Backstory: Rin is a 19-year-old punk girl born with a strange power that she uses for illegal work: she can teleport, make herself invisible or intangible. One evening, while in police custody, she met a strange cellmate named Klaus.
TW: Cancer - Disease of a loved one - Reference to drug use - Homophobic insult.
I was in my room, I think, that night, because I remember hearing the muffled dialogues of the Vietnamese dramas my grandmother used to watch in the living room, at the end of the corridor that led to the two bedrooms. A reassuring sound, for me, because I had always heard it in my life. The light was that of my bedside table, and the holographic stickers of my favorite bands shone on the glass of my window: in iridescent colors, against the night sky.
Granny and I had had dinner together. A phở, I suppose, as we often did in the evenings. She had always expressed her love that way, through food: she was terrible at doing it otherwise, to put it mildly. She could spend an entire meal harshly judging every detail of my hair or clothes. I do remember, however, that that evening we had eaten in awkward silence.
It wasn't a good time for her either. My mother's cancer had extended rapidly, and the heavy treatments made it impossible for her to return to our apartment in West Argyle, where the three of us were living at the time. The disease had grown by leaps and bounds, perniciously interspersing its progression with hope. I had always wanted to keep mine. But I think at that moment, I was - unconsciously at least - already admitting that this battle was in the process of being lost. So was Granny. And I can't imagine how it must feel to see your child wither away like that, even after forty years.
One last time, she was offered an experimental treatment. Granny's arthritis was already preventing her from working as a tailor, my mother could no longer do housework, and I had promised to work harder to pay for it. Granny would see me disappear again and again for the odd jobs I didn't tell her about, and - since I was 19 - she was never informed when the outcome led to me being taken into custody. Sometimes she'd ask me how the dishwashing went at the restaurant I'd invented. I was a good liar. I could even tell her how many courses my fictitious establishment had served. Deep down, I wasn't proud of it. No. Not at all, really, and neither was I proud of using my power to do it. My mother would have hated to think of me spying or stealing. Sometimes I wondered if she didn't have a suspicion. I never cleared the air, and I'll probably regret it forever.
I think I had turned my stereo on to a David Bowie album, when the intercom buzzed. Another delivery or a neighbor, most likely. I didn't pay any attention. I collapsed on my bed, listening to the lyrics of Space Oddity. I realized that tonight was Wednesday. That it was chili con carne day at the central police station near the park. And that maybe Klaus was waiting 'comfortably' to be served.
Believe it or not, we had met again. Twice, but I won't count the last time, because the officers got fed up with our chitchat and ended up moving us to different ends of the corridor. Even so, we still managed to have a laugh. I had the opportunity to learn that his father had cut off his funds, but that he still went to help himself from time to time to the safe, at home. That he had no regrets about his freedom, even if he was currently living in the abandonned gardeners' shed in Argyle Park. That he was pansexual and particularly talkative about it. That we hadn't met at school because I'd attended a private school and he'd been home-schooled. And that he had 'a whole horde of siblings' he could hardly stand. Perhaps our second meeting in police custody was again by chance. But the following Wednesday, I think we both did it on purpose.
At the other end of the corridor, I heard Granny speaking into the intercom, though I couldn't make out the words she was saying. I frowned, though, because I know her way of talking well, and I could sense her annoyance. I got up, put on my slippers, and walked up the corridor to the small entrance hall, just as she was cutting off the conversation.
"What was it about?"
She shrugged.
"A bum. Didn't understand much. Probably selling fake fundraising calendars again."
The New Year had just dawned, and it was true that such 'opportunistic sales' were happening non-stop. Granny wasn't the generous type. She'd kicked out the mailmen, the garbage collectors, and handfuls of Boy Scouts with their cookies. I think she had told the kids that she wouldn't support the competition that the adults inflicted on them, and that they were encouraging the over-consumption of industrial snacks. A girl with braids had left crying. But Granny was like that: she only knew how to tell the truth, and not always tactfully.
"He was pushy, it seems."
"It's amazing what they can come up with, now, to get us to open the door. This one babbled something about the police station."
