Cold Touch

Chapter One

     When Ashkii had been told off by his academic advisor and told that he should withdraw, cold sweat had run down his back, and his whole mind had gone numb. He couldn't hear what anyone around him said after that—not when he left the office, or administrative building, and not when he walked down the street to his car. Heck, he didn't even hear the loud blaring music when he had made his way into a local pub and sat at the edge of the counter next to the pool table with rowdy drunks.

     He was just numb.

     So numb that it was hard to do anything but playback what had happened in the office.

      He knew his grades hadn't been the best. He knew he had clearly been struggling, but what he hadn't expected was to not be given a chance. Everyone got probation when they pleaded hard enough, promised to be better, and wrote a letter to the dean about how they would change the next year, but that hadn't even been presented as an option for him, and it was devastating.

      He had started attending university two years ago, on special conditions, in hopes of graduating with a computer science degree. It had been a full-ride scholarship the first year, but that had been quickly stripped away by his second year when he struggled to barely make the passing GPA not to be put on probation. He had applied for non-academic scholarships and had scraped up enough to continue, but his grades tanked, and they became worse than they already were—so bad that his academic advisor had seemed perplexed he was even asking for any sort of probation. There was no comeback from a 1.0.

       None.

     He would have to explain this to his parents. He would also have to go home to his reservation and have everyone look at him in pity and whisper behind his back. The thought of it alone made him panic. Made him dread being so boastful about being admitted into MIT. He should have known it would have been hard. It was nothing like high school, and it was nothing like the silly code he wrote for fun—

     "Hello?"

     Ashkii would have been stuck in his thought bubble if the cold feeling of someone's hand hadn't shocked him into consciousness. A shiver ran down his spine, and his lips parted as his eyes snapped to the slender hand on his arm.

     He heard a small, "sorry", and the cold hand was retracted.

     His eyes looked up, discovering the person to who the hand belonged. It was the bartender. Ashkii hadn't taken much notice of him when he had strolled in. He had simply asked for the hardest drink he could swallow and insist his tab be kept open. Now he was having a good look at him. The deep brown eyes darted about with curiosity and what looked like concern. The man had full lips, and his dark hair was mid-length, cutting around his mid-neck in thick curls. Ashkii couldn't tell if the man had tanned skin or if the club lights were very dark, but he could tell the man was slender and tall—taller than Ashkii for sure—Ashkii wasn't very tall in the first place standing at 5'8.

     "Are you there?" The bartender asked, making Ashkii blink, before looking away, realizing how much he had been staring

     "Yes, just a little out of it," Ashkii managed to get out, rubbing the back of his neck before reaching out for the glass mug that still had some beer in it, but he was startled when it was pulled away from him by the bartender, and slid just behind the counter.

     "I think that's enough, you've been here for hours," the bartender said, standing upright. "It's almost one in the morning."

     "W-what?" Ashkii blinked, looking about the pub. The crowd at the pool table wasn't there anymore, but there was a man at the far end having a cigarette. He looked around the walls for a clock and checked his phone for the time when he found none. "Oh," he said, swallowing his breath. It really was almost one in the morning. He had been at his academic advisor's office at noon and left there not long after. How was it already the next day?