Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Stolen Breath ❯ Prologue: Those Eyes ( Prologue )

(Author's Notes: This is the story of someone who must find himself before he can find his true love. And if he cannot, both of them are doomed, though their plight has not been made aware to them yet. This is from a mystery person's POV during the first chapter- well, all of the chapters, but you all are smart, you'll probably figure out who this person is, and who he's watching. Well, I tell you who he's watching at the end of the chapter- don't cheat! Sorry it's short. The first chapter will be longer. I promise. This was just the prologue.

Disclaimers: All of these characters, unless stated otherwise, belong to Toriyama, creator of DBZ. I will only repeat this in this author's note. Thanks.

A warning, which I will type in uppercase letters so you cannot say you weren't forewarned, or missed it.

WARNING. THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC YAOI. YAOI IS MALE/MALE SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS. LONG AND SHORT, THERE WILL BE GAY GUYS
KISSING IN THIS STORY. AND MAYBE MORE, DEPENDING ON THE WAY THE
STORY GOES. AKA, THERE MAY BE SEX IN THIS STORY, GUY/GUY.

IF YOU DO NOT ENJOY READING YAOI STORIES, OR IT IS AGAINST YOUR
RELIGION, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY. THANK YOU FOR LISTENING. REMEMBER: YAOI IS MALE/MALE SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS.

Also, if there is a signal that says, oh, let's say:
)) GOKU ((
that means that it has changed to Goku's POV. Understood? When it does:
)) ... ((
it has changed back to the "mystery man". Okie dokie. Any confusion over that, just tell me in your review and I'll try to explain it. Thanks.

Good bye, and please enjoy. Thank you.)


Stolen Breath

Prologue: Those Eyes

Those eyes... They're so much more different than my own. His are filled with innocence, purity, hope, faith, love ... while mine are filled with my arrogance, my hatred, my sin, my foolishness, my impurity...

They are filled with shadows of the past.

Within the depths of my eyes are the shadows of my downfall.

But His eyes. Those blue, blue eyes, so shining, so clear, so pure. I know my own eyes are the same color, but His hold a spark within them, a smoldering, azure fire ready to ignite for true, heroic reasons.

Even as my mind is filled with thoughts of those iridescent orbs, I sigh, knowing I can never look into those eyes directly, without flinching. If those eyes should ever catch mine, I oddly feel that He would be able to peer into my very soul. And if He saw within my heart, He would loathe me.

And I would die.

So I hide in the shadows, so much like the darkness that lurks in my eyes, mind, and core. I keep out of sight, and out of mind of those who would befriend me.

Those who might even care for me someday.

My thoughts are interrupted as the owner of those breath-stealing eyes exits His school. West City High School, to be precise. I melt into the shadows of the building across from the house of learning, hoping He didn't spot me.

He didn't.

I watch Him as He consorts with His companions, both of whom I recognize from the past.

Why must He always be with the ones who help fuel my pain?

The girl who I should have been as close as an older brother to.
The boy whose family saved my life time and time again.

I shake my head, trying to push away the memories that try to rise to my eyelids, which I have closed almost unconsciously. But I cannot help but open them to see what He is doing.

At the moment my eyelids flutter open, He throws back His head in laughter, the lavender strands of His mane rising briefly off His forehead.

Such a perfect picture of happiness.

I store the picture away into my memory, to cherish when I am alone.

As I often am. Even my close companion has at last left, off to seek a monastery another of our past told him of. How long as it been since my last friend vanished? Seven years? Curse them both.

Curse them all.

Even as I long for the past to be different, I watch as He climbs into an expensive-looking car and speeds off, his two friends barely managing to jump into the backseats before He tears out of the parking lot. I can hear their angry yells even as they disappear around the curve. Out of my view.

My smile of amusement fading, I turn and walk away from the school, uncaring of those who might see me. Contrary to that some who might find out of my watching might call me a stalker; I do not fit that definition.

A stalker is someone who tracks prey or quarry. He is not my prey, nor quarry. I could never hunt Him. Or hurt Him either.

Which is why I watch. If anyone should try to harm any of His friends, I will protect them.

For Him.

The one I love.

Trunks.