Professor Layton and its characters belong to Level-5.
What, with it's take-forever localization. ;;;;
He didn't quite know how Barton had gotten Dimitri to cell with him, but he was sure as hell thankful for it. Clive would have gone full-out mad if he'd been celled with someone other than Dimitri- he was calming to be around, that was sure. Clive was sometimes allowed to go on breaks to the Professor's house, to visit for up to a week-and-a half at a time, but he usually stayed for a weekend every few weeks; Dimitri, on the other hand, would stay in the shared cell in solitude while the other was visiting- Who did he have to go to? There wasn't really anyone for him to visit.
The man who kept his hair pulled back into a ponytail with that stray part of his bangs covering his right eye was utterly fascinating, more than what Clive had previously noticed.
He'd never noticed the older man's preference for straight razors until they'd started sharing a cell in the high-security ward of one of London's top prisons. He was trying to teach Clive to use a straight razor, as well, seeing as it'd be more cost-effective than constantly buying replacement razors, and you'd get that much more of a closer shave. Clive was decent, and he had to admit, the man had class. Even the Professor didn't use a straight razor, considering how old-fashioned he tended to be.
Dimitri didn't talk very much, but he held very good conversation- although somewhat wary of the younger for the first few months of their imprisonment, Clive had managed to regain Dimitri's trust to an extent. Clive could sleep with the knowledge that Dimitri wouldn't slit his throat while he slept- The man was no killer, but one never could know. He had a calming voice to talk in, and his whole disposition was very relaxed, save for that underlying stress that came with work, or, in this scenario, being in prison for what he'd done.
Dimitri wasn't specifically nosy, either, which was a nice thing. For the most part, he kept to himself, reading or staring at the walls, so deep in thought that you'd have to pull his hair or throw something at him to regain his attention. It was ironic that he'd manage to be so at home in the underground London, yet his claustrophobia spiked while living in the cell- at least it was fairly spacious, being made for two.
Clive had taken to playing with Dimitri's hair, the silvery ponytail that reached past the man's hips. Braiding it, twisting it with his fingers, it was almost irresistible to not play with it. The fact that it curled made the matter no better- those curls that made corkscrew shapes, to bounce back when you tugged on it. Dimitri would only ever chuckle and tell him to stop that already, would you? But made no move to stop the boy from what he did. Other times, Clive would lay on his back with his head in the man's lap, both reading a book, talking, or perhaps Clive just liked watching that sleepy, distant expression Dimitri took on when he was thinking, sometimes falling asleep while thinking, sitting just like that.
On the few occasions Clive heard the man sing, he figured that Dimitri didn't know he was awake or not alone; Dimitri's singing voice was like that which he spoke it- it sounded utterly wonderful. Low, soft singing in a language that wasn't English, most likely a folk song or something, but the tune was similar. When Clive did comment on it, Dimitri looked away and said it was an old something he'd learned as a child.
It wouldn't be quite wrong to call them friends, but Clive felt slightly different on the matter.
It'd be easier described that Clive- as much as he hated to admit it, it made him sound like a girl- had developed something of a crush on the scientist, despite how single-minded he came off as.
Dimitri was oblivious to things and relatively thick-skinned, dense, if you will. How he didn't notice the blushing and the stuttering when he suddenly got close to Clive without warning, he didn't quite know. It had to be a talent, it just had to, or some sort of skill.
And, even if it cost him his visits to the Professor, he would get the older man to notice him in the same light.
A/N: Well, hello there. Welcome to my fanfiction which contains so much of my headcannon that your face will explode.
Dimitri's the kind of classy motherfucker who uses straight razors. Like Sweeney Todd, man.
And he probably does some sort of sport or martial art- kickboxing, maybe.
But really. Dimitri needs more love. ; A ; I love him to bits and pieces. He was my very favoruite character in the Unwound Future.
I think he's a year younger than Layton is, so he'd be 26 at the time of the explosion, which, if you backtrack it, is 13 years older than Clive.
Luke is 13 at the Unwound Future, so Clive is 23. Go back to the explosion, and he was 13 at the time. Now, jump to when this takes, place, three years ahead, just in step with my other Layton fanfiction. Dimitri is 39, Clive is 26.
I love this pairing, nonetheless. I have a friend who's parents are 20 years apart. Doesn't really bother anyone.
In any case, please enjoy!
