. Surely not. Isis was nothing like Malik, in looks or temperament. He had never once looked at her long black hair and gentle blue eyes and thought of Malik, the blonde boy with eyes as sharp and striking as amethysts. And her quiet, reserved manner had certainly never reminded him of Malik, with his infectious laugh and even more infectious temper, and the promise of mischief always lurking behind his smile.
(But maybe, just maybe, there was some ingrained sibling resemblance, the kind of thing you couldn't even put your finger on and oh no, God forbid that was what had drawn him to Isis...)
"You're pathetic," Malik whispered. He got to his feet and crossed the kitchen floor to stand directly in front of him – just a little too close. For a moment Seto wondered if he was going to hit him. He didn't. He reached out with one hand and fiddled idly with the blue tie Seto was wearing. At length he gave it a tug, bringing them eye-to-eye.
For the first time since coming to this house of horrors, Seto let himself look at Malik – like, really look at him. At twenty-one (that was right, wasn't it? It didn't feel like it'd been five years but it had), he was simply a more grown-up (more dangerous) version of the sixteen year-old he remembered. His features were just a little sharper, a little more defined. He seemed taller, but was still at least half a head smaller than Seto. Of course he had matured physically too. No longer so skinny. Not bulky, either, but the smooth skin of his bare arms hinted at some toned muscle hiding underneath.
The eyes hadn't changed at all. Large and disarming, as hypnotic as a cobra's. Sharp and fierce and full of so much fire, so much accusation and hurt and fury and maybe love-
Their lips were terrifyingly close to touching. Seto didn't know which one of them had moved (maybe it had been both), but he could almost feel the heat of Malik's skin – could almost taste the sweet spice of him.
"Enough," he muttered, stepping backwards and tearing his eyes away. Malik let go of his tie.
"I was just testing you," he said blandly, stepping past him and leaving the kitchen.
"...Seto," Isis said suddenly as they lay in bed, "Do you think we should set a date for the wedding?"
Seto, who had been teetering on the edge of sleep, jerked wide awake and blinked at her in the darkness. (There were many spare rooms in her parents' house, but they'd been very understanding. However, since arriving they'd been sleeping together in a strictly platonic sense. And not just because Seto was worried her parents would hear if they did anything more.)
"I suppose," he said at length, hoping she couldn't see his doubtful expression, "When were you thinking?"
"I don't know...around September, maybe?" she said thoughtfully, "A fall wedding would be nice."
"I'll check the Kaiba Corp schedule," Seto said vaguely, "See if I can free up some time."
Isis sought out his hand under the duvet and squeezed it lightly.
"I'm so excited," she whispered.
"...Yeah," he replied quietly, "Me too."
Domino High School, like most all-boys institutions and male prisons, was permanently awash with a buzz of testosterone.
There was a lot of bullying and violence among the students, since many of the boys chose to deal with their raging hormones through fighting and blood sports. Other boys, however...well, they dealt with it in another way.
Seto Kaiba, senior and reluctant student body president, did not pick fights. Fights were boorish and crass and uncouth, and he was none of those things. But this school – the bumbling teachers and the crumbling building and his degenerate classmates – got to him as much as anyone else. He used to think he'd leave the place half-crazy. But he'd since learnt to let off steam.
Striding impatiently through the halls after yet another frustrating and unproductive student council meeting, he glared daggers at anyone who passed him, daring them to get in his way. His head was pounding, he hadn't eaten since that Styrofoam cup of sub-standard soup at lunchtime, and the squabbling chatter all around him was making him want to kill something.
He reached the dorm, stormed straight through the common room and practically kicked the door to his room open. He threw his book-bag into the corner and slammed the door shut again behind him. Finally.
Malik was already there, sitting on the desk and swinging his legs back and forth. He was still in his uniform – mostly. He'd taken his tie off and undone the first three buttons on his shirt. He'd also removed his shoes and socks, probably to simplify matters later. His lilac eyes were bright and he smiled at Seto's approach.
"Welcome back," he said indolently, reaching out to play with the senior's tie, "How was your day?"
Seto didn't bother replying, knowing full well that Malik didn't expect him to. He just grabbed the younger boy around the waist and pulled him close, crushing their mouths together. The effect was immediate, as it always was. A pleasant heat prickled over his skin and the irritants of the day suddenly seemed a lot further away. It soon wasn't enough, though, and he silently and insistently demanded more. He felt Malik laugh giddily through the kiss before parting his lips eagerly. Seto's tongue explored the space he already knew so well, with that taste that never changed and yet never got old. Malik wound his arms around his neck and his legs around his middle.
They eventually had to break apart for air, but continued to steal short hot kisses in between gasping breaths. Who cared about oxygen? Who cared about headaches and hunger and those other daily annoyances? Who cared, when there was this?
"That bad, huh?" Malik asked with a smirk, sliding one hand between their close-pressed bodies to undo the button on his trousers.
"You have no idea," Seto growled, pushing him back onto the desk and claiming his mouth again.
