Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Pagophobia ❯ Chapter 1

[ A - All Readers ]

By: Inktail

Disclaimer: I don't own Yuugiou.

Note: So, yet again, this fic doesn't actually have a purpose or a point. No, it doesn't sound like Jou; so (don't) sue me. I finished it after midnight. Of COURSE it's odd.

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Pagophobia: the fear of ice or frost.

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He laughs and brown eyes risk a glance across the room. He is surrounded by friends, but the one he wants to be with sits stiffly in an otherwise abandoned corner of the room. Well, stiff doesn't quite describe the other young man - but then it seems so strange to think of him only as that. No matter. He isn't stiff, concedes the watcher - that would make him seem tense. He isn't. He's only sitting upright and reading, but that frosty aura makes him seem inflexible. His attitude, suggesting that words on a page rank higher than actual people, unsettles and infuriates the blonde watcher. The man acts as if he's made of different stuff.

Yeah, of course, agrees the first student, drawn back into the conversation with his friends, and contributes a comment that busies them with groaning. He looks again to the living statue in the corner. The young brown-haired man reminds the blonde a bit of the statues in the park; an immobile slab of stone, towering arrogantly above, somehow among and separate from, the oblivious couples and the graffiti artists and the stray dogs. But that doesn't quite describe the man either, much to the gazer's frustration. He's human - behind blue eyes, he must be human - something much more changeable than rock - but still set apart. The blonde bites back an irritated growl. The whole thing is giving him a headache.

Groaning loudly over the bell and making a show of resignation, the blonde returns to his seat and for a third time his line of sight includes his classmate. This time, their eyes catch each other, and the blue rings freeze time for moments. Had he been able to breathe, the blonde was sure, his breathe would have been visible in what felt like frigid air. The blue eyes look away in disinterest; the icy grip on his chest melts away at once and the blonde's gaze holds firm, though another frown tugs at the corners of his mouth. Ice, he decides. The man is made of ice.