Please read with care and be aware that this is my first Fanfic and I'm totally nervous! I'd really appreciate some R&Rs to help me improve my writing. I also don't know if I'll continue this story, so please let me know what you think! Thank you! -Complicated Lemon

Disclaimer: I don't own any Fairy Tail characters!

Chapter 1: Snow Fall

God damn its cold. Gajeel was out on patrol again, alone. He liked being alone; he didn't like the cold. He watched his boots as he trudged along the sidewalk blowing warm breath into his hands and mumbling curses to his leader for sending him out into the storm. His breaths weren't making enough of a difference so he gave up and stuffed them deep in his pockets. He tried to keep his head low in his coat to keep his face from burning, but that wasn't working out very well either. His neck was just too long. Annoyed and freezing, Gajeel picked up his pace hoping the extra effort would warm him up even if only by a degree.

It was twilight and where the town was usually bustling with irritating, face-paced idiots going about their ordinary lives, Gajeel was surrounded by heavily falling snow and silence. He stopped, barely huffing, when he realized that he didn't recognize the scenery anymore. Either from the blinding wall of snow falling around him or the fact that he might have walked too far, he didn't know. The storm was calm and quiet, snow drifting slowly to the ground. It was eerie, but Gajeel was unperturbed. Thankful maybe, for the few moments of quiet. A welcome relief from the always boisterous activities of headquarters.

Looking back down the sidewalk, he could no longer make out his tracks in the snow. Gajeel stared up and seeing only white, let the gigantic snowflakes fall on his face. It was cold and wet, but somehow the serenity of the moment made him easily forget his chill and he wondered if this is how it left to die of hypothermia. To say he was fascinated by death would be the understatement of the year, but he didn't consider himself to be the weird kind of obsessed- those people who worship death and love blood and guts. Gross. No, Gajeel was fascinated with the process. At what point does death happen? Obviously when the body is no longer functioning, but what about brain dead people? Are they experiencing anything? Are they aware? Are they truly gone? Of course, he'd never let anyone know he had these kinds of thoughts, standing out in a blizzard imagining the feeling of death. He shook his head and wiped his wet face with his sleeve, the snow having melted on his skin. It didn't do much but remind him that he was standing in the cold. Gajeel reached behind him, collected his long, heavy, black hair and wrapped it around his neck. What else is hair good 'cept keepin' warm? He thought ruefully. He knew why he grew it out and kept it long. It was sentimental.

Fer mom.

Gajeel shook the flashes of his childhood from his mind and felt a shiver run up his body as the snow began to melt off his hair. Sighing he turned to continue his patrol. He wanted to get out of the cold and his inability to recognize his surroundings was beginning to irk him. His piercing red eyes scanned what they could of the street, but he relied primarily on his extraordinary developed sense of hearing. Even if rival gangs were on their turf, the snow would've covered the evidence almost immediately, so ignoring the sound of his own boots in the snow, Gajeel focused on the stillness that surrounded him. Nothin'. Not a soul 'round here. The iron studs that freckled his face were beginning to sting the skin around them as they always did when he was out in the cold too long. He decided that the area was patrolled enough. Ain't no one out n' this weather. Fuck this. I'm goin' back to wipe that damn smirk off Jose's ugly face for sendin' me out. Gajeel huffed and stalked back the way he came and glanced as he passed an alley untouched touched by the storm. Didn't see this on my way here. He could actually see the concrete, whereas he was standing in snow that buried him to his knees. Gajeel scrunched his face up at the light pole, he noticed then why snow hadn't fallen in yet. Snow was being held three stories up by some crude metal wiring that stretched between the buildings creating the alley. The walls were close enough together for Gajeel (whose arm span and height were about 6ft) to touch both walls at the same time, which he did as he walked out of the snow. Light caught Gajeel's eye and warmth teased his chilled face. It seemed to be coming from the back of the alley and Gajeel was suddenly running to investigate it. Great. Hobo's fire.

Coming up on the corner, Gajeel had been expecting some scrawny old men in tattered worn-out coats around a can full of fire, NOT a little bluenett sitting on the front steps of what appeared to be a bookstore.