Counting the Steps Back to Safe

By Cloudshaper

A/N: So I've never been an integral member of the YGO fandom, but I've been really bored and have undergone such a HUGE writer's block, that I've resorted to simple little one-shots about people/pairings/situations that just touch my heart. Honestly, I really need to write some full-length stories one of these days. Shmeh. Alright, so here this is, and I hope it's at least somewhat enjoyable. (:

She has never quite adapted to all of the hustle and bustle of New York. The city is just too high-paced for her, and the people all too unfriendly. There is never enough room for her to simply breathe. Not a day goes by in which she doesn't feel as if she is nothing but a little foreign girl who was destined to fade into the background of an iconic American city. The life of a chorus girl is not quite what she expected. Sometimes, she feels as if dreaming the dream is a much more exciting idea than actually living it.

At this particular moment in time, a light blanket of snow has covered the city, ushering in a wintery season that she can never quite get used to. The backstage of the theatre is cold. She is sitting in the chorus girls' dressing room, perched in front of a giant mirror with dazzling light bulbs etched around it. The lights are ablaze, illuminating her expression. She gazes into her face intently, applying a thick layer of eyeliner. Her eyes are hollow and her cheeks have been thinned out, shed of baby fat in the past year or so. The room is filled with slender, elegant American girls, all fairly strident and unforgettable. They hold themselves up high, and it is clear to see that they all think far too highly of themselves. And there she sits in the midst of it all, just trying to get by. She leans back in her chair, her eyes still trained upon the image in the mirror.

The reflection that looks back at her is nothing similar to the one that she once expected to see—across from her sits a very unhappy girl; one who dresses herself up every night, dancing for audiences who will never know her name, probably never respect her talent. One who auditions countless times only to be casted as a just another person in a cast of fifty or more; one who can never snag the lead role from one of those pretty American girls; one who will never get stopped for an autograph as she slips out of the stage door to go back to her apartment. And although these thoughts lace in and out of her head on a regular basis, she ignores it; it is her love of dance that keeps her from harping on the negative aspects of her life But no matter how much she may think that her art completes her life, she can't help feeling as though something is missing.

"Good evening, all cast and crew. Just letting you all that this is the half-hour call; places in 30 minutes."

It's roughly the same message she hears eight times a week. The stage manager counts down the minutes until curtain rises, she dances her way onto stage and off, repeats the process several times, and bows at the end of the show before ripping the uncomfortable gaudy costume off and removing all traces of kitschy makeup before heading out. Just what am I doing here? She tries to smile at herself in the mirror, but finds nothing but a thin line etched across the bottom of her face. That's a pathetic smile if I've ever seen one.

A girl standing at the station beside her, pulling a gold body piece over her head, tries to strike up a conversation. The girl is sweet, but the topics that she brings into the conversation holds no real merit, and the forlorn girl cannot truly pay attention to her. Instead, her eyes wander to a photograph sitting in the corner of her mirror.

In the picture stands four people, posing in front of what looks like the entrance to an amusement park. There stands the girl, her azure eyes shining happily. Beside her, there is a teenage boy with unruly yellow hair grinning at the camera. He is slightly taller than her, his elbow resting on her shoulder, although she doesn't seem to mind it. On the other side of the blonde boy is another boy with spiky, dark-brown hair, a smirk plastered upon his face and a hand burrowed into his jacket pocket. And on the other side of her, stands a boy nearly a head shorter than the rest of them, with a head full of ragged hair containing multiple hues of purple, yellow and black. He has the brightest smile of anyone she's ever seen, and everything about him screams of purity. One of her hands rests upon his shoulder. And she looks genuinely happy among her best friends.

As she takes in this sight, she can feel the tears begin to well up in her eyes. Remembering her newly applied coat of makeup, she quickly blinks them away, distracted by the giggles of the chorus girls surrounding her.

"This is the 20 minute call, everyone. 20 minutes to places."

She blinks, quite surprised at how fast time is moving. When her eyes lock onto the photograph once more, the words ring out in her head. How fast time is moving…Her mind begins to race, pulling up the last memory she holds of that particular group of friends in the picture…

She is standing outside of her house, the three boys lingering at her doorstep, each bidding her their own individual goodbye. She manages to part from the two taller boys, although barely able to contain her tears, but when the shorter of the trio steps up to hug her, her mask falls to the ground, and the tears begin to rain down from her eyes. She throws herself at him, running her slender fingers through his hair. She feels his body tense, perplexed by her outburst, but he responds by placing his hands on her back, patting her gently. She feels the other two boys join the embrace, each whispering words of luck and encouragement. Part of her wants to stay in this moment forever, to hold onto these cherished friends, but another part is urging her to pull away; urging her to escape and chase down her dreams. She remembers breaking away from them, and watching them step away from her home, moving further and further away from her.

She watches their backs turn, trudging down the street. The tears are streaming more evenly down her face, but she doesn't wipe them away. There is an ache in her heart, screaming at her to call out to them. She wants to yell out, and tell them to stay, but she knows that nothing will ease this weight. Almost as if he can hear her thoughts, the shortest boy stops in his tracks. He turns back to face her, and she gives a short gasp as their gazes meet, violet locking with sapphire.

He is one of her oldest and dearest friends. He will do anything for ever. She knows this, and feels nothing but gratefulness for having him in her life. He has taken her on the greatest adventures, has shown her the most magnificent sights, and has made her feel emotions unlike anything else. He is special in her heart, and every inch of her is crying, begging herself to scream out and tell him this, but her mouth won't cooperate with her mind.

His lips part slightly, as if to say something, and she holds her breath, waiting for words to escape him. To her dismay—dismay that she can't pinpoint the cause of—he closes his mouth. She murmurs his name: "Yuugi"

He limply lifts his hand, waving gently. She responds weakly, wiping a tear away for the first time. He looks at her, and then at the two boys disappearing further streets, their shoulders hunched over. He looks back at her and smiles. His eyes glisten, and there is a flicker in his eyes that gives her hope. Strangely enough, from just one expression, her fear has evaporated. She is no longer afraid of what the next day will bring. She is not afraid to board her plane to America. She knows that no matter where her life takes her, her friends will be with her, if only in her heart. But she will still have them, forever and always.

"Company call, company call to the top of Act I."

She is brought back to reality, snapped out of her memories by the voice over the intercom. She looks around at the flurry of chorus girls flouncing about and preparing themselves for the stage. When they have almost completely disappeared from the room, she takes a quick look back at the prized possession, and smiles, for the first time that day. A warmth feeling stirs about inside of her chest, and she imagines herself reuniting with her friends again, someday soon. She takes a moment to think and looks around her dressing room: Is this what I really want?

"Anzu?"

The same chorus girl from before has popped her head back into the dressing room. Anzu turns to look at her. "Are you alright?"

Anzu smiles, half to herself.

"Yes, I'll be right there."

The girl smiles, and disappears from view. Anzu stands up, pushing her chair back in under her station. She smiles to herself in the mirror, and looks down at the picture once again. Anzu puts two fingers to her lips, and kisses them gently before placing them upon the picture she holds so dear. She can almost hear Yuugi's voice in her head, wishing her luck.

"I'll see you soon. I promise." she murmurs, and she makes her way out of the dressing room and into the wings on stage right.