"Why did you get her a silver ring?" twenty-one year-old Malik asked abruptly from his place on the sofa. Seto, who was sitting in an armchair using his laptop, wished for about the thousandth time that hour that Isis would stop leaving the two of them alone in the house together.
"It's not silver, it's platinum," he replied shortly. He wondered if that hurt – knowing it was made of something so precious.
"It's silver-coloured," Malik retorted, not showing any hurt that he might have felt, "Why?"
"What do you mean?"
"Isis never wears silver jewellery," Malik said with narrowed eyes, "I thought her boyfriend would have noticed something like that."
Seto pressed his lips together tightly, not trusting himself to speak.
"You did notice," Malik went on anyway, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk, "Didn't you?"
"Yes," Seto muttered. He didn't know if, at that moment, Malik's mind was filled with the same things his was: memories of bronze skin and gold jewellery – arm-bands, cuffs, chokers, all left on in their haste, starting off so cold against their skin but soon heating up just like the rest of them-
"I know why you got platinum instead of just plain old silver, too," Malik said, interrupting his train of thought, which was probably for the best.
"Really?" he asked coolly. He hadn't been aware that he'd had any ulterior motive with his choice of engagement ring. He could afford platinum, so he'd chosen platinum.
"Yeah," Malik said with a nod, "Because it's so great for fooling everyone. 'Look, she's wearing a ring made out of fucking platinum, and those diamonds weren't cheap, and oh holy shit, it's a genuine Tiffany!' Anyone would think you love her more than anything. Even her. Even you."
"Shut up," Seto said darkly, "I love her."
"You want to," Malik said with an indifferent shrug, "I guess."
"It doesn't matter what you say," Seto muttered, turning back to his laptop. He heard Malik give a chilling crow of laughter.
"Ok, so you love her," he acquiesced, "I bet I know why. It's because she's your intellectual equal. You both love the fucking theatre. You share similar interests. And about a million other pathetic reasons that don't even matter!"
Seto looked up, startled, as Malik's voice rose until he was shouting.
"Because you think you can live like that, don't you?" he was saying, firing every word at him like a flaming arrow, "You think you can be happy, living with someone you have so much in common with. I bet you two never fight. Never disagree. But I bet you felt sick the first time you kissed her, and if you've managed to screw her yet, I can only imagine what a damn struggle that must have been-!"
"Shut up!" Seto roared, getting to his feet. His laptop clattered, unheeded, to the floor, "Just shut up, Malik."
Malik fell silent in a rare show of obedience. For the first time Seto noticed that his violet eyes were wet, though he wasn't allowing the tears to fall. He rose quietly and came to stand in front of him, wrapping his arms around his neck like he used to. Bewildered, Seto just stood there. Malik looked him in the eye, drawing him in with the cobra-gaze of his. It wasn't until later that Seto would realise that Isis had been nowhere in his thoughts in that moment. He'd simply been itching (burning) to kiss that mouth again.
"You want to, don't you?" Malik whispered, his voice wavering only slightly, "You're always going to want to. So how is this ever going to work?"
Dinner was a stressful occasion in the Ishtar household. Mainly for Seto, of course – he was the only one who had to worry about Malik opening his trap and bringing his whole world crashing down around him. Hey mom, dad, you know this guy who's going to be your son-in-law? Yeah, I fucked him at high school. No, not just once. No, not just a few times. Sorry, Isis, does that bother you?
It seemed to be fairly stressful for Malik too, though. He did a good job of avoiding his father at most other points of the day, but he couldn't hide from him at the dinner table. And the man seemed to have some problem with him. Seto didn't know if it was a long-running, 'oh this is just how they communicate' sort of thing, or if Mr Ishtar Sr. had just recently started this shit. (After all, even at high school, Malik had never spoken much about his family. Hence why Seto hadn't known he had a sister.) In any case, the father of the house seemed to spend more time taking pot-shots at his son than he did eating. The barrage was constant and concerned just about everything. When you going to get a goddamn haircut? What's the deal with all that jewellery? People are starting to talk. You planning on ever learning to drive? No, your cute little motorcycle doesn't count. What good is that to anyone? You better start pulling your weight, boy. God knows why you're even bothering with college because we all know you're just gonna flunk out and then what? Guess you'll work in that damn bookshop you love so much. Well, you know what I think of that. And you just sit around and expect your mother and I to keep a roof over your head. You know what you need? Some time in the damn army. That'd sure teach you, that'd stamp all that book shit out of your head-
Malik sat there silently, calmly even, eating his meal and absorbing the blows, one after the other. His mother and Isis would look nervous and try in vain to change the subject, but that was it. No one stood up for him. No one told that old man to fuck off back to the fifties where he belonged.
"Seto," Isis piped up mid-rant one evening, "Did you check your schedule for next year yet? So we can get the wedding booked?"
"Oh. Sorry, I forgot," he replied with as much 'darn, aren't I stupid' as he could muster.
