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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.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
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The kite soared, unperturbed by the emotional woes of the mortals below.

There passed on Kaiba's hardened features a stillness that gave his eyes a glossy finish - as if though he was looking for something inside him - and that gave Joey hope. But then nothing.

“Good morning.”

Kaiba’s voice had been disappointingly flat, and then again Joey wasn't sure if he had been lip reading, because the wind had whistled in his ear at the same time. He wished he'd brought his hoodie instead of his preppy, good-for-nothing sweater. “Good morning,” he echoed flatly.

Kaiba stared, and Joey waited for the rest, almost expecting to be roasted like he rightfully deserved, in his opinion anyway.

Nothing came. No 'Wheeler'. No 'Joseph'. Not even a 'mutt'.

A timid cloud cast a passing shade on the trio. More wind blew. Joey hugged himself. Kaiba didn't flinch. Then he stood up and turned away from Joey like he was done with him.

Joey felt a chill run down his spine, but this time the wind wasn’t the culprit.

Then Mokuba turned his head enough so that he caught sight of Joey.

Like brother, like son, the one Kaiba that could still allow himself to be carefree also welcomed the visitor with sheer surprise, but one that turned into a kind of honest glee that frankly, was just the balm Joey needed on his heart right now.

Mokuba's eyes darted from Joey's to the kite, then to his brother's eyes. He opened his mouth to say 'hello' or 'hi', maybe, but he censored himself and nothing came out. There's no harm in not wanting to upset your brother, buddy.

Joey smiled uneasily as he waved back, mouthing some friendly greeting, echoing the kid's mutism. He looked at Kaiba's nape and jagged shoulder blades and then back at the mansion and back at the brotherly pair.

The wind caught in his ear and he didn't get what Kaiba told his brother but he could tell it wasn't permission to cuddle again. Joey looked up at the swaying kite, then back down at Mokuba who was now relinquishing control of the reel, toeing up and cupping his hands near Seto's ear. Joey watched Kaiba give him an all too brief glance before shaking his head lightly at his brother, whose whispered reply was lost to Joey.

Finally Kaiba took a few steps away further into the terrain, manoeuvring the kite down.

The kite landed without a sound.

Joey watched Kaiba walk to it, rolling the cord around his forearm.

Mokuba risked a step closer to Joey, alternating between anxious glances in his brother's direction and curious ones towards Joey. He jerkily waved at the newcomer again.

“Hey Mokie. What's up.”

Your toes sure look interesting, Joey thought. Then: “Do you guys fly kites a lot?”

Mokuba spread his fingers out and sent his hand wavering, as if to mean, 'sort of' or 'mentioning kites is only going to get you so far'.

Joey chuckled. Mokuba hadn't been shy the last time he'd seen him, or the times before. Then again, he hadn't seemed so tall, so spindly, either. It's crazy how fast kids can grow when you lose sight of them. “... You remember me, right?”

The boy nodded eagerly, then made an uninterpretable face, opening his mouth and not quite getting the words to come out.

Joey saw Kaiba heading back towards them, holding the kite by its spine. The blond balled his fists, expecting Kaiba to spitefully remind him how much of a second class citizen the mutt was.

But Kaiba walked past him without sparing so much as a glance in Joey’s direction.

“I – I interrupted something, didn't I,” Joey blurted out dumbly like a schoolgirl handing an axe to a serial killer.

But Kaiba didn't react. Joey's stomach clenched. He hadn't expected that.

Mokuba gave Joey one last rueful glance before jogging up to his brother, not quite walking behind him nor at his side. Joey watched the pair walk back to the mansion. Not once did Mokuba close the distance between himself and his only living relative.

Joey cursed at his eight o’clock self. Coming here had been a most excellent idea.

.

No one batted an eye when he finally followed the brothers inside the mansion, sliding the tall patio doors shut in silence. The Kaibas were in the functional lobby along with a few people Joey judged were employees. The kite was leaning on the wall. Someone was holding another of those silver trays full of fat free, organic whatnots for the masters of the house to snack on.

Kaiba was making small talk with an employee. The young woman returned his sleek, gesture punctuated sentences with eager nods and prompt, monosyllabic replies. She didn't look like a housekeeping staff, with her simple glass frames, functional ponytail, clean black sneakers and smart jeans whose back pockets were full of wires and connectors and something that looked like the protruding handles of a pair of pliers.

