There's a trope in relationships where one person, usually "The Woman," will ask their partner, "The Man," to do something. And it's understood, implicitly, that he isn't supposed to actually do that. He's supposed to know that there's something else he was really meant to do, and if he doesn't, he's failed as a boyfriend.
Suffice it to say, I hate that shit.
So I felt the need to address it, in my own way.
.
Ryo Bakura opened the front door of his apartment; he wondered if he would see Noa Kaiba standing there. Some distant, screaming part of him wondered if he would see his father there. What he didn't expect to see, what he'd never expected to see, was Seto Kaiba and Kisara St. Vincent, both dressed all in black, looking like they'd just walked off a battlefield.
"Um . . . hello. Good evening." Ryo frowned. "Can I help you?"
Seto drew in a breath. "I'm sorry to be here so late," he said, carefully, like he was doing his best to not let emotion dictate how he spoke. "In most circumstances, I would have called. It would have been a much easier way, I think, to ensure things went smoothly. However, for the sake of everyone involved here, I think it's important that we speak in person."
Ryo didn't think he fully understood what was going on, but he also didn't think there was too much mystery to it. He said: "Noa told you about the letter, didn't he?"
"He did."
Ryo nodded; he took a step back and gestured. "Please. Come in. Sit."
They did.
Seto clasped his hands as he sat down, held them between his knees. "I have no intention of injecting myself into your business," he said. "What you do with, or about, your own father is your decision. I am here for my brother's sake. That is my responsibility." He gestured vaguely. "Legally, Noa is an adult. But I hope you understand me when I say that legality is not the only metric that's relevant here."
"I understand." Ryo nodded.
Kisara spoke now: "He worries for you. Given your mood when he left, he is convinced that he has made a mistake. He has respected your wishes, but he still worries that you sent him away so that he would not be able to stop you from . . . hurting yourself."
Ryo flinched, then frowned. "Did he say that?"
"No," Seto said. "We inferred it. Noa has only had the barest of experience when it comes to dealing with other people, particularly his peers, and he's never been as close to anyone as you. This, I think, hasn't nearly as much to do with you as it does with his own . . . baggage." Seto grunted, obviously displeased with the word but unable to think of a better one. "He worries that, in accepting your request to be left alone, he is taking the easy way out. He was supposed to something else. To understand something else. That he hasn't is his failing."
Recognition flashed across Ryo's face, and his eyes softened. "Because he's spent so much time around . . . duplicitous people. Including, maybe especially, his own parents. The only examples he's ever had for guidance . . . they always wore masks."
"Precisely," Seto said. "He thinks there is some hidden meaning in what you've asked of him, and he's missed it. He doesn't know why he worries, only that he worries. I think it would be best if, when you can, you approach him and let him know the truth."
"Send him a message, when you can," Kisara said, "to let him know that he has not failed some private test. Let him know that he has done right by you in doing as you asked of him."
Ryo nodded. "Of course. I will."
"I have hope," Seto said, standing up, "that my family is honestly on the road to healing. Part of that hope is thanks to you." He paused, made sure that Ryo was looking at him. "Know that, if you need anything . . . anything . . . you have but to name it."
"We take care of our own," said Kisara.
