As the door was opened, Fye's eyebrows raised only slightly. Somehow he'd been expecting it to be a tip.
And it was – a glorious one in fact. Clothes, worn and discarded hung, tired and limp, over furniture, all over the place, arms and legs dangling. There was a dead plant on the windowsill, there was a pile of paper, actually not just paper - work, magazines, newspapers, books, catalogues, letters - towering over one half of a table. The other space he obviously inhabited was kept clear for the most part albeit the half-finished packet of mints, the bills, a pen, the lid hovering lonely at the other side. The top of the lamp was rimmed with dust, the cooker splattered, the sink full, not to mention the draining board. Half an old meal thrown sloppily down on the worktop… Fye bit his lip, sharply morphing his expression into a large smile as Kurogane glanced suspiciously down on him.
'Deal with it,' the man's expression seemed to say as he dropped his gaze, walking in an aggravated manner into his own home. It made Fye wonder how he walked usually.
"Hey, I'm grateful!" he protested, following Kurogane in and removing his shoes at the door. Grateful to peel his worn feet from these shoes too, grateful to have been given a chance to rest his weary legs in the car.
"Hungry?" Kurogane asked bluntly, as he removed his jacket, throwing it on a chair, joining a pair of jeans, another coat and a jumper.
"Yes," responded Fye immediately, regretting soon after, realising how hasty, how desperate he must have sounded.
Kurogane shot him a look, strange and unaccustomed, before he turned away, opening the fridge, gazing about lazily and indifferently at the contents, gauging severity of expiry dates, Fye presumed. He shut his thoughts off, indulging in his own sarcasm in silence.
"Where do I sleep?" he asked before his host was distracted entirely and he was left standing there to rot like everything else the man brought into the flat.
Kurogane threw a disinterested finger in the direction of the next room, as if ignoring his presence as far as possible. Fye stared towards him for a moment, slightly resentful, part bemused, kind of accepting – he was the one intruding after all.
Deciding to ignore him as well, he moved through the room, a kitchen clinging on one side, a table pressed on the other, making his way to the door.
He shouldn't really have been expecting a spare bedroom either in such a small flat. He ran his eyes over the equally mislaid, equally mixed and mulched interior of the living room cum study, carefully and dejectedly placing his bag on top of the sofa he guessed would be his bed for the next … while…
He sighed and sat on the sofa, head in hands, staring towards the dead TV, glazed over, wishing he'd stopped and planned something before he'd stepped on the plane. That would have been sensible. And he wouldn't be indebted to a stranger who could almost speak English. He wouldn't have to be living out of a bag. And he might have had a bed to sleep in.
He pressed his fingers into the sofa, yielding slightly – old and used but not uncomfortably so. He leaned back, fingers prying and testing his new bed, his eyes soaking in the images in this room, the nature of the man who lived in it, created this space and created an ever-shifting statement of his habits, splaying his character over the walls and floor, the table, the laptop in the corner on a desk, socks drying on a rack, taken in from the tiny balcony outside. The rain drizzling down the window, the clock ticking sorrowfully upon the TV; dimly the lampshade shone as he turned it on, upon the table, upon the remotes and notes, scattered lines, shapes and figures, empty beer cans glinting dully in the half light. His eyes caught sight of the children's pictures, pinned lovingly to the wall, floating like a halo over his workspace.
***
It didn't take Kurogane very long to start regretting ever inviting Fye over. He was closer than he'd imagined, intruded into his personal life more than he'd expected. Not usually a man interested in charity, he quickly grew irritated, more with himself than anything else. And the way that this guy picked up the noodles like it was some sort of trapeze act.
Their eyes caught every now and then and Fye would frown disbelievingly whenever he saw the look within Kurogane's eyes – a slowly burning glower, a message of frustration, of annoyance. He calmly slipped his attention back down to his noodles, microwaved barely within an edible range. And so far this foreign kid had no complaints. God knows what Kurogane would have done if he did, dangling over the cliff's edge before he'd even been properly introduced to him.
