OD: This fanfiction on a fan fiction website. In the immortal words of Stan 'the Man' Lee: 'Nuff said.
Synchronicity
Chapitré Un: Injury
I'm a perfect stranger who knows you too well
His graffiti-covered converse slap the concrete as he storms down the midday sidewalk, making sure to step on every single crack he passes. Without so much as glancing up from his music player, he dodges other pedestrians, most of whom simply ignore the oddly dressed boy. Resisting the urge to scream or growl or hit someone, he tugs on the brim of his hat, a vintage fedora that looks even more out of place than the person wearing it.
He wants to be drowning in red, a color to match the pounding headache. Of course, he knows that any song that makes him see red is probably only going to make the headache worse, but he's so worked up he can't seem to find the will to care. Finally finding a suitable choice, he adjusts his ear buds and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. In a strange sort of irony, the music that's blaring through his ear buds calms him slightly. The song's blatantly cerulean blue title never fails to throw him off, but it's a perfect pissed-off song - and Fai D. Fluorite is certainly pissed off. Its black, pounding backbeat coming from the heavy bass drum and angry red melody allows him to momentarily redirect his anger in the form of furiously lip-synched lyrics. He's tired and cold and annoyed and maybe even a little scared because today has been one hell of a ride.
His morning had begun at a record three a.m. - only one hour after he'd finally managed to fall into a restless sleep - with a call from the hospital, of all places. (He hates hospitals more than anything else. Just thinking of needles or blood makes him feel faint and he's seen too many people go in and never come out of the things not to resent them.) After walking the ten blocks in the unfamiliar pitch-black night, he arrived and was forced to wait for two whole hours before receiving news that it was only a false alarm. A wrong turn on the trek back home meant he took an extra hour getting back and missed the bus and homeroom. Walking all the way through the lower districts just to make Study Skills or whatever stupid name they gave study hall was not an option. He wasted a few hours pretending to work on homework and making snacks, but by the time the sun began to sink, he'd run out of interesting things to do. So he decided that a walk around the block to clear his head would do him some good.
It isn't any good at all, really. He's already walked past his café three times now, and he's only cooler in the literal sense (it's twenty degree weather and he only thought to bring a thin trench coat and fingerless gloves), no less annoyed than he was twenty minutes ago. Walking around just gives him more time to think about the unfairness and general stupidity of the world, firing him back up every time he thinks he's got himself back under control.
He shivers again, glad he's coming up on his building. It's too cold here in this strange city. If it's not raining then it's snowing or at least below freezing, it seems. Nothing like home.
He reaches out and grabs the beige stone corner, intending to swing around the corner like you might swirl around a pole. He closes his eyes as he goes around, but before he can even wonder what's happened something rams into his left shoulder and he's flat on his back, a searing pain ripping through his right eye.
"Hey, watch where you're go - oi."
He gasps, lungs starved of air, and he cracks open his left eye, world blurry and indistinguishable.
"Hey, kid."
He opens his other eye, immediately wincing again from the new shot of pain. Sitting up, he touches his eyebrow and feels like falling back down when he realizes the wet, red stuff on his fingers is blood. With his left hand, he frantically feels his head for the fedora, praying to every god he can think of that there's no damage.
"Hey, kid. Can you hear me, or are you deaf?"
His music's stopped playing, the player squished in the fall. Fai removes the blue ear buds, looking over to his left, face blank. A teenager, probably not much older than he himself, is holding out the worn hat and crouching next to him. Fai accepts the hat with his clean hand, placing it back on his head at steep angle to keep it away from the blood. While he's wiping his dirty fingers on his jacket, the other boy notices the blood and grabs his head, turning it around to let him examine the cut.
"Jeezus, kid, you're gonna need some stitches," he breathes, letting go of the injured boy's chin and standing up, pulling Fai up with him by the collar of his jacket.
Fai immediately recoils at the thought of being sewn up and desperately tries to wriggle away from the taller boy's firm hold. "No! I just got back from the hospital and I do not plan on going back. I've got a first aid kit here in my café so I'll just take care of it myself," he says, gesturing towards the café he just smacked into.
The other eyes him warily. "I'll go with you," he says with a look that screams 'I'm not going to give in so just deal with it'.
Sighing, Fai pulls away and walks over to the door. "Fine. But if you touch anything, I will kill you," he says, not bothering to so much as glance back.
~-~
The Cat's Eye Café is a wholly remarkable building. Compared to the skyscrapers around it, it's rather small. The beige sandstone-like building material doesn't help it blend into the grey background of the business district, either. The first floor is equally out of place; the west wall is taken up by a single, floor to ceiling window. (No small feat; the first floor of the Cat's Eye is nearly two stories tall.) It provides a striking view of the small park across the way, the passing automobiles a striking contrast to the gentle sakura trees behind them. All of the other walls are generously decorated with paintings in enormous frames, and, higher up, scabbards and guns and all manner of strange antiques. It's a wonder that the paneling doesn't buckle under the weight, but the dark wood holds surprisingly well. Despite the oddly high ceiling and covered walls, the floor plan is open and empty, oddly lacking in furniture or seating of any kind.