Someone else walked through the room, then averted their step, darting for the kite. Kaiba lifted a brisk hand in dismissal, all the while maintaining eye contact with the female technician. Mokuba was sitting by himself on a wooden bench near the kite, munching idly on a banana, a discarded wrapper for sole companion.

Joey knew he didn’t fit in this scene, and wanted nothing more than leave without a sound.

But when the CEO began walking out of the room, parting ways with the young woman, Joey's stomach clenched.

“Hey,” he called out. You saw me. I know you saw me.

Kaiba seemed to pause for a split second but walked ‘round the corner anyway. Ignoring what few precepts of politeness he was ready to put in application inside Kaiba's mansion, Joey dashed after the man, muddy shoes on the carpet and all. When Joey caught sight of Kaiba again he had brought a smart phone to his ear.

Kaiba's silhouette seemed even frailer like this, framed as it was between the tall, narrow walls of the hallway.

“Hey,” Joey cried out again, not caring for the needy edge of his request. “I wanna talk to you.” By now he'd gladly welcome any insult Kaiba had in store for him, because these familiar attacks on his ego were so much better than that hollow feeling that had taken nest inside his chest when he'd been ignored a few minutes earlier.

Kaiba stopped in his tracks.

Yes.

It wasn't the most diplomatic way to initiate an apology, but maybe Kaiba just didn't speak the language of humility, so Joey had to resort to any strategy he could to grab his attention.

Kaiba swung around and gave Joey an indifferent look over, then blinked and looked away as if someone had picked up at the other end of the line. “Yes-”

Joey opened his mouth to speak but the timing wasn't right. He couldn't just blurt out 'I'm sorry' in the middle of a potentially important conversation, when Kaiba's mind obviously was elsewhere, in the land of shareholders and third quarters and research and development. “I'm on my way.” Kaiba looked at Joey again, then broke eye contact with him as if he'd just noticed a stain on the carpet and made a mental note to have it disinfected.

Then Kaiba was on the other side of a door, and out of Joey’s eyesight.

He hadn’t looked back.

Fuck.

Something stung inside his throat and he felt the urge to reach and scratch the sore shaving cut on his neck.

Apparently he wasn’t needed anymore in here. The curious case of Seto Kaiba was closed.

That feeling of freedom should be coming down on him any second now.

Then his elbow was lightly knocked off.

“Pardon me.” The maid, an older lady, bowed impersonally and walked past him, a high pile of clean linens in her arms.

She disappeared into one of the doors, apparently uncaring for the presence of the stranger in the mansion.

No sounds came from the room, or any of the rooms nearby. But there should. There should be life in here, cowebs, something.

Joey wiped the wetness peeking from his eyelids with the hem of his sweater.

God, he was tired.

So Joey was tired and realized that he really just should have headed home to his bed this morning, waited to cash in his fat paycheck and buy himself a bicycle for the summer, so he could go to work and make more money to buy more things and pay taxes like everyone and go clubbing with Tracey Simmonds' gang and maybe hook up with a stranger like everyone seemed to do these days and give actual sex a try and do his best to try and hide it from his friends and families as long as he could, or keep quiet about it if they ever found out so that he wouldn't upset them too much at summer barbecues in their parents’ backyards.

You know, just a decent, reasonably normal life.

He should not have been nursing second thoughts about whether or not he'd accidentally 'hurt' Seto Kaiba's so-called 'feelings' and he should certainly not have lured himself into thinking Kaiba wasn't able to handle his own emotional life by himself. Assuming he had any? Heck, the guy didn't even have friends. He certainly wouldn't know what use to make of an apology, especially one that apparently wasn't needed in the first place.

Fuck.

Fuck-fuck-fuck me and my stupid ideas.

I'm outta here.

He retraced his steps to that little lobby, hoping that he wouldn't cross paths with Clarissa because he wasn't in the mood to give her constructive feedback on her misguided attempts at helping her employer forge friendships.

The lobby was devoid of the earlier bustle it had hosted. The kite had been taken away. One employee was kneeling by the boot rack. Beside him lay a circular, metal tin and a soiled, battered brush.

And on the bench, staring at the spot where the kite had lain, or maybe outside, at the aerial spaces it had claimed, sat the younger master of the house, shoes off but still in his red and yellow windbreaker, hugging his knees.

