#cue everyone either panicking or having the math lady expression

[iturbide]

tfw you look up a random piece of information and end up finding something to incorporate into your worldbuilding

[lafeae]

Prompt: Bloodstained Clothes

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Characters: Kaiba Seto, Jounouchi Katsuya/Joey Wheeler

For: @badthingshappenbingo

Read on AO3

Detergent was expensive. When weighing to buy it versus food, Jounouchi always picked the food. He’d rather be able to cobble more meals together for him and the Old Man than to be able to throw soap pellets on clothes.

If he needed to wash something, hot water and a little bar of soap worked, even if it left behind stiff, chalky streaks. He’d usually rubbed out the worst of the stains, at least until he could bother the lady next door for a cup of detergent which, on Sundays, she had begun to leave in the laundry room for him.

But in the mornings, when bleary and half asleep, Jounouchi didn’t care too much about what shirt he grabbed off the floor as long as it didn’t smell like beer or piss. Any white shirt was fine for under the uniform.

At least, he didn’t care until Honda batted his arm in the middle of class and asked: “Wearin’ the ketchup for lunch later?”

Jounouchi glanced down at his shirt and pulled at the hem. Little splotches hung from the collar and dripped straight down. They were browned, faded, a little gross. Could have been ketchup....or ponzu sauce. Maybe soy. He wouldn’t know until he wet his finger to taste it.

“Yeah, I’ll ya dip fries in it later, jackass.” Quickly, Jounouchi fastened the top button of his uniform jacket. “Now shut up a’fore Sakamoto hates me worse.”

As if on cue, Sakamoto-sensei asked: “Do have something you’d like to say, Jounouchi-san?”

Honda snorted behind his hand.

“Uh....no?”

“Then would you like to answer the problem?”

Jounouchi’s face reddened, and he finished fastening his jacket. “....not really?”

Sakamoto-sensei motioned for Jounouchi to rise, and he did with reluctance while quickly looking over the scribbled math problems that were pure gibberish, all the whole trying to ignore Kaiba’s mirthful laughter. Jerk had been gone for a blissful week, but of course he would be there when Jounouchi needed the extra kick in the nads.

“Shut it, moneybags,” Jounouchi hissed.

“Jounouchi-san?”

Jounouchi groaned. It was gonna be one shitty thing after another today.

—

Jounouchi was happy to go to lunch. It meant unbuttoning the God forsaken uniform and airing out the heat it trapped. If the summer got any hotter before their break, he would probably die.

Between bites, he caught Kaiba’s quick looks; as if the prick was being sly—he just seemed like a weirdo instead. Jounouchi shot him dirty looks back, instead, curling his nose, sticking out his tongue, and itching his eye with his middle-finger for Honda and Yuugi’s amusement.

“Seriously?” Anzu asked.

Jounouchi shrugged. “Kaiba’s bein’ weird again.”

“And...?”

“And it’s fun t’ mess with him?”

Anzu sighed. “He’s just trying to rile you up, you know. And it’s working. Then you’ll go over to him mad, he’ll insult you, and you’ll get more mad...”she waved her hands. “Whatever.”

“Sounds like a normal day to me,” Yuugi quipped.

“I ain’t goin’ over to him. I swear,” said Jounouchi, though he looked across at Kaiba anyways. Anzu glared at Jounouchi. “I really ain’t. He’s hopped over prick and went straight to creeper. Few weeks ago he gave me this....”

Before admitting anymore, Jounouchi stopped and bit the tip of his tongue until he tasted blood.

“Gave you what?” Yuugi asked.

“Nothin’.”

“You can tell us, Jou-kun.”

“Seriously, ain’t nothin’.”

There wasn’t an exact reason for Jounouchi to stop talking. At first, he convinced himself that it was because he didn’t want to admit that Kaiba was nice because his friends would laugh in his face. But as Kaiba eyed the messy splotches on Jounouchi’s shirt, the more Jounouchi realised it was purely his own embarrassment. His clothes weren’t stained with ketchup or ponzu sauce. He knew it was blood. Probably from a bloody nose from the Old Man. Something. And that meant going into the forbidden zone of his friends acknowledging his terrible situation but saying nothing.

Further more, Jounouchi considered, it meant that it wasn’t just him. The touch Kaiba gave him, the momentary expression of understanding, lingered on his shoulder and in his memory. He wasn’t alone. Admitting that Kaiba helped him for the forbidden reason meant that he at least sympathised or, at worst, empathised. Did the prick even do empathy?

“You sure?” Yuugi asked. “Kaiba...Kaiba didn’t give you the black eye, did he? Because I though it was your—,”

Jounouchi waved Yuugi off. “Nah, Nah! Yuug’, now you’re bein’ silly. Ya think I can’t take that beanpole on? Puh-lease! That wouldn’t even be a contest. Prolly break his hand on me punchin’ wrong or somethin’. Right Kaiba?”

But Kaiba was gone, and Jounouchi chuckled at his own cluelessness long enough that everyone started talking about something else. Good.

—

Gym came around near the end of the day. Jounouchi was happy to change out of his uniform for the hour, not worrying if anyone was looking at the stains because he’d be damned if he was buttoning his jacket again.

They paired off to continue the course of tennis practice—something Jounouchi had picked up enough not to lob the ball into the net. The rest of it was rather lacklustre. Near misses and chasing balls across three courts only to do it again the very next serve.

