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When the car growled, Mokuba asked: “Are you in the right gear?”
When the car stuttered, Mokuba asked: “Shouldn’t you pull over?”
Then it slowed, and as Kaiba finally pulled over to the side of the road, he turned his head slowly to Mokuba, a glare daring him to ask another question.
Mokuba dug his headphones out of his ears and stretched up in his seat to get a look at the hood of the car.
Smoked plumed.
A grimace formed as Kaiba unbuckled and the metal hit the glass of the window, and Mokuba slunk back in his seat, wincing, when the door was opened and slammed shut. Something along the lines of “exactly what needed to happen” was muttered by Kaiba, along with other choice words.
“What’s wrong?” Mokuba asked. His head was poked out the window, the upper half of his body following
“I don’t know, Mokuba. I have to actually look at it first,” Kaiba spat. He braced the sides of the propped open hood. He glared down into the mechanisms and drummed his fingers impatiently on the body of it.
“Think you can fix it?” Mokuba asked.
Kaiba’s head was up again, and the glare had never left. “Can you just be quiet for a moment.”
His brother’s head down again, and Mokuba audibly scoffed, muttering ‘jerk’ before looking away from the mess. Nothing was going to calm Kaiba down for the time being, so instead Mokuba set out to drink up the scenery they were about to be sitting in for however long it took to fix the car.
They had pulled off into a small row of parking spots that acted as an overlook to a small cove, complete with wooden stairs that led down to crescent space of beach. Mokuba slid out of the car and walked up to guardrail to get a closer look at the ebbing and flowing tide. There wasn’t a person in sight, even though the road they pulled off of had cars flying by.
“No one’s here,” Mokuba said aloud, just to be cheeky.
“And you shouldn’t go down there either,” Kaiba commanded. “Beach season is over.”
Mokuba kept stealing angry glances back at his brother, blowing raspberries and making faces each step he took down the stairs. Within seconds, he had stripped out of his shoes and socks and was running towards the horizon, sand squishing between his toes.
The tide frothed in and out, beckoning Mokuba closer to the ocean’s edge. He stood in it just to feel the water rush over his feet. Chilled, but the air wasn’t cold just yet. He stepped forward when the tide reached close, noting from the drying sand that it was getting close to low tide.
Mokuba knelt down in the half-wetted sand and raked his fingers through it, scooping out piles and throwing it at first. Vent his frustration. Then, when he was satisfied, he began to mold it into...well, whatever it decided to be. It fell apart more times than he could count, only to be taken again and pressed around in his fingers. No stagnant shape every kept, but he kept piling the sand up until he could conjure something.
All the while, Kaiba regretted his choice in high-end car. The problem was easy to troubleshoot; the solution was like trying to walk through a maze blindfolded. The manual was consulted, though it was promptly tossed aside. He had neither the tools nor the time to continue wasting on the problem.
Kaiba huffed and looked over at the cove, to the outline of Mokuba squatted and playing in the sand. He rolled his shoulders to try and release the tension. The hood was slammed shut and his cellphone pulled out; there were less frustrating solutions that would take the same amount of time.
Finished with the call, Kaiba walked down onto the beach and stopped to enjoy the view. Especially of Mokuba in front of him, viciously working on whatever project that refused to stay together.
He stepped down onto the beach. Mokuba looked up and over, and then shifted so that his back was turned to Kaiba. Fair enough.
There was no point in talking to the boy, then. Kaiba slipped out his shoes and set them to the side before he sat on the sand a few feet from Mokuba. It was another fifteen minutes of sand shuffling over itself before Mokuba shimmied to face the other body with him on the beach.
“Am I allowed to talk now? Or you still mad at me?” Mokuba asked.
“Why do you think I’m mad at you?”
“I dunno. Maybe because you’ve like...been taking it out on me,” Mokuba said. Kaiba looked away, guilty, and bit the inside of his cheek.
“I’m not upset with you,” Kaiba said. “Just stressed.”
Mokuba rolled his eyes. “Like always.”
“Like always,” Kaiba agreed.
Mokuba was silent again, but the sand was coming together into a tangible shape. With smooth hills and curves, makeshift ridges for plates. A dragon laid on the ground. “You should play with the sand,” Mokuba suggested. “Since we’re gonna be stuck here, right?”
“Yes. I called for someone to pick us up,” Kaiba said, and his fingers began sifting through the sand like Mokuba suggested. “I’m sorry, Mokuba.”
More silence. Terse, with Kaiba not sure how bad he had screwed up, blinded by his frustration.
And then a glob of sand pelted him in the face. Another in the chest. As he tried to gather up wet sand of his own, Mokuba hit him a third time.
“Apology accepted.”