Mokuba’s hair was in a mess, and the idle wrapper was gone.

The modern day servant began stroking a boot with the wax laden brush, turning a respectful blind eye the obvious melancholy of the boy.

That scene angered Joey for some reason. It was pathetic in so many ways. Inexcusable, on so many grounds.

He took a moment to exhale the rage away. There would be a time for yelling his resent for the older Kaiba at the top of his lungs, or who knows, for forgiving him in the most pious of ways, and allowing himself to accept that those adrenaline packed fights were a thing of the past. But now was not that time, and it definitely wasn't Mokuba's fault he ended up caught up in this ordeal.

Joey sat next to, or rather behind, Mokuba. The boy stiffened, a sure sign that he’d sensed Joey’s presence, even though he didn’t look eager to acknowledge him.

“I'm sorry I ruined your morning,” Joey said, bracing his knees with his hands for courage. It amazed him how freely the words had come out for Mokuba, and how costly they felt as far as his brother was concerned.

The boy shrugged.

“I should have known. I guess...” He scratched the back of his head. “I guess walking in on you guys wasn't the best idea.”

Mokuba loosened his grip on his knees and let his feet slide to the ground. He then turned, facing the stone wall across him and giving Joey a striking view of his profile. There was indeed something changed about the boy. He was growing his brother's high cheekbones, and his eyes didn’t look so childish anymore. Mokuba gripped the edge of the bench, arms locking straight at the elbows, shoulders tensing, crossing his legs at the ankles under the bench.

Then he shook his head, and replied to Joey in a whisper.

“It's not you.”

The dramatic quality of the sigh that ensued made Joey feel slightly more guilty. Having his ego trampled on was one thing; ruining that kid's day, or week, or month, who knew, was something else altogether.

“Nah, it is. I messed everything up.”

Joey wondered if Mokuba's whispering was a precursor of imminent tears – God knows Joey didn't want that on his conscience, he'd friggin' hate himself for weeks – but the shaky voice that normally accompanied it wasn't there.

“You alright?”

Mokuba nodded convincingly, then pointed at his throat in explanation.

"You have a sore throat?" Joey reformulated, to which the younger teen nodded some more. "That sucks."

Mokuba rocked forward a bit then nodded again, this time throwing a contagious smile in the mix. Joey himself felt better already. Then he came to a conclusion.

The least he could do was to cheer the kid's spirits up again before he bid the Kaiba mansion farewell.

"You know what's good for a sore throat?"

The boy met his eyes for the first time. He replied with a quizzical look.

"It's a drink I make. Well, I don't know if it really helps, but it's damn tasty. Wanna give it a try?"

Joey grinned at the boy's approving shrug.

"Okay, you need two things. Well three things. Honey, a lemon and hot water. And a mug and a knife. So I guess that makes five."

A second later Mokuba was up and standing, motioning for Joey to come along. They walked through moderately busy hallways until they were in the same kitchen area in which Clarissa had welcomed him earlier this morning. Every vertical or flat surface was made of that brushed, stainless steel Kaiba seemed so fond of, and those floors were so clean the five second rule didn’t apply to them. The whole thing looked straight out of an upscale cafeteria kitchen, impersonal and sterile, but he knew how warm and lively it could feel. Maybe it had just been Clarissa. She could make a visit at the morgue sound fun. Okay, tolerable.

"So you're gonna show me where everything is, Mokie Moke?"

The kid had already set his mind to do just that, rummaging through the industrial size flour, sugar and various grain containers until he found for a small bucket of honey, then disappeared to an adjacent room and came back a minute later, through another passageway, with a handful of lemons and a small, sharp knife. Then he wordlessly tapped on Joey's knee so that he moved away to allow for the boy to reach for a kettle and a cutting board.

"You're almost kind of reading my mind, Mokie, that's scary if you ask me," and for all retort the boy gave Joey a disbelieving look. "Okay," he conceded good-heartedly, "that wasn't so hard to figure out. Not exactly a difficult recipe if you ask me, but there's a few tricks I gotta show you if you wanna get it just right."

After some detailed instructions on just how thick the slices should be for optimal flavoring - don't remove the rind! - and on how the water should be poured just as it's still bubbling inside the pot, Joey let Mokie pour himself his very first honey lemon drink a la Joey Wheeler.

