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 and a quite lengthy one, too. This will have to 'sustain' you for some time – see the bottom A/N for further information.
Also, I'd like to mention that 'This doesn't mean anything' is on 20 favorites lists (!), 17 alert lists and has so far received 41 reviews.
Yeah, you might think those numbers aren't that spectacular but let me tell you, every single one of those reviews, favorites and alerts made me smile and happy. That's 78 wide smiles and giddy dances in my living room and I thank you all for all those smiles you gave me.
As always, any form of constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged.
And now… enjoy!
Love,
Acalanthis
This chapter was beta read by ILuvsBakura – thank you for your support and your quick work.
This doesn mean anything - Call Me
He picks up the phone and begins to dial her number. Indecisively, his hand lingers and he places the receiver back on its cradle.
No.
He forces his eyes back onto his computer screen, back to his vectors and graphs and to variables that would make his algebra teacher's head spin. He begins to type, but he finds his eyes drawn back to the telephone resting oh-so-innocently on his desk, tempting him with its siren song. He's never believed in magic or read a Superman comic, but right now he'd give everything to have a laser gaze just like the "Man Of Steel".
The telephone does neither falter nor combust spontaneously under his intense glare (which is a shame) sitting quite arrogantly on his desktop, the digital numbers of the integrated clock flashing at him tauntingly. He viciously wrenches his head away (ouch - that was a little too fast) only to have his gaze drop onto his mobile phone. The sleek, silver device is resting just within his reach at the corner of his desk, reflecting the light nicely.
Maybe a text message would be appropriate...
He reaches for the phone, regarding it thoughtfully for a moment. But what to write?
Anzu, I had a nice evening and I hope you did too. Maybe you want to hang out some time? Give me a call, Seto
No. That's not him.
Mazaki - somehow you managed not to turn Friday night into a disaster. My compliments on learning how to behave like an adult in such a short amount of time. If you feel like showing off those newly acquired skills some more, let me know. Kaiba
That's more like it, but that's also very likely to undo any leeway he's made with her so far.
Leeway? What 'leeway'? Why would I even care?
But he knows.
He knows and it can no longer be denied that although he's tried to convince himself that it doesn't mean anything, somehow things have spun out of control.
It means something, he's absolutely certain of that.
But he isn't too sure about what precisely that something might be.
He frowns at his mobile phone, as if it were the device's fault that he cannot find it in him to string the right words together.
Besides, I don't even have her mobile phone number.
With a shrug, Seto Kaiba turns to his PC and resumes typing.
Or do I?
The part of him that is the focused and ambitious CEO helplessly flails its arms as the teenager in him - which used to be so sensible and allowed the CEO to do his work - gains control and he snatches his suit case from the file cabinet it's been resting on and begins to leaf through his school items. There, attached to his time table, is indeed a telephone list of his class and yes, it features her phone number (which he looked up online right after coming to the office), her mobile phone number and her e-mail address.
E-Mail…
He decides that he could write her an e-mail but the decision to do so does not make the words come any easier than before. In fact he can't even decide on how to address her.
He keeps telling himself that he is not trying to accept whatever it is that is forming between them.
It is an attempt to find out whether she feels it
- it mustn't have a name yet - too.
He needs to know.
He does not take well to rejection; he doesn't bother to contemplate why that thought crossing his mind doesn't surprise him.
Much to his inner CEO's relief, he begins typing again, but his mind is elsewhere. He keeps messing up and eventually pushes himself away from his desk. He turns to the windows behind him, his index finger tapping against the armrest of his office chair as he stares out into the dark sky, barely noticing the many lights illuminating Domino City's skyline. He averts his eyes to look at his watch.
A quarter to eight. She's told him that dance practice usually ends at nine and that she's home by half past ten at the latest, but today is Tuesday and Tuesdays mean no dancing classes. So if she isn't with her friends - which is unlikely, given the most recent events - she should be at home. He glances at the telephone out of the corner of his eyes.
It's not too late to call her, is it?
Of course it isn't, he mentally berates himself, and even if it were, she wouldn't hang up on him. He pays her, after all.
But I don't pay her for entertaining me on the phone... I don't pay her to be nice to Mokuba, either.
