I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. Post-series.
Sometimes, when Anzu was alone, she would let herself go. Outside, she was composure and light and dancing, but inside she was breaking and she was too busy dying to pick up the pieces.
Honda, armed with the best glue he knew of (words and hugs and 'it'll-be-okay-kid's) marched over to her house and tried to help, feeling useless when movies and games and knock-knock jokes couldn't hold a candle to heartbreak.
"I just don't know," Honda would say, dragging his feet in slow arcs across the carpet, trying to be strong and sympathetic and helpful and brave even though he really just felt like crying.
Anzu nodded silently and thought to herself that maybe rocks weren't as strong as she once believed.
Sometimes, Jonouchi and Shizuka would go to the park, sitting on swings and thinking.
He'd kick and twist around in the dirt, long legs dragging as he tried to fly on wings of wooden planks and cold, silver chains. She nudged pebbles with her shoes and felt her eyes well up with tears when she couldn't reach them anymore.
Shizuka would look up at her brother and sigh, and sometimes, her eyes would tell stories of pharaohs and sand and other things she didn't quite understand.
"I never really liked swings anyways," he would reply.
Yuugi bought a puzzle.
He dumped it onto his desk and stared at it, daring his fingers to move and his brain to think and his heart to stop but it didn't happen so he left it there.
A week later, he threw the puzzle away.
Sometimes, they would talk about it, but most of the time, they didn't.
'Maybe he thinks about us too.'