Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended.
Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.
A/N: Another chapter. I hope you enjoy it and let me know if you.
Also, before I tune out for another infinite amount of time (getting updates done always takes some time for me since I'm easily side-tracked by other story ideas and I am in fact long overdue to update a Harry Potter fanfic posted under a different penname) I'd like to take the time to thank all of you who have taken the time to review this story or added it (or me, respectively) to their alert lists or favorites.
Knowing that there is someone out there who enjoys my writings is the best part about writing fanfiction. For me at least.
Much love,
Acalanthis
PS – As always any form of constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and encouraged. See a typo? Find an inconstancy I overlooked? Let me know. Got some time to (theoretically) beta-read a story that is updated once in a blue moon? Even better! Drop me a line or leave me your e-mail in your (not necessarily signed) review.
This doesn't mean anything – Entertainment Tonight
He is early.
He is anxious, too.
He's never told her where or how they are going to spend the evening and he has come to regret it: what if her choice of clothing is absolutely inappropriate? He's seen the way she dresses outside of school and although her 'style' is flattering, it wouldn't do much for his reputation.
He tries to get a grip on his nerves by telling himself that she has an impeccable fashion sense – unlike his brother who insists that those fluffy Blue Eyes White Dragon slippers, green duck-print boxers and worn Hawaii Shirt of his are "haute couture".
His worries about her outfit are dismissed as quickly as they have surfaced to be replaced by worries for his own appearance.
Because it had been aforementioned younger brother with also aforementioned doubtful fashion sense who had picked his clothes for tonight. No one would of course dare to belittle him –
With the exception of her friends, perhaps –
but the thought of not looking like people expect him to makes him slightly uncomfortable.
He is in public.
There are certain demands he has to meet.
A certain appearance that he has to maintain.
The car comes to a halt as he frowns accusingly at his wristwatch.
A quarter to nine.
The door is opened for him and he all but sweeps out of the vehicle, flowers in hand.
He's early, but he cannot wait any longer.
His step never falters, but his hands are sweaty and his insides are shaking; he tries to make himself belief that it's neither anticipation nor nerves but he cannot fool himself this time. He surprises himself with a single, uninvited realization:
I want tonight to be enjoyable.
The shrill door bell draws him out of his thoughts and he shoots the hand which rang the bell without permission, a quick accusing glance. A female voice calls to him from the other side of the door; something about needing just one more minute.
He is surprised.
Is she living on her own? How come? I never knew…
The thought is cut short as the door opens and he comes face to face with Anzu Mazaki, dressed in a coffee-and-cream-colored cocktail dress, high-heeled brown sandals tied to her long, shapely legs and wrapped in a chocholate pashmina scarf, which falls in lose folds around her shoulders and neck, offering protection against the still pleasantly cool night air.
She is…
If she notices his sharp intake of breath, she doesn't show it.
Instead she apologizes for having kept him waiting, which in turn forces him to reluctantly apologize for being early.
He presents her with the bouquet of flowers containing purple agnus castus and amethysts in bloom, white garden anemones as well as some blue borage, several white candytufts and china pinks (who, as the name already indicates, are pink in color), but – much to her surprise –also holding some fern, yellow and orange garden marigold, red kennadia, ranunculus in several colors and a few xeranthemum in various shades of pink and red.
"No basil (1)?" she inquires jokingly.
He quirks an eyebrow at her soft remark.
Figures she's familiar with things like that…
She excuses herself and he can hear her rummaging though her kitchen as she searches for a vase to place the flowers in.
It takes her only a few moments, but to him it seems to take forever. The tremors he felt in his stomach before the door opened are nothing compared to those he is experiencing right now.
Shouldn't it have gotten better instead of worse?
She returns, offering him a shy smile, a demure purse clasped in her hands.
"Ready?"
"Of course."
She locks the door and turns to face him again. The jingling keys vanish into her purse as he offers her his arm.
Manners. I knew you had them.
She smiles secretively as he leads her away. Together, they get into the car, his personal chauffeur navigating them safely throught the night.
Their ride is a quiet one, dominated by hidden glances and nervous hands picking imaginary lint from perfectly clean clothes.
He seems… tense. More tense than usual. Because of… me?
His eyes meet hers.
Why is she looking at me like that?
He ignores the voice in his head that asks him to elaborate and explain what exactly he means by 'like that'.
"So… you never told me where we are going."
"You never asked."
"I never had a chance."
