His presence, an anomaly that had seemed so odd at first, soon became something to which I was accustomed. I'll admit, I hadn't thought his appearances at the library would be half so consistent as they were, but after a handful of weeks, it was simply expected he'd be there every Friday without fail. We never spoke beyond my one-sided greetings, but I would have missed him if he didn't come. In a way, our silence was as interwoven into my new routine as his consistent company. He was there, neither of us said a word, and that was that.

Then, a couple of months after he first showed up, our tentative understanding underwent an almost imperceptible change.

The day started out normally enough. As always, I evaded the support group building, found my way into the library, and selected my usual seat. He wasn't there yet, but that wasn't unusual. His timing wasn't exact by any means. He would come eventually. Of that, I was sure.

Satisfied with this conclusion, I took off my bag and began to search for my things. I was still in the process of doing so when I heard familiar footsteps, his walk as confident and distinctive as it had been the first day he showed up.

As he approached, I raised my head to offer a greeting, then stopped when I recognized that he was already speaking. Not to me, I realized, but- talking on a phone?

"I want my name off the roster, Roland." A pause. "I don't care. Von Schroeder's hosting, and I refuse to have anything to do with the bastard. I'm not going to compete. There'll be other opportunities. Better opportunities." More talking on the other end, and then he said, in a voice that left no room for argument, "After the last incident? Yes, I am willing."

With that, he shut his phone with a resounding clack. His footsteps were unusually brisk as he strode over to our table, and his breathing was annoyed and uneven. I said nothing, frozen in place as I came to terms with the fact that I'd not only just heard him speak for the first time, but had also caught a brief glimpse of his life outside the library.

Unfortunately, with this glimpse came an endless flood of questions.

What roster was he talking about? Who was Roland? Who was von Schroeder and why didn't this man like him? Compete in what? What kind of opportunities, and what did he mean by 'the last incident'?

It wasn't only the content of the call that caught my attention. The man's voice, so different than the grunts and mumbles he'd provided previously, was very, very distinctive. Low and hoarse and- I blushed when I thought it- somewhat attractive. It was also powerful. His every word left no room for argument, which was weird because the more the spoke, the more certain I became that he was younger than I'd originally thought. Not because he used slang or anything- honestly, he talked like a middle-aged businessman- but because something in his tone reminded me of Joey or Tristan; there was a kind of boyish quality that hadn't faded all the way.

I wanted to pry. To demand he tell me his age and what the phone call had been about, and, while he was at it, why he came to the library to do office work every week. Of course, I can hardly talk to strangers without tripping over my words, and I really wasn't the type to demand things of people I didn't know. Still... a little part of me wanted him to expand on what little I'd gleaned from that call, to take some of the mystery out of who he was.

Despite my curiosity, I refrained from launching an interrogation. I felt as if digging for information would break some unknown pact between us. I wouldn't have wanted him to start asking me inane personal questions, so I vowed to extend the same courtesy to him.

I couldn't help but say something though. It seemed appropriate. After hearing him speak so much, even if it wasn't directly to me, I felt inadequately quiet.

It took a moment to gather my courage. Another to think of what I wanted to say. Then, in a small voice, sure he was going to be angry at me for disrupting the silence, I asked, "A- are you okay?" I could feel his eyes snap to me. A second passed in silence. Sure he wasn't going to say anything, I awkwardly pressed, "You sounded upset."

That earned a low snort, and I relaxed somewhat. He wasn't going to ignore me. That was good.

"I'm fine."

The words were dismissive, but polite enough. Somehow satisfied now that I'd initiated that small exchange, I relaxed back into my chair and closed my eyes.

When three o'clock rolled around and I got up to leave, I was surprised that he was the first to speak.

"Until next week."

I smiled so broadly it almost hurt.

"Right. Next week."

I finally learned something about the man from the library.

He was a duelist.

On Monday, Joey stopped by our mother's house to give me a quick good-bye before he and Yugi left for a tournament in Germany. He said Zigfried von Schroeder was holding the competition at a really nice resort, and since Joey had such a high international ranking, his whole trip was paid for in full.

