The perfect love-letter


Warnings/notes: Seto/Joey, silly, failed drabble (because a drabble is 100 words).

Disclaimer: I don't own YuGiOh.

written at 27th december 2004, by Misura, for Saelbu, as a small Christmas-present.


Maths is, quite probably, Seto's favorite class.

Not because the lessons interest him -the subject itself does, yet to Seto the level of difficulty that's considered to be 'appropriate' for the rest of his class is 'utterly boring'- but rather because it's a class in which he can do whatever he wants to do without any teacher pestering him about it.

Due to the number of students with questions or problems, the teacher has far more pressing matters on her mind than to check if an industrious, quiet student actually works on anything related to the numbers and letters on the blackboard.

They have a kind of silent treaty; he'll leave her in peace and she won't bother him either. As in most good business-deals, they both feel they got the better part of the other.

Normally, Seto sits through Maths with an expression that's not quite relaxed or, God forbid, cheerful, but that's still a whole lot friendlier than the scowl he usually wears. Of course, if he's working on some project that has an upcoming deadline (or a broken one), which got messed up due to the incompetence of one of his employees, it may be a bit tense anyway.

Fortunately (and due to some 'examples' having been made), screw-ups like that don't occur as often as they used to anymore. It's quite amazing what a couple of dismissals and raises will do to the efficiency-level of a corporation, really.

Today, Seto wears a frown in Maths. It has made the teacher wander past his desk about three times the past fifteen minutes already, even if she hasn't done anything to break his concentration; she's just hovered near enough to give him an opportunity to ask her for help.

Seto hasn't asked though, so she's simply moved on to other students, who are far less reluctant to call out for assistance. The reason for Seto's refusal to admit to having any trouble is, quite simply, that his trouble aren't of any mathematical nature. (If they had been, it must be said, he'd have seriously doubted the ability of a mere highschool-teacher to aid him with them.)

The piece of paper that Seto is staring at with a mixture of anger and desperation -though those emotions are only readable in his eyes, and only to those who know him well- does not contain a single number. Or letter.

It's a blank note, torn carefully out of a notebook to make sure it looks neat and not rumpled. Seto despises notes like that, with scribbled words on them that are readable only because he's had so much practice in it recently and because he can make a calculated guess to their meaning. He despises them as much as he does their sender.

Seto's hoped that perhaps, if his notes were always clear-written and proper, the person who's annoying him so would take a hint and mend his ways, yet thus far, that's turned out to be mere idle hope. Maybe, no, -likely- he should have known better.

Some people are incorrigible. Unstandable. Impossible.

He can't believe he wishes to write to such a person, to waste his valuable time and thoughts on someone so unworthy and unappreciative of either. He especially can't believe he wishes to write such a person a declaration of love, an admittance of utter vulnerability and conditionless surrender.

Naturally, he'll phrase it in a way that leaves him a way out, an escape-route, so that if the words are thrown back in his face, he can just laugh, turn his back and walk away.

Away from a defeat, another game he's lost, another thing that's slipped out of his control.

Equally naturally, he'll have to be blunt, to some extent, to get his message across. He'll have to use simple words, not because the person who'll read his note is an idiot, but rather because that person knows him too well.

Seto sighs.

What is one to do when faced with a problem that seems impossible to solve?

What else than postpone?


this afternoon, usual time, my place.'

He doesn't sign it. There's no need for that. In fact, he might have refrained from using a header as well, only it amuses him to prickle the person who appears to find annoying him as easy as breathing.

Folding the note until it makes a manageable object to throw, Seto tosses his message on Joey's desk with practiced ease -that is, he's practiced the movements so often that they come easily to him now.

Then, he settles down for the reply that will inform him, in bold and angry writing, that Joey Wheeler is -not- a mutt. And that he, Seto Kaiba, is a jerk. And that just this once, Joey'll let the insult slip, for absolutely the last time, no, really, Seto'd better believe him or else ...

Seto smiles.

The Maths-teacher, seeing it, relaxes slightly, before she angrily swats at a blonde student who's trying to write something on a wad of paper instead of to solve the problems in his book. In a cool voice, she informs him he'll get a detention if she catches him at it again.


A/N: -clears throat- In celebration of this being (almost) my 222nd posted ficlet at this site, I'd like to do something special for the people who got me this far. (Yes, by that I mean –you-, the reviewers.) Thus, because I am unoriginal, if you want, you may include a challenge for a fic you'd like me to write in your review. It'd be nice if your challenge consisted of a pairing (from any fandom, though familiar or bookish ones would be especially cool) that's at least –likely- (i.o.w. not Pegasus/Shizuka) and, to give me something to be inspired by, a virtue or a vice. I'll attempt to write the first five challenges I receive.