Disclaimer: A lot can happen in a day and some. A lot probably has happened. Dustbunny owning YGO! isn't one of those things
Relationship: KaibaJounouchiMai
POV: Third person perspective
Warning(s): Implied shounen ai. This was meant to be a quasi-confusing read, something that forces you to pay attention. Trust me: pay attention. Um, the romance and angst are both more suggested than actually… there. It probably falls more into the general genre…
A/N: Requested by and dedicated to Lines. (Please believe me, Lines, when I insist that's not an insult n.n')
A/N: This has no specific time set for it. It's meant to take place during a tournament they all happen to be in, but not necessarily one from the canon timeline. Use your imagination
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He peers at him through his long blonde bangs, not completely sure why he's looking. He's not glaring at the brunette and they aren't fighting. So why is he looking over at him?
It can't be for the reason it seems to be. He can't be slowly tracing his profile, admiring it. He can't be lingering on the firm shape of his jaw. He can't be blushing and wanting a closer look.
Without warning, ice-cold blue eyes- are they navy? What a weird color for eyes- are turned upon his honey browns. The look is fierce and seems to ask, "What do you want?"
Nothing. He wants absolutely nothing. Sweat begins to trickle down his brow. He doesn't want a thing- except maybe something else to focus on, something to take his mind off the recent intrusive thoughts.
There it is.
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He can feel the eyes on him. He knows exactly where the gaze is coming from. It isn't a glare, but still so intense. It makes the hair on his arms stand up, despite the heat within his thick sleeves.
Yet the feeling isn't unpleasant. Oh, no, it's far from unpleasant. But somehow the farther it is from unpleasant, the closer it gets to that very same line. So he should want it to stop- but he doesn't. Wait, or does he? It doesn't make sense, but he does and he doesn't.
The matter has become one of survival, now. He's always been a survivor. His steely gaze goes at once to the source of his discomfort. Through a shock of shaggy blonde bangs, his message is transmitted flawlessly: "What do you want?"
The brown eyes are surprised- and maybe guilty? Rather than harden, though, they look away. Sweat appears slowly on the handsomely shaped face. Pleased- and yet, not- he continues to glare as the blonde boy finds something else to catch his attention.
He should be glad, he knows, to have dispersed the pesky stare, but why is he bothered on what is settled on next?
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He's staring at her and it's plain to see why. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn't. But his staring is different. There's far more too it; far more, for sure, than the first time he looked. His eyes outline her, appreciate her shape- this much is true.
But there's more there and he sees it, lets himself get lost in it. This time it's okay because the feeling is familiar. This time is okay because he's not the only one, and nobody will question him if they see.
Then she turns too him with those beautiful amethyst eyes. One delicate, expressive eyebrow quirks. One corner of her luscious red-lipped mouth curves up in a slow, careful smirk. She looks at him as if to say, "May I help you?"
It would have been okay if someone else had seen- but not her. She wasn't supposed to catch him as he stared. He would hear about this later on, and forever as long as they knew each other.
Quickly, too quickly, he averts his gaze. Geeze, you can't look anywhere these days.
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She's used to the looks, of course. She's been getting them too long not to be. So she should be able to ignore the feeling of someone watching her. She's done it before; it isn't that hard. But there's something about the gaze upon her that makes her want to turn around.
Yes, she wants to find the source of this feeling. It's almost warm but seems to nip at her. It's almost a comfort but a little bit off. Why? What's causing it? She has to find out.
She doesn't have to look far. Her sharp eyes quickly lock with those the soft color of graham cracker crust. Startled, he blinks, breaking his gaze. She can't help the expression she puts on in response. One eyebrow and one corner of the mouth quirked, she gives him a look that asks, "May I help you?" Apparently not; he looks away.
She would just have to tease him later- after she got over the look of a dramatic hero gazing upon his true love.
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Now he's looking at her, trying to see what the other boy saw. There must be more there than what meets his blue eyes. There has to be something more than dips and curves to hold the gaze that was cast upon her.
Maybe it's something he simply can't see. But if he can't see it, how could that dog? No, he's over-looking something; he's over-thinking something. The answer is surely right there in the open. He partly lids his eyes and breathes out and looks at her again though not quite as hard.
Strength and courage and deep passion. It's radiating in glorious waves. How could he miss it before? It was right there, waiting to be seen, begging to be seen. It's almost an audible cry for acknowledgement.
She turns, and she sees him and she looks so surprised. Why should she be? He can look where he pleases. But, for some reason, he still looks away.
She's not the only blonde he can watch.
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Someone is looking at her again. Not the same someone, but another someone with a stare that can't be ignored. Her hair stands up on her neck; it feels like she's being appraised.
But ever so slowly- she can tell when it happens- the gaze seems to change and to soften. It's found what it's looking for and is ready to rest. But who is it? She has to know.
Turning, ever so slightly, she lets her eyes sweep the area. They find the target quickly- cool dark blue eyes. Him? He was staring? In the open? She's shocked. He seems unfazed, but turns away all the same.
It isn't lost on her how his eyes had to re-freeze.
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He's looking at him, not fully sure why. Perhaps to try to determine what the earlier stare was about? Of course, what else? It wasn't as if he was appreciating the view. He didn't care about the firm, strong jaw line. Never mind the well-built body. There is no disappointment that the lively brown eyes are cast away, out of view.
Is the floor really that interesting? Of course, every other place he looks ends up with some factor of discomfort. Feh, it serves him right. That's just what you get for staring at people (never mind that now it's him staring).
