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The stairs tripped her up only a little, her foot missing the last step, but Mai embraced the error, turning a stumble into a chassé that sent her careening across the deck. She wanted to laugh out loud at her own foolishness. She did. Her voice was sweet in her throat. Last day of the DuelFest Carnival Cruise, and her heart was soaring, as much as a heart could soar, drunk on days of sunshine and days of games, on grapefruit spritzers and chlorine and narrow margins of victory. What more could she ask of tonight, this night when she has dueled for the joy of dueling; when she has danced with beautiful strangers, girls with feathers in their hair and boys with gemstones on their cheeks? When the sea air was warm on her skin and the deck cool under her feet, when the ocean swayed and Jounouchi—she stopped, blinking, her heels dangling from her fingers—
And Jounouchi Katsuya lounged against the railing.
Oh, how a heart could swell. “Look who it is,” she called, ambling toward him. “The man of the hour. The cat’s meow. The king of games.”
“Don’t let Yuugi hear you say that,” he said. He didn’t move, except to turn his head to look at her, but he was pleased at the praise; she could hear it, that pride, surging out into the dark. “You don’t get that title from winning one tourney.”
“My blue-ribbon boy,” she said fondly, and he laughed. “How’s life on top of the world?”
“You know…it’s good.” He was looking toward the sparkling horizon, the place where the stars met the water. The string lights glowed above his head, gave his skin the shine of brushed metal. He was turning something over in his hands—a trading card. She recognized it from the prize ceremony. Jewel of the Sea, a commemorative card awarded only during tournaments held on Carnival cruise lines. As a magic card it was useless—a gimmicky insta-win effect illegal under most rulesets—but the holofoil and the splash art made it a nice display piece. (She had a 1998 edition herself.)
She’d seen Jounouchi’s eyes when the captain had handed it over. Overwhelmed: a kid handed a puppy, told here she is. All for you.
He was less of a kid now, uncharacteristically silent as she joined him at the railing. It made her worry. She’d expected his standard sparkling energy, an ambition so frenetic it often resembled panic. Instead—
The waves broke against the hull.
“How’s the party?” he asked.
“Delightful. Why aren’t you there?”
“Past my bedtime. Why aren’t you?”
“Broke a heel,” she said, gesturing to her handful of stiletto straps. “Screw the bedtime. You’re young. The célébrité du jour. You should be partying.”
“Ehh…life is a party.” He saw her expression and shrugged, the light sliding off him like so much gold. “I’m good. Just…y’know. Thinking.”
“What good is thinking on a night like tonight?” she asked, and he laughed again, but she could see it, something blossoming: fizzling thoughts, tiny bubbles at the bottom of a champagne glass. If she kept being flippant, giving him cute quips, he would be flattened.
So she said nothing more. She pressed her elbows against the rail, the salt wind in her hair, and tilted her neck up to the butterspread of stars. She could do this. Smile, breathe it all in: wait for those precious thoughts to rise.
Everything surfaces, in time.
And then his voice came — quietly, as he leaned into her, his shoulder warm against hers— “…this all started on a boat like this. You remember?”
She remembered. He was a child then—they had all been children—and she’d been so alone, still grasping at pretty things and crystal castles like they could keep her from withering—and she’d seen those children, so young and dumb and in love with the idea of themselves and with each other, all of them shining so much more brightly than any of her glassy playthings and they’d—oh, how she loved them, they’d allowed her to reach for them, too, and they’d even reached back, those wonderful kids (who aren’t kids anymore, who will never be kids again) and everything—
Yes, everything had changed.
“This boat’s a little nicer,” she murmured, and he swayed a little, nudging her, saying nothing. Saying everything. She tried again: “Look at us now.”
“Yeah,” he repeated. Smile spreading. “Look at us now.”
He flipped the card in his hands. The string lights, caught on the foil, danced. Above their heads, something whistled: a firework, spiraling toward the stars. They both looked up in time to watch it burst, red and yellow sparks raining.
More whistles, more detonations. More flowers, blooming in the sky.
“Huh,” Jounouchi said. “Didn’t know they were doing fireworks.”
“Last night of the Fest,” she murmured happily, taking the opportunity to curl her arm through his. “Not too late to join the crowd,” she said. “I bet they’d parade you around on their shoulders.”
“Yeah,” he said, making no attempt to move. “Maybe.”
“King Jounouchi.”
“Mai,” he said, and she stopped. Unwound her arm. He caught it before she pulled away, held her, the two of them frozen as another burst of fireworks scattered, raining silver sparks over their heads.
“I couldn’t’a done it without you,” he said.
Kids. Kids who weren’t kids.
“C’mon,” she said. The wind was so warm. “Hon. You did this yourself.”
“Nobody wins on their own.“
“All right, yes,” she said. “It’s a group effort, friendship, hurrah, but you did this. You made it, so celebrate. You’re here and that’s all—“
His finger pressed against her lips.
She said nothing. How could she? Silent, he bent close, their brows nearly touching, and tucked Jewel of the Sea into the strap of her dress, where it laid flat against her collar, and his fingers were warm, they were clumsy, and his teeth snagged on his lower lip as he smiled at her, conspiratorial, as if they now shared a secret.
“Once you gave me a card,” he said. “Remember?”
“Katsuya—“ but what was there to say? She could see it in his eyes; there was no going back. Her fingers rose, felt the card shivering against her skin.
“I earned it,” he said. “That’s why I’m gonna give it to you.”
A memory, crashing down: the day after she’d cashed her first real paycheck, Mai had bought roses. Had them sent to the old housekeeper of her childhood home, a woman who sometimes snuck her milk tea and shortbread cookies, back in the days when nobody loved her.
Yes, she understood need. Understood how, when need became want, obligation became freedom. Understood the choice to give something away, because you couldn’t do it before.
“Look at you now,” she said, and saw it surface, that gap-toothed smile, that childlike enthusiasm. He raised his arms to the sky, his t-shirt clinging to his body, the lights bursting, every color reflected in his face as he threw his head back to howl into the kaleidoscopic night.
Where else was there to go? She could not picture a better future than this: could not see past the brilliance of the fizzling rockets, the whistling air, the soft wind and the warmth of the card against her skin. Herself and Jounouchi Katsuya, together, sunkissed and god-blessed and on top of the world, flying in this blue dream of the Caribbean. How much further could they go, now that they were here?
She wanted to stay, to ask him, but already he was dancing toward the fireworks, the light red on his upturned face.
Could she do anything but follow?