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I Don't Know Why The Caged Bird Sings	By : yllimilly Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 5322 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh nor its characters. This was written for fun, not for profit.

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A/N Thank you Megan and angel_dove. Your lovely reviews make this adventure worthwhile. I hope this chapter will meet your expectations, again :) - Milly

I (don’t) know why the caged bird sings

chapter three

When Joey arrived home on Thursday evening, he felt like he’d been to school for the first time in his life, or at least in a long, long time. His teacher’s pep talk had had an effect on him, and even though he hadn’t had any more classes with her today, he felt pumped up for math and science. Took notes. Almost raised his hand once, to ask a question. But somebody else raised theirs while he was hesitating, and since they asked the same question he had, it was all good. It actually made him feel kind of smart to know that someone else was wondering the same thing he was, or made him feel less dumb than he thought he was, to be more accurate. Years of mediocre report cards do that to you.

So he was home early, actually, declining an offer to chill at the arcade to go straight home and study instead. Him, study!

His dad was nowhere in sight.

Not that he would’ve minded. His old man had been pretty tame yesterday night.

So he hadn’t decided yet whether he was going to Kaiba’s place or not. He had time to think about it - at least three and a half hours until the bus ride that would eventually take him there.

He opened his bedroom door and yanked his backpack on his bed. Couldn’t very well study on an empty stomach now, could he.

The milk carton in the fridge was empty. Bothersome, because it meant Joey had to go buy some, but on the bright side, it also meant that his father was getting something healthy in his stomach. Joey took the cereal out, laid the half open box on the counter. At least there was still some of that. Joey knelt down next to the couch, lift the cushions and ran his hands in every nook and cranny of the furniture to gather whatever coins he could get. Tossing them around in his hand, he estimated he had just over a dollar’s worth. He gathered whichever bottles were lying around on counters and near the entrance and that he could hold in his arms, then headed for the corner store.

He came back with a smaller than usual carton of milk.

Poured himself cereal, poured half the milk he normally would have, threw some water in to compensate, and seasoned with sugar to taste.

It wasn’t half bad. It would do for tonight.

Joey sat in front of the TV and tuned into a news channel. Couldn’t really relate to any of it except maybe the weather forecast. It was going to rain real hard tonight, said the weather person, who sort of looked like one of his aunts on his mother’s side.

.

By the time his father came home, Joey had done more than half of some homework that was only due Monday, an achievement in itself.

Joey moved his textbook and loose leaf sheets aside to make room for his father on the couch.

“Hey dad.”

His father greeted him with a grunt of approval. Undid his shoes, headed straight for the kitchen. “Doing homework in front of the TV?”

“Yeah. Less boring that way.”

But Joey was well aware that’s not what his father had meant to ask. He hadn’t meant to ask anything, in fact. Joey knew better than to stand in his father’s way, and was in his bedroom before the old man had taken his spot on the couch.

.

There was no avoiding it.

Joey couldn’t get his mind off Kaiba.

And off the strange advice from his teacher, yesterday. It had been nice to have the mindless television programs take these serious matters off his head, but alone in his bedroom, stripped down to his boxers, Joey Wheeler couldn’t think about anything else than how his own body looked different than Kaiba’s and how he should dress for his visit later tonight.

Yes, yes. A visit. Let’s call things what they are.

But he was only doing it 'out of civility', some usually demure part of his brain decided just now.

He was doing Kaiba a favor. No, not him per se - his teacher. No, himself. He was doing it for himself so that he wouldn’t have to feel bad not following the teacher’s... recommendation.

It wouldn’t do to come just in his jeans and sneakers, he thought. Not after he saw what he saw there. Kaiba’s place was more than a mansion; it was a museum, and Joey sort of felt he had to do the artwork justice. He certainly wasn’t feeling inadequate about the things he wore. Strangely, he just wanted to - to match the decor.

He wondered why Kaiba didn’t.

The more Joey reminisced his encounter with the CEO in its natural habitat, the more he reminded him of some ruffled crow. Scarecrow, maybe.

Yes, that was suiting enough an image.

The mighty Kaiba trying to scare everybody off.