I started to congratulate him, to wish him good luck and say I was sure he'd win, but then the host's name clicked in my head.

Zigfried von Schroeder.

Rather tactlessly, I jumped on the name, asking Joey who he was and if he knew the guy personally. Sounding somewhat frazzled, Joey reluctantly answered my questions. Apparently, Zigfried was the owner of a major gaming company in Germany. He and Joey had faced each other in a tournament the year before, and Zigfried had beat him badly.

"He was kicked out eventually, though," said Joey. "Not sure what happened, but there was a big fuss about rule breaking of some kind. He entered under a false name, but I bet there was more to it than that; the guy gave me the creeps."

I almost had to wonder if maybe Joey and my stranger had both been at the same tournament. Maybe whatever problem Zigfried caused was 'the incident' the guy from the library had been talking about. It made sense. Something bad enough to get kicked out of a Duel Monsters tournament sure seemed to qualify as 'an incident' anyway.

I almost wanted to ask my stranger about it, but I wasn't sure enough to feel comfortable doing so. Honestly, I didn't think I'd be comfortable speaking to him at all. Those few words we exchanged the week before were really nothing, and silence with him was so natural. I didn't want to chance ruining our Fridays.

The risk wasn't worth it, I decided. I'd keep my theories to myself.

...

As it turned out, I shouldn't have wasted my time debating whether or not to initiate a conversation. He did that for me, almost as soon as I entered the library. He was typing away as I approached, but stopped right when he noticed me. I could feel his eyes boring into my face as I went about getting settled in, impatiently waiting for me to sit down.

Once I was finally in place, I don't think he waited three seconds before speaking. Bluntly, as though we spoke all the time and this wasn't an abnormal occurrence in the least, he said, "You're Joey Wheeler's sister."

It wasn't a question either. He stated it.

For a long moment, I mulled this over. A lot of people knew Joey, but that didn't mean they'd recognize me. This definitely wasn't Tristan or Duke or Yugi, but those were the only friends of Joey's who would know who I was. I doubted any passing acquaintances even realized he had a sister.

"Yes, I am." I bit my lip. A single exchanging of words had marked the duration of our interaction the week before. The concept of extending a conversation past that point was a bit daunting to me, but I couldn't manage to hold back my curiosity. "Um. If you don't mind, how- how did you know that?"

I was a little surprised that he actually answered.

"Your brother was featured in a news article the other day; part of a tournament update for a Duel Monster's competition taking place this week. He mentioned a blind sister about your age. The librarian calls you 'Miss Wheeler' whenever you enter. It was a logical conclusion."

I made a face. I guess 'blind' was a relatively distinct adjective when used to describe seventeen-year-old girls.

"You concluded right, I guess." A hesitation. His question was answered. My question was answered. Did he want to start working now, or would it be okay to keep this going? I listened for a moment, waiting to hear the sound of clacking keys or scratching pens. When there wasn't any immediate noise, I cautiously ventured, "Do you know Joey?"

"I've met him once or twice."

"Dueling?" I realized that was somewhat vague, so I shyly elaborated, "I mean... I heard you on the phone last week, and you- er- um- you mentioned von Schroeder's tournament. So I just figured..."

"Yes."

"Huh?"

An exasperated sigh. I blushed beet red.

"Yes, I met your brother through the game of Duel Monsters."

"Oh."

I assumed that was it for the conversation; his tone on that last comment told me his patience for small talk was pretty much up. Not wanting to push anything, I reached for my bag, content to fall back into our usual silence.

His voice cut me off so abruptly I barely refrained from flinching.

"Why do you come here?"

"Pardon?"

"You're blind," he said, so bluntly I had half a mind to be offended. "You obviously don't read. What's the point in coming to the library if you do nothing but listen to music?"

He wasn't accusing me, I realized. As... well, aggressively as he'd phrased the question, I kind of got the impression that was just the way he spoke. I think he genuinely wanted to know the answer, even if his tone had been a bit demanding.

