AN: This was a prompt, which went like this: "We live across the street from each other, and you're always making coffee at 3 a.m. I know because I'm always up making coffee at 3 a.m." It was so cool writing this, since it's so different from anything I've ever written!
With this I tried the indefinite protagonist for the first time – tried to make the "I" as ambiguous as possible. You can imagine them to be anyone. It can be you if you like.
I would srsly love it if you'd take the time to let me know what you think about this story, or if you'd like to see continuation. All the comments are appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own Cloud Strife, he and his character are the property of Square-Enix. I'm not getting any financial profit by writing this story.
We live across the street from each other, and you're always making coffee at 3 a.m. I know because I'm always up making coffee at 3 a.m.
I first noticed you on accident. Be it God's twisted sense of humor or not, it seems that my kitchen window gives a view into yours. You were with someone. A woman. It looked like you were arguing.
Now that I think about it, I don't even know why I forgot about the dishes I was doing and was left to observe you, but I did. Maybe it was the way you squint your eyes when you're feeling forlorn, or maybe it was the scorching rage in her eyes that could've engulfed us both in a heartbeat and burnt until nothing was left. Maybe it was the way you bowed your head and let her yell and just took it all in without resistance. Maybe you deserved it. Maybe I was curious.
I never forget the face you made when she spat at you. The sound of a plate shattering went unnoticed as I read the emotions that flooded your face. Hopelessness. Shame. Guilt. Your light blond hair swished onto your face to hide your expression from me, but it didn't matter. I know a heartbreak when I see one.
She stormed out soon after, not looking back. Was she your partner? I never saw her since.
I have never been prone to going to sleep early. I like the night time. It's peaceful, calm even. One could say I am a night owl by nature. Tch, funny. My friend once laughed that I probably lived on moonshine alone since I always seemed to sleep the days and stay up until the early hours of the morning. Being a composer it didn't really matter. Using headphones, I could work at any time I wished, and I preferred the night. There is a mystic sense of beauty to the world of darkness that is only noticeable to those who wander it. Like you. And like me.
It was a night not unlike this one when I saw you again. It was windy but clear, the night had matured into full-bodied darkness, only speckled by the pearls of light in the street lights, lamps, in an occasional window. I was working late again, and decided to make some coffee. As the coffee maker gurgled, my gaze sort of strayed towards your dark window. I briefly wondered how you and the woman were doing, if you had made up.
As the window suddenly flickered to life with a pale artificial light, I felt my breath catch in my throat as the initial instinct to hide surged through me. My eyes widened slightly and a strange, strangled noise of unguardedness rose from my throat as you appeared into my view. Tentative and ungraceful in your actions, your expression that of numbness and exhaustion. With a sting in my heart I couldn't quite place, I watched silently as you went to measure the water, the coffee, as you clicked the switch. Mechanical, that was what you were. Like a robot, a lifeless shell repeating the familiar action automatically. I felt bad for you.
Since that night I couldn't help but notice how you grew restless. More than once I witnessed how you turned the lights off after midnight, only to have them back on again when I came to make my coffee a few hours later. You couldn't sleep, or maybe you didn't even want to, really. As I sipped my coffee, I often gazed at you. Took in how you never sit down, always drink on your feet, leaning lazily against the kitchen counter. But you're not there. Your eyes seem clouded and distant as you stare at nothing in particular. Day by day, your appearance seems to grow more haggard. Was it because of what happened with that woman? It is, isn't it? She must have been very dear to you.
I guess I shouldn't care, but I can't really help it. Like a spell of the Witching Hour, I always seem to wind up by my kitchen window at the same time as you, making coffee. It has become something I'm rather looking forward to each night, actually. I knew I shouldn't, that it was none of my business, but I always ended up gazing at you anyway. I couldn't help myself, really. You're beautiful.
Over these few nights I have memorized the perfect heart shape of your face, the sharp yet suave, rather feminine features. I've noticed you often do your hair up into neat spikes, but I think I like it even better when it's moist from the shower, towel-dried into a messy mob that comes just barely over your ears. And... those nights when you've come to the kitchen wearing nothing but pants... On those nights, the hardest thing I've ever done is not to let my eyes wander, not to stare at your toned chest, that flawless body. I've often failed. I have never met a person quite like you. Is there another word to describe you but mesmerizing? Bewitching. The enigmatic enchanter of the night.
So it has been going on like this for – how long now? A week, a little more. Almost every night you wake up and come to the kitchen to make coffee at 3 a.m., and I know because I'm always up making coffee at 3 a.m. And every night a part of me wishes to see you again, another wishes that you wouldn't come this time. And every night, there is a small stab of melancholy in my heart as my eyes yet again stray towards your window.