It was astonishing just how long it took Joey to notice. All this time he’d seen Kaiba’s repellent diatribes as a series of personal attacks on him.

But when you look at it closely, SetoKaiba didn’t know two shits about Joey. Merely a few misconceptions based on what little info he had on him, if anything at all.

It was odd to Jo that he have these realizations at this very moment.

Maybe sleep was doing him good.

Joey laid out what few respectable gear he owned on his bed.

Wearing the school uniform was out of question. Too amateur.

His pair of clean jeans weren’t clean enough to his tastes. His clean T-shirts as well. He owned a polo but he never wore it except when he had brunch on a few select religious holidays with his mother and her boyfriend. Easter, Thanksgiving, things like that. He loathed the polo. Gave him a preppy look that wasn’t meant for him. Maybe that was just the hair - his mother wasn’t afraid to label it ‘mop’ whenever it wasn’t clean-looking enough to her tastes. Thank God he didn’t have to pay filial homage to her on a regular basis.

The modest inventory on his bed was to be pitied, really. He’d sometimes get a few snide comments on how he’d never get a girl if he didn’t learn to dress up like the other guys. Joey never failed to claim nonchalantly how little he cared. They always assumed that ‘oh but girls do care about these things, you’ll see one day, you’ll see’, which made it hard for Joey to repress his snickers. They just didn’t get it.

At least he had a couple of next to brand new black socks, the kind that goes with a full suit.

The suit.

He’d nearly forgotten about it.

It rested somewhere in one of the boxes stacked on the hard to reach shelf above his closet. Joey had stacked it out of sight, understandably. He remembered what an ordeal it had been to shop around - no, being hustled around by his emotional mother and aunt. Not a single dress shirt seemed to fit in right within the price range the two working class women were looking at. Finally, after much coaxing from the salesperson, they spent more money than they would have liked on not one, but two dress shirts and ties from a better brand, in addition to a suit that would make him look respectable for the funeral.

The whole set was where he remembered it to be, the smaller dress shirt all wrinkled crumpled above the neater, half-a-size-bigger one, stiffly packaged in its metal pins and cardboard supports. He’d never worn it; his aunt chose it on a whim for him ‘so that he could wear it for graduation’.

As if he had any real hopes of graduating for himself, first; and as if he’d want to pay actual money to spend an evening stomaching dances and nostalgic rituals and shit, all the more with some girl he wouldn’t really like.

Yet, miraculously, as predicted, the shirt he’d worn just this summer didn’t fit nicely anymore. His arms had lengthened without him realizing. It’s not like the oversized school uniforms were a good indicator of teenage growth, although now that he thought about it, it didn’t feel so big on him anymore.

He discarded the shirt on the floor, not intent on picking it up and treating it like the noble piece of fabric it was. Plus there was no ironing board in sight in this apartment.

“Let me get you out of here,” he said as he began freeing the other shirt from its shackles.

It was an unusual blend of colors for a shirt, equally thick white and olive, vertical stripes. The colored stripes were lined with thinner, embroidered, fern green lines. He remembered liking it more than the first one.

It looked good on him, and as his mother pointed out in one of her rare fits of amiability, it did bring out reddish highlights in his ash-going-on-dirty blond hair.

After stretching out a few minor wrinkles he decided it was going to be okay, and that his cleaner jeans were going to be okay, too. He dumped the suit in the closet and looked for the bus schedule to know which transfer to take to Kaiba Corp.

.

The same maid opened up for him. And if the bodyguard had behaved as impersonally as he had last time, this lady seemed to remember Joey. Je perhaps even anticipated him, if KC staff were allowed to feel some kind of emotion without suffering a paycheck deduction.

“Mister Kaiba is expecting you,” she told Joey who thought he saw a sparkle in her eye.

“Yeah, well, he better,” he joked. “It’s a pain coming to this part of town, you know that?”

The maid smiled wordlessly. Of course she knew. She wasn’t the type who could afford living in a neighborhood like this one.

“Actually I live on the estate now,” she said, as if she’d been reading Joey’s thoughts, “but in my first years I used to commute, so, yes...”

Years? How could anyone survive Kaiba’s supreme unpleasantness for years?