Kaiba wasn’t helping. He’d had the misfortune of pairing up with the prick ‘at random’ the couch said. Yeah right. As if they didn’t have enough problems.

“Ya don’t gotta show off ya know,” Jounouchi said after coming back for the 27th time. “I know ya got a stupid personal trainer an’ shit but ya don’t gotta rub it in.”

“Then learn to hit it back, mutt.”

“Stop tryin’ to drill it in my face, asshole!” Jounouchi weakly served, and the ball came back instantly, probably at ninety miles an hour. He avoided it, clenching his racket so hard to thought he’d break it. “Seriously?”

Kaiba rolled his eyes.

Huffing, Jounouchi grabbed the ball and threw it back to Kaiba, intentionally missing to make him run after it. Though Kaiba glided more than ran. He wasn’t exactly the picture of a perfect body. He was all legs—how long were those damn legs without shorts on?—and skinny as a twig. Without the studded shoulder pads or ridiculous coats and leather, Kaiba was just a lanky teenage boy who hadn’t finished growing into his limbs, though he was fortunate to have a pretty face. Maybe. Whatever.

Kaiba’s next serve caught Jounouchi off-guard, scrambling his thoughts and causing him him stumble to hit the ball back. He tripped over his own feet to reach every hit, but at least they were managing something that could be called a tennis match.

It was almost fun. Kaiba was almost nice; his hits were hard, fast, erratic, but Jounouchi was determined to keep up. He lost confidence when Kaiba hit a ball out of bounds.

“Ya don’t gotta play easy, either,” Jounouchi said.

“Don’t get cocky, mutt.”

“What? I mean, c’mon man. Ya whiffed that.”

“Please. Why would I do you any favours?”

Jounouchi shrugged. “Ya know there’s a mode called ‘normal’ in most games. You should try it sometime.”

Kaiba said nothing.

By the end of it, Jounouchi was happy to quickly shower off, even if it meant getting back into the ponzu-blood stained undershirt. He weaved through the locker room and kept his eyes down. The last thing he needed was more thoughts like the ones about Kaiba. He wanted to change and get going.

But his locker was distinctly missing an undershirt.

“Oh come fuckin’ on!” He groaned. “A’right! Which one of you jerks is stealin’ my clothes now?”

No one owned up to it. No matter how hard he pressed, everyone denied it. Who the hell wanted a blood-ponzu stained shirt, even if it was a prank?

One by one, Jounouchi’s classmates filed out and left him standing in the middle of a steamy locker room, half-dressed and wondering if there was someone who needed his shirt worse than he did. He grumbled in acceptance of that far out thought—it made it, along with this tedious day—easier to deal with.

Quickly, he gathered up his things, pausing at the half-used make-up jar. Right. That. He needed to give to back to Kaiba.

When Jounouchi to leave, he panicked and stumbled back into the lockers holding his chest.

“Shit, Kaiba! What the hell man, warn a guy?”

Kaiba raised a brow. “You’re really going to go to class without you’re shirt?”

“Ain’t like I got a choice. It’s sorta gone, if ya didn’t notice.” Wordlessly, Kaiba displayed the stained shirt in his left hand. “Why you freakin’ prick. I knew I shoulda hit ya with a ball you—“

“Same night?” Kaiba interrupted.

“Same night what?”

“As the black eye?”

Jounouchi pursed his lips and studied Kaiba. Ever the emotionless cinder-block, but there was a hint of something deep in him. His lips twitched and his eyes thinned waiting for an answer that Jounouchi didn’t owe him. But he felt compelled to speak nonetheless.

“I...I dunno.”

“No?”

“Don’t do laundry all that much. Essentials, ya know? Detergents expensive an’...”

“And it’s happened more than once?”

Jounouchi shrugged. “Once or twice. Ain’t keepin’ count.”

Kaiba’s lips parted and closed; for a second, Jounouchi saw something surreal. An anaemic smile, barren of any kind of pity or sympathy. It was more than knowing, too. It was like a wordless mental connection, brain-to-brain. With moneybags, of all people.

Kaiba shrugged off his jacket and quickly unbuttoned his undershirt, shrugging it off and extending it to Jounouchi.

“What’s this...?”

“A clean shirt.”

“No shit. I mean what are you doing?”

No response. And Jounouchi didn’t really know if he wanted an answer. It wasn’t everyday that Kaiba went around being magnanimous, though it seemed have to increased in frequency.

After several moments of staring, Jounouchi took the shirt and shrugged it on. It was too long for him, and the shoulders were too wide, but it was a good fit.

“So...what are you gonna wear?”

“I have another.”

“‘Course ya do,” Jounouchi said, but that didn’t change the fact that Kaiba gave him the literal shirt off his back. “What are ya gonna do with mine?”

“Wash it properly. Actually get the stains out.”

“Gonna bring my fresh-laundered clothes to class, then?”

Kaiba dressed and tucked the shirt in his satchel. “I was thinking you should stop by the estate on Sunday to pick it up.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Do ya want this back, then?” Jounouchi asked, proffering the make-up jar. Kaiba didn’t reply and left out the door.

It registered too late that he’d been invited to the fancy Kaiba estate, even if it was to pick up clothes. Something about that made butterflies flutter in his chest.

Maybe Kaiba wasn’t a prick, but he was still weird.

That was okay.