I sighed. Fake cops tried to get in once. But I don't feel very comfortable now, when anything to do with the police approaches my home...
"Are you sure it was a bum?", I asked with slight anxiety, something to which Granny immediately turned on her heels to head back in the direction of her couch in the living room.
"Oh I know cops can booze, but this guy was sounding way too wasted to be one."
I chuckled, as she turned up the sound on her TV again.
"Do you want tangerines?"
She swept the air in denial, and I headed to the kitchen and grabbed the fruit basket.
"Don't eat them all!" she simply warned me.
And with no further comment, I returned to my room through the corridor, the light of which I hadn't even turned on.
On the white walls, the little holes of my osier lamp projected a kaleidoscope of orange spots of light, and David Bowie was still singing all alone, with no one to listen. I put the fruit basket down on the low table, tossed my slippers against the couch that faced my own little TV set, then I grabbed a tangerine and took a step toward my bed with the intention of crashing there.
I never finished that movement and refrained from screaming. I think that - by reflex - I temporarily turned intangible. Behind the stickers on my window, on the fire escape running up the back of our building... someone was standing. In other circumstances, I'd probably have yelled to warn Granny, as the living room window is on the same side. But something held me back and made me raise an eyebrow. There, between the Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon sticker and the black-and-white Sex Pistols logo, an eye with raccoon-like dark circles was staring back at me.
He knocked three times on the glass, using just the tip of his finger, and waved loosely 'Hello', before I snapped out of my stupor and moved. I took the three steps to the window and opened it wide.
"Klaus, you dumb ass, you scared the shit out of me," I said, relieved I hadn't teleported in front of him.
He shrugged, immediately pulled himself up onto the window sill, and swung his legs inside without being invited in whatsoever. He was reeking of alcohol, but was once again giving the strange impression of being able to handle it.
"I swear you're not going to regret it," he said. "And it wouldn't have been a surprise, otherwise."
I frowned.
"Were you the one who rang the intercom earlier?"
"Your voice was really weird. Have you been shouting yourself hoarse at a concert? Breathing in smoke? Oh, maybe it's gastroesophageal reflux. I get that too if I eat chee-"
"That was my grandmother."
"Oh."
I looked at him for a moment, sitting there on the window sill, realizing that this was the first time we were talking with no bars between us. Surely he realized she Granny was in the apartment, because he started looking all over my room, from the wardrobe to my Metallica posters.
"She's been rough," he huffed. "She told me to go get my liver spun. I was sure it couldn't be you."
I cleared my throat.
"Ah well... that's likely. Granny's a bit... straightforward, in the way she talks to people. And selective about who she gets upstairs. By the way, how did you get my address?"
He put on an air of mystery while removing his Converse without even using his hands.
"Oh, Francis gave it to me."
"Francis. Are we talking about the same Francis?"
The asshole officer who'd called him a 'faggot junkie'. He nodded briskly, then reconsidered as his eyes couldn't follow.
"Yes, Francis with the little Mercury mustache. The one who likes curls a little more than he'd been pretending. The one who-"
"I'm not sure I want to know."
"Don't worry. He's still an absolute prick, and I've got my dignity. No, I've only got enough to blackmail him like forever."
I shook my head, in awe.
"You really wanted to come here that bad?"
He laughed softly, and let himself slide barefoot on the floor before taking a step and finally sliding his fingers into my really overrated crest.
"Yes, and I have absolutely no other plans for the evening... God, you really are tiny-"
I pushed him away against the wall, perhaps a little violently. "Stop trying to paw me all the time, Klaus. You're so fucking insistent."
"Okay, okay."
Sadly, however, I guessed that this was usually the only type of interaction he believed people could expect from him, past the introduction. Incidentally, he seemed surprised, which was kind of confirming my theory. A little ruefully, however, he went back to leaning against the window sill, as if expecting to be kicked out for not being wanted. I turned around and walked over to my stereo, to turn over the Bowie record, and heard him whisper:
"I just thought you might have some spare affection."
I shrugged sarcastically.
"Oh I'm sure you've got plenty of playmates giving you that already."
