A/N: More Joey/Mai. This is a short oneshot; a little more vague. Takes place sometime after Oricalcos saga, when Mai can't quite face him yet. This isn't my favorite piece of writing, but still, please tell me what you think! What is with FF's dry spells on reviewing lately...? Are my stories really not that good? Let me know so I can make them better!

Words: 748
Characters: Mai, Joey
Time: After Waking the Dragons saga
Genre: Angst/Romance

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to whoever created Yu-Gi-Oh, not me.

Hands rest quietly on the wrought-iron railing where a lone woman stands, frozen as if caught in a photograph of a windless, deserted evening. Tall and poised, her fingers brush slowly over bumps and scratches in the hard metal. A few yards below her stretches a maze of city streets, outlined by a green strip of parks and hiking trails and dotted with dark, towering trees. One tree sways perilously close to the place where she stands, but she doesn't mind. Her eyes focus on only the distance.

"Hey, Mai! Is that you up there? It is you!"

For a second, she's sure she must have been imagining things. That voice is one she hasn't heard in ages, a voice she has dreamed about, a voice she has tried so hard to forget about. It jumps easily into her mind, shocking her. Yet still she barely moves, a twitch of her lips and eyebrows the only evidence that she hears at all. Perhaps, if she does not betray any emotion, he will believe that he has mistakenly identified her, and move on in only mild embarrassment.

But through the very bottom of her vision, she can see him flying to the base of the cliff upon which she stood. Of course he would not leave.

"Hey, Mai! Come on, talk to me! I know it's you up there. What are you doing? Where've you been? Why haven't you - "

By now her knuckles have turned white, stark against the dark iron. She breathes deeply, carefully, determined not to look at him. She cannot face him, not now; rotten luck brought them together when she had been trying so desperately to avoid him.

Just as the tree branches near her rustle violently in a non-existent breeze, she realizes that she can no longer see him in her peripherals. The tree shakes ever more. He shouts again, his voice louder and a little strained, but her heart pounds so loudly in her ears that she can't make out the words.

But before he can reach the tree's uppermost branches, she runs, sketching a trail of dust behind her that settles quickly. By the time he leaps over the railing, stumbles to his feet, glances around frantically, she is gone.

She closes her eyes and fists her hands as she runs. Twice she almost trips on unseen rocks and bumps in the road, but the sudden lack of control only spurs her on faster. No tears escape from her eyes. She skids to a halt, far from where she started, sure now that he will not be able to find her.

Only now does her breathing slow and her heart calm. Anything to make her relax, to stop her from thinking about the voice she'd just heard, to bury her musings over what could have been. The sun begins to set as she examines her hands absentmindedly, as if inspecting the quality of a new manicure.

But she sees nothing. Her hands seem miles away from her. Glancing back once over her shoulder, she sighs, wondering whether he even tried to follow her.

"Why'd you run, that one time?"

"What?"

"You know, ages ago. I just remembered, walking by here, actually. You were standing up there, and you ran off when I tried to talk to you."

Looking up, she notices that they are indeed right beneath the familiar lookout point, with its bent and rusty iron railing and the stump of a tall tree at its base. Instead of a sunset dimming in the distance, a rising sun glimmers at their backs as they tilt their gaze towards the top of the cliff. Only a year ago she had stood at the top of that ridge and ran, fleeing from him because she had been terrified, ashamed, uncertain.

Now their hands are clasped, fingers tangling smoothly together, hands that are meant to be held. His body is warm next to hers. In an easy movement she closes the distance between them, kissing him coolly on the lips, grateful when his hands move to twine themselves in her hair, or brush over her neck and collar, or rest comfortably around her waist.

She doesn't even attempt to answer his question. Her touch conveys all he needs to know. His face lights up with comprehension and compassion just as her lips twitch into a warm smile.

"Strange, isn't it, that we'd end up here again," she murmurs thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling into his.