"Again?" Isis said, crestfallen.
"Don't hassle him," her father growled around a mouthful of chicken cacciatore, glancing balefully at his son, "At least he's got a real job."
Malik was standing in the back garden with his arms folded, watching the dead leaves swirl by in the wintry wind. He was wrapped up in an oversized jumper, and hadn't moved for at least a quarter of an hour despite the cold. Seto watched him absently from inside, a short distance back from the glass patio doors. He wasn't particularly perturbed by the blonde boy's seemingly odd behaviour – he'd always known Malik to just stare at things for inordinate amounts of time. As if he was trying to work them out.
Seto wasn't usually the type to stare vacantly at things – he was a doer, not a dreamer. But he felt he needed to watch Malik just now, because he had a few things on his mind that he sure needed to work out.
Since arriving here with Isis (his fiancée, he reminded himself vehemently), he'd often found himself recalling something Malik had said to him at high school. Something that had seemed thoroughly inconsequential and inane at the time. It had been a Saturday. Probably. It hadn't been a school day, anyway, but neither of them had gone home for the weekend. (They'd never gone home much during term-time, and had never discussed their private reasons for it.) Malik had missed breakfast, as he often had on days off. He'd never been a morning person. Later they'd sat down for lunch and, although Malik initially looked as unimpressed as the rest of them with the spread of limp sandwiches, he'd ended up eating his fill and then some. He'd turned to Seto with one of those sunshine-grins of his and said:
"Isn't it funny how you sometimes don't realise you're hungry until you start eating?"
Seto, of course, had bluntly informed him that that was stupid, you were either hungry or you weren't, and if you were your body was going to let you know about it. Malik had rolled his eyes and gone back to eating without argument. Probably because he'd known he was right.
Seto got it now. For five years he'd thought he felt just fine and dandy, and if he was ever feeling down or drained or
hollowed-out
harassed, it was only because he was over-working himself again, or he was worrying about Mokuba and his ever-diminishing grades, or he just wasn't sleeping enough.
But now he was here, and Malik was here too, close enough to touch again, and it was only with seeing him again that Seto realised he'd been starving to death for the best part of half a decade.
Christmas was finally over, and for that Seto was grateful. Some of the tissue-paper decorations stapled to the ceilings of the school's classrooms and corridors might never be totally eradicated, but all in all they could get back to their normal lives. Everyone had moved back into their rooms, and that had caused the usual few days of chaos and upheaval, but everything seemed to be finally settling down. Apart from the fact that a number of the boys seemed to have brought a three-month supply of Christmas candy with them to keep them perpetually hyper, school life was reasserting its routine, and soon they would all forget they'd even been on vacation.
There was one thing that wasn't going back to normal, though – and that thing was currently sniffling despondently onto Seto's shoulder. Malik had muttered some excuse about having a cold, as if Seto really wouldn't notice he was crying.
The blonde boy had seemed down since arriving back at school. He hadn't said why, so Seto hadn't asked, but he logically supposed something had happened at home. Not that one could ever be sure with Malik. And tonight he'd shown up in Seto's room (after lights-out, no less), saying simply that he didn't want to be alone, which roughly translated as 'I'm miserable and I can't just sit and stew in it anymore'. Well, whatever. Seto was content enough to oblige. He himself had been surprised by how much he'd actually missed Malik over Christmas vacation, as humbling as that was to admit. Sure, it had been great to spend time with Mokuba, but even then he'd too often found himself thinking how much his brother would like Malik, how much Malik would make him laugh. It had started to get positively revolting towards the end.
So here they were, sitting on his narrow bed with their backs against the wall, and Malik with his face hidden in the crook between Seto's neck and shoulder. Seto had his arms wrapped loosely around him and was resting his head lazily against Malik's, whilst wondering if the blonde boy genuinely thought he was fooling anyone with that 'I-have-a-cold' garbage.
"Did I do something to upset you?" he asked suddenly. He couldn't think of anything that he'd done, but as Malik liked to remind him, he was about as empathetic as a tree-stump.
"No," Malik mumbled in response. Seto nodded.
"If I ever make you cry, you better tell me," He said bluntly, "Wallowing in it like some kind of martyr won't bring it to my attention."
"Hah," Malik snapped haughtily, pulling away from him and scrubbing at his reddened eyes, "You sure think a lot of yourself if you think you could make me cry."
Seto chuckled to himself.
"Ok, sorry," he said, reaching out with one hand to cup Malik's face and drawing him in for a soft kiss. Nothing hungry or demanding - he didn't want to push or hurry things. Not now. No need to prise the blonde boy's jaw open. For now, this was enough. Just a gentle, lingering kiss – the slow kind that warmed you from the inside. Malik groaned, partially from enjoyment (that much was undeniable) but with some amount of annoyance too.
"You shouldn't kiss me like that," he muttered, making some half-hearted attempt to extract himself from Seto's embrace – for he had both arms around him now.
"Why not?" Seto said with a faint smirk, "You like it."
