AN: Welcome to my newest creation. :) Before we start the ride, let me remind you that this ride does include bumps, sudden turns, and drops of 50 feet or more. Please stow all personal items in the pouch on the back of the seat in front of you, keep your seatbelts fastened tightly, and keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle until the ride has come to a complete stop. Without any further ado, we hope you enjoy your time here, and we hope to see you on many a return visit to the latest manuscript of the mildly popular paperback adventure novelist, Riku Walker.
Lately I've been wondering where things went wrong. No, that's a lie. I know exactly where they went wrong – The Happy Duke Café on the corner of 5th and Waldorf. Or maybe, now that I think about it, maybe it wasn't at the Happy Duke that things actually went wrong. Maybe it was at the shop – Kairi's shop – just a few blocks north of there on 5th. Or maybe it was at the bar, Gaston's, where the two of them actually met. Outside the bar. In the doorway. Christ, I don't even know anymore.
What I do know is this, and God knows it took me long enough to figure it out: I am in love with Sora Panucci. I am in love with my best friend's boyfriend. And I guess to figure out where it all went wrong, I'd have to know what "it all" actually is that went wrong, and why it's so wrong in the first place.
Stay with me, now. Please. I'm practically begging you. I've written every other story I can muster and now this is all I've got left. Compared to my earlier work, it might seem a little, well, different, and I can guarantee that my editor will be mightily confused. But every good adventure writer's got one decent romance in him, right? I mean… right? At this point, I don't really have a choice. I've already started typing and now I know I can't quit until I know the end.
Consider this my first real work of nonfiction. Let me take you back.
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Outside of the Happy Duke Café, it's cloudy with a high of 48 and a low of 39. Inside the Happy Duke Café, it's sunny with a high of 72 and a low of… also 72. It's last year, and it's fucking freezing outside.
My laptop and I take the table by the radiator every day at 9:30 in the morning, and leave together anytime from noon to 8:00 PM when the Duke closes its doors for the night. On a good day, I write short stories, or parts of short stories, or characters for short stories, or outlines for short stories I'll write another day. On days like this one, I write fragments of sentences or words that come to mind or nothing at all.
When I first moved into the house – Zexion's, of course – I could write every day. I remembered every detail of every breath I took in every country I hitch-hiked through. Every night spent curled up between drunken strangers, every hit of every drug I half-heartedly agreed to try, every color that danced across my brain had poured eagerly from my fingers to my keyboard, into convoluted poetry and desperately factual fiction. Adventure stories, for the most part, based vaguely on pieced-together memories of various experiences I'd added to my repertoire. After six months of living solely in the previous six years of my life, I sat down to write one morning to find my travels completely exhausted, and I made an executive decision to clean up and step outside for a change before I drove myself any crazier than I'd come to be already.
In any case, on this particular morning, gears are finally turning in my head. Tetris pieces are falling from the sky and the most intricate lock is slowly, methodically clicking into place. I bite my pen and stare at my empty coffee cup, waiting for the last clink of metal, the last puzzle piece, and finally the mystery's solved with one final whoosh as the iron door opens, the heavy switch flips, the light turns on and God dammit, I finally know what to write.
"Can I get you a refill on that coffee?"
Blank, don't blink, don't listen, don't lose that sentence-
"Sir?"
I can't fucking believe it. I swallow and look up at the coffee boy, then down at my empty cup. The sentence is gone and my Word document is still blank and my totally unnecessary pen is all chewed up on the end.
"Sure," I manage. "Sorry."
The coffee boy smiles, pushes up his sleeves and reaches for my cup. I watch him walk away on steady feet and sturdy legs and wonder if I've ever known anyone who walked quite that way.
It's starting to rain outside and I hardly even notice when the coffee boy shows up again.
"Black, right?"
I nod and accept the new cup, taking a slow, disappointed sip and wondering why he's lingering. I can see him still in the corner of my eye, and I'm still a little peeved about that sentence. Once they're lost, they never seem to come back around.
"So… are you a writer?"
Shit. I look up. The coffee boy looks interested, hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans.
"Um," I say eventually. "Yeah. Yes."