"Holy..." the stranger trails off, staring upwards.
"Yeah," Fai calls from the staircase. He's already made it up a half-flight of stairs to the bathroom, and is in the process of dragging a massive white first-aid kit back down the stairwell. The box must be at least twice the size of any standard first-aid kit, and it certainly must weigh more. "Like I said: you touch it, you die. All that's real valuable, old antiques. Family heirlooms, you might say."
"I got that," he says softly. "It's just... a lot of stuff."
"My parents kind of came into a fortune a little while back. And now it's decoration in a soon-to-be café. Go figure," Fai huffs, dropping the box on the floor with a loud thud. He sits down on the bottom step and flips the lid up, revealing an impressive assortment of bandages and bottles and all kinds of strange medical things that the stranger can't even think to name. "You really don't have to be here, you know. I can take care of this real easy - I've gotten worse scratches," he says, putting on his brightest smile and wiping the blood that's run down the side of his face with a washcloth.
"Hate to break it to you, kid, but that's not a scratch," the teenager insists, squinting at Fai. "What were you doing out in this weather in the middle of the day, anyways? Don't you have school or something?"
"I could ask you the same, stranger. How about we do some introductions?" he says, smile faltering only as he applies two butterfly adhesives to the gash.
"Kurogane Suwa. I'm a sophomore at Aceline - the Arts place. Visual Arts Magnet, specifically photography. I'm out in the city on an assignment," he says, tapping the camera hanging around his neck. "You?"
"Kurogane Suwa. Kurogane," says Fai, as if to test the name. "No, that won't do. What about Kuro-rin? That's got a nice color, I think. Suwa's not bad, I suppose, but Kuro-tan is infinitely better."
"What are you talking about? And quit screwing with my name. You haven't even given me yours or why you were out," Kurogane growls, his squinting turning into a glare.
"Ah, you're not a grapheme-color, then. Figures, for a photographer. Anyways, I'm also a student at Aceline Mathys School for the Arts, so I do know it. I'm Fai D. Fluorite, and this place is the Cat's Eye, opening next week," he says in a sing-song voice. "You're so demanding, Kuro-pon. If you're so annoyed, you're free to leave. I'm not keeping you here."
"Oi, kid. I told you to quit it with the name thing - and give me that," he says, snatching away the roll of gauze and undoing the last few wrappings. "You're doing a terrible job."
Swallowing the urge to flinch at the physical contact, Fai allows Kurogane to re-wrap his head. He pokes Kurogane in the abs, smiling up at him. "You're awfully well-toned for a photographer. You've got to be an athlete - I'm guessing some kind of martial arts? You could go for soccer or football, but I doubt it. Demeanor's all wrong."
Kurogane glares back. "Just so you know, I'm first dan in Tae Kwon Do but I haven't kept up with it since middle school. I think you've got a concussion or something. You're just talking crazy now. And you're still not telling me much about yourself - what's your magnet? Com? Visual?"
Fai sighs. "I'm taking a few standard courses - Lit and Calculus - and then I've got French Lit for my foreign language, Theatre, World History, Design, Creative Writing, and of course Study Skills or whatever it is they call it."
"You, Flowright! They all mispronounce your name so I didn't think of it right away but Jeezus! You're the weird floater kid?" Kurogane says, tugging a little too hard on the gauze.
"Seems my reputation's bigger than I thought. I wonder if anyone at Ace hasn't heard of me yet? Next thing you know I'll be getting teased by freshmeat. So to answer your question, Kuro-rinta, yes, I'm the floater. But could you please stop pulling on my head?"
Realizing he's still holding the gauze, Kurogane finishes the wrapping and steps back. "Again with the names! You don't look like a junior, either. You're tallish, but you could probably pass as some of that freshmeat yourself. How'd you ever get into Ace?"
"Don't judge a book by its cover, silly Kuro-pipi. There's more to me than meets the eye," he laughs, placing the gauze back in its container and shutting the lid. "Before you go, would you like a cup of hot chocolate? The Cat's Eye isn't officially open yet, but I can make an exception in your case." He stands up and turns around, heading towards the counter and equipment.
"I'll have a cup of coffee," Kurogane says, staring at him oddly, "if you've got it. I hate sweet stuff. And only if you'll quit it with the nicknames. I hardly know you."
"Ah, but you do know me, Kuro-myu! I'm the famous Flowright floater." He laughs again, even though he obviously doesn't think that his school-wide nickname is funny in the least. "Everyone knows me. And you'll like this sweet stuff, cross my heart and hope to die. No one's ever hated it - not even those rarities that don't like chocolate. It's divine."
"What kind of person describes anything as divine? You talk weird," Kurogane huffs, but he doesn't protest the hot chocolate anymore because Fai's already in the process of making it.
"I think you talk oddly, Kuro-ryu. This city is very different from the ones I'm from. Shorter, for one. A little smaller, but definitely more driven," Fai almost yells, the machine temporarily drowning out most noise.
