Disclaimer: I'd much rather spend the money that it would take to buy the KH rights on TH stuff, which is why I don't own KH. ;D
Warnings: swearing, some slightly mature content. Rating may or may not up in the future.
Music: Wir schliessen uns ein, Tokio Hotel
I'd like to dedicate this to xoxolilac on THF, because even though I've never talked to her and she'll probably never read it, her story Dominoes was really amazing anyways and what inspired this.
Just a little fun thing I wanted to write. Hope you enjoy, this'll be my current project for a bit. (:
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The story starts here, in a boarding school that's like university without the fun.
I'm already bored out of my mind, really. This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm supposed to be on the mainland right now, living with Mum. Not in a crappy private school on the other side of the island with nothing today except to go to…well, school.
School is for sissies anyways. There's no point in it, except for this so-called "education". Who gives a shit about it, anyways? I sure don't.
But whatever. That's not what matters, really. Now is what matters. Everything that really matters right now is here, right in front of me.
I'm just too damn lazy or stupid or whatever the hell you want to call it to see.
But that's not the point. This is a story, not a diary or journal or whatever the hell it might've been, so I'll do my damned best to tell it to the end.
Let's start again, at the…almost beginning. The beginning itself is too complicated for me to explain. Or maybe I just don't want to explain. Either one.
I arrive in front of the campus grounds. There's a large arch over my head with the school's name on it and their motto, some shit in Latin that I probably can't pronounce properly, let alone understand. And really, who the fuck names a school "the Schliessen Academy"? Now that's messed up.
I get out of the taxi, pay the driver and he drives off, leaving me in front of the stupid arch with the German-sounded name and unpronounceable slogan with one suitcase, one backpack and a pair of headphones around my neck. Nice ones, just so you know—I managed to guilt-trip Father dearest into getting them for me.
This tiny little woman walks up to me. I swear to God, she must be like eighty or something. And two or so inches shorter than me, at least. It's kind of weird, and I hope that the rest of the staff won't be this short. Or this old. There's gotta be at least one person with a nice ass that I can ogle.
"Welcome to the Schliessen Academy," the old-teacher-lady says cheerfully. At least, that's what I think she said. She's got some really strong accent that I really can't understand for shit.
"Thanks," I manage to grit out half-politely. Might as well to leave a…decent impression, right?
"Right now, it's brick rhyme so you have lime to kettle tinto your loom. Your loomnate rill be tere, and he'll schau you around. Grasses are ober for the gay."
I give her a completely blank stare, because I have no idea what the hell she just said. I don't think she quite liked that, because she ended up just pointing in the direction of some old, ivy-covered building.
"You. There. Go. Now."
That I can understand. What I don't understand is how she's lived this long without anyone strangling her because they have no idea what she said either. I turn, giving her a little wave over my shoulder.
Ignore the fact that I don't know who the hell my roommate is or what the hell my room number is. Or even if that's the right dorm. I'll just hope.
After maybe five minutes or so I finally get to the door of the dorm. I think it's a dorm, at least. You never know—daddy might've just sent me off to juvie instead. You can never tell, especially if their motto's in Latin or whatever.
I knock, because that seems to be the appropriate thing to do. Obviously it wasn't, though, considering that nobody comes. So I go in, and at first glance it doesn't look like there's anyone there. Doesn't look like anyone's here on the second glance either.
Luckily for me, though, there's a listing of everyone's names and their rooms on it on the bulletin board to the left of me. I don't know why—it's practically screaming "COME IN AND RAPE ME NAU", really—but right now it's a lifesaver. I examine it for about thirty seconds before I realize that mess of pink pen (what the hell?) in a previously empty square is my name.
Room 483. Quatre cent quatre-vingt-trois. Vierhundertdreiundachtzehn. Four eight three. That's about the limit of my foreign language experience.
So I drag my (thankfully light) suitcase up four flights of stairs and through the hall to this room 483.
I knock on the door, hoping that the gibberish that old lady spouted meant something along the lines of "your roommate's in right now".
I wonder why they say they're "in"? "The doctor's in, come on and sit down and get poked and prodded". Is it because they're "in" the room? But they're never actually "in" the room when the nurse tells you to go there; usually you just have to wait some more except this time there aren't any coughing patients to distract you. Maybe it's because they're "in" the building?
