Crimson Camellia
Chapter 1: Of Potted Plants and…
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Summary: This is the story of my life, the life of a rookie detective and my childhood partner, a politician in the making. We share a small unbreakable friendship, but a case of fraud and distrust can bring any friendship to ruins. "It was hard enough coming this far, don't do anything to ruin this for us. For you." "I know." Cas fic. AU-ish. 1st POV. Eventual YurixFlynn.
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Authoress' notes: This fanfiction came to be when I was reading a list of the meaning of flowers and watching CSI:NY at the same time. Please excuse me if the characterisation is not perfect, I'm trying my best. The story is set in modern Tercia Lumieres, for those interested. Yuri and Flynn are 23 years old.
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The night breeze felt nice as it ruffled my dark purple pajamas. My long, black hair fluttered behind me as I open the sliding door of my apartment, my black and blue hand phone in my right hand, a cup of hot cocoa in my right hand. A fleeting smile passed my lips, my eyes staring at the busy city streets underneath. It was almost midnight, but some people just would not rest. I realized that I should not be one to judge. My work in the police force was taxing enough; I rarely get a day off.
Stepping onto the balcony, I noticed that the potted plants my friend, Estelle, gave me was drying up, dying. I haven't tended to them in a long time since I was too busy to even be at home that month.
'Estelle is going to kill me,' I muttered, going back inside to set my hand phone and cup of hot cocoa on the coffee table inside my living room. Then I took a look at the plants, running my fingers on the leaves, sometimes gingerly touching the petals of some of the fragile flower to determine if any of them needed to be given extra care. Then I came to a general conclusion that most of them just needed fertilizer and some water. Sighing in relief, I went back inside to grab my hot cocoa. I would love to enjoy a quite night with a hot drink at home for a change.
My hand phone was vibrating; someone had sent me a text message.
'Hey Yuri, can't sleep. If you're still awake, call me.'
I lifted an eyebrow, and then clicked on the 'call' button.
"Hey, Yuri. Glad you called," came Flynn's voice over the phone.
"You told me to call, idiot," he gave me a chuckle, "So what's up? You sound tired."
"Nothing much," I scoffed. Nothing much, he said. I would have believed that if he was not the Minister of this not-so-little town of ours.
"So you actually told me to call you for nothing? Well, you're wasting my almost nonexistent paycheck here," I told him lightly, it was meant to be a joke. Apparently he did not see the humor in my statement.
"No, Yuri. No…" he sighed, his voice sounding a lot more tired, his tone of amusement suddenly not there, "It's complicated. I need your help."
"What?" I had to admit, that was the most unintelligent comment I had made since I told my leader that he was a fat, lazy idiot. But did I really strike a soft spot?
"Yuri… I… Um, you see…I have this… Hmm…it's just…" annoyed and agitated,I was about to tell him to get to the point already, to spit the words out if he had to. My motivation, however, died away when he said the next few words. "…Don't be surprised to see me tomorrow."
"Well, I sort of meet you almost every day. With your making the cover of the local newspaper every few months or so, I sort of don't need this picture of you," I said, unconsciously shoving a hand into my pants pocket to find my wallet in which I kept the pictures of those dear to me. I hummed a little, a bit confused. I forgot that I had left my wallet on the bedside table. How silly of me. Wind blew from the open sliding doors and I shivered a little, making my way over to it, intending to shut the open door.
My blond haired friend's dry laugh was a nice change to his usual serious demeanor. I could not help but crack a smile at the dark starless sky when he said these words, "You keep a picture of me with you? Oh, that would make a nice scandal on my part, don't you think?" Indeed it would.
"I can picture the headline now," I chipped, a grin on my lips, "'Minister with Childhood Sweetheart, Detective Lowell.' That should at least spread about two pages."
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We talked and talked till late at night, neither of us caring about the time or even realizing that it was past three in the morning when one of us finally gave in to the yawns and decided to call it a day. I checked my credit balance and cursed under my breath to see that my credit time was almost bled dry. Next time, I decided, he would be the one calling me. I set the phone on the coffee table again. From the corners of my eyes, I noticed the neglected cup of hot cocoa. At least, it was hot three hours ago. What a waste.
I drank it anyway.
After washing the cup, washing my face and setting the alarm clock, I headed over to my soft, inviting, and overly underused bed. I flopped onto the mattress, got myself cozy and warm under the blankets and closed my eyes. I managed one final yawn, and then I was out like a light.
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The next morning, I was woken up by the harsh blaring noises of my alarm clock. Like every morning I was at home, I grabbed the offending thing and slammed it against the bedside table for what seemed like hours, until it finally stopped beeping in such an annoying manner. Only during mornings that I wonder why I decided that alarm clock would be a good wake up call for me, literally. Under the blankets, my mind was rapidly trying to process all the things I needed to function. After five minutes, my mind registered that I had work to do on that day and I should get up and take a shower then get ready for work.
Groggily, I stepped out of my warm bed, shedding my clothes one by one so that by the time I was opening the bathroom door, I had not even a piece of clothing on me. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, washed my face, took my morning cold shower and dried myself. Finally I was awake, mentally and physically.