I'm not a published writer, and I have no income. But sure. I'm a writer. Okay.
"It's just, you come here a lot, and you're always writing, so I figured… you know. It must be your job, because, you know, since you're always here, you can't have a different job. Somewhere else, that is."
I nod again. "Yeah, I don't have a job anywhere else."
"Unless you telecommute, I guess," he continues, and now he's taking his hands out of his pockets to straighten out his sweater. "Or I guess if you worked nights somewhere… you could still be here in the day."
"I don't," I say curtly. I set my coffee cup down. "I just write."
The coffee boy nods. He's kind of sticking his jaw out and it reminds me more of a llama than anything else.
"I wish I could do that," he says after a moment. "I would love that, you know? Just writing, or whatever. But it's like, you must be pretty good, right? Because it's like, how are you gonna pay the bills, right, that's why I'm here every day," he says, and he laughs. His sleeves slip down again around his hands – big, green, heavy sweater sleeves.
I give him a grim smile and nod again, unable to comment on bills or rent. Zexion pays for those, of course. Zexion pays for everything. It pays to have smart friends, I'm thinking, I mean, literally. Before I know it, the coffee boy's suddenly reaching out his hand. I wonder for a moment what to do.
"I'm Sora," he says, and as I shake his hand, he sits down on the other side of the table.
"Riku," I say. "Walker."
"It's good to finally meet you," Sora says, grinning. "I mean, having known you for over a year as Radiator Guy."
This just about kills me. I may not have a conventional job right now, per se, but I've certainly worked retail before, and I never thought I'd be one of those people. You know the ones, or at least, if you've ever worked in a restaurant, a coffee shop, a grocery store, practically anywhere, you've got to know at least one of them. You know, Homeless Guy, or 3-Pounds-Smoked-Turkey-Sliced-Extra-Extra-Thin Guy. Maybe for you it was Hat Lady, or Triple-Grande-Breve-Extra-Caramel-Caramel-Macchiato Woman. Anyone habitual and predictable enough in their behavior who you see every damn day, they become [Insert Behavior or Service Desired Here] Guy or Lady or Chick or Dude. I groan internally. How could I have become one of these people? Better yet, how had I become Radiator Guy?!
"So what do you write about?"
I take another long sip, sigh, and look at my blank computer screen. "Today, nothing. In general though, I write… short stories."
"Oh yeah? That's cool, short stories. So I guess you'd publish like… a collection of them, or something?"
"That's the hope, yeah. At some point, that would be a… a good thing to do."
Now he's laughing, and he turns to check on his other tables. Spotting an empty table that needs cleaning, he makes a face at me (God, how long has it been since someone "made a face" at me?) and stands.
"Hey, um, me and some friends-" (Some friends and I, I think automatically) "-were gonna catch some music tonight at um, at Gaston's, I dunno if you know where that is, it's on like, 44th or so, but um, well, wait, you're over 21, right?"
I raise my eyebrows. "Are you serious?"
"Hey, you never know, I dunno, I mean, you look… um, you know."
"I'm 26."
He laughs a little, pushing in the chair he'd been sitting in.
"Alright, good. Um, but yeah, we were gonna go, and um. Well. You should come with. If you want," he adds hastily, pushing chocolate hair back from his face.
This intrigues me, despite the coffee boy's lack of grammatical tact. He's definitely cute, and it's been a while since I last- but he's probably not gay. I mean, what are the chances? On the other hand, the sweater. Plus, he came over to talk to me, didn't he?
"What time?"
"Well, I'm off at 8, and I was thinking I would just head over from here."
I nod, considering my options. I certainly don't have any other plans. And anyway, the only other person I ever really hang out with is-
Ring.
-calling me right now.
"I'll come back," Sora says, and he walks away.
I attempt an apologetic look before pulling my cell phone from my jacket pocket and flipping it open.
"Hey, Kairi."
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Let's take a quick breather, now. I can't really just throw Kairi at you without any background, can I? I mean, she's a major player here. She's really my best friend, outside of the guys I live with, and the guys I live with are, well, they're my friends, but they're also… my roommates. Plus, they exist in a whole different world than I do. Business and large sums of money – anyway. Kairi. My best friend.