I heard him huff as I turned the music back on.
"What can I say, I'm kind of a needy one. And just so you know..."
Bowie intoned 'Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud', and I turned back, crossing my arms.
"... no. No, affection is not exactly part of the deal, most of time."
If the attempt was to try and soften me up, I would have found it extremely pernicious. But I quickly realized that it was just a genuine, heart-breaking and somewhat alcohol-induced form of honesty. I went and sat down on the couch and picked up the tangerine I'd left behind.
"What made you think I could agree to any kind of deal?"
Retrospectively, that sentence was a bit harsh. But - remember - I was nineteen.
"You seemed to be interested in me for real."
I raised my gaze from my orangish peelings, and gazed at him.
"There are lots of ways of being interested in people."
I split the fruit open and handed him half the quarters, adding:
"But you're right, I felt right away that we were two of a kind, you and me".
He figured out I wasn't closing the door to him, smiled quite beamingly, and almost jumped like a kid to the couch, sitting down and taking the half of tangerine from my fingers. His mood was really easy to turn, both ways, and still is, to the point of vertigo sometimes.
"I won't be a burden anymore," he illusorily promised. And as he popped the fruit into his mouth, he added: "And I've got something incredible to show you".
My eyebrows pinched, as he started rummaging all over his pockets and linings, at first not finding what he was looking for. I kept chewing my tangerine, curious as to what he'd brought.
"What is it?"
His expression was one of facetious mystery. "Shhh, shhh, you'll see. Just let me find it. For fuck's sake, where is it...? And you, keep your mouth shut."
At the time, I didn't know it was Ben he was talking to. And he wore that coat for a long time. Made of multiple pieces of suede sewn together and lined all over with long black hairs of nonsensical faux fur. I think he'd bought it for five bucks at a thrift shop on 7th Avenue. It smelled like death even then, and it never got any better.
"Oh I'm such an ass", he suddenly exclaimed. "It's in the safety deposit box."
He plunged his hand into his pants, and I think I put on a half-disgusted, half-wary face. But after a few seconds, he pulled out two condoms, a small bag of translucent crystals, a granola bar and a grayish paper, folded several times, all of which he spread out on the couch.
"I don't do meth," I whispered. "I already told you that."
"Relax, Rin, it's just to help me socialize."
Then he pointed to the paper with his finger.
"Just look at this thing here."
He noted my wariness, and added, squinting his left eye as if expecting to be rejected again:
"Please?"
I frowned even more and grabbed the paper, which I unfolded, my eyes scanning it quickly up and down to see what it was. It was a poor quality photocopy, cut off at the top, of the minutes of my release from police custody the week before. The name and photo were partially cut off, but it included my address and a number of other personal information.
"Is that what you got from Francis?" I asked understandingly, and he nodded keenly.
"Don't you see the best part? Oh. No, that's right, you have no clue. Wait."
He rummaged in his coat again, but - this time -he quickly pulled out a CBRA monthly travel pass and a borrowing card from the Argyle library, so heavily stamped that I guessed how much - and counterintuitively - he was reading. He laid it down next to the police station document.
"Look at this."
I squinted, and he exclaimed as if he held one of the universe's greatest secrets:
"We have the same birthday!"
He squealed with glee as I nodded with a form of skeptical appreciation. It was funny, okay. I confess it hadn't happened to me very often. Apart from a girl in my last year of kindergarten, who'd subsequently knocked my teeth out. But well, with his opening line, I'd expected something so much more outlandish.
"October 1st, really?"
"Really!"
His eyes shone a little in the speckled orange light of my bedside lamp. He was enjoying it incredibly.
"I'm used to sharing my birthday even though we've never really celebrated. But with people other than assholes, this is my first! Do you organize parties? Indoor playgrounds events? Oh, or lasergames?"
I laughed.
"No. No, really. For my mom and Granny, my birth is both a happy and weird memory, you know. But usually there's at least one durian cake."
A look of disgust replaced his euphoria.
"Holy crap. Durian smells like sewage..."
I burst out laughing.
"You should be in a good position to know that - sometimes - unappealing stuff turns out to be pretty cool."
