“Tch. You chased after me and decided to fight. That was your choice.”
It’s a running joke, how much ground they’ve covered trying to (he would never admit it) help each other. A boy runs away from home, meets another boy, and loses him. Fast-forward fourteen years.
The glass scar on Jonouchi’s forearm was still there, a physical reminder that whatever happened, happened. Jounouchi stared at his hands, Seto stared at his scars until the memory passed, numb.
In all fairness, he’d apologized for that gash when they were younger.
“– I held my own against a Yakuza punk. I’d cut you again.”
He took his clothes and the towel, and moved to the other side of the room to change.
“Not that any of that garbage matters now. I have better things to focus on.”
Katsuya’s eyes rose from his hands to where the towel had fallen at Seto’s feet. He could see droplets of water still dripping down, probably from Seto’s hair. His eyes continued to rise, taking in all the pale skin that was normally covered up for as long as they’d known each other. Kaiba’s body glistened from the water that had yet to completely dry off, small droplets trickling down his skin.
The scars were all there. He finally reached Seto’s face just as the other decided to move to get changed.
“You look like shit,” he commented with a light-hearted chuckle, quoting what he’d said once when they were little. The chuckle quickly died down.
Maybe he was the only one still stuck in the past ever since he discovered the truth. Kaiba probably wanted to move forward and leave that past behind them for good. Katsuya stared into the empty space that had previously been occupied by the remains of his childhood friend. The wet puddle that had been under his feet was still present on the locker room floor, evidence that he had stood there just moments ago.
Katsuya turned his head towards Seto, eyes fixed on his back as he got dressed.
He felt some weird sense of melancholy sweep over him. There was too much distance between them now, a distance formed by time rather than kilometers. He felt as though no matter what he did, if he tried to close in and reach out, that Seto would only slip further and further away.
He wondered, if he hadn’t left Seto on that train and returned home all those years ago--where would they be now?
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