"Exactly," Malik murmured. Seto didn't know what he might have meant by that, but didn't bother questioning it since Malik ceased any further protest and simply sighed and tilted his head back. Seto traced his mouth from his lips to his jaw and down to his neck, where the pulse-point was beating with increasing rapidity.
After all, it wasn't just Malik's company that he'd missed these past few weeks.
It would have been easier, Malik mused one night, if what had gone on between him and Seto at school had just been sex. Sure, there had been sex (a lot of sex, and good sex at that), but it hadn't just been a series of romps in various areas of the Domino High campus. If you were screwing someone in a purely business sense – an act of necessity to relieve adolescent tension –, there were certain rules you adhered to without even thinking about it. Like talking. You didn't talk to that person, or confide in them. You didn't smile at them every time they caught your eye, or feel a little flutter in your stomach if you saw them unexpectedly. You didn't worry about them. You didn't kiss them – certainly not in the soft and almost tender way that Seto had sometimes kissed him.
Malik punched his pillow and shut his eyes tight. Sometimes he could still feel those kisses.
His starkest memories of that one year at high school weren't of their sexual antics, but of the times in between. The moments. They glowed in his mind like pearls. The way Seto would sometimes just hold onto him as they lay in the dark, fingers working absently through his hair. The warmth of skin on skin. The silly (maybe cheesy) gifts they'd exchanged at birthdays and Christmas, and the way Seto was equally awkward and gruff about giving and receiving such gifts. Those few times when they'd been alone, somewhere secluded, and felt safe enough to hold hands as they walked. And that moment, that one golden moment, the giant pearl, when Seto had kissed him breathless and whispered two words in his ear. You're beautiful.
He realised his fingers were knotted almost painfully in the duvet. He took a few deep breaths, tugged himself from the pool of memories, and made himself relax.
Those moments were what made things so damn hard.
Seto didn't know how it happened, but Malik always seemed to manage to corner him. He would just suddenly look up and realise he was alone with him, trapped in a room with those mournful-accusing-vengeful eyes.
"Don't you think it's weird?" Malik asked him one day. He was sitting reading a book on the window-seat in the study, and didn't as much as look up to ask the question.
"What?" Seto said wearily. He was at the desk, trying to keep his company in one piece while he was four states away through a series of harshly-worded, not-to-be-disobeyed emails.
"That we never talk about it."
"About what?"
"Oh don't give me that shit," Malik said mildly before fluttering his eyelashes and putting on a mocking falsetto, "About us."
"There is no 'us'."
"There was," Malik said darkly, as if daring him to disagree. Seto sighed.
"Listen, that was..." he started. As usual, he didn't get far.
"I know what you've convinced yourself it was," Malik snapped, "I'm sure it's perfectly clear in your mind that it was all down to hormones and adolescent confusion and the lack of female company – that it was just a phase. That's the fashionable way of looking at it, right? Everyone can have their bit of buggery and then explain it all away, just like that," he shut his book with a loud whump, "But I don't buy into bullshit like that."
"Don't pretend like I ever lied to you," Seto muttered, "From the very beginning, I was perfectly honest with you about how it would end."
"I know you were," Malik said. His voice was almost sympathetic, "Because you were scared. And I get that, you know? I know it's scary. And I know that the CEO of Kaiba Corp would never want to be called a fairy or a fag or a queer or-"
"Stop it," Seto said through clenched teeth.
"But being scared doesn't excuse you," Malik said, "Sometimes you just have to say 'screw it' to the things you're afraid of. If you want something badly enough."
"Then I guess you over-estimated how much I wanted you," Seto hissed unthinkingly. That one hit its mark. The hurt exploded behind those lilac eyes.
"I guess I did," Malik said softly.
Seto looked away uncomfortably. He wanted to apologise but he couldn't. Apologising was like admitting that that had been a lie, a shameless lie-
"You've noticed, haven't you?" Malik said suddenly, "My dad."
Seto frowned at the seeming change of subject.
"You and he don't seem to get along very well," he ventured. Malik laughed – harshly, sadly.
"I haven't told any of them. About me, I mean. I never saw the point," he said with a furtive, mad grin, "But I think, deep down, he knows. I think he can smell it on me. And he hates that. Hates me. He'd probably try to get me exorcised or lynched if I told him."
Seto realised for the first time (and he really should have noticed sooner) that the biggest difference between the Malik of five years ago and the Malik of today was that this Malik was unhappy. And not just because he was here, engaged to his sister. He was unhappy and maybe a little bit bitter. Sometime during the last five years, something had stolen the sparkle in his eye. Or maybe it had been a gradual process, as the realities of life slowly began to press down on him with crushing force.
"I figure that, sooner or later, he'll start to smell it on you too. Do you really think you can hide it from Isis forever?" Malik asked. Seto glared at him.
"I have nothing to hide," he said coldly, turning back to his work.
Spring was coming. And with it, graduation.
