i don't own them even though that i want them and love them sooo bad... they still belong to their respective owner(s) and i just borrow them for fun... should anyone be offended, i'd be deleting this post... thank you...
one more thing... it's good to be back!
Two Lumps of Sugar
He looked at the window, into the vast horizon of white sea. Everything looked gloomy with the soft curtain of fog that refused to go away after the sun came half its way up the December sky. The shadow on the floor danced in the funny swirling way to the heat from the shy sun. It was almost the end of the year and snow had started to fall. It always fell a bit too late for his taste. He never had white Christmas here.
He sighed, tapping his fingers on the window sill. The grandmother's clock in the living room stroke twelve and the breakfast on the table had long gone cold, but he was still waiting. Maybe he was delayed, he thought to himself. The weather might be bad somewhere that the person he was waiting for had to drive slowly.
"Or maybe he had already seen this all and refused to come," he muttered. His eyes were stuck at the entrance gate, trying to catch any movements, or any signs of a car coming, but there were only black birds in the sky.
His hand ducked into his pocket and fingered a small flask. The coldness of the glass pierced into his skin, but it was not as cold as the snow outside, and he knew better that the snow was not as cold as his heart.
He waited and waited.
He recalled the person he was waiting for. That man was a man with dignity, if you'd rather not call it stubborness, a stubborness that could make other people fall and obey. He was also falling for him, willing to come and follow, willing to die like moth willing to burn itself in the flame. He was something so far, so high, so unreachable. He was….
The man tilted his head and set his sight at the table where the breakfast lay untouched. He heaved another sigh. He hated waiting, but his hate to impunctuality was much less then the man he was waiting for.
He counted the times he got yelled at. He remembered how hard it was to please him. He remembered how much insults he already took. But he was always coming back for more. He started to think he was a masochist, mentally, not bodily. Was it because a mental pain would ease his longing to shut the humming voices in his head? Perhaps it was one of the things he was offered.
The bottle tinged as it collided with his nails. Its smooth glass surface gave him a little comfort he needed. He didn't know how long he stood there gazing at the empty road that lead the lonely house from the outer world, but finally he noticed a movement at the horizon and saw a black car coming closer.
His head unconciously listed several greetings to his guest. Maybe at first he would ask the common, "How was the ride?" or maybe he'd rather ask something more informal like, "How's the things going in America?" or maybe just a simple, "How are you?"
The car finally stopped in front of his gate and he watched a man coming out. He was dressed in suit, all black. He found it very amusing, to see the rather tanned man with jet black hair in black. He always pictured that man wearing something paler, like cream color, or even white, and then he would imagine him as the wolf pretending to be a mother sheep to feed on seven little lambs. Really.
He saw his guest looking up and he noticed that that man had got a new pair of glasses. A silver frame now lined around two oval pieces of light sensitive glass. The glass turned dark as it became acustomed to the bright white surroundings.
The door bell rang a few minutes after. He moved from the window to the door and opened it to see the other man standing tall before him. For a moment they eyed each other in silence before the host finally voiced.
"I didn't expect you being late," he said in a mocking tune as he leaned on the door sill lazily though still with a certain amount of distinct grace.
The guest gave a smile, but it was not a sheepish apologetic smile, but rather some disrespecting grin. He snorted, "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Didn't anyone ever taught you that?"
The host shook his head, "As far as I know, I could get some money with it," he said teasingly, "I gain my living from hurting other people, if you don't remember."
"Fine," the guest replied lightly, "I simply thought you'd still be sleeping had I come on time." He shove the host aside, "May I come in?" he asked rather saarcastically as he made his way in.
"Sure, you're always welcome," the other replied as he led the guest to the dining table. He took a seat and gestured to the other man to also take a seat at the table.
"I fancy a breakfast with you," the host said again.
The guest eyed the table with amusement. On the table lay several kinds of bread; croissant, schwarzbrot, brotchen, tiger bread, baguette, and some other kinds of bread he couldn't recognize. On another tray lay several kinds of cheese - he noticed slices of camembert, gruyere and roquefort – laying side by side with ham, cooked baccon and leberwurst. There was also a small container filled with obadz cheese. German breakfast, he noted to himself, something quite unusual since he knew that his opponent was always too lazy to even have a bowl of cereals for breakfast. These food didn't really need preparations like his usual toast, scrambled egg and crispy baccon, but still the fact that the other man had bother to lay them out on the table had already amused him.
"I could make you some toasts, if you want to," the host said again, seeing that the table didn't quite please the guest.
"This things would be fine," the other answered, "But I think some fresh coffee would be better than an old brew."