He followed the maid through this maze from another epoch, intent on memorizing the path to freedom this time. A left, five doors, a door, straight, the portraits hallway, a single draped window next to a peculiar little antique piece of furniture... He took it all in mechanically until they reached the famous octagonal room.

It was difficult not to be impressed by the new statue - dark and shiny, some metal maybe? - in the middle of the room.

Joey interrupted the maid’s search for the right key with a question. Hey, what was wrong with doing a bit of chit chat with who was perhaps the only human on the premises who was willing to partake in it?

“This wasn’t here before. Is it new?”

The maid turned around. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve never seen it.”

“Well, yeah.”

The piece was a bit strange; a winged male perched over a young female, both naked except for the draperies around her waist and legs. They were enlacing each other with slender arms, looking as if though they were about to kiss.

“It was taken out for restoration until just yesterday. To me it’s like an old friend coming back home.”

“Figures. I’d be surprised if Kaiba had bought it. I mean, he doesn’t look like he’s into pretty stuff.”

The maid smiled peacefully at the snide comment turned compliment.

“Yes, it’s been on the estate since before the late Kaiba.”

“Like, Kaiba’s father?”

“Yes.” She stood still despite the silence, like she wasn’t ready to go on with her duties just yet. “You know, it’s good to have visitors. It’s like we get to see the estate through new eyes. We get so used to all this beauty, it’s like we don’t see it anymore.”

Joey pondered for a moment. He sort of knew what she meant but couldn’t relate to it. “So, um, what is it?”

“Eros and Psyché.” She must’ve seen the look on Joey’s face, for she felt the need to clarify: “I know the term ‘erotic’ means something else nowadays, but back then Eros was the God of love in ancient Greece. Cupid is the one who actually represents desire. As you can see, we’ve got it all mixed up.”

Joey thought of the baby angel in diapers and a crossbow. “Yeah, I can see that.”

The maid rummaged through her keys again, ready to leave, but Joey was transfixed by the sight of the statue.

“Eros is waking his love with a kiss. It’s a long story,” she summarized.

“Maybe you can tell me next time,” he said with a noncommittal hand gesture.

She pulled another of her indulgent smiles that left Joey wanting to know more. He had a feeling now was not the time to probe further. He followed her to Kaiba’s office, memorizing the rest of his path as they want along.

The lady who considered inanimate works of art to be akin to ‘old friends’ left without a word, this time, as if Joey wasn’t considered a threat anymore, or as if he wasn’t worth announcing. Either way, Kaiba was ignoring him even when he gave the wooden door frame two timid knocks, his head buried in his arms, resting on his desk.

Joey swallowed, cleaned his teeth as he waited for a reaction.

“Hey,” he called out casually.

No reaction. The regular heaving of Kaiba’s chest caused him to reevaluate the situation.

“Hey, moneybags,” he said a little louder.

Still no reaction. There was no doubt; the guy was sleeping. Kaiba was many things, but not someone who’d pretend being asleep in presence of another person. That was just plain stupid. And Kaiba wasn’t the type to cower in the face of adversity; Joey had to admire him at least for that.

“Well,” he said aloud to no one in particular. He casually entered the room, assuming that’s what Kaiba would expect. He’d let him fall asleep - and spend the night on - his couch, after all.

The room hadn’t changed since last time. Even the blinds were in the exact same position. Instead of heading straight for the couch like he did last time, Joey allowed himself a bit of a self-guided tour.

Not like the awake Kaiba would ever willingly tour him through the premises.

The windows did give in to empty meadowland that stretched to a brick fence, itself punctuated by lamp posts and maybe an observation tower, Joey wasn’t sure.

It would surely feel peaceful in daytime.

For the time being, it mostly looked barren.

He glanced back at Kaiba, still sleeping. It was funny how their connection had shifted from fighting to sleeping in just a few days. Implying they had a connection to start with.

Joey walked around the other end of the room, the one with the entertainment system and the leather couches. It gave in to a balcony which he hadn’t really paid attention to last time, and massive bookshelves towering on each side. He began browsing through the books, hoping to find the one that had been assigned for class. At least he could get a head start in it while Kaiba was sleeping, it’d be more productive than sulking or snuffing his hosts’s belongings.