It had been an unseasonably balmy day – like a little preview of the warm weather to come in a few months – but now in the waning evening light a few clouds had burst. Soft rain fell with a sound like silk on the school and its grounds, cooling the air and smirring the windows. Seto watched it silently. Malik was dozing next to him, using his chest as a pillow even though there was a pillow right there. It was ok. Seto didn't mind. He had one arm looped around the younger boy's shoulders, feeling them rise and fall rhythmically with his breathing. It was kind of soothing, actually.
For a short time the rain increased in intensity – fat drops drilled noisily against the window like pebbles. Malik half-opened his eyes at the sound, looking puzzled.
"...Did you hear the rain in your dream?" Seto asked, trying not to smile but failing. Malik blinked up at him sleepily and mumbled something.
"What?" Seto asked him in amusement.
"I love you," Malik repeated. Then, after a pause, "Sorry."
Seto froze. After a long moment, he looked down. To his relief, Malik had gone back to sleep.
The bedroom door creaked open. Seto looked up immediately even though he knew who it would be. Isis was out for the night with her girlfriends, and her parents had long since gone to bed.
"What is it?" he asked apprehensively. Malik hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds before coming inside. He slid onto the bed and knelt next to where Seto was sitting, book in hand.
"...I've read that one," he said at length, indicating to the hefty paperback, "It's good."
"What is it, Malik?" Seto repeated. He was ill-at-ease. Something was off with the blonde boy tonight. The bruised, secret anger was missing from him. He looked softer around the edges. Maybe he was drunk. Or maybe he was just lonely.
"...You know, I was kind of waiting all this time," Malik said quietly. His expression was neutral but pain shone in his eyes, as if something was hacking him to pieces inside. Seto wished he couldn't read those eyes so well, "Ever since you graduated. I tried to let it go, but I was waiting. I always hoped you'd get the hell over yourself and come get me," he paused and swallowed hard – swallowed the pain down and kept it inside like a tumour, "I never thought you'd come back like this."
"Well," Seto said uncomfortably, surprised by an old impulse welling up in him to just put his arms around the blonde boy and make him feel better, "I'm sorry, I guess."
Malik gave a sigh and, without warning, leaned over and kissed him softly on the mouth. Seto didn't resist. (He would hate himself for it later, despise himself when Isis got back, but in that moment he felt just like a withdrawal-stricken husk of a heroin addict getting a long-overdue hit of pure morphine.)
"What are you doing?" he managed to ask against that undeniable mouth.
"Testing myself. I failed," Malik murmured back before kissing him more insistently to stop any further chat. He slipped one knee across to straddle him and wound his arms around his neck. Seto's hands went to his waist, helplessly.
The taste was the same, the feel was the same. Seto realised he could remember every detail of Malik's mouth. And it still felt like it fit his perfectly.
When they finally broke apart, Malik pressed their foreheads together, drawing in deep breaths.
"I know you can't tell me you love me," he said numbly, "But at least tell me it feels better to kiss me. Say it feels better than it does with Isis. At least let me have that."
"Ok," Seto said even as the shame (the self-hate) clawed its way up his throat, "You can have that."
Dinner time again, and it was the usual routine. They all sat down, got comfortable, asked about each other's day – and then Malik's father started with the low blows. Tonight it was something about Malik's attitude – about how he wasn't focused enough, he was damn lazy, he deliberately picked a college course below his ability so that he could just float on through-
"Hey, dad," Malik interrupted just as his father appeared to be reaching the jewel in the crown of his argument – what it was, they would never know, "You know that disease you talk about sometimes?"
"What?" the old man snarled, looking livid at being so cleanly cut-off.
"Y'know. The disease that's gonna bring this country to ruin and drag everyone to hell. The ho-mo-sek-shoo-als," Malik paused and grinned. Seto could see so many things dancing in that smile, in those eyes – panic, glee, regret, "I think I got it, dad. I really do."
He propped one elbow on the table and leaned his face on his hand and waited for a reaction. For what felt like a very long time there was only silence. Heavy, black silence, like the air before a thunderstorm. Seto felt a little sick.
"What are you saying?" the old man asked finally. His tone was dangerous, his eyes glinting like flint.
"I think you heard me," Malik said flatly, "I think you get it."
This time, there was no silence.
"Youlittleshithowdareyou,youthinkI'llallowthis,youthinkanysonofmine-" his father exploded, getting to his feet and slamming his hands on the table to punctuate his largely unintelligible tirade, "I'llfixyourealgoodboy,youwon'tevenknowwhathityou,ifyouthinkthisisfunny,ifyouthink-"
Malik threw back his head and laughed. His father, purple with fury, lunged across the table and backhanded him across the face. His lip split and his mother screamed. He kept on laughing. Then he stood up, sending his chair careening backwards into the wall, and just left the room. A moment later they could hear him climbing the stairs.
After that the silence came back, freezing the whole room. All that was left of that little exchange was a few drops of blood on the table and on the carpet.
