I often wondered, especially as a kid, what Seto Kaiba must do when he's at home. And then it turned out that I had a hard time imagining him staying at home for very long. Not to say that I really think he's a workaholic. It's one of those characterizations I just don't vibe with. He spends the whole story actively avoiding his job, it feels like.
But all the same, my boy don't sit still for long, either.
I get the feeling he just has too much energy.
.
"Should, um . . . should he be doing that?"
Seto was far enough away that he—probably—couldn't hear. His right arm remained tightly secured to his side, but that probably didn't mean that one-armed pushups were on his doctors' list of approved exercises. Mokuba had a long-suffering fondness on his face, which was answer enough.
Nonetheless, he put words to it: "Prob'ly not."
Masahiko nodded idly as he continued to study the eldest Kaiba. He looked around at all the equipment set up in this room: the estate's home gym, which was almost indistinguishable from a commercial one. He frowned. "There's so much stuff in here. What's it all for?"
"The gym is for the home staff, too," Mokuba said, eyeing the treadmills and elliptical machines set up like sentinels against two walls. "Everybody who works here has free reign to exercise. Niisama encourages it. He says regular exercise is vital to a healthy work environment, same as it is for a healthy life. Or something. I forget how he says it. It's poetic."
"Uh-huh, I bet it is," Masahiko said. "So . . . it's not just you and your brother who live here?"
Mokuba shook his head. "No. We've got some live-in staff. Everybody's got a room set up. Not everybody uses them, though. Except, like, for storage and stuff."
"You guys just . . . let other people live here."
"Mm-hm." Mokuba nodded. "If they're going to work here, they should be able to stay here. It just makes sense. To Niisama, anyway." He eyed his counterpart seriously. "We could set you up with a room, y'know, if you wanted to stay here instead of the hotel."
"Are you sure your brother would be . . . okay with that?" Masahiko eyed Seto nervously. "Should you be making offers like that?"
"I'm a Kaiba," Mokuba said. "I do what I want."
Masahiko squinted at the older boy like he was expecting a punchline. When Mokuba's face didn't change at all, he said: "I, uh . . . I'm not sure. It's kinda . . . nice. Y'know? Having a space to myself. I mean, there's the suits you have watching me, but they don't . . . they don't bother me. I can watch TV, or play a game, and they don't . . . they don't . . ."
He trailed off.
Mokuba frowned. "Things are rough for you back home, aren't they?" he asked, slowly, carefully.
Masahiko grimaced. "I guess." He gestured randomly. "it's just . . . it's always . . . I'm on guard. All the time. Everybody's always watching. And if I step out of line, if I do anything 'wrong,'" he made quotes with his fingers, "the whole house knows about it. It gets . . . exhausting."
Mokuba nodded. "I want to say I know what that's like, but I don't think I do." He turned his attention back to his brother, who was now balancing on his fingertips as he held a handstand. "Whatever you'd prefer. Whatever we can do to make you comfortable, so long as everyone is safe, that's what we'll do." He sighed. "I don't like treating you like a prisoner. I feel like a liar, saying I don't believe you'd do anything, but here we are, just . . ."
"You aren't lying," said Masahiko, not unkindly. "You're being cautious. That's not a bad thing. Otousama has his sights on you."
"Hngh." Mokuba crossed his arms over his chest. "I guess."
"I don't think I trust me right now," Masahiko went on. "Sometimes I think it's nice to finally be away from that house. I mean, even though this house is the same, it's . . . it's not. It's different here. But then I think about how I need to get home, I need to, but I don't know how, and . . . I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel, or think, or anything."
"When you don't know what you should do," Mokuba said, "the best thing to do is watch." At the sudden, searching look that Masahiko sent his way, he shrugged. "That's what I do, anyway. If I don't know what to do, I wait. Weigh my options. Get more information. I have no idea how to send you home, either. Yugi might, but he's not here right now. There are other people who could probably do it, but none of them are easy to get in contact with."
Masahiko rubbed his chin.
"If you really need to get home," Mokuba said, "I can reach out to some people. I can't promise any results, but I can try. But if you wanna stick around here, at least until we figure out what's going on and how to make sure it's safe for you to go home . . . that's cool, too."
"I don't know if home will ever be safe."
"Hm." Mokuba nodded. "I guess I get that." He pulled up his pant leg, showing that he still carried his little pistol. "Niisama taught me how to use this. He didn't want to, and I didn't really want to learn, but with how many times I've had these things shoved in my face, it really didn't feel like we had any excuses to wait anymore."
Masahiko studied the weapon with an unreadable expression. "I've held guns before. Never trained with them. I guess I never thought about that part being very important. You just point it at the thing you want dead, and you twitch your finger." He looked his double in the eye. "How many times have you . . . I mean. Had guns pointed at you."
"I dunno, six? Seven? Twelve?" Mokuba shrugged. "I don't remember. It's hard to keep track after a while." He grunted. "They don't taste very good. I can say that much. That part, I remember."
Masahiko opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. Then he said instead: "Does your brother carry one of those?"
"Usually two."
"Huh." Masahiko frowned down at the floor. "I don't think my brother does. I don't know. He doesn't . . . tell me much. It feels like I'm need-to-know in my own house. It feels like this place is on a whole different planet. Which . . . I mean, I guess it is." He shrugged. "I remember a lot of stuff. A lot of rooms. Even some of the plants look familiar. But everything is still different here."
Seto had finally finished his routine and was now wiping his face with a towel. He was dressed in casual athletic wear that, for Masahiko at least, was entirely foreign. There was nothing particularly strange about his outfit: just a moisture-wicking shirt, jogging pants, and sneakers. But for this young Kaiba, he looked like a different person, especially when he tossed his head back and the sweat in his hair kept it slicked back for a moment, revealing his forehead.
Mokuba tossed a sports drink to his brother, who caught it easily.
"Him, especially," Masahiko mumbling. "He's really different."
"Roland's going to yell at you for pushing yourself that hard," Mokuba said.
"Most likely," Seto agreed.
"I'm not sure I shouldn't do it."
"You probably should." Seto took a long pull from the bottle in his hand. "I am nothing if not an incorrigible bastard."
"If you try to go to work on Monday, I'm stealing your keys."
"That will just strand me at the office with nothing to do but work," Seto said. "I'm not sure you've thought through this plan of yours."
"You'll be hamstrung without any way to get into your office," Mokuba shot back. "I'll call Neil and warn him not to open it for you. If you can't get to any of your equipment, you'll have nothing to do but talk to your employees. You'll be forced to actually socialize for once. I win either way."
Seto's eyes went narrow. "Damn," he muttered. He looked at Masahiko and quirked an eyebrow. "You hear this? Threatening me with the prospect of dealing with people. My kryptonite. I've raised a menace, is what I've done." He rolled his eyes and made for the stairs, pausing to ruffle his brother's hair as he passed. "I'm not that hard-up for permanent injury, it turns out. I'll stay home. But you won't be able to leverage this arm forever."
"I'm gonna use whatever I can for as long as I can," Mokuba declared, without looking back. "You taught me to be resourceful."
"Yeah. And look where it got me."
