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20 Questions

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“Does it...is it,” the question was changed twice before being dropped. Lips were licked. “Can it fit in the palm of...of your head—hand?”

Mokuba stared Kaiba down as he struggled to ask the question. His face showed no lack of determination, though his eyes were a little stormy. “No.”

Kaiba’s fingers were extended on the wheel, though one of the wrapped on the wheel as he ticked down. He readjusted himself in the leather seat. “Alright. Alright, let me think...”

“Okay. You have ten questions left.”

“Yes. Ten questions,” Kaiba repeated.

Any other time they played this game, Kaiba had the uncanny ability to read Mokuba’s mind. He would guess it within seven or eight questions. Ten if it was hard.

The result wasn’t the same when Kaiba hadn’t slept for 72 hours. That was Mokuba’s estimate. Give or take their arrival to the convention, and if maybe there was a cat nap he hadn’t noticed.

“Not in hand means large when I ask you...so, it is...large enough for a person to fit?” Kaiba asked.

“Yes.”

There were so many ways to get home. A plane. A helicopter. A train. A bus...the car could always be flown home. Tokyo was 6 hours away from Domino City by car, give or take traffic. Almost the same distance as Osaka.

“Is it ...a...car?”

“No.”

Eight questions. One of Kaiba’s fingers ticked down, though they were wrong. He missed the last one.

Mokuba hadn’t understood why Kaiba did this. It wasn’t the first time he’d made these long distances while so exhausted. They’d taken off before the sun had risen. Mokuba assumed that Kaiba has took him while still asleep and packed him into the car, along with their belongings, and left before Mokuba could protest. It wasn’t as if he could ask to take over, either.

“How many questions?”

“Eight, nii-sama.”

“Alright. Let’s...see...big enough to be inside. Not a car, not...is it white?” He asked. Mokuba’s heart pounded, hating this so much, and he searched around for a sign to indicate how close they were. Another three hours, at least. Another three hours of games, because every time he tried to turn on the radio, Kaiba flicked it off.

“Yes. It’s white.”

“White, fits people...its a...transport.”

Mokuba glanced around for an exit. Somewhere to get off, and he looks at the black car that had been following him. Isono probably hadn’t been able to convince Kaiba out of his convictions, either.

“Is that a question?”

Kaiba seemed confused, and even turned to look at his brother with a brow raised. Mokuba pointed back to the windshield.

“Is it a mode of transportation?”

“Yes. Six questions.”

Mokuba listened to his brother’s even breathing. He searched the countryside in between before pulling out his phone and plugging in the nearest gas station. And as he did, he could see blaring lights in front of them.

“Seto!”

Mokuba dropped his phone on the floorboards, his hands shooting out to grab the bottom of the wheel and yank them back onto the right side of the road, holding on for just long enough to be able to tell that Kaiba tightened his hands around.

A sharp intake of breath; his eyes were fluttering. The risen sun revealed the darkened circles around Kaiba’s eyes.

“What?”

Mokuba’s face must have been stricken. He had taken his hands back, and was searching for something to say. “I need to pee,” he said, voice out like a wisp.

They whipped onto the nearest exit, tearing across three lanes, with the black car behind them almost missing it. Once they reached a gas station, Mokuba ran out of the car and into the building. He hadn’t been lying, he had done everything not to make a mess of the leather seats. But it also gave him an excuse to have Kaiba pull over, to have Isono check on him, and for Mokuba to buy a coffee. Black, just like his brother liked it.

When he returned back to the car, he found that Kaiba had leaned back in the seat with his arms crossed over his chest. Eyes closed tight, mouth parted as he snored softly.

As the door closed, Kaiba stirred, his hands returning back to the steering wheel. The ignition was turned, and one hand reached out, knowingly, to take the coffee from Mokuba’s hands. “Is it the Shinkansen?”

Mokuba blinked. “What?”

“Shinkansen. The answer?” Kaiba asked, and he took a sip of the coffee. They began to pull out of the gas station.

“Oh, uh...yeah,” Mokuba smiled. Kaiba still got it, with six questions left. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “Good job. Play again?”

“Sure. Go.”