Hey, guys! Thank you so much for the reviews so far, they mean a lot! I mean to post a chapter every week on Sunday, but that may slow when classes start again on the 19th. In the meantime, please enjoy the third chapter!
"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
What a ridiculous and utterly degrading situation it was.
If someone had told Seto that morning that he would be standing in front of Mutou's personal cheerleader, preparing to dance the first waltz of the night, he would have deemed them insane.
As a matter of fact, the last person he had expected to see while in New York City was her. He had known that Mazaki jetted to New York as soon as she was accepted to a dance school, but he had not expected her in the Waldorf at an affluent charity ball. Yet there she was, striding up to him in an extravagant blush evening gown, the bodice sparkling with every step, her blue eyes set into a determined glare.
Seto cursed his decision to come to the charity ball, cursed Samuel Warrick for suggesting this blasted waltz, but he mostly cursed himself for being foolish enough to walk right into Mazaki's trap.
When she had made the ridiculous accusation that he was afraid of dancing, he knew she was initiating a game that he could not refuse, and he definitely would not let Mazaki get the upper hand. As much as he would like to shoot the bubbly girl down, there ran the risk of her running back to the nerd herd to cry about his cruelty, which could lead to some sort of leak to the media, which could lead to a tarnished reputation. Furthermore, turning her down would be admitting defeat. He would lose, and Seto Kaiba did not lose.
Mazaki reached Seto, her lips pressed together into a thin line. They stood in front of each other, willing the other to make the first move. Charity goers all around them were eagerly partnering up, men taking women by the waist in preparation for the beginning notes. Seto remained still, his arms firmly folded across his chest as he stared down at his former classmate. She met his gaze evenly, their blue eyes clashing as she mirrored his posture.
She looked much the same as she did in high school, perhaps a touch thinner and her hair a bit longer. He assumed Mazaki's attitude hadn't changed either, and he braced himself for the onslaught of sunshine and rainbows and dreaded friendship.
The conductor tapped his baton on this music stand, causing a hush to settle over the anticipating dancers.
Mazaki let out an exasperated sigh. "Well?" she snapped, holding out her hand.
She had cracked first. One point for Seto.
Suppressing a smirk, he settled his left hand on the swell of her hip and took her hand with the other. Seto noticed that her nails were pink and nicely manicured. At least they weren't bitten to the quick, as he had often seen her chewing away at the tips whenever she got stressed during tournaments.
They began to move with the first notes from the orchestra, lulled into the moderate one-two-three, one-two-three sway of the music. Mazaki moved easily with Seto, much to his irritation. She knew how to pick her battles, it seemed.
"You're actually pretty good at this." Mazaki admitted, peering up at him with a befuddled expression.
"I'm good at everything I do, Mazaki." Seto sniffed, hoping she would drop the conversation and remain silent for the rest of the dance. The sooner it was over, the better.
"Your people skills could use some work."
Seto scowled. "What makes you think that my people skills are lacking?" He resisted the childish urge to squeeze the life out of her fingers in retaliation to her cheeky retort.
"Do I really need to answer that one?" asked Mazaki, tilting her head, "I think your track record speaks for itself."
One point for Mazaki.
Seto broke their gaze, pressing his lips into a thin line. Couples swirled and glided all around them and he desperately wished he were back in his hotel room, sipping a calming glass of scotch.
He heard Mazaki emit a small sigh. "Look, Kaiba, I don't want to bicker."
A scoff escaped Kaiba's lips. He was not interested in where she was trying to steer the conversation. "What, am I your next victim in your crusade to befriend the world?"
Mazaki gave him a slightly wounded look. It was her that glanced away that time. "I'm not that naïve anymore." she grumbled. "A few years dancing in New York will teach you that much."
Seto's brow furrowed. He had to admit that he was interested in just what broke Mazaki's iron resolve to spread the sacred word of friendship. Deep down, under the utter annoyance he held for her and her friends, he had reluctantly admired her determination. He couldn't escape her dream of going to New York to pursue a dancing career (as she often talked about it), and her acceptance into the School of American Ballet had rendered him begrudgingly impressed. Mazaki must have read his expression as a sign to continue, for she pressed on.
"Although, it has gotten better," she said with a small smile. "I've been able to dance with a great company. I plan on auditioning for a part in The Nutcracker soon. I mean, I'll probably just be placed in the corps, but a girl can dream."
