Hey, everyone! I present to you the second YGO fic I've... posted. My first was called Crimson Candles, written under the pseudonym Ramen Girl (which I'm sure no one remembers). Y'know, this brings back memories. YGO was the first fandom I started with. (Although I'd have to say, my escapades were less-than-talented. I'm not even so sure that three years has made a difference, but whatever.) I guess the only thing I can say is, read and enjoy (hopefully). Here's keeping my fingers crossed and my disclaimer...

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!

Thinking of Him

by Princess Miyazawa

O.O.O.O.O

There was something good to be said about being in a relationship with a powerful, extremely rich mogul.

Mai Kujaku couldn't find anything to say.

But that was a perfectly-placed lie, as impeccable as the woman's fresh manicure. Or maybe not, she sighed inwardly with a smirk as she witnessed a tiny crescent-shaped chip marring the white arc tipping one long nail. The blonde selected a bottle of nail polish--Wedding White, the bottle boasted-- and some nail polish remover and cotton balls. She'd have to do her handiwork all over again.

The woman turned cat-like violet eyes to the program blaring from the plasma screen. She'd muted the show, which was a news brief. Mai surmised she wouldn't be able to see him today. Sometimes she would see him being hounded by some over-eager journalist or reporter in an interview, but that wasn't often. Kaiba wasn't one to slide willingly into the limelight, and even when he was dragged unceremoniously in, an icy glare and a harsh word held most busybodies at bay.

At the moment, Kaiba had left his girlfriend for some business trip to wherever--Mai wasn't in tune with his occupational dealings. In fact, she wasn't connected with him at all. When she woke up, went through her beauty regimen, and glided into the kitchen, the customary note was adhered to the fridge. Just reminders, common sense that he must've not expected her to remember, even though he wrote the commands every day. Lock the door when you go out, don't leave the lights on too long, clean up the blonde strands in the sink that Mai would leave on purpose, in the hopes that he'd berate her, give her a stern word, something.

But Mai was tired of waiting for something. She was tired of being locked up in this penthouse like a cat. Yes, she could go wherever she wanted; being in a relationship certainly did not change things. She was independent, she had rights, and she could do whatever she wanted. But she was feeling... something she couldn't place.

There was a genuine lack of something in this relationship.

There used to be a time when they loved each other and showed it often, but the happy memories were misty in her mind. It was as if those times hadn't even existed, as if she'd daydreamed the kisses, the hesitant smiles, sprinting with laughter flowing from their stomachs from the paparazzi.

They once had a fiery something. Now they had something cold.

With a sigh, she unscrewed the thin cap of a different shade--First Love--and began working on her toes. Maybe Mai would call him, maybe she wouldn't. All she knew was that she was tired of hearing his voice through the T.V., through a cell phone, anywhere but real life. She could call him and demand that he buy her something, some sort of souvenir.

Where had her fire gone? Where had her bossiness and strength fled off to? Were those traits off on a business trip? Would they fly back to her? Would they remember the witty blonde who stood tall and never just withstood any hardship, but took control of it?

She hated her weakness as she greedily snatched up the phone and punched in the numbers for his cell.

But she needed to confirm the fact that she existed, to both him and herself.

She was thinking of him and wanted the confirmation that he was thinking of her too.