Disclaimer: Fearlessly not mine.
A/N: Written for Challenge #019 'risk' at ygodrabble on LiveJournal.
One Step Beyond
© Scribbler, October 2010.
It was just one step. He could take one step. Hell, he took dozens every day. Hundreds. Thousands! One shouldn't be difficult, so why was it?
Okay, time to breathe. Breathing was easy. Easy as walking. He could breathe, so he could walk, and every walk began with a single step.
Why couldn't he take that last step?
"Are you okay?"
He couldn't freak out. This wasn't the time for freaking out. Freaking out was for losers. He was done being a loser. Finito. Kaput. That ship had sailed already – and hit an iceberg.
"Is he okay?"
"I dunno. He won't talk."
"Helloooo?"
He had to suck it up. He had to grab his nerve and hang on. No time to hesitate. No time to run away like a baby – again. He had run away before and all it got him was heartache. Well, not this time, baby!
"Is he having a seizure?"
"Should we fetch the nurse?"
This would change everything. Ack, bad thought! That would make his nerve scurry away and hide in its bolthole.
Yet it was true: this would change everything. If things went his way, brilliant, but the landscape of their friendship would be altered for everyone. This wasn't a decision to be made lightly. There were ramifications – and yes, he did know what that meant. Contrary to what his teachers thought, he didn't sleep through every class. If things went south now, things would also be different. Rejection was a bitter pill to swallow; one of those horse-sized pills you had to take before you went to tropical countries where everything from water to wildlife could kill you on contact. How should he react if things went badly? Not just today, but tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and the next…?
"It's an aneurism."
"Moron, he'd be dead already."
"I'm not sure he isn't."
"Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?"
Nervousness ran around inside his mind like ants after you poured hot water into their nest. That was why he couldn't take that last step. That was why he was balking now. After deciding it would be today, it had taken guts just to get up this morning. Maybe all the guts he had. He was standing in viscera. Intestines had replaced his shoelaces!
"He twitched. I saw!"
No, he had to do this. There was no other way. He was done pretending. He was terminating the contract between his fear of rejection and his heart. And… that line sounded so lame.
Crud.
"Hey, you! You know this guy, right? He's been standing here like this for fifteen minutes."
"We think he had an aneurysm."
"No we don't, moron."
"Don't say moron!"
"I'll say whatever I like. Moron!"
He wasn't sure where the word came from. It arrived in his brain and fit the bill totally: moron. Spineless wonder. Rubber backbone. He –
"Jounouchi?"
- was falling on his ass. "Ow!"
"He's aliiiiive!"
A crowd had gathered. Where did they all come from? This hallway was empty before.
The one who had shoved him to get his attention leaned in close. "You awake?"
"Holy shitcakes!" He would've fallen on his ass again if possible. Wasn't she just across the hall? What'd happened to that final step? "For crying out loud, don't do that!"
"He's fine. Show's over."
Disappointed groans sounded.
He got up. Crap, now or never. Fate had stepped in. He had to do this. He didn't hold his nose, even though that was what you did before you jumped in feet first.
"Are you okay?"
He nodded dumbly. Talk! ordered his brain. Talk or I'll shimmy down your spine to kick your ass!
Finally, he took the plunge. "Anzu, I gotta tell you something…"
Fin.
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