He averts his gaze again. Much as he is loath to admit it, he knows that chances are nothing will come of this. The thought is both painful and disappointing. If he ever had a chance with her (a chance he never knew he wanted), he must have ruined it already by offering her money in exchange for her company. He snorts. It almost sounds as if she were a prostitute. His face pales as a sudden realization hits him.
Does she... is she... she's not thinking I'm...
He shakes his head to disperse the thought.
No way. She knows I'm not like that.
The telephone beckons him once more and he finds it hard to resist any longer. He knows he won't get much work accomplished anytime soon and so he hits redial with a resigned sigh and dials the remaining digits he hadn't typed in before. He refuses to acknowledge the need to ensure that she understands that his offer was not meant like that.
The telephone rings a couple of times and his stomach clenches apprehensively.
She's not home... I knew it.
"Mazaki residence."
He freezes and swallows hard. That deep, male voice can impossibly belong to Anzu Mazaki.
"Hello?"
He quickly disconnects, his mind reeling.
A man. She's got another man at her apartment.
His shock is soon replaced by self-righteous anger.
How dare she? How dare she admit another man into her apartment when she knows...
Angrily, he hammers her phone number into the telephone. This time the telephone rings for a much shorter time.
"Mazaki residence. Hello?"
It's the male voice again. He grinds his teeth.
"I'd like to talk to Anzu Mazaki."
His tone is clipped, his anger almost palpable.
"Who is this?"
"None of your business."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said: none of your business. Are you hard of hearing?"
He can hear the receiver being roughly placed on some hard surface - probably wood - and someone calling for Anzu. There's some hushed, angry whispering and a lot of apologies coming from a new, decidedly female and much younger voice.
"This is Anzu Mazaki. How may I help you?"
"You could start with sticking to our contract."
"Kaiba?"
"Indeed."
There's a moment of silence and she imagines him glowering at her with a frown.
"I am sticking to our contract."
Her voice is quiet and calm and he can hear a door clicking shut.
"Right."
"Next time you call I'd appreciate it if you could be at least a little more polite to my father, though."
"Your... father?"
They fall into silence again. Her father. That man was her father.
Fancy that.
"I thought you lived alone."
"I don't."
"You don't?"
"No, I live with my parents."
"Oh? So where were they when I came to fetch you on Friday evening?"
"In Osaka."
"Osaka?"
"That's what I said."
"That's what you said..."
His habit of echoing her words begins to unnerve her. It's not like him at all.
"Kaiba? Are you feeling alright?"
He stares out of the window, turning this new information over in his mind with uncharacteristic and childlike wonder.
"Yes, I'm alright."
I think...
"Um..."
Silence resurfaces, hovering between them like a demon. It conveys a million questions between them, but only one stands out, only one demands to be answered.
Why is he calling?
The silence grows tense as he prepares himself to cut through it. He says the first thing that comes to mind and finds it is a question (a single out of a multitude of questions he's longed to hear the answer for) that could very well end 'this', depending on just what exactly it would reveal.
"Why did you agree?"
His voice is quiet and calm, as if he doesn't trust the words not to turn traitor on him in the last possible moment.
"I beg your pardon?"
She is genuinely confused.
"Why did you agree to my proposition? Why are you posing as my girlfriend if you..."
... if you could be Yugi's?
"You needed someone to help you out, didn't you? And you asked me. It's the first time you asked anything from me, other than telling me to shut up. I owed it to you: if you had the strength to ask me for help, I should have the strength to lend it to you."
Her argumentation puzzles him.
Strength?
Since when is there strength in asking for assistance?
Is it not so... that only the weak ones are incapable of achieving their goals, or solving their problems, on their own?
This is what he was taught.
But dimly, somewhere in his mind, there's the memory of a woman with a gentle smile and long, black hair and a soothing voice that tells him that asking someone for help sometimes requires much more strength than stubbornly doing things on your own.
"Then why did you take my money?"
"Do you want it back?"
"What?"
"I said: Do you want it back?"
"No. But... why did you take it?"
"When you... hang on."
There are some muffled explanations, some shooing and arguing and finally he can hear the hand that previously covered the mouth piece of the receiver being lifted.
"I'm sorry... my father's too darn curious. Where were we?"
"I asked why you took my money."