But what if they took break to go have a smoke? Or maybe they got shot in the forehead while on their way to the office? Are they still "in" even if they're dead?
The door opens just in time to kill my train of thought. Damn, and I was having such a fun time with that one too
I wonder why they call it a "train of thought"…?
The spiky-haired blond (how the hell does he get his hair to stay like that?) in front of me cuts me off before I can go there again, thankfully (I guess).
"They never told me the new roommate would be a girl," he deadpans.
I frown at him. "Just because you're taller doesn't mean you can pick on me, prick." So what if my hair's nicer than his? Just because I spend time on it doesn't designate me as a so-called "girl". I could always tell him that I spend more time on my hair than most girls but that probably wouldn't help my case.
He smiles for a second. "Well, wouldn't you know it? The new kid's got spunk." He opens the door wider, an invitation to enter. "Come on in, then." I wheel the small dark red suitcase in carefully, taking in the surroundings.
His side of the room's got a shitload of posters taped up on the walls and a guitar propped in the corner. The bed's a mess, completely buried underneath clothes and stuff like that. There's a pack of cards spread out in what looks to be…solitaire? on the floor. Funny, I never knew people actually had the patience to play that not on a computer.
The other side of the room's perfectly untouched. It's like there's an invisible line down the middle dividing "his side" from the "other side". I guess there used to be someone else here. Someone else before me, someone else who cared about that type of stuff.
"So, I guess it's pretty obvious, but your side's that side." He gestures towards the empty side. "Sorry it's a mess, I got too lazy to clean up."
I shrug. "It's okay, I don't mind. Frankly, I'd be more scared if you were some neat freak."
He laughs, a nice-sounding sound. "That's good, because half the time I can't be bothered to pick all this shit up."
I sit on my bed. They've been nice enough to give me sheets to go with it, although they're some really ugly looking harvesty-thanksgiving-fall colour palette. And even worse yet, they're covered in flowers. It's disgusting, really—I'll have to pick up some fabric when I'm in town and make some better ones myself.
"So tell me about this school of yours," I say conversationally. It's not really a question, but not really a statement either. Just a conversation starter.
"You're not going to unpack?" he asks, glancing at the suitcase and backpack sitting by each other in front of my dresser.
"No. I'll just be living out of my suitcase until it's time for me to leave again," I say nonchalantly. I don't mind, really. It makes this place a little more tolerable, a little more like a stop on the road of life than a residence.
"Suit yourself," he replies. "So, what do you want to know?"
I pause to think for a little. "Well, for starters, your name, maybe?"
He laughs again. "Wow, can't believe I completely forgot about that." He waves a hand disregardingly. "Roxas Shirin, it's nice to meet you. And you?"
"Riku Masaki," I say. That's technically not my last name right now, it's my mother's—but I'm not very inclined to admit that I'm related to the man who sent me to this hellhole.
At least the one person (that creepy old lady is not a person, I tell you) I've met has been nice so far.
He sits on the floor in front of his card game again. "Now, the one thing about this school that you've really got to know is that it's like Solitaire—you don't need any real skill, just a ton of luck." He moves a card or two around and all of a sudden he's done, completely finished. Roxas (I'll have to be sure not to mispronounce it later on) gathers the cards up and then slides them back into their box.
I notice that they're round, and wonder how the hell he can read them so easily. I sure can't.
It's all luck, I guess.
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A/N: yeah, namikun's basically saying "screw the no fanfic thing" because she's bored as hell and really wanted to write this and has nothing better to do because it's March Break, nobody's on the forums and she's out of ribbon.
This was completely inspired in every way by xoxolilac's story Dominoes at www (dot) tokiohotelfiction (dot) com, because it was really fucking amazing. So total props to her. (: I hope this can live up to even half of the awesomeness Dominoes was.
I know it's not my usual style, sorry. C: This was originally supposed to be a…much shorter chapter, I guess. I guess it's short compared to, say, Sakuline or Throughout the Years but it'll probably be around this length throughout the story. I'm kind of scared at how fast it took for me to type this out, in a way. xD
Pairings will be Roxas/Kairi, Sora/Riku and then eventually turn into Roxas/Riku. C:
Next chapter: As classes start, something is set in motion that won't be stopped, and a new hand of cards is dealt.
-namikun