"Oh God," Isis said finally, hiding her face in her hands, "What just happened?"
"What just happened?" her father repeated, his face still twitching with rage, "I just lost my damn appetite, for one thing."
"Let me go talk to him," Seto said quietly, as any caring future brother-in-law would. He hoped.
"Talk to him?" the old man growled, "He doesn't need talking, what he needs is a damn good-"
"Dad, stop it," Isis moaned before turning to Seto with a look of immense gratitude – a sort of 'you're my hero' look. He felt his stomach turn dismally. He was no hero.
He followed the sparse drippy trail of blood upstairs. Malik was in the bathroom, examining his cut lip in the mirror over the sink.
"He caught me a real good one," he said absently at Seto's approach.
"What were you thinking?" Seto asked him, feeling completely mortified and not even for his own sake.
"Uh," Malik started, pausing to spit out a glob of blood and press a wad of tissue to his mouth, "I was thinking I'm sick of hiding it. I never lied about it, the way you lie – I never brought home a girl or anything – but I was always keeping it buried. Like some big sick secret. Like it really was a disease."
"How do you know it isn't?" Seto challenged desperately, "How do you know you're not wrong, maybe it was all just growing pains at high school-"
Malik snorted and pushed past him into the hallway and went into his room. Seto noticed a large suitcase sitting on his bed –a packed suitcase.
"Where are you going?" he asked nervously.
"To stay with my brother," Malik replied with the ghost of a smile, "I warned him I was going to be dropping a bomb or two. Told him to get the spare room ready," he paused, "Man, I'm going to look a real bad-ass on the bus with a bust mouth."
"...You shouldn't have told them," Seto said, gesturing helplessly to the case, "Look, it's done you no good at all."
"You think so?" Malik said with a delighted laugh, "You have no idea how good it felt. He looked like I'd just kicked him in the nads."
"But...now you have to go," Seto said with frustration, "You might have just lost most of your family."
"I'll get over it," Malik said bluntly, "And you don't need to worry, by the way. I won't ever tell them about you."
"You won't?" Seto questioned suspiciously, waiting for the sting in the tail. It came quickly.
"No," Malik said with a pleasant smile, blood still oozing from his lip, "Because then you'd hate me. And gee, I don't want that. I want you just to hold onto the nice memories of me – especially the really nice ones. Who knows, maybe they'll give you something to hold onto when you realise your fake marriage is draining you dry. Or maybe not. Either way, you'd better not come to me when that time comes."
Seto stared at him. He would never have admitted that he was shocked or hurt by that, but he was. Malik's smile became rueful.
"I'm tired of all the sneaking around," he said with a sad shrug, "It was fine at high school. It seemed romantic then, all exciting and secret. But this is the real world, and I don't want to be with someone who's ashamed of me. Because that just makes me feel shitty about myself."
Seto's mind was spinning, trying desperately to come up with some solution to this problem, some way that he could keep Malik near him – because he knew now that he needed him. Maybe they could both just disappear, he could sell up the company and they could just vanish off the face of the earth, buy their own island and live there-
"You could march downstairs right now," Malik said suddenly in a sort of 'I dare you, I double dare you' voice, "And tell them everything. Sure, it would be ugly as hell, and my dad might knock the shit out of you, but it wouldn't kill you. And then we could both go. Together."
Tell them? That he loved their son more than their daughter? That perhaps the only reason he'd ever thought he loved their daughter was because she, on some level, reminded him of her brother? Impossible. Isis, for one thing – he did care about her (it was just the way he cared for her that he wasn't sure about anymore), he didn't want to hurt her, if he was ever going to break this to her he'd have to pick the moment carefully, have to do it gently, have to skirt around the details. And her parents, God, they would hate him, might even blame him – might think he was the one who planted the idea in Malik's head. And of course if he and Malik swanned off into the sunset together it would be all over the news by tomorrow, and he wasn't ready for that, was hardly ready to admit it to himself...
Seeing his indecision, Malik opened his closet and took out the one jacket still hanging there. He slung it over his shoulder and pulled up the handle on his wheeled suitcase, tugging it off the bed.
"Can't you wait for me?" Seto asked, and he was appalled by the plea he heard in his own voice. Malik shook his head.
"I waited five years," he said simply, "I think that's long enough."
And then he was gone. Seto didn't try to stop him. (He wanted to, but he didn't.) Malik might have broken free, but he'd been living this lie too long to change now. And he knew he'd made Malik happy when he was sixteen, but he also knew he wasn't the one who could make him happy again now. As he prepared himself to go back downstairs and resume the lie, he only hoped the blonde boy would find that someone, sooner or later.
The room hardly looked any different once Seto had finished packing. He'd never been the type to put up posters or leave clutter lying around. The only notable differences were the empty desk, and the bed, which had been stripped completely bare. Just a mattress on an unsteady frame. He grimaced and turned away from it. Funny how things around here always seemed to come back to the bed.
"Are you ready to go?"