And no, Joey still hadn’t bought or begun to read the thing - Catcher in the Something or Other.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be part of Kaiba’s collection. Nor was any regular novel. There wasn’t even anything Joey could just pick up and read to pass the time. Not a magazine. Nothing. All he could see were non-fiction best sellers, books on economics, finance, political science, and biographies of major figures in the previous fields. One shelf after another. All hard covers, all recent publications.

Joey shook his head.

Ran his tongue over his front teeth, deep in thought.

He wrestled with the idea of just waking Kaiba up.

Then again, he’d purposely let the blond sleep the other day. Perhaps he’d like to have the favor returned. Perhaps he didn’t like being woken up

But Joey still ached to know why exactly that unintentional sleepover had taken place, and now was perhaps the best opportunity to corner Kaiba and pry the truth out of him.

“I’m sorry, buddy, but you’re going to have to nap some other time,” Joey murmured, taking long, careful strides in Kaiba’s direction.

He neared Kaiba’s sleeping frame, sent a tentative hand hovering over his bony shoulder. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to do it. Kaiba’s paranoiac tendencies were certain to have him knock Joey off before he could even open his eyes.

Joey rethought his plan. Took a couple of steps back.

And sighed.

“Moneybags.”

He walked to the other end of the desk, looking for something long and pointy he could reach the CEO with.

A stapler would do.

“Hey moneybags,” he repeated, louder this time, wielding the stapler with one extended arm. “Kaiba,” he tried, poking the young man in the shoulder.

This earned him a muffled grunt.

“Seto.”

The CEO’s head snapped up.

Joey wanted to throw him a snide remark ('hey sleepy face' or, 'the milkman’s here'), but he couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound lame and more importantly, Kaiba’s gruff, 'morning face' destabilized Joey for a moment.

He looked paler, whiter than usual if that was even possible. His eyes sort of loose in their sockets (but that must be an illusion), lips scarlet from dehydration, again that panicked, labored breathing.

“You alright, man?”

“You’re attacking me with my own stapler,” replied Kaiba in an uncharacteristically creaky voice. He cleared his throat and snatched the office supply away.

“What was I s’pose to do?” Huh, Mr Sleeping Beauty? The thought itself was strange; Kaiba could hardly be likened to that particular fictional character.

Kaiba shot him a glare dripping disgust as he placed the stapler at the exact same spot Joey had taken it from. The blond couldn’t help but spy at his fingers, which were quickly balled into fists - no, more like curled up. Protectively.

‘Your hands,’ Joey wanted to say, but he said nothing. Let me see your hands.

Kaiba caught Joey’s glance, and flattened his hands on the desk. The twitching in the right index had receded, it seemed.

“Don’t touch my stuff, Wheeler.”

“Okay, okay.” Joey backed up.

“Any of it.”

Joey wasn’t going to dignify this with a response. Kaiba’s curious state was curiously much more interesting than any insult he could come up with. He looked still dazed although he was doing a good job of hiding it. It made him look vulnerable for some reason, like a cat who just sneezed.

“What.”

Joey realized he’d cracked a smile at the endearing thought. “Nothing.” He took a more casual pose, placing his hands in his pockets. “So... Are we going to get anything done at all tonight?”

“Depends on you.” Kaiba coughed in his left fist. His whole forearm trembled, even after the impact. Ignoring his guest, he tapped a few keyboard keys on the tray below. Joey heard the low hum of the computer tower regain life.

Kaiba’s face was still marked with creases from the ruffles in his clothing. Joey, a veteran of school time napping, recognized ‘the marks’ immediately.

And then there were the moist bangs sticking to Kaiba’s forehead. He found himself craving to move them out of the way.

Kaiba looked up, and their eyes met. Joey did everything to make himself expressionless. Without knowing why. Kaiba’s breathing had regained a normal pace, but his glassy eyes stayed intently focused on Joey, unblinking. Something was going on, and Joey now wanted to know more than just ‘why did you let me sleep on your couch the other night’. The CEO, still seated in the swivel chair that had served as bed until just a minute ago, gave no hints as to what might be going on inside his head. Joey didn’t know if he was achieving that neutral look he’d been striving for, but Kaiba sure was killing it.