"You're a strange kid," Kurogane shouts back. "That accent and that hat and jacket - you're worse than most of the theatre department."
"This, coming from a VMA? I must admit, they're a pretty capricious group. Bohemian lot and that, but they're really not that bad. I knew worse, once upon a time. If you'd take the chance to actually get to know some of the painters and fashionistas, they aren't so strange. Like my Theatre class; they've got some, ah, interesting wardrobes but it's only self-expression. I figure you can understand that much, Kuro-la, as a photographer. Though I'm guessing you're more into cityscapes than abstract expressionism." This last sentence isn't even remotely phrased as a question; Fai simply states it as fact.
"How the - never mind. I probably don't wanna know how. I like the downtown district and so most of my pics come from there. I wanna capture what's there, not screw with it to make the subject look like something else," he says, accepting the hot mug warily. He sniffs it, chocolate overwhelming his senses.
"I figured as much. You're too sensible and disciplined. Probably goes against your stout sense of order. You're observant, quick mentally and physically, organized but not overly so, and don't mind the occasional spontaneity - schedules are more like outlines than detailed plans. As far as goofing off goes, you're pretty serious but you open up around friends, which are generally few but very close. You like being surrounded by activity and life, even if you don't participate in it. You've probably got some other reason for loving downtown, though you're ninety-nine point nine repeating percent likely not going to tell me what that reason is. Am I missing anything?" Fai says, taking a sip out of his own mug and stepping out from behind the counter.
"Are you some kind of freak mind-reader?" Kurogane stares at Fai, searching for an answer.
"No, just terribly well-accomplished in the art of people reading." Fai pauses, closing his eyes and taking another swig of his hot chocolate. It's elementary, my dear Kuro-chi; your outward, public personality is a bit gruff, somewhat short-tempered. Despite this, you've got a good sense of wrong and right, because you stayed with me to make sure I was alright after banging my head. You felt responsible, ergo, you tried to fix things in a sort of apology."
"Who're you calling gruff and short-tempered?"
"You, Kuro-puu. Weren't you listening? Mais c'est un peu de chose. J'ai plus! You have not left yet! I would have, were I you. In the same vein of responsibility and honor and such, you've admitted to being a martial artist, and a high ranked one at that. That means dedication and extraordinary discipline; it takes years and years to get where you are, and quitters and anyone who's not completely passionate about it will ever reach that level."
Kurogane snorts. "Got that much right."
"No interrupting! I am still not done. Because you are also a photographer, you must be observant and because you spend so much time downtown, you are obviously street-smart and quick-witted, and attracted to the hustle and bustle of city life. As you do not seem to be a people person, you would probably rather be surrounded than immersed in it. You do not understand the extreme artists, the social castoffs, so you have a high sense of order and rationality." Fai smiles, finishing off the last of his hot chocolate. "Alors, c'est pas difficile."
"I'm not a French student, Fluorite. Speak English."
"Eh? Sorry, I'm a little lightheaded. It is easier to speak en françaisbecause I do not have to think as hard," he says, his hundred-watt smile faltering for only a split-second. "By the way, did you enjoy the chocolate?"
"It wasn't bad," Kurogane concedes. "You know, I still think you're weird but you're nothing like the rumors. They never mention you having an accent or speaking perfect French. Or dressing like you're from a black-and-white film."
"I told you, Kuro-rinta. You cannot ever judge a book by its cover; I may be quick to assess you, but I certainly will not underestimate you," Fai slurs, accent growing even thicker. Kurogane can barely understand him now.
"Oi, are you sure your head's okay? You're talking even funnier than usual. Maybe you should -"
In a split second, Fai's knees give out, his face going from cheerful to shocked, mouth forming a perfect 'o' as he hits the ground with a thud. Kurogane drops his empty cup, catching him by the scruff of his neck.
"- sit down or something."
~-~
Elodie's Extraordinarily Enlightening Explanations
Cliffhangers, ahoy! Good lord, I've a lot of author's notating to do. (Noting? Notationizing?) Ah, well. It's for your benefit. (And it's free rambling space. Don't suppose I can rightly complain about that.) Future chapters should be longer, especially once we get back to school and meet the rest of the CLAMP-verse. And I mean in content, not notes. I don't think I could take much longer notes...
Fai's Fantastic French Phrasebook
Mais c'est un peu de chose. J'ai plus: But that's a trifle. I have more!
Alors, c'est pas difficile: So it's not difficult.
Fai's red-and-black song is called One and Only by Timberland. It really is a great song to be angry to.
About the colors: here, Fai is synesthetic, a word which here means 'a plot point to be explained by the character at a later date but is very well written about on Wikipedia if you really want to know'.
If you already know what this is or were unlazy enough to find out: Yes, I have it, and for matters of convenience, Fai's synesthesia is almost identical to mine. Hence, Kurogane's name is oddly colored. Kuro's nice and orangey but you tack on the greenish-brown-with-a-dash-of-red 'gane' and it all goes weird. No, I don't usually see music like Fai. At least, I'll make general associations with the colors - One and Only is red and black - but pianos don't make me see rainbows.