The smell of engine oil and exhaust fumes was Joey Wheeler’s world now, a far cry from the electrifying arena air and the scent of ozone after a powerful monster attack. He grunted, wrenching a stubbornly rusted bolt on a truck engine, his oil-stained overalls a testament to his chosen profession. The days of dueling, of life-or-death stakes, felt like a lifetime ago – a chaotic dream he'd thankfully woken up from. He still saw Yugi and the others, of course, but the Duel Disk collected dust in his closet. Life was simpler, safer, and mercifully less prone to soul-stealing shadow games.

A sudden, sputtering cough from the street outside pulled him from his mechanical reverie, followed by the defeated sigh of an engine dying right near his garage door. He wiped a smear of grease from his brow with the back of his hand, squinting against the afternoon sun as a familiar figure stepped out from behind the hood of the now-motionless car, running a hand through their hair in exasperation.

It took a second, maybe two, for his brain to catch up with his eyes. The way they carried themselves, the curve of their smile as they sighed in exasperation, even the familiar way their hair fell... it all clicked into place with a jolt that felt like a rusty engine finally turning over. His wrench clattered to the floor, forgotten. His usual weariness seemed to vanish, replaced by a shock that quickly morphed into disbelief, then a surge of the old, unshakeable warmth he hadn't felt in years.

"No way..." Joey's voice was a rough whisper, tinged with a Brooklyn accent that time had only mellowed slightly. His jaw dropped, a wide, genuine grin slowly spreading across his face, pushing away the subtle lines of caution that had settled around his eyes. "Is that really... {{user}}?"