"Don't pour it all just yet," he intervened, extending his hand so that he be given the spoonful of honey. "The honey never really goes off the spoon all at once, no matter how much you stir it, and the metal's burning hot so you can't lick it off. So you gotta- you gotta pour the rest of the hot water on the spoon, like this," and indeed the misty stream washed the thick golden paste away. Mokuba gave a small appreciative smile as Joey slowly pushed the mug to him, his hands hovering around it. He blew on it a few times, but knew just like Joey that this wasn't likely to be a very efficient cooling device, so he hiked himself up on a stool, and waited, Joey standing by his side on the kitchen island.

Joey leaned his elbows on the countertop, drumming his fingers against the cold, hard surface, giving a few glances around. Someone appeared from behind with a trolley full of boxes; probably some deliveries. Crazy old Kaiba just didn't do things like anybody else, not even his groceries. Joey then gave Mokuba a glance. Perhaps out of timidity, or out of impatience, the boy was staring intently at his untouchable drink.

"I hope you like it," Joey started for small talk's sake. "I don't mean to brag, but it's pretty good. I got lots of practice making it."

Mokuba turned to address him in a throaty whisper. "Your throat gets sore a lot?"

"Hm... No, it's for someone else," Joey summarized.

"That person gets a sore throat a lot?"

"You ask too many questions, kiddo," and he ruffled his hair, lightly, for good measure. Said 'kiddo' protested meekly, but really his delighted chuckles were a relief to Joey. Someone in the family wasn't a complete basket case.

Mokuba began kicking idly at the support bars of his stool. He blew on the drink's surface to create a small whirlpool, so that the citrus slice began spinning. Joey smiled. He hadn't given in to life's innocent pleasures in ages. Little things like blowing bubbles into his chocolate milk with a straw, or dipping cookies in milk until they were mushy and he had to dig it out with a spoon. Nowadays the cookies were munched on while running to the bus stop, the milk was carefully rationed, and he wasn't even sure those flexible colored straws that bent at the top still existed.

"My vocal chords are in my airways, so I can't drink anything to make it better, or else it would go in my lungs."

Joey blinked at what might just be Mokuba's longest whispered sentence to date. “What?”

"And the boiling water breaks the molecular bonds in the enzymes and vitamins in the honey so you lose a lot of what makes honey good for you."

“Er...”

"B-but I'm sure it's very, very good, Joey," the boy amended, topping his deconstruction of the Wheeler family recipe with an eager, encouraging grin. He looked like he was going to give Joey a sticker and stamp a smiley face on the back of his hand.

Joey shook his head in amazed disbelief. He really should hate the kid for going all 'I know biology' on his ass, but he couldn't. Instead, he found himself feeling... thankful. "I didn't know all that." He looked away and shook his head once more. "Wow." Then back to Mokuba: "I guess I gotta change my technique, then."

Mokuba shook his head vigorously and leaned into his mug to take a brave first, noisy sip, then give Joey an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Joey smiled bashfully. "It's good? Even without the enzymes?" He teased.

The boy nodded some more, raising his eyebrows.

"You're something alright, Mister Moke." Joey chuckled to himself. "Mind if I call you that?"

Joey knew exactly how to interpret the boy's shrug- carefully crafted as to appear detached and nonchalant, yet...

He grabbed some of the least appealing lemon slices on the cutting board, dumped them in the extra mug that Mokuba had brought for him, and poured water inside until it was half full.

They spent the next few minutes in a comfortable silence punctuated by the opening of cupboards and the sliding of boxes in the other room, Mokuba taking more and more daring sips, Joey gently tapping at the sides of his own mug, sometimes lifting it in the air to give it a swirl or two.

"Sometimes I wonder how you and your brother can be related."

What Joey had just uttered was more of a self-reflective statement than anything else, but the boy was right next to him and just because he wasn't really talkative today didn't mean he wouldn't process what Joey had just said.

"I mean, I've been hanging out with you for what, half an hour? And I completely forgot that I was feeling like shit earlier, and the day before, and the day before that." And the week before that, and the winter before that, and the year before that... "You've got something special, Mister Moke. You know that?"

The boy returned his gaze evenly, more like he was studying Joey somehow, then resumed nursing the whirlpool inside his mug.

