Hey! Here's the promised Ikari oneshot! Actually, it's now a THREE-SHOT. I changed my mind, teehee! But if you don't like it, I'll simply delete it and won't continue :(.

I haven't uploaded anything in a while, but that's because of all the assignments and assessments I've been getting... My fault for taking all three sciences, I suppose.

I will try and upload Oath soon! Quick thing about Oath though- I've got a slightly new idea regarding this, so I will be changing quite a few chapters.

Warning: IT SUCKS. Some things simply make no sense and it might be a little long. And I own nothing. This is not meant to be plot-heavy, it's kinda fluffy, and yeaaahhhh. T for language. Some very OOC characters. Yuuup.

This will be my first time writing a whole story in 3rd Person! I'm normally a person who likes to write in first person, but it's good to be able to write in all point of views, I think. So, I'm sorry if I mess up...

Please Review, guys!

Edit: 10th October 2017- Just some minor changes.

Edit: 10th December 2017- Just some HUGE, MASSIVE CHANGES, HAHAHA.

Together, wouldn't we be like snow? You're cold, like snow, and I'm beautiful, like... well, snow.

One thought that constantly replayed in Dawn's mind was how oddly bitter the snow tasted that day. And in the midst of her perplexity, she just couldn't abandon the thought that it was his bitter persona that infected the innocent snow.

Oh, the poor, innocent snow.

Under ordinary circumstances, Dawn Berlitz would refrain from passing judgement on others, but Paul Shinji was her exception. In his possession was social etiquette so awful that Dawn couldn't help but nurture conflicted feelings towards the male. Any conversations, let alone decent ones, with him were scarce, but Dawn had to admit that on the off-chance they ever engaged in one, time simply flew; in a mere two seconds, or perhaps three seconds, the conversation declined to a slience, with the slouching enigma, hands resigned to pockets, disappearing beyond the horizon.

Rude, cold and eternally brooding, Dawn's neutral view was stained ever so slightly with disdain.

But in Paul's defence, Dawn wasn't the epitome of perfection either; with impulse her instinct and rashness her plan B, she was so spontaneous that nothing around her mattered, and she was too proud for everything to never go her way. She was all the trouble he would prefer to avoid, and hence every spur of the moment conversation she'd initiate, he'd keep ephemeral.

It was a relationship quantified by mutual indifference tinted by distaste.

But on starlit nights, where in silence they'd listen to the ebbing chatter between their respective guardians (her mother, his brother), Dawn often contemplated the status of their relationship the moment his eyes, moulded from sharp onyx edges and granite and flint imperfections, met hers.

From the very first glance back in nursery, Dawn was intrigued. From when she discovered he was her new neighbour at four years old to when her mother started frequenting their house more often after Paul's parents passed away, Dawn had always been intrigued. Visit after visit, the feeling evolved to addiction.

Something sparked between them when their eyes met, like his sharp edges struck against her heartstrings and set her body aflame, because she could never look away from that painfully alluring onyx hue.

Some part of her, the fairytale-loving child, whispered to her, "A connection."

And most of her, too proud to believe in childish things, didn't believe it.

(Except, with each encounter, she twisted and turned the words around in her head, considered the possibility for a little longer each time, and now almost all of her entertained the thought—

that maybe, they did have a connection.)

When it was just him, her, and the harsh snow, Dawn had wondered exactly what sin she had committed for her to suffer from such ill fate.

There were two major problems with being there at that exact moment. First problem: it was snowing (as previously mentioned), and it was heavy. This was a problem because Dawn had forgotten her beloved pink trench in the midst of all her desperation as she sprinted out her house, chanting rather ominously while she pleaded to Arceus that she'd make it on time for the bus (which, much to her dismay, she had missed). But, back to the problem; it was snowing heavily, Dawn had forgotten her trench and because she had forgotten her trench, she was freezing half to death as the oh so cold snow drove down in a slanted blur.

Second problem: Paul. Literally nobody else in that otherwise isolated bus stop. Nope, just Paul. Normally, she would try and initiate a fruitless conversation, but on such a bad day, where his social conduct was that of a recluse or perhaps worse, Paul's face was probably the last face she had wanted to see.

Dawn heaved out a breath, observing the wisps of translucent white disappear into the air. Her lip quivered at the touch of winter's breath, the natural pink of her chapped lips tinged with a purple hue. Her tongue darted around the corners of her mouth, adding moisture to the peeling skin. Dawn winced as her saliva evaporated in between the cracks of her lip, inducing a sting.

Stupid, stupid winter.

"You look cold."

Dawn eyed the boy warily as she rubbed her hands together, hoping the warmth generated from the friction would ease the snow's bite. He talked.

He talked. Dawn's eyes widened.

This was a new occurrence. Paul never, as far as she could remember, started a conversation with her, or anybody for that matter. Perhaps guilt chewed away at his conscience as he watched a poor, innocent girl tremble in the cold?

After a few minutes passed by, she turned to him again. "You aren't going to offer me your jacket?"

Paul scoffed, before replying in that alluringly harsh voice of his, "Hell no."

She blinked slowly, and turned to face the front again, watching as her disappointment dissipated in translucent clouds.

"Why am I not surprised?" she muttered. "Kind acts have always been above your ego."

"Whatever, Troublesome."

"Do not call me that." She glared into his eyes, and cursed as his onyx eyes lulled her fury into silence. This was ridiculous. How could the glower of a being the antithesis of herself subdue her with such little effort?

(A connection.)

A screech; the sound of tyres skidding on the road as they came to a halt.

"You know what?" she said in triumph, a grateful smile gracing her lips as she found herself in the presence of the school bus. "I don't need your jacket anyways."

But alas, her words fell upon deaf ears.

Paul entered first, receiving his ticket and flipping his phone out as he settled on a seat by the front. Dawn did the same, plopping down on a free seat beside him. He eyed her, but didn't ask why. She eyed him, but didn't justify why.

Her fists balled up on her knees (still too cold) and his fingers tapping at his phone, the engine sighed black clouds into the winter air as the bus began to move.

It was all silence and stillness, as if they were polaroid pictures or still life paintings, until Dawn, tired of the nothing his presence offered, pinched the phone away from Paul's hands.

"I've changed my mind," she muttered softly, a hint of persistence evident in her tone. "I want your jacket; I'm still cold."

"Give me my phone, Troublesome," Paul growled, his hand extended as he awaited the return of his mobile.

"Dawn," she corrected, refraining a hiss. "It's Dawn." She agitated a coil of perfectly curled, navy hair, waving the phone lightly in her other hand. "And I'll return it once you lend me your jacket. In the meantime..." Dawn abruptly stopped talking, tapping away at Paul's phone.

"What are you—?"

"Adding my number."

His face crumpled, and he quickly snatched his phone away from her hands. "Why?"

"Why not?" Dawn countered.

Paul groaned in exasperation, his fingers pressing against his forehead. "I made a mistake talking to you."

"You made a mistake when you didn't lend me your jacket," Dawn retorted, snatching the phone right out of his grip once more.

Even though he never did give her his jacket in the end (one lost battle), she did manage to add her number to his phone, and he never deleted it (at least, not at that moment).

She was content with that alone.

Perhaps bitter snow was not quite as bad as Dawn initially thought it to be.

This part was very short. Hope you enjoyed it! Leave a review and tell me if you like it so far! If you do, I'll continue it and finish it as quickly as I can! If you notice any inconsistencies and such, please tell me and I'll try to resolve them! After editing everything, I didn't have the time to reread it all, so there might be some glaring mistakes I missed.

Anywho! Adieu!

X's and O's,

Liberty!