Seto looked up. Malik stood in the open doorway, fiddling awkwardly with the strap on his book-bag. His summer uniform – clearly bought with next year in mind – was slightly too big for him. It was kind of cute.
(But Seto had to stop thinking like that now.)
"Yes," he replied stiffly, looking away again. He heard the other boy come into the room slowly – nervously, even.
"Were you even going to say goodbye?" Malik asked him at length.
"I don't know," Seto replied honestly.
He glanced over to see Malik revolving that blonde head of his slowly, taking in the whole room with a vaguely unsettled expression.
"It doesn't look much different," he said, chewing on his lower lip, "But it feels different. It feels like nothing ever happened here. Like it's been wiped clean."
"Good," Seto answered shortly, "That's...good. It's meant to be like that."
He suddenly noticed Malik was oddly pale. His eyes (those eyes) were huge and stark in his face.
"I'm not going to see you anymore, am I?" he said in a wavering, child-like voice. Seto, who had heard Malik speak in many tones but had never known him to sound anything less than self-assured, felt a twinge of unease in his gut. Maybe it was guilt. He didn't know.
"You knew that," he said as brusquely as he could, "I told you that from the very beginning."
"...I know," Malik said softly. His lip was trembling, "But somewhere along the way I stopped believing that. I couldn't keep believing that you would really do it. Just fuck off and never look back, I mean. Why don't you just leave a couple of fifties on my nightstand and complete the picture?"
"It's not like that," Seto said with frustration, trying so hard not to look at him but failing like he always did. He'd wanted to be harsh when this time came (make it easier on both of them, maybe), but it was impossible when Malik looked so completely wretched, "You know I don't want to do this, but I have to, I...aw, shit Malik..."
"Look what you did," Malik said thickly, half-turning away and covering his eyes with one hand, "You went and made me cry, you bastard-!"
Seto sighed heavily, running a hand through his short brown hair. He hadn't wanted it to end like this. But he supposed that if he'd ever stopped to think over the past year – and the past few months especially – he would have known that it couldn't end any other way.
Forgetting was going to be harder than he'd ever expected.
"Nice lip you got there," Rishid commented with a raised eyebrow as Malik got into the car. The bus stop was a fair few blocks away from his apartment, and he wasn't the kind of brother to make his youngest sibling walk through town dragging a suitcase.
"Yeah, well," Malik said dryly through his bruised mouth, which had only just stopped bleeding, "I think I got off pretty lightly, considering."
"What exactly did you do to make the old man rattle your teeth?" Rishid asked, pulling away from the kerb. Malik's face stretched into a painful grin.
"I blew the door right off the closet," he said with a heady laugh.
"Seriously?" his brother questioned, taking his eyes off the road briefly to look at him disbelievingly, "You mean they didn't know?"
"Not judging by the reaction," Malik replied, trying to hide his own surprise that Rishid, whom he had also never told, did seem to have known, "Guess not everybody's got as sharp a gaydar as you."
Rishid chuckled.
"Guess not," he agreed.
They drove on in easy silence for a few minutes before Malik piped up again.
"Can I tell you something before I go crazy?" he asked, gaze fixed on the dashboard.
"Uh...sure," Rishid said, looking puzzled.
The secret (the one that he had treasured and Seto had most likely detested) came out for the first and probably last time. Not everything, of course – no need to feed big brother the gory details and make him crash the car. Just the basic gist. Enough to let Rishid understand just how damn much it hurt – because Rishid would understand.
"You're joking," he gaped – luckily they were stopped at a red light, "Isis' boyfriend? Hell, her fiancé?"
"Yeah," Malik confirmed, feeling the reality of it chew on his insides again, "What are the chances, huh?"
"...I doubt it was chance," Rishid said quietly as the lights changed and they moved off, "He probably doesn't even know it but, if you two were that close, he probably chose her because she reminds him of you. There's a funny thing about siblings."
"I did think about that," Malik said with a nod, "It's kind of...weird."
There was a long pause.
"I'm sorry," Rishid said finally. Malik blinked.
"What for?" he asked.
"It sounds like he really broke your heart," his brother said, casting him a sympathetic smile as they pulled up to his apartment building. Malik blinked again, and then laughed. His eyes were burning but he laughed. He loved his brother.
"Yeah, I guess he did," he said, still smiling ruefully, "Still. We should worry more about what it's going to do to Isis' heart when she finds out."
"Are you going to tell her?" Rishid asked in alarm.
"No," Malik replied, "But I'm pretty sure it'll come clear before too long."
They got out of the car and retrieved Malik's suitcase from the trunk. Rishid didn't comment on how heavy it was – now that he knew why Malik had evacuated their family home, it probably went without saying that he'd be staying for quite a while.
"Do you really think he's just using Isis?" Rishid asked, fumbling in his pocket for his key. Malik laughed again. He couldn't help it, it felt good to laugh and if he stopped he might start crying.
"God, I don't know," he said, shaking his head, "Maybe it'll work out for them. Maybe he swings both ways, I don't know. I don't know."
