DISCLAMER I doooooo not own! HFJAHDUGIHA;L!!!
WARNINGS NONE! ZOMG!
AUTHOR NOTES Ah, Seto. I wuff j00!
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stone
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He can feel things breaking, but he doesn't care, because he is still stone. Besides, the tinkle of broken glass is kind of musical, and he tries to pace his steps to the sound of his failure. He doesn't think anyone else can hear it, but in his ears it is loud even over the chatter on the side walks and the traffic in the streets.
His nose is itching. He wonders if his mask is peeling, but he remembers he doesn't wear one. This is his face. He must not, can not, does not want to move it, because then they will take advantage of him, they will pounce on him like vultures to a kill, and everything will be ruined.
If he were to smile, things would spill and the spell would break. He wants to keep pretending it's alright, he's alright. Nothing puts a gleam in his eyes, and he makes believe he never was a child and he never learned how to feel. Because he likes it that way.
"If you keep making that face, it'll freeze like that!"
'Thank God,' Seto thinks, and keeps walking past the mother and the little girl with pink ribbons in her hair, ice cream on her shoe, and a grimace on her face.