"Allright," the host got up from his seat. He took the coffee pot away from the table and headed to the coffee machine to prepare a new one. He came back in a few minutes with a steaming pot. "Here you go. I hope Robusta would suit your taste. I don't have your usual Ecuador."
"Don't worry," the man with black hair replied, "I have had a cup of espresso before I drove here. A cup of thin German espresso, that is."
The host grunted, "Next time you want a cup of espresso, please be kindly enough to drive to Italy before you drop by."
"Thank you, I didn't know you care."
The guest extended his arm to take the coffee pot and poured it into his cup.
"Do you want some as well?" he offered to his host who refused it with a sway of his hand. He knew that man hardly take coffee before taking any meals. He put the coffee pot back to its place and now he took the cup to his mouth. The smell of freshly brewed coffee was his favorite smell. It brought his nerves intact.
"It tastes very nice," he said again after a few sip of the hot black liquid, "I didn't know you could prepare good coffee."
"Thank you," was the only short answer he could manage to get from the host. He seemed to be a little nervous, with one hand kept on under the table. Finally the host sighed and got up again, "Do you want some juice? I think I want some berry juice or orange. You?"
The guest nodded, "Orange would be nice. Thank you."
The host went again to the kitchen and came back with a carton of unsweetened orange juice and two glass. He silently pour the juice and handed one of them to his guest and then he got back to his seat.
"So," the guest broke out, "what ill wind turned you to invite me for a breakfast?"
"Nothing," the host said lightly, "You figured I have plans behind this?"
"I didn't say you do, but you might."
The host snorted again, "Let's just say I want to have at least one chance to show you I am capable of taking care of myself and treat someone a nice something."
"I never say you couldn't take care yourself," said the guest coldly.
"You did, and not always in some obscure and implicit way."
The owner of the house fingered his juice as he continued, "At least let me have breakfast with you today. Shall we begin now?"
"Guten apetite," he said as he reached for a piece of bread and started to spread some leberwurst on it.
The guest gave a nod. He took a sip of his orange juice but then his eyes started to look aaround for something. He stopped at the sugar bowl in the middle of the table. He reached for the bowl and spooned some sugar into his glass.
The host eyed him.
"I never know you take sugar for your juice," he asked in a half a whisper, "I thought you didn't like sweets."
"I like sweetened juice," the guest sppoke blandly. He stirred the juice with his coffee spoon slowly, "You were just never early enough to realise this." He tapped his coffe spoon on the brim of the glass, put it neatly on the saucer and then he lifted his orange glass.
"Sad though, I would rather have your company then," he said as he drew it near to his lips, "Guten apetite," he said as he gave a small nod before he started to drink the cold liquid.
"Wait!" the host jerked from his seat and forced the glass away from his guest, but it was already empty.
The guest looked at him calmly. He looked as if he as fighting something inside him. "Are you asking me why?" he chocked as he gave out a smirk.
"I'm the one who's supposed to be at your shoes. Not the other way around!" the host bawled.
"You… always know… I hate to be beaten," the guest coughed up his words.
"You planned this all?" the other asked in disbelief.
"I always knew," The guest gave a second of smile before his body trembled and tensed for a moment and then it fell limbly on the dining table.
The host looked at the motionless guest, hand ducked inside his pocket, fingering a small bottle that safely tucked there. At last his hand reached for the coffee pot and he filled his own cup. He also took two lumps of sugar into the cup and stirred it slowly as he headed back to the window where he once stood, looking out for his guest.
"I hate you," he mutterd slowly as he took a glimpse of the dead body at the table. He slowly sipped the coffee from the cup. The warmness of the newly brewed coffee first filled his empty stomach, and then something burning took over the warmth. He knew it was not the coffee, as his stomach was quite sensitive to acidity, it was some other kind of acid that would burn you in thirty seconds before you finally die.
He stopped after he took a third of the cup and turned to face the table. He lifted the cup to the dead body, "I wish I could hurt you just once, but I think it's always the other way around," he said as he gave a silenced cheer to his dead friend and then he finished his coffee.
-end-
I hope you can see that these persons appeared in my fanfic are schu and brad... as you notice i didn't put any of their names... just for fun... nya! Thanks to Tysoyo Kalli for the nice review… so I checked the ficcie again and corrected several parts of it. I do know german breakfast… and I think it's a very nice treat… I really miss obadz and leberwurst… yum!
thank you for reading... i know i have lots of unfinished fanfics... but i promise you... this one is a one-shot... so no need to worry about my endless laziness and mood upon this ficcie….
please review this... i wanna know if i haven't lost anything during my stay away... the button is just a little below...