"Sounds like it's going to be one hell of a fun wedding, anyway," Rishid said grimly. He finally got the door to the building open and they went inside and started climbing the stairs, "Whatever. You just try and put it out of your mind. No point in letting it eat away at you. There are other people, you know? Real nearby, maybe."
Malik didn't fail to notice the decidedly furtive look on his brother's face as he said this, but opted not to question it.
They had just reached the third floor landing when the door to the apartment opposite Rishid's burst open, and an extremely stressed-looking young boy with his arms full of papers came out, muttering to himself and giving off nervous tension in waves. Malik blinked at his pale skin and white hair. That wasn't a peroxide job, that was actual white hair. Weird. (Not in a bad way, though.)
"Hey, Ryou," Rishid greeted as they approached. The boy jumped about a foot in the air and spun around to look at them. He still hadn't managed to get his door locked.
"Oh, hi there," he said, offering a flustered smile before noticing Malik, "This a friend?"
"Baby brother," Rishid corrected, "This is Malik."
"Nice to meet you," Ryou said, his smile widening before he glanced at his watch and the panic in his eyes increased ten-fold, "Oh sorry, I gotta go, I'm so damn late..."
He turned to make another attempt at locking the door, shifted his arms in just the wrong way, and all his papers crashed to the floor.
"Oh shit," he moaned before flushing bright red when he saw them staring, "Uh, sorry, I just..."
"Relax, I've heard worse," Malik said with amusement, stooping to help him gather up the scattered sheets, "You should really keep these in a folder or something."
"I know, I'm so stupid, I was in such a hurry..." Ryou said miserably, making a vain attempt to sort the papers back into their original order.
"Those for college?" Rishid asked.
"Uh-huh."
"Y'know, Malik's at college too," the older man said smilingly, "What is it you're studying, again?"
"English lit," Malik replied, glancing up at him suspiciously. Rishid knew damn well what he was studying.
"I'm primary teaching," Ryou said with a bashful laugh, "Exciting, huh?"
"Those two aren't so different, are they?" Rishid said brightly, "You two should study together. Grab a coffee and hit the books or whatever. That's what students do, right?"
"Those two subjects are nothing alike..." Malik said with a perplexed frown.
"You know, Ryou, Malik's kind of here on an extended vacation," Rishid ploughed right on, "I don't know where the young people go these days, maybe you could show him around? Catch a movie or something? You like movies, don't you?"
"Uh...that is..." Ryou said, blinking blankly at him.
"Hey, Malik, I'll just go put your case in your room, ok?" Rishid said, already half-way into his apartment. When he shut the door, he left a somewhat stunned silence in his wake.
"...Why did that sound like a blind date set-up?" Malik said to himself after a moment, shaking his head in amusement.
"Oh God, that's so embarrassing!" Ryou moaned, looking mortified. Malik just laughed, and this time it wasn't just out of necessity.
"Do you, by the way?" he asked.
"Do I what?" Ryou asked with another blink.
"Like movies."
Ryou went cherry-red again.
"Yes, I do. I mean, lots of people do..." he mumbled before staring at the papers spread out around him, "What was I doing with these again?"
"You should probably just sort them once you get to class," Malik suggested, gathering all the sheets into a messy pile and handing them to the other boy.
"Yeah," Ryou said with an embarrassed giggle, "Thanks."
"That's ok," Malik said, "Didn't you say you were running late?"
"What? Oh, crap, yes," Ryou squeaked, looking at his watch again and cringing, "Um, I guess I'll see you later..."
"Hope so," Malik said, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, "And in case you're wondering, I look a lot better when my mouth isn't...bloody and swelling."
"Oh...I wasn't..." Ryou said, blushing furiously.
"I guess I'll let you be the judge of that, though."
Ryou gave up and just laughed.
"Ok, sure," he said with a smile before turning and hurrying down the stairs.
Malik watched him go and then turned towards his temporary home, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
He could have killed Rishid for springing something like that on him so suddenly and so soon (though maybe it had just been convenient timing on the part of Ryou's college time-table), but he supposed that, after five years, it really was time to start moving forward.
"Onwards and upwards, right?" he said to himself as he went inside to give his brother an earful.
When I was writing the last scene there, part of me kept thinking 'Damn, Malik sure moves on fast', but a bigger part was like 'Whatever, it's been five years, he needs some love. And what this story really needs is ANGSTSHIPPING.' Also I didn't think a completely angsty ending would go down too well. So, there we go, Ryou got his little cameo at the end xD It was a nice change to be able to write him with more of a 'normal' Ryou-personality, rather than the hardcore ball of angst that is Homecoming!Ryou.
For those of you who currently want to kill me for writing something that isn't 'Homecoming', Chapter 20 is almost done, I promise.
So uh yeah, hope you liked this little effort I had to get out of my system. I know powershipping is pretty much non-existent around here, but I guess this is my attempt set that ship sailing xD
Review?
Fiver x