Work Text:
Battle city, below, shines, a scattered deck.
The tournament, the tournament!
The little ones are grinning fools, packs of giggles here and there, chubby fingers scratching away at Duel Monsters cards.
It's quite a sight to see, children without a care in the world—they do not understand, it's a Duel Monsters tournament!—watching the blimp hover and wait; many reckon the finalists won't return the same.
Mai's bracelet remains in Anzu's hand as she finishes fixing her Duel Disk, together with a pamphlet.
"Keep it for me, okay?" Mai said, one second earlier.
The dance-school brochures always promise brightly. It's in the photographs already, the spread of New York and the wonders of movement and what people forget they need to know, to function.
Mai frowns.
"Bastard," she mutters.
The woman has every right with victories, some lost but others stolen, and discrepancies choking the lot. Mai worries about Marik. Mai frowns. Anzu tries not to stare, but the woman always was a rather pretty frowner.
"No," she murmurs, twisting Mai's bracelet in her fingers. She hums, softly. "I mean, madmen are usually only sad and angry. I suppose he doesn't have friends enough on the other end."
Mai snorts, but presses her hand to Anzu's wrist as they turn and wait.
It amazes her that the mad ones and the angry ones lack sense enough to keep this a game. Perhaps she's trying too hard to think like them; hadn't Yuugi said to think like your opponent?—but she'd rather not, seeing Marik's face.
There are days Anzu wishes she was better at it all: Duel Monsters, cards, chess, even scrabble!
It's all game theory, anyway.
"Rather sad," Mai says.
A second later, Marik's counting tributes and her eyes are following, one and two and three and—should’ve ripped that Ra card, and not try to use it.
But that would not be Mai.
And so she is being pulled into the dark, away, away.
She had Ra. She had victory. She only needed to read words no one taught her, and Anzu watched her reach for the impossible because winning had never made Mai feel safe.
They are quiet, mostly, now; she and Mai are never inclined to talk much more than they should. Anzu appreciates a right silence.
People talk more with movements, paper words, the turn of a hand, maybe a laugh. Anzu's tried studying it, but it never makes sense.
The bracelet waits between them.
Anzu held it through the duel and the awful stillness afterward, tight enough to leave golden endings in her palm.
"You're too worried," Mai says instead, a twinge of irritation in her voice—the glass doors are open, but the evening smoke is kissing too hard. "I'm okay."
It's obvious: the equation in Anzu's head should function within fate and fantasy. If she understood the cards, she could warn them; learned every rule, protect them. But there are endings and there are endings, and Mai's voice is unsettling when she says anything that sounds like I'm fine.
Mai faces her. Her eyes are hard.
Rather sad; perhaps it's the knots of being the capable one who needs nobody. Anzu's never understood it.
She holds out the bracelet. "You should take this back."
Mai's stare fades into curiosity, her knuckles pressing against her skirt. Anzu's hopeful, but not in that sense. Merely for kinder words than Mai usually allows.
"Keep it, Anzu." There's a coo, a slighting of amusement, as if she were being mocked, of course, as old news. "My first given friendship bracelet, for the girl who always stays."
Anzu remembers the other words. Cheerleader. Tagalong. Words from people who never noticed the courage required to remain completely useless.
"I couldn't help you."
Mai shrugs. "You can't duel."
Anzu's mouth tightens.
"Neither can half the idiots downstairs," Mai takes the bracelet only to circle it around Anzu's wrist. Her fingers are slow with the clasp, her nails soft against the pulse. "Cards aren't everything. You can do anything you decide to do."
"Anything?" Odd question, but proper, yes.
"Anything. Become a professional duelist, though, and I'll deny this conversation."
"Will you miss me?"
Mai's hands stop against her wrist.
"Miss you, Anzu?" There's that coo, a slighting of amusement, as if this were old news. "Whatever for? You're right here."
Anzu shrugs. "For now."
Unrequited, perhaps, but Anzu's leaning forward and brushing her mouth against Mai's, soft and curious, asserting certain things: you and I and me and you and them. But it will never pass this room, pale walls and open glass, her tongue will not lace over Mai's.
Like that, sings her triumph, and she thinks about laughing, but only against her mouth; perhaps Mai can taste a laugh.
She misses her already; Mai is lovely wild, bright-eyed, flushed, silent on her mouth, nobody else's—
"Oh," Anzu breathes, wet pants sliding across Mai's cheek, "I must have gotten too carried away. I am... oh, I am so sorry."
Mai is silent, still, and hands to the side. Then one finger hooks beneath the bracelet, quietly testing the clasp.
Maybe the story starts in a matter of footsteps.
Oh, yes. Anzu is humming, tossing a wave to Yuugi and Jounouchi, a frazzled pair with wide eyes and pink cheeks. Her hand keeps circling until her friends stop, grin, and spill their worries.
"It's such a blue sky to cross!"
What they don't need to know, Anzu hums, is that New York cannot be that frightening; it's been waiting, and she folds her hands as she sits on her suitcase, one leg over the other.
Her fingers are sighing against her mouth, waiting for the last one, the late and awful one to see her. Mai is slow when punctuality might expose her, and Anzu hopes she'll pick up the pace—
There. Blond hair, crossed arms, a mouth pretending not to smile.
Mai waves goodbye, her hand hooked.
Anzu raises her own.
The bracelet catches the light.