After that, it took me no more than a few minutes to locate my clothes that I normally wear to work; white dress pant and trousers with a tie and a blazer. And a few more minutes to locate my keys and throw together a simple breakfast of tuna salad sandwich, grab my briefcase and hop on my motorcycle to work.
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When I swiped my card on the time-recording machine, the buff officer behind me began talking with his company about a very important person coming to visit that day. My mind instantly trailed off to what Flynn said the night before, 'Don't be surprised to see me,' he said. Maybe Flynn was the 'important person' the officer was talking about? I supposed being a minister should count for something. Slipping the yellow card that bore my name and record my time of attendance into the designated section for detectives, I walked away wearily, bracing myself for any and every peculiar news that I might hear.
My stubborn, peace-loving best friend could cause a ruckus without intending to. That particular fact would have to be credited towards his dashing looks, though.
"Mr. Lowell," I was greeted by my commander-in-chief, a plump, merry man with a good heart. He never rose up to higher ranks, supposedly because of his too-nice nature, "I trust you had an enjoyable day off?" he smiled, his eyes warm and welcoming.
I nodded, "Yes, sir. It was wonderful."
"Well then, I suppose you're eager for more work!" I fear for his judgment, sometimes. He could not, for the love for anything that is pure, read the atmosphere when he did not want to. It was quite obvious from my red and puffy eyes that I was still tired. Three hours of sleep was not enough. The plump man gave me a paper file filled with papers of my next case and ushered me into a room used for interrogating suspects, or sometimes just to hear out the story of the victim. That room was sound-proof, and the walls were solid.
I sighed, taking a seat opposite a blond man, a man that seemed all too familiar… I blinked.
"Flynn?"
I wasn't able to believe my eyes. There, on the other side of the table, sat a man, looking exactly like the Great Flynn Scifo in my latest memories of him. Clear sky-blue eyes, a firm mouth, a small button-like nose, golden blond hair that always seemed to curl behind his ears and over them, spiky, and unruly and fair, flawless skin. Only, something was different. His left ear was in a bandage, his cheek swollen a bright purple, and there were bruises on his neck and arms. Small cuts were also visible under layers and layers of medicated ointments. He smiled a little; then he winced. I was instantly alarmed, ready to jump out of my seat if he so much as groan in pain and apparently, it showed. He lifted a bandaged hand, telling me to calm down.
"I'm okay. Don't worry too much about me," he said, smiling a little. I caught that little wince at the corner of his mouth and I bit my lower lip.
"What happened? Who did this? Why didn't you fight back, you-" again, he lifted his hand, looking quite stern for someone with bandages all over him. I guessed that the kendo training during high school paid off. If it was anyone else, he would be lying in a hospital bed, not talking to me like it was the most natural thing to do.
"It's quite a long story, but you should be able to read it in my report. I think I told your leader everything," he looked into the palms of his hands which were folded neatly on his lap, and said his next words softly; "I'm tired."
I opened the paper file slowly, browsing through the printed papers till I came across the police report. I briefly run through the report, skipping words here and there, trying to get a gist of what actually transpired. 2100 hours… last night… suddenly stopped by two burly looking men…was beaten up…money was not taken…
"I can see that. Can you walk by yourself?" he looked at me as if I had grown another head. I should feel insulted, but my worry overruled that fact. My eyebrows were furrowed, and my mouth was set in a straight line. It left like one of those times when a senior would pick at me for growing my hair out, and Flynn would come to my rescue, fighting the seniors. His bravery to stand up against the seniors made him popular and his list of enemies grew when the teachers picked his blond friend to be the Student Body President when he was a mere freshman. Only this time, he was the one badly beaten up.
"Yeah, a bit. Nothing's broken, don't worry," he repeated, "Just some bruises and a minor fracture somewhere here," he gestured at his abdomen generally, "Estelle gave me first aid, so it wasn't as bad as I thought it was."
"Estelle's involved in this too?"
"In a way," he replied, "They were after her."
I lowered my gaze to the report in my hand to read up anything about Estelle. No such luck. What was he talking about, then?
"I had to keep it a secret. Not many know Estelle's true identity."
I lifted an eyebrow, "I thought you said you told my leader everything," I deadpanned. The conversation was starting to get a bit weary for me, and it was nowhere near to midday. The blond sitting in front of me stared at me, his eyes gleaming with a passion, like a soft fire burning in the depths of his eyes. Whatever else I had wanted to say suddenly left my mind. It was that look that reminded me how he managed to rise up so high to become a politician at the young age of 23, a mere baby in the politic world.
"I did tell him everything. Everything about Estelle, her identity and my relationship with you. I specifically asked for you to meet me."
"Those people are targeting Estelle, because they know who she is. And you want me to provide protection," somehow, it all made sense.
Flynn nodded.
"I talked with your leader. You're to be given a whole month off of cases to work on mine."
"It all seems favoritism, isn't it?"
"I told everyone to keep quiet about this from the press. And you haven't said no yet, have you?"
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Constructive critisism is very much appreciated. -heart-