"You were so... dead-set on keeping things all business, with the contract and all. I hope you remember that when I told you I didn't want anything in return you said..."
"Nonsense, everyone wants something. Yes, I remember."
Of course he remembers. He also remembers trying to squash any feelings of gratitude towards her.
I needed the distance... I needed to keep things clean
He wishes he could tell her that, that he could force the words out of himself (because they aren't showing any inclination of coming forward on their own anytime soon).
"Do your parents know?"
"That I'm being paid for occasionally showing up by your side?"
She hesitates to answer, then firmly responds with a resounding:
"No, they don't."
"Do you think they'd approve?"
"Unlikely."
"Unlikely or not at all?"
"Not at all."
"Then say so."
"They won't approve at all."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Her voice sounds amused. Come to think of it, this exchange had been sort of entertaining. He smirks a little.
"So do you want your money back?"
"I've got more than enough of it."
"This means?"
"No, I don't want my money back. It's yours."
There is another pause. Suddenly, before he can stop himself he asks another question. One, that was not on the list he previously (and unconsciously) composed before calling her.
"What are you going to do with it?"
"With what?"
"The money."
"I'm saving it."
He mentally calculates how much he's paid her so far and decides that it's not nearly enough to buy a fair-sized sports convertible. Actually, it's not even enough for a small one; will it be enough to pay for whichever dream she's saving it for?
"Got anything special in mind?"
"Juilliard."
Juilliard? Why does that sound familiar?
"Juilliard?"
"It's a dance school in New York City. I want to attend."
"You want to be a dancer?"
He sounds slightly incredulous and she pictures him making the same face her parents make when Anzu's future plans are discussed.
"My parents don't approve. They earn enough money to support me through my studies, but they refuse. They want me to pick up a 'real' job."
He nods his head. That does sound very sensible. It also sounds like what he told his younger brother when Mokuba had decided to become a pantomime rather than joining his brother in the 'family business'.
"I can see where they are coming from."
She sighs.
"So can I. For all that I want to dance, I am well aware of the risks. I know the chances of being employed somewhere in the chorus line are slim at best; major parts are even worse. And if I get injured..."
She trails off, but her voice is firm and full of confidence. She does not claim to be aware, he notes, she truly is aware.
"I'll need a second career, something to drop back on. Something other than waiting tables or ringing the register."
"Like modelling or acting?"
She chuckles softly.
"Either that or I'll have to learn how to turn iron into gold real quick."
He smirks.
"And here I was looking forward to renting out your first movie."
She laughs softly.
"So sorry to disappoint you."
"What sort of alternate career do you have in mind then?"
Her pause is an uneasy one.
She hasn't told anyone about this: neither her parents nor her friends know that she harbours this secondary dream.
She knows he won't tell on her, but it doesn't ease her into telling him her secret.
He is the first one to take her dream seriously.
She doesn't want him to think any less of her once she tells him.
Compared to her dream of becoming a dancer it is so... plain and mundane.
"Well?"
"Promise you won't laugh."
"I knew it... you're planning on being a singer, right?"
They share a laugh, both surprised to find out that he is indeed capable of good-natured teasing.
"No, I'm not. Promise me you won't laugh and I'll tell you."
"Very well. I promise not to laugh."
"And you can't tell anyone!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You can't tell anyone. You're the first person I'm telling but you can't spread the word."
"I won't."
It's not like your friends will listen to me anyway.
"Alright. If I can't become a dancer, I want to..."
"Yes?"
"I want to be a kindergarten teacher instead."
Silence.
Now that's unexpected...
"Why a kindergarten teacher?"
He imagines her to blink surprisedly at the receiver while she ponders whether to share her reasoning with him or not.
"I want to... encourage children. I want to help them realize their strengths and talents. I want to teach them to pursue their dreams and to hone their skills, even if it takes years. I want to teach them the value of determination and of patience. I want to help them to find their way in life."
His first reaction is to scoff.
But once he thinks it over he realizes that this second career suits her rather well.
He tries to imagine what life at the orphanage could have been like if someone like her had been there to encourage the children. Someone who brought warmth with her every step of the way and smiles radiant like the sun.