I considered coming to talk to you, but decided against it. It wouldn't have been right. I knew I shouldn't be doing this, spying on you like I did. What I was doing borderlined disturbing. Your life was none of my business, I shouldn't pry into it like this. But it was you who took that next step, not me.
That night, as you were drinking your coffee, I noticed something. Something was different about you. It took me a while to pinpoint the change but as I realized it, a small gasp of something – was it relief, hope even? – slipped from me. Your eyes! The vibrance of your eyes. No longer clouded and out-of-place, but sharp and lively, like two oceans. And as the shade filled me up, those eyes turned to observe me curiously.
The jerk of my body must have been visible. I am pretty sure the initial panic of being caught flashed on my face before I managed to control my emotions again. I felt my heartbeat quicken as I forced back on the cool facade, my eyes never leaving yours. A part of me wanted to turn away from the window and leave you alone, but it didn't matter anymore. I had been seen, and now I waited for your reaction. I was expecting the Finger, a cold dismissal, something like that. What I didn't expect was a lazy rise of your hand and a casual greeting.
Dumbstruck, my breath caught into my throat. Hastily I flicked my wrist in a clumsy attempt of a wave. God, I must have looked so stupid, since you only grinned in amusement. The grin spread into a playful smirk, and I watched, mesmerized, as you slowly pushed yourself off of the counter, your gaze locked onto me. From those bemused lips I could read two words,
'See ya.'
At that, you were gone. Even as the kitchen light faded, I found myself still staring at the spot you had been in. Only now I noted that my breaths came in light pants, my heart was racing. I felt warm and a bit nervous. I gulped unwillingly as I realized I still hadn't moved from the window, and finally tore my gaze away. I squeezed my eyes shut and emptied the rest of my already cooling coffee on one go.
"...And if it wasn't for the fact that Joshua is in it... Yes. Yes, exactly! I... Yes... Yes, as I was saying, I don't think I'd be half this interested in this project if it weren't for him. Because quite frankly, dealing with the administrative board is a royal pain in the-" I stumbled around my study, picking up papers, some clothes, looking for my copy of the agreement as I listened how my colleague started to complain about her previous experiences with my current commissioner, none of them too pleasant, apparently. Then again, I can understand why. Whereas the old goats at the Board can be difficult, Miriam herself wasn't necessarily the easiest person in the world to deal with, either. I ought to now. I trained with her for six years that felt like a decade. Strong-willed and unable to compromise, Miriam had a few friends and more than enough burned bridges in her past.
Her continuous rant was interrupted by the doorbell. I cursed inwardly; the timing was not the best of the best, but it gave me an excuse to silence my talkative friend.
"Mir- Miriam! Hey, sorry to interrupt but I gotta go. I ordered some food, the delivery guy is at the door. …Yeah. I've gotta go. I'll call you later. …Thanks. Take care. …Okay. Bye!"
I cut her out mid-speech. Impolite, but she would have kept on going. Shaking my head slightly, I fished out my wallet and went for the door.
I felt my shoulders tense and my face contorted in shock and disbelief as what I saw when I opened the door sunk in. A shiver ran through me, a small gasp was audible. It wasn't the Chinese at the door.
It was you. You were wearing a waist-length leather jacket that hung open over a tee with some abstract skeleton print. You had tucked your hands loosely into the pockets of cargo pants; you held most of your weight on back leg, composure relaxed and confident. And on your face danced a grin that was only revealed playful by the flicker in your eyes.
I think my mouth moved, but no sound came out. I'm not quite sure, I was baffled. It might have been your intention, I wouldn't know, but I could tell you enjoyed it. You took your time to ease the discomfort.
"Hi." I blinked in surprise. Your voice sounded nothing like I had imagined. It was deep and smooth, silk woven by your lips. "I don't think we've met. Strife. Cloud Strife. I live across the street." You extend your hand, I take it squeamishly. Your grip as we shake hands is casual but determined. I seem to have lost my voice.
"Uhm, _," I manage. "Nice to meet you." Indeed.
"Err, I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?"
A flash of victory in your expression, and I know I've played into your hands. With excessive ease you shrug as you say, "I thought I'd come over to say hi. Is this a bad time?"
I froze for the blink of an eye, my heart skipped a beat. "No! Not at all. I mean, I ordered some Chinese, it should be here any minute. I thought you were the food."
You smirk at that and laugh lightly, "Well, I'm sorry, it's just me." I try not to blush at that. Screw the food; I would eat you up any time.
Your smirk seems to widen ever so slightly, as if you'd read my thoughts, and suddenly I feel a bit too warm. What is it that you're doing to me?!
"So, can I come in?"