Silence.
"You…"
"Yes?"
"You look beautiful tonight."
She smiles at him, but her eyes won't quite meet his. He curses himself.
I knew this was a bad idea. I ruined it already. I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have tried to keep up this charade. I shouldn't -
"You are looking quite handsome yourself."
"I… thank you."
They lapse into silence again, which he finds regretful as her voice makes him forget how nervous he is.
"A Midsummer Night's Dream."
"Pardon?"
"You wanted to know where I am taking you. I'm taking you to see 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. It premiers tonight."
Her hands, which had sat idle in her lap while he talked, frantically straighten her dress and scarf. Her eyes are wide with surprise and worry.
Just as she raises her hands to fix her hair (which doesn't need any fixing) it is caught in his.
"Relax. You look fine."
She looks at him, surprised. His hand is warm, his grip strong but gentle. Fire burns her skin where they touch and still she cannot suppress a shiver. She regrets the moment he realizes what he is doing and drops her hand.
"We aren't going to stay for the party afterwards, however. We have a dinner reservation once the play is over."
She wants to ask where, for fear she might have chosen the wrong dress after all (she got it for a cousin's wedding that never took place), but her vocal chords refuse their service.
The play, it turns out, is a mixture of modern life style,youth culture and classical Elizabethean theare, of bright flashy lights and traditional dance to modern music, of experiments with light and shadow, water and fabric, well balanced between Shakespeare's original text and slapstick.
They are enjoying themselves, although Anzu does not bother to hide her enjoyment the way her date does. Still every now and then she catches glimpses of tiny smiles that are even more beautiful than anything her mind could conjure on its own.
Dinner afterwards is a quiet affair and conversation is made strictly on the topic of the play and nothing else.
He can tell she finds this regretful and somehow, he isn't too happy with their conversation, either. He wants to ask her so many questions (stubbornly ignoring his own amazement for his sudden interest in her life), but forces himself to keep everything as neutral as possible without looking like two strangers playing a part. Even if that is exactly what they are.
This doesn't mean anything.
All too soon, they find themselves back at the front step of her apartment. One of her hands clutches the pashmina scarf wrapped around her shoulders tightly, the other pushes back a few lose strands of hair.
She doesn't know what to say, not consciously, but her mouth (her uncontrollable mouththat feels indecently naked without his right now) forms the words nevertheless and she finds them to be true (unfortunately).
"Thank you."
He seems surprised, but she continues without missing a beat.
"I really had fun tonight. Even… even if it doesn't mean anything."
He mentally winces. He shouldn't have reminded her of that earlier in the car.
"You're welcome."
His voice is non-committal and casual – as casual as it can get. He wants to say more but then decides against it.
This doesn't many anything.
Besides – she said it, not him.
Their eyes meet and although there is no one around to see it (or maybe because of it), although this is not a real date, he feels he has to end it properly.
Her eyes widen slightly as he cradles her face in his hands and leans down to touch his lips to hers in a gentle, brief kiss, startling her with its chaste andalmost shy nature.
"Good night."
"Good night."
He waits for her to unlock the door and step into the apartment before he turns around and stalks to his car.
Whatever possessed me… -
He gingerly touches his lips –
to do something so stupid?
He looks up, eyes locking with his reflection in the black glass window that separates him from his driver. Wide, blue eyes stare back at him from within a boyishly-flustered face.
He growls at his reflection.
This doesn't mean anything.
He keeps repeating these words in his head, but still he fails to convince himself.
(1) The flowers used in the bouquet are supposed to convey a message.
The bouquet is meant to placate Seto's indifference and dislike towards Anzu (agnus castus, candytufts, china pinks), which stems among other things from her bluntness towards him (borage). But there is also an admission of fascination and admiration (courtesy of the fern and amethyst) for her mental and physical beauty (kennadia and ranunculus) as well as her ability to remain cheerful even under adversity. The fact that he finds something to be admirable and / or fascinating about Anzu makes Seto uneasy, hence the garden marigold was included. The garden anemones mean 'forsaken'; you tell me what Seto meant to say with these.
The basil Anzu mentioned means 'hatred' in the language of flowers.
Note I said that the flowers are 'supposed' to give a message – I'm not sure whether I 'translated' them correctly.
The flower meanings I used for reference are so to say the 'victorian version' and can be found at World Wide Web Dot Apocalypse Dot Org – go take a look at them. It's quite interesting, really.