He thinks about how he would like Mokuba's teachers to be (unsurprisingly the qualities he would prefer in them are influenced more so by his own parents' rather than Gozaburo's ideals) and decides that he very much likes the idea of her or someone alike her guiding his younger siblings' education.
Finally, he speaks.
"Why haven't you told anyone about this?"
"Isn't it obvious? My parents wouldn't be too happy with this career choice, either, but they'd push me to pursue it instead of dancing. They'd bring in Yugi and the others, too."
"What career would your parents like you to choose?"
"They want me to join their advertising agency of course."
"And your friends?"
She sighs heavily.
"They support me with me dancing, more or less. But I know they'd rather..."
She trails off and he realizes that she might be far more self-sustaining than he thought.
"They don't want me to leave."
Her voice is quiet, dejected.
He feels anger rise within him.
He is an equal opportunity employer himself and even though he doesn't say it out loud, he does everything to ensure that talent receives every form of support necessary.
It's in his own interest after all.
He knows that she supports her friends unconditionally. The fact that they can't seem to do the same is an insult to her.
He doesn't like that.
"Are you talented?"
"My dance instructor says I am."
"Have you got charisma, something to set you apart from everyone else?"
"Yes, I do."
"Are you driven?"
"I've been working on this for years, Kaiba. I've been taking odd jobs despite it being against school rules and I've saved just about every yen I've earned so I can go to New York and try out at Juillard."
He pauses.
"Are you willing to make sacrifices in order to achieve your dream?"
"Of course I am! What's with the twenty questions?"
There is another pause.
For Mokuba being a pantomime was only a passing fancy.
Something he saw on his way home from school or on TV and decided that it was a fun way of earning his living. Something he also lacked talent for because reamining silent for more than 5 minutes is an impossible task for him to accomplish.
For Anzu, dancing is more, much more.
Something even he can't put into words.
"In that case, the children will have to wait for someone else to support them."
"You mean..."
"I am not an expert on dancing or on anything concerning art and things like that. I'm a business man. When I conduct business there are three things that I always keep in mind. Number one: what is my goal? Number two: which resources are required to reach it? Number three: do I have what it takes to get there? You want to be a dancer. You have determination, drive, talent, charisma, a sensible head on your shoulders, a fair idea of the sacrifices you will have to make and a realistic alternative. There is nothing that will stop your from being a dancer. You have everything required to achieve your dream. Thus you will. I know you will."
Did I just tell her that I believe in her?
"I... ahm... thank you."
No...
He nods slowly.
Does this mean...
"It's late. I should probably let you go. You've got dance classes tomorrow, don't you?"
It musn't...
"Yes... yes I do but..."
It can't...
"Good night Anzu."
But I want it to...
"Good night... Seto."
This doesn't mean anything...
A/N 2: As I already mentioned this chapter will have to sustain you for a while. That is because I'm taking my first real vacation in 13 years. A friend of mine, who lives in Georgia, is going to marry and she invited me over. I'll be in the States for an entire month (from May 13th to June 10th) helping to prepare the wedding (I'm the Maid of Honor/Horror) and having a blast.
Now in theory, if things had remained the way they were when I began writing this chapter, that would mean you'd have to wait a few weeks (an estimated 6) before I would have managed to bring out a new chapter plus an apology-chapter for keeping you waiting.
Unfortunately, there's more. Four years ago, my mother had breast cancer and recently the doctors have found metastases attached to her spine. They're putting pressure on the nerve cord within the spine and are dissolving the bones. It's been discovered at a fairly early stage, but it's there nevertheless and we don't know yet how treatment will affect my mother. Once I return from my vacation it is very likely that I won't have much time to write fanfiction or to upload it (mind, I won't stop entirely because I need this; it helps me to get rid of the day and all) so it might be a long time before I upload again.
I know you're all sensible persons and won't hold this against me (and if you do, well tough luck). I just figured you might like to know.
Acalanthis
PS – Everyone says it but believe me its true: we don't tell the people who are important to us nearly as often that we love them as we ought to. If I were you, I'd tell them. You never know what life might spring on them tomorrow and then those three little words might be just the thing they need.
Knowledge is power and to know that you're loved is far more important (and so much more powerful a knowledge) than anything you can learn from a book. Don't let people be ignorant of your love and friendship.