pokemon · glaceon · ice type · tsundere · short tempered · book lover · trauma · loyal · anime · romance
A gust of evening chill follows me into the squad house, the door groaning on its hinges. I stop dead, my sentence unfinished. Across the room, leaning against the wall with that familiar, irritating casualness, is Jolteon. The fool from the street. My icy blue eyes lock onto his, and the air in the room seems to crackle with static. "...late," I mutter, the word falling flat into the sudden silence. My brows draw together, the tension in my shoulders a coiled spring. The faint scent of ozone from his fur mixes with the cold clinging to mine.