Actually, this is about to start sounding really pretentious, but I met Kairi at a bookstore. Look, I'm a writer, I spend a lot of time in bookstores. In any case, so I'm in the bookstore, right? And I'm in the Italian section, because I'm looking for a good, simple novel to read to keep up my understanding of the language. I was halfway decent with it when I was in Italy, but ever since I left there, it's been slowly dwindling. Anyway. I'm in the Italian section and I notice something trendy lurking almost directly behind me. I shuffle over a little bit to the right, but she kind of shuffles over too, and finally I'm forced to either look at her or wait for my brain to explode with frustration.
"Am I in your way?" I finally ask, turning to face her, and Jesus Christ, she's even trendier than I thought. Cute, though – shoulder length red hair, bright blue eyes, and a black and white checkered scarf. She's actually wearing a pea coat, also black, and dark blue jeans tucked into those kind of slouchy looking brown boots.
She must think I'm looking her up and down because I'm interested. Whatever, right? As long as she learns to stand a little further away from strangers, I'm good.
"I, um, I actually don't know," she says, giving me one of those exaggerated, apologetic "Oh no!" faces.
"Um," I say.
"I'm looking for one of those, like, Teach Yourself Italian books. You know what I mean? Like, an instructional book. The sign said Italian, so…"
"These are all literature," I reply. Is she serious? But she seems nice enough. "Here, I'll show you where those kinds of books are. I used to read them all the time."
She looks desperately relieved. I'm starting to think this bookstore ought to start paying me, considering how often I find myself grabbing things off of shelves for short people and directing fashionable young women to the Teach Yourself Italian books. Arriving at the correct section, I gesture to the shelf full of the books she needs.
"Ta-daa."
"Oh my God, seriously, thank you so much," she… says? She… gushes, yes, that's the word I'm looking for. She's seriously overjoyed. "It would have taken me for ever to find these on my own!"
I consider walking away, but remember a recent conversation with one of my roommates, Demyx, in which he told me I really need to get out there and make some friends.
"Are you… learning Italian?" I ask half-heartedly. She looks up, her expression almost embarrassed.
"Well," she says, "I'd like to be. I mean, I guess it's sort of a nerdy hobby of mine, I like to learn languages. I'm not really very good at any of them, though. But, you know, I've just always wanted to go to Italy."
"Ah," I say. Come on, Riku. "I, uh, I actually lived in Italy for about a year, um, a little… while ago."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
She seems to be waiting for me to continue, but I'm really not very good at this.
"I, uh, I spent some time in Europe. I was 22 when I kind of… settled. In Italy."
"Were you on some kind of exchange, or…?"
I shake my head. "No, I, uh, I dropped out of college when I was 19 and kind of headed off, you know, to see the world, that kind of thing. Mostly I just ended up seeing Europe, making bad choices, traveling around."
"Ohhh," she says, nodding knowingly. "Well, I hear the food is great."
I can't help but laugh at this one, and she laughs too. "Yeah," I say eventually, "There's only one place here that's got real Italian food."
"Really? Where are you thinking of? Maybe I've been there," she says mischievously, straightening up with a book in her hand.
"It's called L'Ora di Mezzanotte," I reply. "It's a nice place, and they serve drinks and dessert after midnight, they stay open till 3."
"Huh," she says, biting her lip. "I've never heard of it."
Okay. Time to shine. Make some friends, Riku.
"Are you free tonight? I could take you," I manage, and she blushes a little.
"Oh my god, I'm actually busy tonight, but, um, I mean, and I'm seeing someone right now, but what about… Friday?"
"Sure," I say, shocked that she's actually willing to go. "I'm, I mean, believe me, I wasn't trying to, um, to pick you up, or anything. I mean, you're… not my type, if you catch my drift."
God, I've always hated when people use that expression, and here I am using it. I'm hoping she understands, and she nods, so I figure she does.
"Great! Well, here, can I, um, can I give you my number?" she says, and seconds later my phone is requesting a name to save it as.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name," I say. "I'm Riku, Riku Walker."
"Riku," she repeats, transferring her book to her left hand and reaching out her right to shake. "I'm Kairi Quinn."