"Fascinating." Seto deadpanned, ignoring Mazaki's dance lingo and trying to determine when the waltz was to end. Mazaki huffed at his apparent lack of interest and fell silent, much to his relief. He considered that a point in his favor.
The silence, however, did not last long.
"So... what are you doing in New York?"
"Business."
"Hey, is Mokuba in town as well?"
Seto ground his teeth together. Couldn't she just stay quiet for the rest of the dance? "Yes, he is." he muttered.
A large, radiant smile bloomed Mazaki's face. "Oh my gosh, is he here? At the ball?"
The young businessman was taken aback by the sudden brilliance of her smile. Her blue eyes sparkled under the intimate lighting of the banquet hall, and suddenly Seto noticed the light flush that dusted the delicate apples of her cheeks from the waltz. Seto had also noticed that the room had become inexplicably warm, or so he told himself.
She's pretty.
Perhaps he didn't need that glass of scotch after all.
Seto shook his head, clearing his ridiculous thoughts from his mind. He swallowed.
"No, he chose to stay in for the night." he finally announced, carefully controlling the tone of his voice so that he didn't reveal how troubled he was by his strange behavior. He needed to get a grip.
"You should give me his phone number!" Mazaki chirped. "I haven't seen him in so long."
Seto meant not to answer, as the music had swelled to a crescendo as the waltz slowed to a finale. He planned to take his leave as soon as possible. He quickly withdrew his hands, but hers latched onto his left wrist. Her eyes bore into his expectantly.
"Let me go grab my phone, okay? It's back at my table. Wait here." She gave him one last smile and trotted off the dance floor to retrieve her phone. Seto stood awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor as more couples eagerly crowded in for the next dance. He was alone and utterly uncomfortable.
There was really no reason for him to stay. He didn't owe Mazaki anything.
Urgent taps from the conductor's baton alerted him that the second dance was about to begin, and he hastily began to make his way to the edge of the dance floor, careful not to step on any dress hems or feet. A strange pit had settled in his stomach as his mind kept replaying Mazaki's smile. He hated her, that much he knew. So why could he still feel heat in his cheeks?
Rain relentlessly pummeled New York City as Anzu stalked through Central Park, huddling beneath her red and black spotted umbrella. It was nearing the end of the unusually chilly October, and the rain continued to pound down throughout the month, causing the fallen leaves to clump together into rotting, half frozen globs. The scraggly tree branches, scratching at the dismal gray sky, barely offered any shelter. The young dancer cursed the frigid air for making her feet ache through her rain boots.
"If it's going to be this cold, it might as well snow." she muttered, exiting the maze of bare trees onto the busy metropolitan street. The café she sought was on the other side of the street, crammed with people trying to get out of the downpour. She crossed the street, resisting the urge to kick the impatient taxi that kept inching into the crosswalk as it waited for the stoplight to turn green.
Anzu closed her umbrella and squeezed through the door and she was instantly surrounded by the ambiance of the busy café. The sounds of an erratic saxophone, nearly drowned out by the noise of customers, were being piped through the speakers, matching the pace of the frazzled servers bustling around with trays loaded with lattes and pastries. She suddenly ducked, narrowly avoiding a waitress' tray colliding with her head. The waitress shouted out a hurried apology and continued on with her business. Anzu skirted a hand over her hair, hoping she wouldn't have to redo her meticulous bun before rehearsal.
"Anzu! Over here!"
Tucked in the corner of the cramped coffee shop, a teenager eagerly jumped out of his chair, waving enthusiastically. A grin worked its way onto Anzu's face as she began to squeeze through the crowd towards the small table, taking extra care to avoid hitting anyone with her bulky dance bag.
Mokuba Kaiba had certainly grown quite a bit since the last time Anzu had seen him. He easily had a few inches on her now, and his former adolescent scrawniness was beginning to give into a fuller, more adult form. His violet eyes were still alert and mischievous, but they peered out from a matured face, covered by a mass of shaggy, black hair, shorter than what she was used to seeing.
"Mokuba!" she exclaimed, meeting the teenager with a tight hug. "I've missed you! I haven't seen you in ages, look at how tall you are!"
As they pulled apart, Mokuba beamed. "Well, they say that's what happens as you get older." he said teasingly, earning a snort form Anzu. They took a seat as a frazzled waitress approached them. They submitted their orders (one black coffee, one mug of green tea), and the waitress scurried away.
