Disclaimer: I do not own YGO. This is a work of fanfiction for entertainment purposes only.
Inspiration: "the 1" by Taylor Swift off the brilliant album Folklore, aka, a slice of magical dream pop, particularly the line "If my wishes came true/it would have been you." Sepia colored photographs of autumn leaves falling and the rich, wistful scent of melancholy.
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They met in a dream, or perhaps a slice of a dream that they dreamt together once, twice, perhaps twenty or so lifetimes ago.
How long ago, they don't really know, either. What kind of question is that, anyway? It's not as if there are answers to the question of why someone you just met makes you feel as if you were instantly comfortable together, almost as if you had both traveled the same paths to reach each other. No amount of magic can explain that kind of familiarity of souls finding another kindred soul. Anzu's certainly not going to try, and if Atem were still here he wouldn't have tried, either.
In this lifetime, they know each other. That was enough. Because when they first met, they looked and they both just knew, just knew, that theirs was a once in a lifetime kind of bond. Who cares if neither of them can explain why exactly? They were two puzzles floating downstream, meeting by chance, and asking and knowing the why would have broken the magic just a little.
Anzu thinks they were special in a once in a millennium kind of way, the kind that existed in fragments now that the pieces are falling, falling around her in memories of snowflakes and mango lassis past. Looking back, Atem gave her the same feeling she had when she first mastered pirouettes. The temptation of her five-year-old self was to launch head first into the spin without any planning; the trick, of course, is to hold back the momentum of the limbs and let go at the very last second to achieve the greatest amount of centripetal force- then it's on to flying through the air with ribbons and shoes askew.
Come to think of it, Anzu was never really good at holding back with anything. She's long lost count of the number of times she's spun head or toe first into the mirrors of the ballet studio, the walls of the tiny Domino apartment, and the precariously dangling curtains of the stage without any regard to safety. The freedom of movement and motion was all she focused on when the music came, and she knew, even in those moments, that the beauty of form was ephemeral, hence the need to capture it.
It was the same with being spunky or argumentative whenever someone (ok, well, lots of someones named Joey and Tristan and Kaiba) picked on Yugi/Atem for any number of reasons pulled out of a hat (hers, clearly, because Yugi/Atem has yet to find a hat that fits his hair). If Anzu feels it, she'll say it, the number of curse words be damned. A pot is a pot and a kettle is a kettle. She will call it like she sees it. No more and no less. Joey and Tristan are alternately terrified of her kind of bluntness, but it's just not her style to lie to anyone, including herself.
So what would Anzu call this, then? Limbo, perhaps, launching herself into pining after someone she knew was destined to return to the spiritual afterlife or whatever the hell the gate Ishizu opened up led to? She thinks she can still see the fields of gold when the doors opened and outlines of people who looked like they might have been people she once knew, but it's hard to tell because there was a lot of dust and her eyes were really fogging up, damn it. The look Atem gave her before he walked away was melancholy, as if he, too, suddenly developed allergies which honestly was not surprising given that airtight underground spaces were probably filled with all sorts of mold spores and whatnot.
Atem seemed sad, too, though his kind of sadness was always quieter, more restrained. Other than watery eyes, he walked on. Out of her life, out of their lives, out of every memory they made together and he just...walked...walked away anyway.
Deep down, she knew it was the best decision for him. He needed to go home to himself and his people. After so many years of wandering and "saving the world," he deserved the peace of mind of knowing that other people would carry his mantel. A hero is a hero and a hero deserves a final resting peace of gold fields and soul bonds, but Anzu can't help but wonder if their bond was always meant to be severed.
Perhaps they only had fate to endure various megalomaniac and card game obsessed weirdos together?
(Anzu doesn't know, really, though she hopes she'll see him again, one or twenty lifetimes from now.)