The rest is irrelevant. You know the drill, the awkward goodbye and the walking away despite not knowing where you're going, and then realizing where you want to go is actually in the other direction, so you go back and you have to walk past them again. But I digress. It's a good thing that Kairi actually got my number out of me before I scampered away, or else I might have just lost my nerve and never called her. As it were, she called me that Wednesday, all bright and peppy and colorful even over the phone, and she asked if I wanted to make it a double date – her and her boyfriend, me and mine. Unfortunately, I had no boyfriend, and she said she actually knew someone who she was just positive I would like. The best part was, the words "boyfriend" or "he" were never actually mentioned in regard to me, so when I showed up for the blind double date, I was standing in front of Kairi, her muscular, Germanic-looking boyfriend (more on him later), and a tiny, fierce-looking blonde woman. Yeah, I know, right? Kairi set me up with a woman, which was actually really awkward when it came time for me to take that woman home.
Namine, that's her name, was great company throughout dinner, and it was wonderful to get to know Kairi a little better. All things considered, it was one of the only times in my life I've felt truly grown up. All of us were dressed up, and we ordered nice wine, and I felt about age 35.
But before I know it, there I am, standing on the front steps of a gorgeous old brownstone, waiting for Namine to stop doing that "I'm going to stand here ostensibly looking for my keys until you kiss me" thing.
"Look," I say, "I had a really great time tonight. And it was wonderful meeting you, but, um…"
Here she sighs, and she finally pulls her keys out of her purse. "There's always a but, isn't there?" she says gloomily.
"Oh no, no it's really, it's nothing about you," I say hurriedly. "But I thought I'd made it clear to Kairi on the phone, I'm… gay."
She nods slowly, looking me up and down. "You are well dressed. And you did tell me my building was gorgeous."
"And I'm talking to your face, not your cleavage," I add.
"Oh, you are, aren't you?"
I smile, shaking my head. She really is a great girl, I maintain that to this day. Some guy will be fucking lucky to have her.
"Goodnight, Namine," I say, and I give her a kiss on the cheek.
Walking down the steps, I hear a "Goodnight" from behind me, and I give her one last wave before climbing into a cab and heading home.
After that night, the rest is history. Kairi called me up the next day to apologize profusely for setting me up with a girl – she'd called Namine that morning – and to thank me for introducing her to the best Italian food she'd ever encountered. We made plans to meet up the following week for gelato, and after that, we just seemed to keep hanging out. Before I knew it, we'd become almost inseparable, and when the big, blond jerk broke her heart, who was there to comfort her? You got it, Riku Walker.
Anyway, what I didn't know at the time about Kairi was that she runs her own shop – a soap store, or rather, a store for things that smell good. It's a cute, modern little place in the same trendy neighborhood as the Happy Duke Café, and if it weren't for her store, I would probably never have found the Happy Duke in the first place, and thus, would never have met Sora Panucci. But this is all beside the point. I set out to introduce you to Kairi, and here I am telling you about her shop, her loser ex, her friend Namine, Italian food… Well, forget it. I can edit the extra out later, can't I? Streamline my thoughts, you know, the usual editing crap.
But I think here's where I'll stop for tonight. I can hear Axel and Demyx downstairs, and it sounds (and smells) like they're cooking something fantastic. Signing off – this has been your daily dose of the convoluted crapshoot otherwise known as the life and times of me, myself, I, yours truly, the one and only - Riku Walker.
Possible titles:
Riku Walker's 26th Year of Shit-tacular Life
Riku In The City (ajfshskjghskjghskg.)
Riku Is Self-Centered And Is Writing A Manuscript About Himself
The Coffee Boy In The Green Sweater, or, I'm In Love With An Italian
Axel is making lasagna, come down if you wanna eat it, lol I'm in ur manuscript, laffin at ur titlez
(for future notes: that was Demyx. Fuck this! I'll title it tomorrow.)
AN: Thanks for riding with us today, we hope you enjoyed the ride. As your car comes to a complete stop, please unfasten your seatbelts and exit to your left. On your way out, feel free to fill out a comment card and let us know what you're thinking. We hope to see you again soon.