No. "Go ahead," I say as I move away from the door, inviting you in. Why am I doing this?
"Thanks."
Don't thank me. "No big deal. Can I get you anything?"
With a satanic grin on your face, you have the nerve to chuckle, "Coffee would be great, thanks." 'I know you've been watching me, don't try to deny it.' The look on your face seems to scream at me. I've been found out, discovered, and now at your mercy. What is it you want from me? Why have you really come? I can't tell.
"Sure. Just grab a seat, I'll make some..." I let my voice fade out as I escape into the kitchen, my strongly beating heart sending a silent prayer up into the heavens that you wouldn't follow. What the hell am I doing?! I don't even know you! I've only seen you, no more than two weeks ago. Yet there you are, getting comfortable in my living room. You could be anyone for all I know. You could be a psycho killer. Yet there you are, getting comfortable in my living room! And I am making us both coffee. Against my better judgement I steal a glance at the clock.
3:47 pm. This cannot be happening.
But it is happening. You are sitting in my living room, after practically inviting yourself in, and I am a wreck. The sound of the coffee maker drowns my deliberate deep breaths I take in order to gather myself. You took me by surprise, really. I hadn't expected ever meeting you in person, yet it was you who seeked me out. I want to know why.
What are you doing to me?
Either you are just a patient person or you allowed me to take the time it took to make the coffee, you don't say anything before I come back to the living room with two mugs. I don't need to ask if you wanted anything in your coffee. I know how you drink it. And by the amused look on your face, you know that I know that.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
For a moment, both of us sip our coffee without a word. I can feel the awkward tension rising in the room, but refuse to be the first to speak. This is your game now, Strife boy. You got me. You made the first move by coming here, now let's hear what for.
"So, you've lived here for long?" It was very casual, genuinely curious. Your form is relaxed and content as you lean back in one of my arm chairs, the brown leather one with hardwood handle decorations. I shrug before answering you. "I grew up in here, if that's what you're asking. But in this apartment four years now. How 'bout you?"
Your gaze wanders off of me and something in your aura seems disturbed. "Too long, I suppose." I feel my eyes narrow slightly as I observe you with a keen eye. The creased brow tells of your misery, and I am compelled to ask but not yet.
"So, where you're from then?"
"Here and there. Sort of had a rootless childhood, I guess. Dad is in the army, so we moved pretty often. I went to, like, six schools." You smirk again, and I can't say that I didn't like it, but it's an expression I can't really read either. "Here I came two years ago, after graduating from college. I work at Luxon."
"Oh? What do you do?"
"I'm an office rat." I don't miss the appreciative glances towards my instruments scattered across the apartment. An classical and an electric piano. A couple of guitars, both acoustic. And I'm sure you've spotted the bow for my violin. "... You play?" I didn't miss the double meaning behind that.
"Yes, yes I do. I'm a composer."
It looks like it was my turn to surprise you. Your face seems genuinely surprised, impressed even, and a small flutter of pride turns my lips upwards. I choose that moment to take a sip of my coffee, my eyes never leaving you. You hold my gaze with little difficulty; if anything, you lean deeper into the chair and relax your legs.
"That sounds cool. Are you... working on anything at the moment?"
I nod. "Yeah. I am writing the music for a play." Foreplay, my mind whispers, and I would gladly invite it go fuck itself weren't it already doing so.
"You work at night?" That was it. I feel a small gasp leave me as a cold wave flushes through me. I'm staring at him so intently I am rather confident my gaze is going to drill through. I am looking for something, anything, that might give away his reason to be here. He knows I've been watching him. The question is, is that bad? I am searching, but all I see is the flawless poker face and a glimmer of challenge in his eyes. And as I realize he's only going to accept one answer, I cave.
I have to turn my eyes away; I'm ashamed, and I feel heat rising onto my cheeks. "You know I do. You've seen me up late."
"I'd say you've seen me up late." The tone is accusing, demanding an answer to the obvious question. I have no answer to give, I don't know. I don't know why I always seem to end up gazing at you in the middle of the night. Looking at the simple movements as you move about, measure the coffee, wait, then drink. I cannot explain what about you is so captivating that I seem to be unable to tear my eyes from you. It is your charming looks, I'm sure. You're an enchanter. Spell-caster. You've put a spell on me, maybe unintentional or accidental, but there nonetheless. There is nothing that I wouldn't enjoy about you. Your actions, your looks, your striking body... All of you is delicious to the eye, but what really caught my eye... what first drew my attention to you... It wasn't you, really. It was her.
She and you were fighting, and I forgot about myself as I was pulled in to witness your private battle. It was then when you caught my interest. I wondered what you had done for her to be so furious. I wondered who she was to you. After she walked out, I wanted to see if you'd follow. You didn't. Maybe you should have.