A young man half jogged into the kitchen, not exactly running but the impatient clipping of his soles against the tiled floor left doubt that he was in a rush; he belonged to the kind who have no time to waste. Joey and Mokuba heard him, in the room adjacent to theirs, call out to 'anyone who could make this quick and by quick I mean yesterday'. Joey stifled a chuckle when he heard an unhurried, male voice ask him that he 'please step away' and that 'yes, I know how he likes his coffee' and the anxious, erratic clipping of soles echoed again and Mokuba whispered “it's for him.”

“Him who,” replied Joey, but he knew very well who was being talked about. He averted his gaze when the man darted out of the room, shaky hands carrying a tiny cup and saucer. Joey hoped at least one of Kaiba’s employee ever spit inhis coffee, but then again the thought wasn't as entertaining as it once could have been, it was kind of childish actually, so he tossed it aside.

“He's upset,” said Mokuba again in that breathy voice, without bothering with details, as if that statement was an explanation in itself.

Joey then asked, not without cursing himself for breaking his tacit vow 'not to give a single damn about Kaiba ever again' so soon after having taken it: “Upset at what?”

Mokuba simply shrugged.

Ah.

“Hm.” He took another swig of his own botched drink, wincing at the all lemon, no sugar infusion. “How upset is he? I mean compared to normal.”

Another shrug.

Okay then. I guess it's better I don't know, anyway. I’m not supposed to give a flying f-

“A lot.”

Damn it.

“And I think I know why,” Mokuba whispered solemnly, shoulders sagging, eyes downcast.

“Come again?”

“Nothing.” The boy began kicking away at the kitchen island they were settled at. Took another, longer swig of his special drink, set his hands flat on the countertop. Then a timid heaving of the chest, inflating with the courage so characteristic of a confession: “Last week, I-”

-and then Joey couldn't register anything that Mokuba said, at all, because Clarissa walked by at that very moment, engaged in lively chatter with a younger female dressed in the exact same apron and dress and all, and the smile on the lady’s face, oh the smile Clarissa wasn't even trying to hide upon seeing the two teenagers bonding over hot drinks – it made Joey not want to resent how she was all kinds of wrong to place any hopes in a hypothetical friendship between himself and the charming Seto Kaiba – it made Joey sort of think having given Kaiba a try might just be worth it since it was so obviously making her day, and well, that must be counting for something.

“Sorry, Mokuba, could you just repeat that last part? I got distracted.”

Mokuba sighed some more. “It's not important.”

Aw, crap. Crapcrapcrap. Think fast, Wheeler. Think fast.

“Look.” He twisted to look Mokuba in the face - er, in the profile. “I'm positive it has nothing to do with you. Kaiba – I mean, your brother, he's got lots to think about all day, with the company and all.” He made some kind of meaningles gesture with his hands. “You know.”

When Mokuba sighed some wires crossed in Joey's brain and he thought of those innocuous, dark grey clouds that roll in the sky before a summer thunderstorm strikes, harsh enough to fell trees on power lines.

“Mister Moke.”

No reaction. That mug sure looked interesting.

“Mokie. Hey. Mokie, look at me.”

Maybe Mokuba shouldn't have been so brave and obeyed so quickly because seeing his quivering, pursed lips and shining eyes was just - it shouldn’t be legal.

Joey carefully seized him by the shoulders.

“It's not you. It's not because of you. Maybe your brother isn't even angry,” he rambled on, making up stuff on the spot, “maybe that's just his normal. But you - didn't - make him angry. You got that?”

Mokuba's lips twitched hideously, parting just enough to let out an ominous sigh.

“I g- g- ss,” the boy managed to let out before his entire torso jolted at the first sob.

The second sob was muffled into Joey's chest.

And the next one.

And the one after that.

Joey rubbed Mokuba's back in regular, circular motions, long enough that his fingertips became numb from the friction, and soon there were no more heaving sobs.

He closed his eyes, lifted his head, and lay his chin at the top of Mokuba's head.

They were blessed with the luxury of a silence perfect save for the faint humming of a refrigerator.

Then a sniffle. And another. The rubbing motions resumed, and their bodies began rocking gently, swaying from side to side, as if on their own accord.

“I'm sorry,” Joey murmured blindly into Mokuba's hair, kissing it, “I'm so sorry.”

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I Don't Know Why The Caged Bird Sings