To Where The Four-Leaf Clover Grows
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or trademarks of Kaze To Ki No Uta, those all belong to Keiko Takemiya. This story's ideas and happenings are all my creation, and I hope you all enjoy this! WARNING: If you are not comfortable reading about shonen-ai couples, then I advise you to find another fic to read (please don't, this is really good, promise!).
Chapter 1:
The Marks of the Snow
The cold and bleak winter nights in northern France were simply dreadful. The vast, howling winds of the still skies and its endless stars hung over the citizens of such a winter. Such a heavenly body, like the Milky Way, compared to the cold winter stars in the black skies, is where many homeless souls wished to be and frolic, regardless of the weather.
Many more fortunate people cuddle and read near a blazing fire, weaving clever and amusing anecdotes or helping themselves to the touch of their companion's or lover's hand to warm their own. The secret night that no person knew what it could deliver in the hours, let the snow fall, silently and gently. As some hurried home due to the mild cold or just to wanted to get home from a long day of stern tenacity, loved to watch the snow, falling gracefully from the heavens, making even the most ugly of buildings and landscapes most positively gorgeous.
Aside from those who have a place to call home and can at least find a small slice of happiness, many street dwellers find it hard to sleep knowing if they will never wake the next morning. Yes, as I mentioned, the winters in northern France are simply dreadful, mostly for the homeless and those who work late or simply have nowhere else to go. The shy lunar sphere of white had concealed itself behind the clouds that promised more snow to come. One street, long and very desolate, had a massive house who's house lights were shining through the window frames and into the snow, now golden snow. Sad to say, it was a whorehouse that sadly came up empty of acquiring a young boy the information he needed. After a few more houses, he came upon a large café that seemed like it just finished celebrating an acclaimed event.
The inside didn't have very many customers due to the premature snow. Only a few young men and women, who all looked like sorrowful, or less, pauper look alikes, were present at a corner of the room where shadows were cast. They seemed cold and tired. The young boy, who had unusual dark skin, like a tan, and beautiful, innocent eyes walked through the room wheezing into his hands, for he was walking in the French winter for far to long to make anybody's health strike a weak spot. Upon coming at the service counter, the head waitress asked the boy what he wanted.
"It is almost closing time, and I need to get those whores in the corner out of here or I'm in deep trouble with my boss. What do you want?" said the waitress impatiently. "I have tables to clean and floors to sweep, so come on, now. What is it, little boy?" The boy glanced over at the prostitutes and felt a certain stab in his stomach. One was a boy who looked no day older than eighteen, had a flat train hat, and torn sleeves with ripped pants. At least he had on a descent pair of socks and boots. The other two were girls, probably around fifteen or sixteen, who looked more pale than the snow outside. They said to the other boy that they were hungry. He replied that they can't eat anything until they are paid by the boss. The dark-skinned boy felt a sorrowful knot in his lower stomach that made him feel uncomfortable that he forgot he was asked a question by the waitress, now losing more patience.
"I-I was hoping you would know the next schedule is for the night train, if you please. I need to go to Paris," said the boy. Indeed he was going to Paris. He was carrying a large knapsack and two suitcases full of his belongings. The waitress thought a moment and replied:
"Yes...I believe the next train is at ten o'clock tonight. It's only seven, so you have plenty of time, young man."
"Merci," the boy replied back. (In French meaning "thank-you.")
Next, a plump but tall middle-aged man came down the flight of stairs from the hall and entered the giant party room/ bar room. He looked tired as well as he glared at the prostitutes in the corner in a blurred way.
He took out his wallet and hissed: "If you three want your pay then come over here." They did; after taking their money, they smiled at the boy, gestured kindly and stormed out the door. "If I'm not hiring one whore from the streets to get more customers, then I'm hiring another one!" he announced. The boy looked uneasy, and the waitress began to sweep where the prostitutes had just been.
"Umm...pardon me, sir," said the boy to the boss, "if you please, do you know of anyplace I can stay until I have to catch the ten o'clock train? I won't stay very long, but I need someplace to stay until then. Could I stay here?"
"No way, no how!" he answered. "I have been upstairs calculating money and bills all day, and I'm so tired I can't even see straight!"
"But sir, I only need sanctuary for a little while. Just until my train comes? Please, I promise I won't be a burden or ask you for a thing. You don't have to feed me, and I don't take up much space! Oh, please! Just for an hour or two?" pleaded the boy.
The man's face turned red and it scared the boy. The waitress gave the boss a look that meant "Let the boy stay, for crying out loud! He's not doing anything wrong!" The boss stared at the boy, and realized he looked like he had a good head on his shoulders, so he conceded.
"Yes, yes, you can stay here, but one hour only! It's closing time in thirty minutes, but I'll be a nice guy and extend another thirty for you because you look like you come from a good corner of town." The boy's face brightened.
"Oh, thank-you, thank-you! Merci!" exclaimed the boy.
