The Scent of Roses
Kaiba Seto, a blue eyed boy in his early twenties stood there, staring at a granite gravestone one August afternoon, just when the sun was just about to set; a man in a black suit such as his stood beside him, holding a black umbrella over his billion dollar-brunette head, protecting him from the cold, merciless rain. Kneeling, he offered the two dozen red roses to the little boy lying six feet under him as a tear escaped his eye. He touched the water stricken granite, feeling the engraved name on the expensive stone under his long slender fingers. Kaiba Mokuba.
Why? His little brother was the only reason why continued to live. Because he knew Mokuba needed him, and he needed Mokuba to keep him sane. Mokuba was the only one who let him feel he was loved; who made him feel he was loved; who made him feel like he existed; who made him feel like he had a purpose in life; and that purpose was to raise, educate, protect and love Mokuba.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He could hear things, like a flood. All the things people had said about him being alone were in his mind. Gouzaburou’s laughs and taunts were echoing in his head. Anzu’s little rant about being selfish and other people saying that telling him that and he and Mokuba could never be together. He told them they were wrong.
But they weren’t.
He promised him that they will always be together. And he had failed him. Mokuba had a life to live, and because some a*****e went 80 in his car, his life ended. The boy was only 12; his birthday was just last 7th July. He still had a lot more to live for. Seto worked so hard to get him the life he deserved. He endured the psychological, emotional and physical torture he had gone in that mad house they now call home.
“Do you wish to go home, Master Seto?” Isono, the man beside him, asked. Of course he was concerned. He had also mourned for the death of one of the children he had loved so much. He had known them since they became Kaibas. He was also worried about Seto’s health, since he hadn’t eaten since the day of Mokuba’s death.
“Yeah,” he said blandly as he nodded.
Isono led him back to the limo, and they went home. Seto sat there. His lap that had once pillowed Mokuba’s head was now empty. His arm that had once kept Mokuba warm from the cold wind outside the car was empty. His hand that had once held Mokuba’s hand for no particular reason was now not going to hold a hand anymore; his hand that now had no more small head to pat. His cheek that would receive kisses and pecks from a sweet little boy was now not going to be pecked anymore. His lips that gave only one person, his whole life, a kiss, had no forehead or cheek to kiss anymore. He had no one to take care of anymore; he had no one to protect; he had no one to teach; he had no one to hold; he had no one to love.
He had no one to love? He didn’t even have any friends. Yuugi and his gang? Pfft. Please. Who would wanna be friends with immature people like them who believe in superstitious bullshit? Who believed in the heart of the cards? Who believed that your deck will respond to your will? That’s all bullshit.
People think he’s got it all. People think he’s got it made. But how come his only friends were the ones he paid? No one understood what he would do to change his life for just one day. He wanted to become Seto again, the real Seto. The one who was happy and wanted, not this b*****d Kaiba Seto, who held his body captive.
He’s dead. He’s buried in his faded memories before Kaiba Gouzaburou, who slowly slipped away into the shadows until he was gone, until no one missed him, and no one even noticed he had disappeared. Lucky kid.
Isono had noticed Seto’s eyes weren’t the same as they were before. His cerulean eyes seemed dead in someway. Not like when Mokuba was still alive, his eyes were lit up, as if he had never been happier, and it had the never ending passion for dueling. Yes, people see him as the cold hearted b*****d that he really was, but when it came to his baby brother, he’s as soft as a pillow. One who knew how Seto really acted would pinch himself and ask another if he was dreaming. But that was within the mansion walls. When the brothers are outside, Seto won’t show Mokuba his soft side.
Another bodyguard opened the limo door, snapping him out of his trance. He stepped out, and entered the mansion. Maids and butlers welcomed him home. There was no little boy running towards him, almost pouncing on him. No little boy who asked him how work was. His mansion was now in total silence. A week ago, a little boy used to run around like nuts, inviting him to go swimming in the pool, to play his consoles, or asking him to teach him elementary algebra; that used to lead him to the living room, light the fireplace and tell him all about his day at school. No more little boy who tried to make him laugh and smile; no more little boy to tuck into bed, to say goodnight to, to take out for ice cream…to do everything with.
