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Back and forth, wall to wall, Kaiba walked. Mokuba sat a few feet away, a staffer attempting to help him when he couldn’t keep the earpiece and microphone attached.
Kaiba’s deck was in his hands, shuffled any way that he could. They slapped against each other, neat and crisp. Grabbed from the edges and made like an accordion as they flew into a low, open palm. Fanned out, waved at his face before being snapped shut, cut, the edges tapped against one another.
Mokuba expressed thanks for the staffer once she finished with his earpiece, and she went to approach Kaiba. One half of the cards was in the hand that flicked her away, wordless. He’d had everything finished before they had arrived to the venue.
As much as he wanted to beg Kaiba to stop, this was his process. Before every speaking engagement, every publicity stunt, Mokuba would watch his brother pace and fidget. Mouth the words to whatever he was going to say.
It beat the alternative. The reckless, nerve-eradicating, adrenaline-fuelled entrances that long scared the younger Kaiba every time. He was left helpless to watch his brother then, too, while managing the technical aspects over the shoulders of stadium staff to ensure his safety. Until the day it failed.
It was nothing serious. It looked like a trick to the crowd. A fake-out of an auto accident to get their blood pumping. Kaiba emerging from the mess, well enough, with a sheen of sweat beaded on his face. Mokuba had seen the discomfort in every close up shot; in the way that Kaiba held himself, unsteady. But even the constant pestering over their radio system produced no response.
It wasn’t until later that Kaiba admitted, after hugging close to the wall of an exit tunnel, that something had been wrong. That Mokuba was able to see a small stream of blood where a wound, concealed by Kaiba’s bangs, had opened up. That Kaiba had told him that it had hurt to stand on his left leg for the duration of the day-long tournament.
A heated argument before Mokuba demanded, bawling, that Kaiba stop the stunts.
And so the pacing started.
Mokuba’s head snapped up at the sound of the cards splattering against the tile. He’d noticed the unevenness in Kaiba’s posture. One shoe had grabbed the back of the other ankle.
He stood up and knelt by Kaiba as they began to sweep the cards up.
The door opened. “Five minutes, Kaiba-sama.”
A curt nod. Mokuba pressed the last of the cards into Kaiba’s hands, and could feel where a shiver was held back. He forced Kaiba to stay knelt down, just so he press his hands to Kaiba’s cheeks and begin to wiggle to skin. “Squishy face...”Mokuba sing-songed. His thumbs pulled at the corners of Kaiba’s mouth and made it form a smile.
Mokuba laughed. Some kind of noise came from Kaiba that Mokuba took as a laugh as well, though he didn’t let go for another minute or so. Not until Kaiba set the deck down enveloped the tiny hands in his own.
The same motion was mimicked by the elder brother, his bigger hands better at making contorted faces on Mokuba’s face. Something he remembered doing to dry the tears when they were small. Mokuba’s laughter was raucous and infectious. The pair hugged.
The door opened, again. “One minute, Kaiba-sama.”
Kaiba sprung to attention, and he pivoted on his heel towards the exit. Resolution colored his serious expression. He stood at the doorway, opened, with strong morning sunlight flooding in and dimming the room.
Mokuba ran up to his brother, the deck in his hand, and pressed it into Kaiba resting palm. It was swiftly put away, his hand returned to his side to claim Mokuba’s again. They held hands as the staffer counted down.
Kaiba strode out, with the rigidity and authority that could enamor a crowd. Have all eyes on him, with an air of presence and dignity, maybe even arrogance. Nerves gone.
Other staff began pushing Mokuba in an opposite direction, towards a technician’s booth. And Mokuba panicked, for half a second, realising they hadn’t tested the radio.
“I love you, nii-sama!” Mokuba said, his hands clamped down on the microphone.
Kaiba was too far away for him to be seen as Mokuba passed through the tunnels. There was pause over the dead air.
“Love you too, Mokuba.” Came through the earpiece, clear as a bell.
Mokuba made it to the booth, claiming a spot where he could get a good view of his brother, an exciting presence to the ravenous crowd. Mokuba beamed a smile as Kaiba inclined himself to have a glance at the booth. Mokuba gave a thumbs up with one hand, the other hand clamped over the microphone.
“You got this, Seto. Kill it!”