No, instead Fye was growing annoyed with those glances he was throwing towards him, those pissed off glares he fired across the table every time he butchered his meal. Every noodle dropped from a pair of precariously clutched chopsticks was grating on Kurogane, gritting his teeth whenever he saw him making a mess of things. Fye was clueless.
Fye succumbed, smiling politely as a form of assault. "I've never eaten like this before, Kurogane" he stated, a childish giggle beneath his tone, pointing daggers.
"Kurogane-san," he was corrected without an ounce of sympathy.
Fye's smile softened, eyes averting to shimmer agitatedly as he realised he'd never manage to penetrate this man's cold and callous collection that he called emotions. He poked around his bowl with the offending chopsticks, fed up of being treated like a criminal pleading innocent. He'd twirl the noodles around, a lop-sided and sarcastic smile alighting his face, stabbing and, now and again, trying to snap and gulp a few, messily and patiently.
Kurogane lasted a whole minute watching him – yes, now he realised that he'd been watching him – before snapping. Before standing up and ripping the chopsticks from his hands. Before throwing them down by the sink and opening a drawer with a harsh clatter, raking about for utensils. He saw the hardened blue eyes staring up to him curiously, analytically, silenced as he placed down a fork. And then the infamous smile dancing to the stage. "It's cold now, Kuro-san," he remarked in retaliation, a kind look, a soft and sympathetic expression, coupled with a cruel return, matching him in a way that he hadn't expected. Possibly worse than his ex-wife.
He made a disgruntled noise, displaying and conveying his frustration. "Do you still want to stay?" he snapped in agitation, a threatening and deep edge beneath, daring to lash into him.
Fye blinked, only slightly fazed, dropping his gaze and shaking his head.
He watched, regret pooling in his stomach as Kurogane stomped off, abandoning the remains of his meal. He pursed his lips, frowning in a tender sense of guilt as he allowed the noodles to hang from the prongs of the fork, latching and dangling pitifully.
***
The evening was a mild improvement.
Fye sat scrunched at the end of the sofa as if hanging over the edge, clinging, ears running on half power as the TV blared gibberish into them. He breathed deeply, frightened to sigh so close to the other man. Head perched in hands, he was bored witless.
He shifted slightly, staring about, eyes lacking focus as he slipped into his own thoughts. And it was in that sort of self-absorbed silence that he registered the beating of his heart - a little faster than usual. Anxiety, he thought, dismissing and closing his eyes, sensing Kurogane, a living temper, a shaken bottle of fizzed up drink, primed to blow.
As if reading his thoughts, Kurogane's stare shifted over to him, taking in his stance and his expression, the dulled tone in his eyes, the childish way he folded his legs beneath him, the challenging shape of his mouth, the way he held his lips together, more than a simple settled gaze.
Kurogane turned away, almost dismissively, walking through to the kitchen. Fye took advantage of that situation, smiling tongue-in-cheek, as he stretched his legs a little farther, invaded just that little more of Kurogane's space. By the time Kurogane came back through, two beers clutched in hand, he'd returned to his steady stare, focusing his attention on the lamp this time, fingers twirling and twiddling near uselessly.
"Do you want one?" the man asked, pushing his feet away to the other side of the sofa once he'd sat back down, resuming his position.
Fye shrugged and Kurogane threw the can over anyway, chucking it half-heartedly. Fye clicked open the can, narrowing his eyes in suspicion and tapping the aluminium with his nails in thought. Had there been a sudden change of heart?
But still, the TV threw nonsense in his face with no sign of reprise, the man channel-hopped with some sort of furious and hell-bent determination to break a mile a minute and Fye sipped near tasteless beer without much better things to do, listening to the traffic grumble agitatedly below.
It carried on like this until Fye picked up the courage to speak, eyes noting the crayon drawings once more, his fingers pressing into the malleable hollow of the metal can as he pursed his lips, thinking.
"I'm sorry for what I said," he apologised during an ad-break, looking ahead. "I'm grateful to be able to stay here." His voice dropped in a soft tone of regret and thankfulness.
"It's alright," Kurogane replied, beer can near lips, expression part-bemused at the sudden apology. He chased that uncertainty away, shutting his eyes and tipping the can back. "I was no better. I have no patience."