Then Joey broke the silence.

“I don’t get you.”

Kaiba broke into a smil- a smirk. “As if you could.”

“Don’t think too highly of yourself, moneybags.” Joey was surprised at how calm he remained while saying this.

This must’ve offset Kaiba, because his index started twitching again.

Joey lost all appetite for any banter the other had in store for him. “Just do your stuff and tell me when you’re done.” He walked casually towards the comfy spot. “Oh, and tell me how to use the TV.” I’d hate to fall asleep waiting - and why exactly did you...

Nah. Some other time.

“The remote’s under the coffee table. And you forgot your peasant money,” Kaiba drifted off without finishing his sentence.

“M’yeah,” Joey muttered as he took seat in the other section of the couch, the one he hadn’t dozed off in.

Also, the section that was more conveniently placed right before the short table.

“Mind if I put my feet on...? I’ll take my shoes off.”

Kaiba gave him no answer. But somehow, Joey felt like that was answer enough. He took off his shoes and made himself at home, crossing his legs at the ankles on the elevated surface. He uncrossed them a second later, realizing he wasn’t flexible enough to reach for the remote in that position. Next to it was the change that had been meant to be his bus fare the other day. He pocketed the ‘peasant money’ without shame, not caring that Kaiba was hearing the clattering of the coins, and probably seeing some kind of victory in that gesture.

Meh. It wasn’t his problem what opinions Kaiba might hold.

Yet Joey couldn’t suppress a frown as soon as he regained his initial position. Even the act of zapping through channels more numerous than he could fathom did nothing to make his mood brighter. Somehow, Kaiba had managed to ruin his mood. Again.

Goddamn it, Joey Wheeler. He doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t give a damn about your fucking change or your fucking dress shirt that you wore to impress him because yes, admit it, you couldn’t stand not looking a fraction as good as he does. You don’t matter to him and you’re not a part of his world and he just ticks you off because he knows he can. You’re not even worth the distraction, he barely pays attention to you.

Kaiba had this way or working his way through his mind and wrecking everything completely. He barely had to do anything; it was maddeningly effortless how he could get Joey to work himself up and get generally pissed at himself and the world in general.

“I’m done.”

This took Joey by surprise.

“Yeah, okay.” Joey needed a moment to shake whatever just happen off. “I’m just going to... finish that round.” Without realizing he’d landed on a female tennis channel.

“They’re called sets.”

Joey stayed silent. He wasn’t in the least interested in the technicalities of a sport that had thick women running around in mini-skirts.

“If it’s any consolation, most people watch it for the same reasons.” Kaiba’s voice had regained its smug smoothness. Looked like the CEO had recovered from his dazed after-nap state, and was up for banter again, more or less insinuating that Joey wasn’t into tennis sets, but tennis players. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Fuck that,” Joey snapped, turning off the television set. “Do you have the book or not,” he said impatiently, not looking at Kaiba.

“I do.”

“Okay, well, let’s get this over with.”

“There isn’t much left to do. Maybe retype the essay. I can handle that.”

Then Joey turned to look at Kaiba. “What- What?”

“I’ve done this assignment in the past.” Kaiba’s voice and posture were level, nothing like the moribund doll he looked like minutes ago. Joey started to suspect that he’d pretended to have something to do on the computer just to regain his composure. But he’d never know, because Joey was the one who assumed Kaiba had been busy before falling asleep on his desk. Perhaps Kaiba had simply taken the opportunity.

Joey sat back and sighed, exasperated. “Tell me why I’m here again?”

“... It’s a team assignment,” he replied one minute too late.

Joey clicked his tongue. “Look, man. I’m not looking for a fight- just, like...” He struggled with words. “You’re acting weird, alright?”

When Kaiba didn’t immediately jump in, Joey continued.

“I mean... You let me sleep on your couch and shit.” He lowered his voice as if he didn’t want to be overheard. He wasn’t going to dive into the health thing, because it’d imply that he’d been studying Kaiba. “I mean, we’ve always been like, enemies or whatnot and-”

“Then you don’t know that ‘enemy’ means,” Kaiba dropped, coldly.

