Red and White

Tanabata '03 Drabble Challenge: luxetumbra


The sprinkling of white powder shows starkly against the mahogany of the coffee table. Crawford nudges the suite door closed and frowns.

Told him to keep it out of sight.

He approaches, spotting an empty saucer – mug rings – crumpled aluminum foil.

He didn't foresee the way the boy is curled on his side on the sofa, unmoving, arms wrapped about himself. Red hair obscures his face.

Crawford is two steps away before he notices the bloody smudges on wrist and fingers, and logic literally deserts him. He reaches over the table and clutches Schuldich by the shoulders, shaking him hard.

"Schuldich...!"

"...What?"

A warm hand clasps his wrist. Schuldich brushes his hair away with the other, and suddenly Crawford is staring into sleepy feline-green eyes. He shuts down the relief immediately – lets go of him and straightens – knowing Schuldich caught the emotion. He doesn't smile, though, only the green eyes widen a little.

"Brad," he says.

"We're leaving in half an hour." Crawford's lips tighten, and he makes for the bedroom.

"Wait," Schuldich says vaguely. He leans over the arm of the sofa and begins to pick up objects from an obscured patch of floor, before Crawford can step on them: an empty teacup, a half-eaten plate of profiteroles, a large bowl that looks to have contained ice cream and chocolate syrup. Another bowl, of ripe cherries; a third of caster sugar. Schuldich snags one of the red-black fruits, dips it in the sugar and bites into it messily. Licks the sticky crimson juice from his fingertips. Only then does he glance up and pause. "Well, what?"

"I won't be responsible for you on that much sugar," Crawford hears himself say. Schuldich's face hardens momentarily with hostility, but when Crawford leans down to kiss him his mouth still tastes sweet.


— Montreal, July 2003