"By the way, young man, what is your name?"
"Serge Batouille."
"Nice name; alright then, Verna!"
"What?" answered the waitress.
"Is that extra room upstairs cleared out yet? Serge can stay up there and rest until the time the trains come. Is that fine with you, Serge?" asked the boss.
"Well-" started Serge.
"There are still empty cargo boxes in there," interrupted Verna. "Dust is everywhere, and no person has been in there since the rush week of last month."
The boss flipped his head up and thought for three moments. Verna ceased in her sweeping; Serge played with his crimson scarf.
"Verna, we can clean that room. If someone is finally going to use it for once, then what better time to clean it than now, right? That way, I don't have to worry about cleaning it later." Even though he meant well, the boss didn't do any of the chores around the café. It was Verna and any homeless person or prostitute looking for a job for the day or evening or some money just to get by. However, Verna was tired and already busy tidying up the downstairs to clean an abandoned room.
"Thank-you ever so much, sir," Serge said, breaking the awkward pause.
"My pleasure. It is nice to know a young man out of the few I've seen this week that has an idea of what is right and what is wrong. You look as though you come from a good family and I respect that. Besides, you are only staying one hour, right? It is no big matter to worry over. Just make your train, alright? I don't want to be the one responsible for you missing it. Be lucky, boy. Not many people are as generous as I am. Not anyone would just let a stranger into their abode or shop and provide them with hospitality. Just look at the odds that anyone could be a crook, and beggar, or--"
"Boss, I think he gets it," Verna snapped. Does he have to provide every detail into play? she thought.
"Very well, then. I'm going home. Verna, clean that room or get some worker that hasn't left yet to clean it." With that, the boss secured his scarf around his fat neck, threw over his coat and stepped out the door and into the infamous cold. Serge, glanced shyly at Verna. She gave herself a scowling look, placed her broom down, and motioned towards the back door.
Serge heard sounds of trash cans being hit together and bottles dropping into the snow, and a cat meowing from the back alley, to where Verna disappeared into. She looked like she spotted someone in their white alleyway.
"Hey! Gilbert! What are you doing?! You were suppose to be cleaning the basement and taking inventory!" Verna shouted at the person Serge couldn't see as of yet. "Now, you listen to me you little wretch, you either do the basement tomorrow at seven a.m. sharp, or I'll see to it that the boss himself fires you and you can starve and die in the streets for all I care! Now I have a new job for you. Get upstairs and clean out the last storage room. It is the last door on your right in the third hallway. We have a guest staying there for an hour, and I want you to cater to him and make him feel comfortable. Don't screw it up!" She slammed the door so loud that it echoed through the room. Serge was getting nervous at the sight of Verna yelling orders that loud.
"Serge, a helper will come and help you settle in. He is the last worker we have that actually lives upstairs, so whatever you do, don't give him a break. He needs to learn more proper discipline." Suddenly, a boy about Serge's age came walking into the café, covered in snow that paled in comparison to his pale, white, virgin snow skin and complexion. He had deep, emerald green eyes, ruby red lips, pink cheeks, and beautiful blonde hair as golden as the sun, which would not come for a long time. He was dressed in heavy, but pleasing to the eye, rags and slowly walked next to Verna.
"Let me see if you can do this without screwing up, this boy is Serge," Verna said. The pale boy glared at Serge in total dismay. "He will be staying here until ten, so make him feel at home upstairs. I want you to dust, sweep, clean, and buff the floors, walls, and prepare a bed for him to rest on. I'm sure you have been walking a great distance, Serge. Traveling in this weather must be tiresome. If you need anything just tell Gilbert to get it for you, isn't that right Gilbert?"
Gilbert looked at Serge, then as he turned to look at Verna, she struck him fiercely.
"When I ask you a question, you answer, got it?" she exploded. Serge let out a small cry of fright, but it didn't help the situation at hand.
Gilbert nodded painfully. He rose, pulling up his tattered shall over his delicate shoulders, and said to Serge:
"I'll show you to your room." He reached for a lantern on the old, wooden cupboard, lit it, and led the way up the stairs as Serge followed. Verna resumed to her sweeping. The way upstairs was very awkward. Serge wanted to say something to Gilbert but felt that he couldn't. He paced with the lantern slowly. Serge looked out an upcoming window at how much snow has fallen. Outside looked beautiful. The staircase was a spiral one; it just so happens that Serge found the clock tower and the moon behind it at last. Gilbert halted and breathed hard, clenching his chest for air.
"I-Is anything wrong, Gilbert?" Serge asked in anxiety.
"No," Gilbert said coldly. To what Gilbert wanted Serge to believe, the next few steps were marked with droplets of red. Serge asked Gilbert again if he was alright, but he didn't answer. The snow continued to fall, and it covered the city in the purest of all colors. The snowflakes may be in cahoots with a Devil's disguise; the snow cannot hide the true ugliness of what a café or city might hold in opposition to it's rare, true beauty.