The other boy shifts and his head comes up slightly. From their golden security, his brown eyes search curiously. Cold blue pools divert- too late? Yes, he can see the puzzled frown through his peripheral vision. He was caught.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Wait, why is he stupid? He got caught doing what? It's not a big deal. There's no law on where you can look, on who you can look at. But why was he looking at him anyway? It doesn't matter; no, it doesn't matter. It was just a casual glance, nothing more; it didn't mean anything. The one drop of sweat on his otherwise cool, calm face is nothing, means nothing.
Still, though, he keeps his eyes locked in the other direction.
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Gaze stuck to the floor, he can feel the cool scrutiny. Was this what it was like for those he had looked at? No, it couldn't have been. There's no way his glances- especially not the first- felt like this one. It's almost as if someone is studying him- but why? It makes him somewhat uncomfortable.
Shifting slightly, he looks out through the curtain of his bangs. You almost couldn't tell he's looking around unless you're paying attention. That's what he's looking for- someone who's paying attention. That someone is the one sending goose bumps all along his arms. Not a bad thing, really, but… odd.
There- it's him. He looks away quickly, but not quickly enough. Oh, no, he's caught. Mister You-aren't-worthy-of-looking-at-me has been caught. He's got him now.
Wait, he's got him? What did he catch him doing? Looking his way? Staring? It's not like it's illegal. But why did he look away like that? It isn't like him. The brunette should still be looking, challenging the blonde to make him do otherwise. What's up with that? And… is that a bead of sweat?
A small shiver goes down his spine, unbidden.
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She doesn't know why she's still looking at him. It began as a glance to see if she could catch him at anything else. It was just a glance, to decide whether it would be a good idea to ask him about the brunette watching her. But she didn't approach him when she saw it was clear.
No, she's just been watching him. He was looking at the ground and she almost felt bad. He was no doubt facing down because she had given him that look when he faced her. Who knew he was so sensitive? It was just one tiny little smirk.
His head comes up and she thinks she's been found out. But, no, he's looking in another direction entirely. Following his line of vision, she sees the same uncharacteristic retreat of blue eyes. What on Earth?
She can't help but stare. What, does he have some obsession with blondes?
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Sudden, sharp; that was the gaze on him. It just snapped out of nowhere. He has to suppress a shudder at it.
Ever so slowly, it slips away from him. Not too long later, he feels it again.
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He isn't sure why he thinks so, but he's sure that someone else had been watching him. Perhaps to confirm the suspicion, it comes back. He stiffs some- it isn't him watching this time. But then who?
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Back and forth and back; blonde to brunette and back to the blonde. Each time her eyes linger just longer than necessary as she studies them carefully, curiously. There's an itch in the back of her mind she plans to scratch away.
She sees them shift; she sees them stiffen; somehow she misses what these actions foreshadow.
Brunette to blonde and back to brunette…
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Being the calculating person he is, he mentally pinpoints where these strange looks are coming from. The next time he'll be ready to catch the culprit red-handed.
There! With reaction timing almost unmatchable, he shoots his own look in the proper direction and latches on to startled purple eyes. He's not certain but it appears that she's flushing slightly. If he didn't know better, he'd think she looked guilty- but that wouldn't fit her character.
At once she turns away as if to deny what he knows that she did. He sees her blink in surprise at something and it seems as if her almost-blush is darkening. Checking in that direction, he sees what she sees.
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He's pretty sure he knows where it's coming from. Next time he'll be ready. Shifting a bit, he cases the place with one eye. Whoever that is isn't watching him now. But if the pattern sticks, they will be any moment.
As his eyes wander, they suddenly catch a surprised gaze. Is she blushing? It looks like she is. But why? Was it her? As they gaze at each other, he becomes certain her was.
His brow furrows a little at her expression. It furrows further when her eyes dart away and then back, as if she's been caught in a trap.
When it happens again, he follows her glance.
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Why is she so flustered as she looks at the other blonde? Is it because he had been looking at her earlier? It's possible; she just got caught staring and now she's looking into the eyes of someone who had watched her. It makes sense.
Her eyes dart back to him for a moment and quickly look back. It's almost as if she's trying to find a way to escape.
Turning to see how the blonde boy is reacting, he's mildly taken aback when his navy blue eyes meet honey graham for the third time.
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Why was she glancing back at him? Was that why the looks had come and gone? But why between the two of them? He's confused and it frustrates him.
More frustrating, perhaps, is that way his chest clenches when his eyes meet those of deep blue. It's not like it's the first time this has happened. Further frustration: the thought makes his skin warm uncomfortably.
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Three sets of eyes dart between one another: navy to amethyst, amethyst to honey graham, honey graham back to navy.
What does it mean?
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It doesn't mean anything. It's no different than if nothing has been happening- it may as well not have been.
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There's nothing wrong with looking at someone. There's nothing wrong with them looking back. There's no reason they should be acting like thieves caught with a missing museum piece.
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What's going on? No more than a few seconds have passed but it seems like much longer. Was he sweating? Gah, this is annoying!
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It means nothing. The three break away. All them have things to do, thing with actual meaning. Slowly yet somehow almost too quickly they turn completely and start to leave the area.
One walks away to find a bite (or two or three…) to eat; one walks away to get some work done; one walks away to find a mirror to check her make-up; all three walk away from each other.
There is no regret, they decide- it was nothing.
There is no denial, they decide- it was nothing.
"Nothing" doesn't have to be regretted.
"Nothing" doesn't have to be denied.
It was absolutely nothing.
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Dustbunny: Urm… #cough#
Jou/Kaiba/Mai: …
Marshmallow: On the off chance that your brain hasn't been turned to mush, please review