“You don’t know that.” Joey was lucky that Diesel’s gang let him be as long as he stayed out of their way.

But okay, Kaiba wouldn’t go after his life or anything like that. Maybe-

“Okay, maybe not enemies, but... See, you’re doing it again.” That thing he does. Changing subjects mid-argument and making Joey sound stupid for it.

Kaiba gave him a slight sideways look. Joey was sick of the mindgames, of Kaiba changing subjects, acting like a dick one minute but not the next, and getting away with it all.

“Look...” Joey exhaled deeply. “I don’t know, I don’t care, okay?” He said tiredly. “Maybe you’re in for the fights and stuff, but I’m tired of that, really, I’m over all of that. I was young and stupid... Yeah, I hated you and maybe you’re going to be a dick forever but I can’t bring myself to care anymore. Things happened and I grew out of it. I grew up, I guess.”

He was getting off track, remembered the assignment, that he should get out of here asap before the last bus leaves so then he can go back home and bulk on sleep for tomorrow’s shift.

Joey pinched his nose bridge to quell a threatening headache and let his head fall back on the couch, closing his eyes. He wished he could have some Red Bull right now. “Christ, I’ve got other things to do...”

Silence felt good.

Neither of them had to say anything. Joey certainly wasn’t going to insist. If he hadn’t made himself clear enough, then-

Faint metallic clicks came from Seto’s direction. Joey recognized the sound of a drawer opening. Paper being ruffled. Then, the previous sounds again, in reverse order.

Then nothing. Kaiba apparently wasn’t going to do a thing.

Joey didn’t want to be doing this all on his own, to drag Kaiba along, to force him to cooperate. Really, he could just tell his teacher that he’d tried to be agreeable, to work with Kaiba and that it didn’t happen! He’d hand in his own half-ass’ed version of the paper, or maybe ask for an extension to do his own, and have a clear conscience.

His teacher had said something about Kaiba. Couldn’t recall the exact wording, but it amounted to something around the lines of ‘Kaiba isn’t as smart as he lets on’.

Joey heard the swivel chair, then Kaiba’s footsteps approaching. He opened his eyes to see Kaiba taking place next to him, in the very spot he’d let his guest doze off earlier this week.

On the CEO’s lap, a bright yellow file, with its edges curled up and worn out, that he set down between himself and Joey.

“It’s in there.”

The riddles again. Joey decided he would indulge Kaiba and let him have it its way. “You mean the book is in there?”

No response.

“The essay?”

Still nothing. Joey sighed and grabbed the thing, checking Kaiba’s face for hints of disapproval. So far he seemed to be doing the right thing. Inside the file were a stack of stapled loose leaf sheets, on which were neatly handwritten essay. The sheets were of an old brand, and had significantly yellowed over time, too.

‘What is this?’ Joey wanted to ask, knowing he would never get an answer.

The dates read eight, nine, sometimes ten years ago. ‘War and Peace’. ‘Cien años de soledad’. ‘Les Misérables’. These were essays. Some written in other languages. If the date was right, Kaiba would have made these when he was around ten, or younger. And they were perfect, just like the last sentence of a page when Joey was made to copy a sentence thirty times in detention. No child could write this perfectly. Joey flipped the pages to find grades. Nothing. No red pen. These hadn’t been graded. Had Kaiba written these in his spare time? For fun? What this the idea genius kids had of a good time? And more importantly, why was Kaiba letting him see-

No. Seto Kaiba didn’t simply ‘let people see’ things. This was his way of showing him this. Joey kept rifling through the stacks, hoping to find anything related to ‘The Catcher...’ Heck, he didn’t even remember the author’s name. He wanted to find the essay Kaiba had written ten years in advance for a teacher who thought it would be beneficial for them both to...

The Catcher in the Rye.

A ten page essay, dated exactly ten years and a month ago. What on Earth prompted an eight year old child to come up with something like this? This was twice as long as what the teacher was asking for.

Her voice rang clear in his head. ‘It’ll stay with you all your life.’

Joey looked up to see Kaiba’s blank gaze lost somewhere in the room.

All your life.
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I Don't Know Why The Caged Bird Sings