[45 & 48] [Yu-Gi-Oh] Breakdown V & VI
Title: Breakdown V
Series: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Theme no.: 45 (Misery with tenderness)
Character(s)/Pairing: Kaiba Seto/Mazaki Anzu (implied)
Rating: PG-13 (for implied drug abuse)
Notes (if any): A possible (not so happy) future to Foster Care. Previous parts may be found here.
She’s at his office before he is, pouring his coffee and neatening his desk.
“I thought we should talk,” she says. “In person.”
He takes a sip of the coffee she’s laid out for him. Closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Debates playing dumb, but she knows him, and she knows he’s listened to the message she left for him.
He opens his eyes. Anzu’s still there, on the other side of his desk, and he thinks of the baggie he’s got hidden in the toilet tank and the needle he’s got stashed in his pencil case, and he wants her gone so he can -
She looks tired, he realizes, and in a way that has nothing to do with a transatlantic (Pacific, whatever) flight.
“I love you,” he says. It’s the one truth. The only truth, and the only thing he really has to give, and then he blurts out, rushed and breathless because if he doesn’t spit out the words now, he won’t say them and she’ll be gone and he’ll only have an empty room to say them to, “Don’t leave me.”
She looks down at his desk, at some document he hasn’t signed yet (or has signed already, he can’t be bothered to remember, not here and certainly not now when she’s here). “Why did you do it?” she asks.
He doesn’t have an answer, anymore than he has a reason why she shouldn’t leave him. He only knows that he’s a horrible person, but that’s not what she wants to hear.
He’s very good at telling people what they don’t want to hear. Prides himself on it, even.
“Seto,” she says softly. “Give me a reason.” Raises those eyes to stare up at him through lashes that always seem to accentuate her anger rather than veil it. “Any reason at all.”
And he can only look at her (at the smooth line of her throat, the soft curve of her cheek) and think that regret feels almost like the sharp prick of a needle.
Title: Breakdown VI
Series: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Theme no.: 48. (You have set me among those who are defeated. I know it is not for me to win, nor to leave the game)
Character(s)/Pairing: Kaiba Seto/Mazaki Anzu (implied)
Rating: PG-13 (for implied drug abuse)
Notes (if any): A possible (not so happy) future to Foster Care. Previous parts may be found here.
She walks out when he can’t answer, leaving him the name of her hotel (but not the room number, oh-not the room number) and the smell of her perfume.
“Sir?” And that’s his secretary, here at a quarter to eight, like she always is, and no doubt taking in all 165 centimeters of Kaiba Anzu storming out the door.
He sets down his coffee cup. “Hold all my meetings,” he tells her.
He catches up to Anzu in the elevator, catching the door before it slides shut. “I haven’t had a hit in two days,” he says, like it means something.
(It has to mean something.)
And for a moment - one long, long heart-stopping moment - he thinks it’s enough.
But.
“One week,” she says.
“Four days,” he bargains, thinking of the time they went to Istanbul and they bartered their way through the spice market.
“One week.” She proved to be far more ruthless at it than Mokuba.
“Anzu - “
“One week,” she repeats and calmly presses the “close door” button.
He has no choice but to let her go.
Series: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Theme no.: 45 (Misery with tenderness)
Character(s)/Pairing: Kaiba Seto/Mazaki Anzu (implied)
Rating: PG-13 (for implied drug abuse)
Notes (if any): A possible (not so happy) future to Foster Care. Previous parts may be found here.
She’s at his office before he is, pouring his coffee and neatening his desk.
“I thought we should talk,” she says. “In person.”
He takes a sip of the coffee she’s laid out for him. Closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Debates playing dumb, but she knows him, and she knows he’s listened to the message she left for him.
He opens his eyes. Anzu’s still there, on the other side of his desk, and he thinks of the baggie he’s got hidden in the toilet tank and the needle he’s got stashed in his pencil case, and he wants her gone so he can -
She looks tired, he realizes, and in a way that has nothing to do with a transatlantic (Pacific, whatever) flight.
“I love you,” he says. It’s the one truth. The only truth, and the only thing he really has to give, and then he blurts out, rushed and breathless because if he doesn’t spit out the words now, he won’t say them and she’ll be gone and he’ll only have an empty room to say them to, “Don’t leave me.”
She looks down at his desk, at some document he hasn’t signed yet (or has signed already, he can’t be bothered to remember, not here and certainly not now when she’s here). “Why did you do it?” she asks.
He doesn’t have an answer, anymore than he has a reason why she shouldn’t leave him. He only knows that he’s a horrible person, but that’s not what she wants to hear.
He’s very good at telling people what they don’t want to hear. Prides himself on it, even.
“Seto,” she says softly. “Give me a reason.” Raises those eyes to stare up at him through lashes that always seem to accentuate her anger rather than veil it. “Any reason at all.”
And he can only look at her (at the smooth line of her throat, the soft curve of her cheek) and think that regret feels almost like the sharp prick of a needle.
Title: Breakdown VI
Series: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Theme no.: 48. (You have set me among those who are defeated. I know it is not for me to win, nor to leave the game)
Character(s)/Pairing: Kaiba Seto/Mazaki Anzu (implied)
Rating: PG-13 (for implied drug abuse)
Notes (if any): A possible (not so happy) future to Foster Care. Previous parts may be found here.
She walks out when he can’t answer, leaving him the name of her hotel (but not the room number, oh-not the room number) and the smell of her perfume.
“Sir?” And that’s his secretary, here at a quarter to eight, like she always is, and no doubt taking in all 165 centimeters of Kaiba Anzu storming out the door.
He sets down his coffee cup. “Hold all my meetings,” he tells her.
He catches up to Anzu in the elevator, catching the door before it slides shut. “I haven’t had a hit in two days,” he says, like it means something.
(It has to mean something.)
And for a moment - one long, long heart-stopping moment - he thinks it’s enough.
But.
“One week,” she says.
“Four days,” he bargains, thinking of the time they went to Istanbul and they bartered their way through the spice market.
“One week.” She proved to be far more ruthless at it than Mokuba.
“Anzu - “
“One week,” she repeats and calmly presses the “close door” button.
He has no choice but to let her go.