"So what's the deal? You stalking me or something?" Now you're finally revealing your hand, card by card. You're angry, I can see that, and it's understandable. I never expected anything less. But there is also a degree of vehemence and self-defense I didn't expect. But now I understand you're just a little afraid, aren't you? You took a risk by coming to see me – I could be anyone, for all you knew, too.
"No. No, I'm not stalking you."
"So why do you keep watching me then?! I've seen you every night, staring at me. And it's pretty freaking creepy, you know?!"
Why indeed? I wish I had an answer to give you. "I don't know. I guess I just... found you interesting."
"Interesting, huh?" There is a smirk in your tone, and only now I realize what I said must have sounded like. I feel my blush as I lose the battle for keeping my cool. I contemplate on trying to take it back, to make it right, to explain, but the error is out and no amount of salvaging will erase it. So I simply avert my eyes and sit silently, my face heated.
I thought about all these things to say, but I never got say them. The doorbell rang again, jolting me slightly, and to escape your eyes I lunged for the door. I can tell the lady startled a little as I threw my door open a bit too eagerly. The small woman's eyes widened and her mouth hung open a little in obvious surprise.
"Uhm, Restaurant Great Wall. Please deliver food," she started with a quick bow. I simply stare, dumbstruck. "$16.98. Much sorry for wait, sorry. Was hurry, an apologies," she went on with her thick accent and fast-paced speech as she swang the two cartons towards me. Take, take.
"That's, uh, quite alright," I stated a bit awkwardly as I took the food and quickly tossed the lady a 20-dollar bill. "You can keep the change."
"Thank you very much–" I cut her off mid-sentence, nearly slam the door shut. I immediately regret it. Sighing a little, as I take the food and go take it into the kitchen, I am trying my very best to ignore your curious stare. I wish I could stop you from getting under my skin. I mutter an excuse-me as I rush into the safety of the closed space.
I'm numb as I gather the utensils and plate up. I now understand why you came here, but grasping it doesn't make it any less disturbing. You're angry, obviously, and you have every right to be. But why does it seem so difficult to just apologize? To say 'I'm sorry'. I'm much too embarrassed to even consider how to start.
I know I can't hide from you forever. I gather my meal and come back to the living room; you haven't moved a muscle and your keen eyes never leave me alone as I lay the dinner on the coffee table and sit down again. "There's some left if you'd like..." I start and motion towards the kitchen. You decline with a raise of hand.
I'm lost for words. I eat as slowly as I can, trying to ignore your gaze. But that combined with the heavy silence that hangs above us, I can only go for so long. Eventually my eyes wander back towards you. I don't even want to, but when it comes to the subject of you, I find myself fully and utterly incapable of maintaining control over my actions. So again I look into those deep eyes of yours, and they start pulling me in, drowning me into the color. You lean forward in the chair now, elbows on your knees and your fingers laced underneath your chin. Your face is pondering, but I can tell you're plotting something. Your aura is mischievous and cunning, and I am a little afraid.
"You know," you start, "my life's really been on a bender lately. I guess I could use some company."
"Excuse me?"
"My girlfriend and I, we, uh, broke up recently. And all my friends here are really her friends, so... I don't really know anyone around here. I came to this city because of her, so..."
So now you're screwed. Screwed and sad and lonely. And are you actually saying what I think you're saying?
"I thought maybe... it'd be cool to hang out some time?"
Are you serious? This is what you came here to ask me? To hang out with you? To befriend you? Why? Why would you want to hang out with me? I am nobody. I'm a borderline disturbing neighbor – one who might be somewhat attracted to you, to top things up a notch. I thought you were angry with me. So why would you...?
Oh. Oh yes, I see. I understand now. I'm the best you've got.
I, someone whom you know of solely because you too happened to make coffee at the same time, am the best thing for a friend you've got.
I feel mortified for you.
I'm speechless, and you can sense it, I suppose. You take something out of your pocket, a piece of paper, and place it on the table. I don't need to look to know what it is, and instead my scrutinizing eyes are glued onto you, silently demanding an explanation to the question I can't formulate and you have no intention to answer. Instead you grin at me, warm and honest, and with a small shrug get off the chair.
"Well... I best be off. Thanks for the coffee!"
I probably should say something to you. But my mind is blank, empty. I can't say anything, and in a few moments you are out of the door, the echo of your descending steps gets weaker and weaker. The door closes with a hollow thud; it takes me a while to realize I'm staring at the handle. "Don't mention it," I hear myself whisper in the quiet apartment.
End note: Whom did you imagine to be the protagonist? Personally, I'm thinking it to be Leon.
To be continued?