Tears fell down his face one by one. And in front of the whole household, he broke down. For the first time since Gouzaburou, Seto cried. The boy who seemed unbreakable broke; the boy who seemed strong crumbled; the boy who smirked at it all cried. He sank to the marble floor, crying his heart out. Isono quickly ran to his side and pulled the boy into his arms. “He’s dead…” Seto cried. “The reason why I continued to live…is dead…”
“Shush, Seto, shush,” Isono rubbed circles on his back in attempt to calm him down. Obviously, his effort to do so was futile. “Come, I’ll take you to your room and help you get into something more comfortable,”
Seto was brought to his room, and was helped change into a sweater and jeans. Isono left him in his room, sitting on the wide window sill that had blue throw pillows and a prepared blanket for him. As he went down the marble stairs, lightning stroke, thunder clapped and rain poured down, startling him a bit. He met a maid, holding a tray of food, which he knew that it was meant for Seto. It was Seto’s favourite, French Beef. The maid also informed him that the master’s friends would like to be in his presence.
“I’ll bring that up, come with me, I want to talk to his guests,” said Isono, leading the maid to the main living room by the mansion entrance. “I was informed that you want to be in the Master’s presence?”
“Can we go see him?” one of the two tri-colour haired boys asked.
“Unfortunately, Young Master Yami, I will not allow anyone to see the Master for the time being, he has not been eating lately,”
“What?! If he doesn’t eat, I’ll force the food down his throa-”
The blonde behind him covered the boy named Yami’s mouth. “Sorry, Isono,”
“No, it is quite alright, Master Jounouchi, I am also worried myself,” said Isono. “Please, make yourself comfortable and I will send servants to attend to you, excuse me,”
Isono brought Seto’s food up himself. He hoped that Seto would eat. But he was wrong.
“Seto, please, you’ve got to eat! Even Yami’s worried! If you don’t eat he’ll force you!” Isono warned as a last desperate attempt to make him eat.
“I’m not hungry,” he said emotionlessly, leaning on the window and watching the rain stream down the dusty panes with minute interest.
Isono sighed. This was hopeless. He knew there was no way he could have him eat. He looked at him. It was the first time Seto looked so wasted. Dead blue eyes, pale and unresponsive face, untidy brunette hair and ruffled clothes. Seto had become a zombie overnight. He always saw Seto either in his coat and tie, or his ever so famous attire, the Kaiba Corp white trench coat, or the purple flowing one. The boy always looked so good. But now, it was as if his soul was separated from his body.
School and the company were also out of the question. Isono couldn’t leave him alone, now that he was as suicidal as he was. On the third day, Yami had found him cutting himself in the bathroom. Jounouchi caught him trying to hang himself in his room. Every time this happened he would panic, and scream Mokuba’s name before struggling for death.
This wouldn’t have happened if Mokuba was here. He really was going kill himself in the end, and no one could help him, except for a boy who was already dead.
Isono left him alone in his room one night. Seto tried to sleep, but he just couldn’t. But then a scent invaded his nose. Roses. They were Mokuba’s favourite flowers. He realized the door to the balcony was open. Maybe it was just the wind carrying the smell of the roses from the gardens to his room.
“Mokuba!” he choked out, crying. “I’m not strong enough…I need you…come back…please come back!” Eventually, exhaustion caught up with him, and he fell into a troubled sleep.
Big brother…
Seto turned around. Everything was black. He couldn’t see anything. “Mo-mokuba? Where are you? I…I can’t see…”
Mokuba appeared in front of him, in the position that he ended up after he got struck by that car. “Seto! Help me! Please!” he was on the invisible floor, bleeding, one of his arms and his legs were bent in an impossible way, his face was battered and bruised, and his long black hair stuck to his skin because of the blood.
“Mokuba…”
“Why didn’t you save me, Seto?”
“No, I didn’t know what was happening, I’m sorry-”
“Goodbye, big brother,” Mokuba started to disappear.
“NO! Please! Just listen-”
He jerked from his bed, pale, sweating and breathing harshly. Roses. He could still smell the Scent of Roses. Mokuba. Nobody knew he had a gun in his bedside drawer. He took the gun, checked if it was loaded and aimed the gun to his right temple. “I’m coming, baby brother.” He pulled the trigger.
.oOo.
Two grave markers stood side by side, a tribute to brothers. Four teens stood before them offering their respects. An angel stood above the two graves reading, Two brothers, neither complete without each other, finally together again. They will be cherished.
Lt Honeybee Community Member 
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