Some family drama over the past week has left me rather exhausted, but oddly enough I also found it inspiring. Well, that, and a few other things. But all in all, I'll say that this chapter surprised me. I'm not sure what I pictured when I started it, but the way it turned out was certainly interesting.
And I do hope that "interesting" here isn't a euphemism for "freaking weird."
1.
There was something that made the eldest Kaiba's eyes lift up from his desk long before he heard anything. Something that made him stand up, and walk across the floor, without provocation. He opened the door, and looked down at Noa—who looked so solid, but wasn't—just as the white-clad boy had opened his mouth to speak.
He even had a hand up, as though he intended to knock, even though none of the rules of tactile tradition applied to him.
"What can I do for you?" Seto asked, mildly, neutrally.
Noa looked up. "Well . . . first . . . can you tell me what I should call you? I can't call you Niisama. That belongs to Mokuba. And I can't call you Seto, because that belongs to the worst part of my past. So . . . what should I call you?"
Seto raised a slow eyebrow. "You should call me . . . whatever you like. I don't control the propriety of others."
"Well . . . okay. Maybe we'll get to that later. Could I . . . talk to you?"
Seto offered a somehow dismissive gesture of welcome. "Shall we take this up in your quarters, then?"
Noa smirked. It was a Kaiba's smirk. "My quarters aren't exactly equipped for a discussion. Some accommodations are missing. Like chairs."
Seto returned the smirk. He gestured again. "Walk with me."
Some part of Noa realized that those three words were the kindest Seto Kaiba had ever spoken to him. Perhaps that was why, even though he technically didn't have to, Noa did as asked. He didn't glide, or blip away, or fade in and out of existence.
He walked.
2.
"I've been talking to Mokuba about . . . well, everything."
Seto didn't look directly at the boy, choosing instead to keep his gaze straight ahead. "I'm going to assume, by 'everything,' you mean about him. Not advanced physics or tarot readings."
Noa chuckled. "No, not those. I wondered what I missed, you know? When we split paths. I've existed in your network, sure, but there's only so much I could do. It's not as simple as jacking into the Matrix and learning kung fu."
It was Seto's turn to chuckle.
"He told me about von Schroeder. How you saved his life. How . . . if not for you . . . he'd be dead." A pause, as Seto choked on his own tongue. "He doesn't think of it that way, though. Not exactly. He's convinced that he did die. That you brought him back to life. He says he can't remember that day, except for what he keeps seeing in nightmares."
". . . You'll forgive me, if I don't understand why you're bringing this up." Another pause, and this time Seto traded in his smirk for a sneer that looked painful. "I remember the details. I was there."
"Well, it's just . . . I've been thinking about a lot of things, since I came back. About my life before this." Seto spied Noa looking down at his hands. He clapped them together, and the smack echoed in the hall. He did it again, and this time his left hand just sifted through his right, without resistance. "I think about my father. About when I used to call him 'Chichiue,' because 'Otousama' seemed too formal. About when I switched, because 'Chichiue' seemed too informal."
"Mokuba called him 'Papa' once. It's what he used to call our biological father. He only did it once."
"What about you?" Noa dared to ask.
Seto heaved a sigh. "He was perfectly willing to allow Diamun to discipline Mokuba the same way I was disciplined. The day I realized that, I started calling him 'sir.' Eventually, he caught on that it was an insult. It seemed to amuse him."
"Diamun," Noa repeated. "I had a hard time saying his name when I was little. I called him 'Demon.' No one ever bothered to correct me."
"This talk of titles and nicknames aside," Seto said, his voice too strangled to be natural, "I still have difficulty understanding your line of reasoning regarding this conversation. There's something you either want to ask me, or tell me. It doesn't involve dead servants."
"So. The old goat's dead?"
"He put his hands on my brother. Of course he's dead."
Silence moved into the space of the discussion for a while, and it wasn't broken until Seto and Noa found themselves standing outside the main house, looking out across the back gardens. Seto's gaze was on Mokuba's new studio. Noa's, such as it was, focused on Seto.
He said, ". . . I miss having a father."
3.
"What?"
"Well, I mean . . . he's also told me about how you've lived. Before we crossed . . . well, cards, I guess. You know what I mean." Seto didn't nod, but somehow it felt like he did. "He told me . . . how you make sure he gets up on time, and has a good breakfast. How you volunteer for school functions, and how you used to read to him." Noa quirked an eyebrow. "He told me he can't get into the Harry Potter movies, because none of the actors sound like you."
Seto blinked.
Noa gestured to the studio. "He gave me a tour. Showed me all that you and his friends did to make sure he could . . . well. He showed me."
"What does this have to do with missing your father?" Seto asked.
His voice, unlike its usual authoritative bark, was surprisingly gentle.
"I don't miss my father," Noa said. "I miss having a father. Someone who . . . someone I could trust to . . . guide me. When I was alive, he was different. He wasn't especially kind, but he wasn't cruel. Not like he was to you. He was . . . stern but fair. A wolf. A soldier. A general. But I . . . I was his pride. His son. I was . . . different. Or, I thought I was."
". . . He was only ever kind enough to serve his ambitions."