"Um. I'm, well... I guess I'm hiding." An indignant noise told me he wasn't satisfied with that. Shyly, I took a deep breath and tried to explain. "Every Friday at one o'clock, there's a support group- for people who can't see- held in a building near here. I went once, for about thirty seconds, and decided I'd be better off not going. My mom, she didn't like that so much, and rather than argue- I guess I started skipping. And coming here."

Silence. I was sure my face was on fire, embarrassed both at my somewhat silly reason for being in the library, as well as my obvious lack of ability to stand up to my mother. I could tell that my stranger wasn't the type to take orders- everything about him screamed 'in control'- and having so little power over something so simple was mortifying.

Honestly, I kind of assumed he'd think I was pathetic, not bother to reply, and never speak with me again. I was a bit relieved then, when he tonelessly asked, "Why did you leave?"

"The support group, you mean?" I think he nodded. He didn't correct me anyway, so I went on like I'd assumed right. "The man running it... he was, well- the first thing he said was that blindness wasn't a handicap."

"You believe it is?" Another toneless question. I almost had to wonder whether or not he really cared about my answer, but I didn't figure he would've bothered asking if he wasn't looking for a response. Talking for the sake of talking didn't seem to be his thing.

I decided to speak. If he wanted me to be quiet, I doubted he'd have any compunctions to telling me so.

"I guess." I swallowed nervously. "The guy- he hadn't seen before in his life. I don't think he understood what he was missing. I do, and I can't imagine ever thinking what happened to me is a 'blessing', not like he said." I exhaled and shook my head, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. I kind of-"

"You used to be able to see?"

The abrupt question almost made me laugh. He really had worse conversational skills than I did. He asked and said what he wanted without any concern as to my opinion of him. I think it would've dissuaded me, back before I lost my sight, but now I liked his candidness. It was refreshing, after hearing so many people sugarcoat everything they said to me.

"Until I was fourteen."

And that was that. He had nothing else to say, and I still wasn't quite comfortable enough to come up with a new topic. I picked up my headphones and mp3 player, and this time he didn't stop me. Before long, the sound of typing filled our isolated corner of the library, and we descended back into our familiar routine.

Three o'clock rolled around oddly soon, and I got up slowly, not quite willing to leave. Once on my feet, I waited for his usual 'Until next week.'

It never came. Instead, in a low, brusque voice, he said one of the last things I would have expected.

"You'll probably find this offensive, but I, for one, find your blindness a 'blessing'." A smirk. I couldn't see it, but it was in his voice. Along with an odd kind of honesty. Strange as his words were, I was pretty sure he wasn't lying.

"Um," I ventured tentatively. "Are you... ugl- unattractive or something?"

"Or something."

I wanted him to expand on that frustratingly ambiguous statement, but I knew I had to leave if I wanted to beat my mother to the support group building. Shooting him a frustrated look, I hesitantly said, "Okay then..." Not knowing what else to say, I tacked on an awkward, "I guess I'll see you next week."

He snorted.

The sound was almost amused and maybe a little bit mocking, but once I realized what he was snorting at, I had to bite my tongue against letting out peals of laughter. Insensitive maybe, but his sense of humor was something unique, and by the time I got outside, I couldn't help but let out a slightly misplaced giggle.

I supposed I brought that one on myself. After all, I really wouldn't be seeing him at all.

...

Author's Note-

Wow. I really hadn't been expecting half this much response when I wrote this. The encouragement was awesome; thanks for all the support, and I'm glad you seem to like the story so far. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Writing thoughts and silence is easy, but sometimes bringing dialogue into stuff like this is more difficult.

Either way, it's the first sign of character progression, albeit a small one, so I'd love to know what you think, if you have any advice, etc. Thanks again for reading, and please recognize that even short comments are much appreciated. As of now, I've officially decided to continue this. Update times will vary, but I'm hoping it won't be much longer than a week.