Mokuba eyed the lumpy duffel bag Anzu had hastily shoved under the table with a raised brow. "Going on a trip?"
"I wish," Anzu sighed. The waitress reappeared with two mugs of steaming drinks, then disappearing just as quickly as she had arrived. The dancer gratefully wrapped her chilled hands around the warm mug. "I actually have rehearsal at 5, and I figured I could just bring my stuff here instead of running back to my apartment."
"How is dancing, by the way?" Mokuba asked, taking a sip of his coffee. He winced at the heat. "Keeping you busy?"
The two launched into easy conversation. Anzu gushed about how great the SAB and her NYCB apprenticeship had been (busy, demanding, physically and emotionally taxing, but such a rewarding experience), and Mokuba lamented about his senior year of high school. Anzu couldn't believe it had been so long since she had spoken, really spoken, to anyone from the dueling days. Sure, she had kept sporadic contact with Yugi and the rest of the gang, but choosing to stay in New York City last summer had put a strain on their contact. Yugi and Jonouchi were always busy with various dueling competitions and publicity stints, as well as Mai. Honda, Shuzuka, and Bakura were equally as busy with their own studies. Otogi had a budding business to run.
Speaking with Kaiba the weekend before absolutely did not count.
It was nice to be independent from the gang, but she found herself missing them greatly.
Anzu had not realized that she had fallen silent, lost in her thoughts, until Mokuba's voice interrupted.
"So I heard you danced with the devil last Saturday evening."
Blinking owlishly, Anzu struggled to comprehend. When Mokuba waggled his eyebrows, however, she suddenly understood what he was talking about.
"I'm assuming the devil is your snotty, stuck-up brother." she concluded, taking a dignified sip of her coffee. "I'm surprised he told you about that. I had assumed he wouldn't want anyone to know that the great Seto Kaiba had stooped so low as to touch my plebeian hand."
Mokuba snorted. "He didn't want anyone to know, but I wouldn't stop pestering him about how you got my number."
"I'm sure he loved that."
"Immensly." The younger Kaiba paused, and then added, "How was it?"
Anzu narrowed her eyes. "How was what?" she asked, her voice flat. She had noticed a strange glint in Mokuba's eye. It was unsettling. He began to shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
"You know," he shrugged, "was Seto at least cordial? A good dancer?"
"You're acting strange, Mokuba." Anzu announced. "What's your motive?"
"Motive? Why should I have a motive?" the youngest Kaiba questioned, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I just want ammunition to use against Seto, that's all. Please tell me he stepped on your toes."
Despite her suspicions, Anzu couldn't help but chuckle. "Unfortunately, no. He was infuriatingly good at waltzing." She propped her chin in her hand and stared at the rain cascading down the shop windows. "Where did he learn to dance like that?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mokuba shrug. "Probably just a rich kid talent."
"Can you waltz?"
"Not even to save my life."
Anzu hummed absent mindedly, still perplexed over how light Kaiba was on his feet. She had desperately wanted him to be bad at waltzing so she could have the upper hand in the situation. She supposed she did have some sort of advantage, as he had seemed extremely uncomfortable when she had found him again, cell phone at the ready for Mokuba's number. After that, he melted into the crowd and she hadn't seen him again all night. He was probably just embarrassed about the fact that he had to even speak to me. Anzu concluded with a smirk. Oh, well. He needed to be knocked down a few pegs, anyways.
"What are you two doing in New York, anyways?" she asked, her eyes still locked on the rainy window. "Your brother said something about business, but he didn't elaborate."
"Well, Kaiba Corp. is expanding, and the New York branch is due to open in a month or two."
"And Kaiba's here to make sure nobody screws up?"
"Exactly. I'm just here to visit. I have school to attend, you know."
Anzu grinned at the younger Kaiba. "I can't believe you're almost done. Going to university?"
Mokuba returned the smile. "Yep. Tokyo."
"You're making me feel way too old, kid."
The two friends continued to play catch-up, their conversation flowing as if they had maintained daily contact for years. After draining a second mug of tea, Anzu's phone chirped. She glanced at the screen and cursed.
"I'm sorry Mokuba, but I completely lost track of the time. Rehearsal starts in ten minutes!" she blurted, yanking her dance bag from under the table. She gave the bewildered boy a quick hug. "I'll shoot you a text. I'll treat you to dinner before you leave, okay?"
She didn't give him time to answer. She was already scurrying out the door.