Fye couldn't help but smile at this, the understatement of the century, trying to contain his laughter.
"What?" the man snapped, thankfully taking a joke.
"Nothing," Fye said, a grin escaping as he shook his head. "I have no manners."
"No what?" the man growled in confusion this time, not recognising the word.
This time Fye laughed lightly, shaking his head quickly, strongly, sending locks of sheer blonde hair dancing about his face.
Kurogane grimaced now, returning to his beer, but not long after his gaze had resettled towards the TV screen, he found himself facing Fye again, a questioning expression within the way he looked towards him, the way his eyes picked at him, part analytical and part amused. "Where are you from?" he asked.
"Hamburg, North Germany," Fye blurted out with a self-knowing smile. It was only after he said it that his heart caught on a wire, snagging – he'd forgotten to lie.
"Hamburg," Kurogane repeated curiously, although his accent morphed it, changing Fye's cosy little home into a Japanese fascination – h-AM-boorg-oh. Fye smiled, put at ease by the reaction, tilting his head, feeling a new, warmer atmosphere sweep through the room, taking every object with it, a tide billowing them slightly.
"Have you always lived in Tokyo?" he asked kindly and politely, taking a new interest in his host.
He shook his head. "When I was a child, I stayed in the countryside. I came here as a student and now I live here."
"I'm the same," Fye beamed. "I was brought up in a small town near Hamburg and then moved there to study." He sighed fondly in reflection. "It was quite peaceful there."
"Well, it's not here," Kurogane snapped, voice taking its usual grouchy bass notes, grumbling beneath, although his tone spoke kindly. He frowned as he held his beer can as if uncertain why he was carrying on, what could have suddenly possessed him to become more talkative. "Are you still a student?"
"I just finished," Fye said with a quaint smile, a charmed look in his eyes, doing quick calculations in his head to ensure his story was plausible.
The man beside him nodded in merely vague interest, finishing the last of his beer and bringing his attention back to the TV. Drama, action… he turned it off, crushing the can in his fist, unsympathetic and bored into habit, before resignedly dropping it in the bin placed conveniently by his side. He stood up and made his way into what Fye presumed was his bedroom without another glance. Fye nearly pouted. Just one little, polite, friendly glance…?
He flopped down on the sofa dejectedly, mind numbed in boredom, a lack of things to think through now he'd deliberately, determinedly blanked his memory. The sofa was slightly warm now with their overstayed presence, the smell of beer caught floating in the air, the forgotten souls of many other cans whispering to him as he lay his head down. He frowned, thinking about the future rather than the past.
A door shut behind his head and he looked up to face Kurogane standing, only half caring, arms crossed before him, now changed and narrowing his eyes – an overbearing and near contemptuous air within. "I get up at seven," he says, "I shower at quarter past seven, I eat at half past seven and I leave at quarter to eight. Understand?"
Fye nodded, saluting just to irk him.
"Tch," Kurogane muttered, grimacing and retreating back to his bedroom with a curt, "Good-night."
Fye sat back up on his sofa, pausing for a moment in the strange half-living light, seeping in the window, sucking at the furniture and carpet. He watched it suspiciously before reaching for his bag, rummaging about for clothes to sleep in.
He jumped as the door opened again, the man not even making eye-contact as he threw a sheet on to the sofa. Half-missing, the sheet clung to the arm desperately as the rest of its meagre body pooled dejectedly on the floor. The door shut promptly.
"Thank you," Fye called after him with a frown, knowing full well he might as well have been trying to make conversation with the closed door in front of him. He found himself wondering if the door would have been more willing to talk to him, have more interesting things to say. Right now he only had one other voice in his life and it was rather unsociable.
He sighed, making his way to the bathroom, changing, brushing his teeth before settling down in his miniature new home – a sofa, a coffee table and an intrusive window, a cheap, thin pair of curtains half-heartedly shielding the view, solemnly hanging their weight. Picking the sheet up from the floor, he kicked about a few pillows, set his bag out of the way and laid his head down to sleep, begging for a new day, a new life, a new beginning.
a/n: Kuro-tan is grumpy, ne? Don't worry, Fye will sort everything out ;)
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