Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh.

Hello to all - and to those who have read my stories before, yes, I have returned to Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction after many years. That being said, please bear with me and leave any useful pieces of criticisms that I can use to better my work.

November 2, 2013

It was pristine, the bed was made so perfectly that it took away the one attractive quality all beds were made to possess, comfort. She sat at the farthest corner of it, if she sat any further, she would slip right onto the beige carpet, but she couldn't bring herself to be comfortable. Her leg bounced up and down, shaking uncontrollably, a nervous habit. She fidgeted with her cellphone, constantly turning it on and checking the time. Finally she threw her cellphone down on the bed and got up suddenly and walked around.

Everything about this room was designed flawlessly. There was a point in her life when such a luxurious room would have taken her breath away. She would've hopped from the bed, to the balcony, and ran around, excited and giddy. But now such things had lost their charm, or maybe she had lost the ability to feel joy in the simpler things in life.

Anzu Mazaki was fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to study dance in New York City. Leaving Domino almost 15 years ago, she pursued her dreams in the city where people went to find their dreams. It hadn't been easy, many nights were spent in the dance studio, dancing until her feet were swollen in her slippers. Until her muscles ached, begging her to sit – but she was determined to rise to stardom and be noticed not only for her talent, but also for her determination and strong-will.

When it came time to audition for a company, the 22-year old made it until the final round of selection. She could clearly remember the anticipation, the nervousness, but nothing could affect her that day. That day, she felt untouchable. So she danced, danced like she had never before, she felt as though there was no floor beneath her, she was hovering, gliding through her movements. Nothing felt more natural to her than that moment she was performing.

And nothing felt more devastating than when her competitor was selected. Gone was the grace that she had possessed her moments before as she stumbled in to the bathroom, barely able to hide the hiccupping that began with her sobbing. She fell to the corner of the stall, pulling her throbbing legs close to her chest, as her misery came in waves of tears, moaning, and hushed pleas to a God she had never turned to.

She knew it was a possibility, more than a possibility – the fact that she had made it this far had astonished many, a girl from Domino all the way to almost being selected for a company. Almost. But she never had let herself think about failure. No, instead she let herself become seduced by the idea of living in a beautiful loft in Manhattan, having artists run around fitting her for her costume and designing her make-up, and attending galas after performances. This was the life she thought about, but the reality was that she was clutching herself in a public bathroom, hyperventilating between her tears.

After what seemed like enough time, her breathing had steadied and she decided to continue her pity-party at home. She knew revelling in her defeat wasn't the best thing, but she was broken, and everyone was entitled to feel dejected before they tried again. She quickly washed her face, but no amount of scrubbing would hide the puffiness and redness of her loss. Keeping her head faced towards the floor, she made a beeline for the exit before coming to a halt when another's shoes interrupted her path.

She looked up and was surprised to see a man she recognized from the audition. He put his hand forward for a handshake and she took it hesitantly.

"My name is Eric O'Connor, I was sitting in the background during the auditions. You've probably never heard of my name, but I work as an agent for Shira Modelling Agency," he explained, handing her his business card.

Anzu nodded her head respectfully and accepted his card, still unsure of his intentions.

"My friend, the head of the company you were trying out for, invites me to auditions occasionally because he knows there's a connection between what we both do. How would you like to model?"

Anzu stared at him, shocked at the question. Modelling? She had never considered modelling as a profession before. Her? Yes, modelling did require a certain level of grace, but it also needed a level of beauty that Anzu never thought of herself to possess. Stage make-up did wonders and being beautiful wasn't a necessity in dance, but modelling – people like Mai modelled, tall, blonde, leggy. People like Anzu watched.

She smiled politely. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm not quite sure I fit the build."

He looked at her and laughed. "I've been doing this for 10 years. Maybe you have a biased view of modeling from a few too many Victoria Secret campaigns, but believe me, if you wanted to, this is a field I have no doubt you could excel in."

As she stood, she began her nervous habit, leg shaking. Modelling?

The 33-year old leaned against the window and looked out at the rest of the city. It was a rainy, fall afternoon, the kind that made you want to stay inside and keep warm with a nice cup of hot chocolate.

She had modelled for almost 8 years. But by the time she had reached her 30th birthday, she knew it was time to fade out of the business. It hadn't saddened her to leave it all behind, she had made her fortune, enough to last her for the rest of her life. Even though it had hurt her to leave dance, modelling had come naturally to her. It fulfilled her dreams of travelling all over the world, the fancy parties, the people, the loft – all of these had quickly come within her grasp when she began modelling. And now she was able to stay on with Shira, modelling occasionally for her favourite designers and doing a few covers. But she worked much less now. So for the last three years she did whatever she could to fill her time, travel the world once more, read, learn to cook – however, these past-times were just that, ways to pass time, nothing stuck as a lifestyle. So after almost 10 years, she went back to the dance studio and began to teach herself the art.

Her muscles were stiff, her movements sloppy, but after months of practise, she regained her ability once more. Within the last year, she opened her own studio and began teaching beginner ballet. The children had annoyed her at first, and within her first class, she stopped in the middle of a harsh reprimand and took a step back. For most of her life she had been surrounded by cut-throat professionals, bitchy models, and snarky designers. This environment had changed her, no longer was she the sweet cheerleader spitting out speeches on friendship. She quickly realized that if she wanted success and longevity in this career, she needed the edge as well. But it took her eight years to realize that the edge had changed her, and as she stared down at the young girl in her tutu, making a futile attempt to bit down on her lip and hold back her tears, Anzu felt empty. So she bent down towards the little girl so they were both levelled, and she whispered two words to her that Anzu hadn't uttered since the time she clutched onto herself on the floor of the bathroom.

"I'm sorry."

Anzu shook herself out of her daze and checked the clock in the room. He was late. She let out of a breath of impatience. Always punctual in business, but when it came to personal meetings, those could wait.

Just as the thought formed in her head, she heard the lock of the hotel room door click as it swung open. The electricity in the room was palpable, she attempted to keep up her face of nonchalance and slight annoyance at his tardiness, but her mask was slipping. Her heartbeat was racing as her eyes locked on his. She rarely let herself think of that night, but in one fell swoop, everything came back to her.

In a few short strides, he had her locked between his body and the entrance to the balcony. She closed her eyes and felt herself fall into his body for support, his hands left her elbows and wrapped around her waist, so as to engulf all her senses, so there was no part of her body, mind, or soul that wasn't with him.

It was so vivid, every feeling seemed just as clear as that night. One would think 15 years would have dulled the effects, but as she took a deep breath of his cologne, she knew it would always feel this way. He would always make her feel this way.

Her fingers grabbed the ends of his hair and pulled him close to her face. She smiled coyly as her lips teasingly hovered over his.

"Kaiba."