"I know that now. I . . . I do. He proved that to me. To all of us."
Seto crossed his arms, stared at nothing, and eventually closed his eyes.
"Well. Anyway." Noa looked nervous, but Seto didn't see it. He anticipated it, but he didn't see it. The boy fidgeted. "It's just . . . well. I guess . . . Mokuba said he wanted to watch anime with me, and I was wondering . . . well . . . if you could join us. Make it a family thing. Maybe. You know?"
Seto opened his eyes again.
He sighed again.
A digital projection wants me to . . . be his . . . ?
Seto turned back into the house.
"W-Where are you going? Hey! I-I'm sorry if I overstepped my . . . !"
Seto stopped. Without turning, he said, ". . . I have a few things to finish up, if I'm going to clear out my evening."
He didn't see the grin split Noa's face.
He anticipated it, but he didn't see it.
4.
"So who's your favorite, Noa?"
Noa put on a thoughtful face. "I think . . . mmm . . . Gon. Actually. What about you, Mokuba?"
Mokuba grinned. "Killua," he said, immediately.
Both boys turned to Seto next.
"Niisama . . . ?"
"Don't expect me to make a decision like that without further information," Seto said shortly. He sounded just as short and sharp as he always did, but Mokuba's reaction was as though Seto had just offered to buy him a theme park for his birthday.
"Wait. Does that mean . . . you're gonna watch the rest of it with us?"
Seto shrugged. "Seasoned professionals keep informing me that I need to relax more often. I suppose I could do worse than watch systematic child abuse masquerading as wholesome entertainment."
". . . You like it, don't you?" Mokuba's smile turned sly. "I told you you'd like it!"
Seto gestured dismissively. "Keep gloating and I'll have you on chopping duty for dinner."
"Would I get to use your knives? 'Cuz I'm okay with that."
"I'd offer to help," Noa said. His projection had a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He'd been eating throughout the evening, and from the munching, humming sounds he'd been making, it was quite satisfying. Seto wondered about what Noa had said earlier that day, about his bedroom not having any chairs.
He only acted fully human around Mokuba.
Seto filed this away for later consideration.
5.
Sometime around 6 PM, as Mokuba was attacking his dinner with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in months, and Noa was making a new projection of a plate of food, using his hands as paintbrushes, Seto heard footsteps.
Roland's voice came into the room before his body did. "Good evening, sir. Seems like everything is in order here?" He stepped inside. "Got reports of someone new on the grounds. Seems Vincent was . . . concerned. Considering just how rarely you have—"
Roland's voice cut off immediately, when he saw Noa.
He took in the entire situation: Mokuba on the floor, descending upon his tortilla soup like a natural disaster; Seto, watching an animated battle sequence with a professor's focus; and Noa, sitting pretty on the couch alongside Seto.
Roland actually chuckled. "Well. I suppose that explains it. New houseguest, is it?"
"He's not a houseguest," Mokuba said derisively, barely audible, "he's our brother."
Roland took this in stride, bowed, and said, "Of course. My apologies."
"Mmmm," Mokuba offered; he looked suspicious.
"You never did strike me as the sort to watch cartoons, sir," Roland said. At Mokuba's look, he said: "My apologies again. Anime."
Mokuba nodded, satisfied.
"A proper guardian should engage in his charges' interests from time to time," Seto said. "My charges seemed insistent upon watching this. And since anything I might want to watch would be entirely inappropriate for them, it seemed that there was nothing for it."
"The evening news is inappropriate for children?"
"Don't be stupid, Roland. Of course it is."
No one in the room missed what Seto had just said, and what it meant. Mokuba turned around, surprised and inquisitive. Roland looked only slightly confused. Noa, however, was beaming.
Roland bowed again. "Well. I suppose I'll leave you to your endeavors, then." He glanced at Noa. "It's a . . . pleasure to see you again, Young Master Noa. Welcome back."
He left.
Mokuba was still staring. ". . . Niisama?"
Seto stabbed a finger at Noa. "You call me 'Papa' one time, and you're on probation. Are we clear?"
Noa grinned toothily. "I wouldn't dare."
"Wipe your chin, Mokuba. Not with your shirt."
Mokuba picked up a napkin. "Y-Yes, Niisama."
Seto leaned back in his seat, and a lesser being might have accused him of sulking. He rested his head against a loose fist, and watched the screen in front of him for a while. After a long, warm sort of silence, he finally spoke again.
He said, simply:
". . . Leorio."
.
They're watching "Hunter × Hunter," specifically the 1999 version (because the 2011 version isn't an option, given that this story takes place in 2007). Gon is the primary protagonist, and he happens to be voiced by Junko Takeuchi in the Japanese version (she also provided the voice for Mokuba in the second series anime on which most of my YGO stories are based).
Killua is Gon's best friend. Leorio is another protagonist, though I suppose you could claim he's secondary to the other two. Which is a shame, because he's one of my favorites.
I've been watching the second version of this anime quite a bit lately, and it got me thinking. The dynamic between Gon and Killua was especially endearing to me, and I think the reason why is because it's taken almost from the exact same template as Mokuba and Noa.
So, there you go.
I was feeling sentimental.