"Aaaaw thank you," he immediately blurted out.
Unfortunately, my expression was about to change, as I flipped his library card between my fingers, noticing the name on it. I frowned, gradually losing my smile.
"Your name is Hargreeves...," I uttered, and he froze in return, his eyes crinkling somewhat painfully as if in anticipation.
"Mmm... is that a definitive turn-off, or something?"
Clearly, this wasn't the first time his surname had prompted questions, and I preferred to quickly ask:
"Hargreeves like the big mansion on Rainshade Square? And like... the evening news on TV a few years ago?"
At that time, it had only been about two years since the organization The City had known as the Umbrella Academy had ceased its activities, and most people remembered it, especially me. Reginald Hargreeves, for his part, had literally done his best to ensure that his name was clearly associated with it. Probably, Klaus was used to it. But my reaction was clearly unusual to him, possibly because I seemed extremely disturbed. To the point of nausea, to be honest, and I began to tremble, as if reminded of some immediate danger. I sensed that somehow he was starting to panic as well. But he answered anyway:
"Yes. Yes, exactly that."
I looked at the umbrella tattoo above his wrist, only half visible under the long hairs of his coat sleeve. The one he'd intentionally not mentioned, on our first night in the cell. The one he'd 'not wanted'. I kept blinking silently, so he tried to speak to me:
"I'm... I'm sorry. I can understand that. It's a pain in the ass for me too, you know."
Very slowly, I snapped out of my petrification and placed the card back in his hand, carefully choosing the 'Hello' one so he wouldn't misunderstand my intentions.
"No. At one point... you all... gave me some hope, actually".
Now I could make the connection with the 'whole horde of siblings' he'd mentioned. And - still surprised - he repeated:
"Hope? That much?"
Probably, most people were just satisfied to see thugs arrested. Or admiring this whole extraordinary powers thing. If only they knew. Clearly, Klaus couldn't understand my reaction. But for the thirteen-year-old me, the realization that I wasn't alone in my singularity had been a radical change in my self-perception. A signal from the world telling me that the strange creature I'd always been wasn't such an anomaly after all. I remained silent again, and he clearly assumed that it was because what he was disgusted me.
"I told you at the police station, that I could talk to the dead," he said.
I looked up at him.
"I didn't realize it was ~that literal~. And sometimes, Klaus, it's hard to tell the serious stuff apart in the midst of your bullshit."
" Well, it was no metaphoric shit."
He clenched his fingers for a while, then started stuffing all his stuff back into his pants, in anticipation of having to go put his Converse back on and leave. I tried to say something that never passed my lips.
"If it freaks you out, I'll leave you alone."
He started to get up.
"No! No it's not."
Hurriedly, I raised a hand as if I were going to grab his arm.
"I... I should..."
I really thought I'd never make it, the crest of my head bowed down and my eyes glued to the floor. And he remained surprisingly still, in the range of restlessness to which he had accustomed me.
"I guess I have something to show you."
I couldn't think of anything better. I opened my arms, as if I'd changed my mind and was finally willing to give him his damn hug. He exhaled all the air from his chest, probably in surprise, blinked three times, but finally leaned in and seized his chance, without a second thought. I was very confused myself about what I was about to do, at that moment, but I still remember that this contact had him the effect of a sugar rush on a starving body. A few seconds passed, and then he stammered:
"You're giving me very inconsistent signals, you know..."
"Shut up."
As best I could, I gripped the suede patchwork on his back, holding him a little tighter for a second... before disappearing completely. Instantly intangible and invisible. In a blink of an eye, he remained with nothing but tepid air in his arms. It took him a second to process it, then he opened his eyes again and suddenly went back, crashing against the arm of the couch behind him.
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT," he shouted probably a little too loudly, clutching his head with both hands as if trying to stop it from causing him to hallucinate.
He looked around, and today I know that Ben was laughing his ass off. On the spot, however, I thought he was going to have an asthma attack, or something like that, as the signs were so similar. I didn't want to put him off too long, as I'd probably get a lot worse than I wanted. So I reappeared, sitting on my bed, a little stunned by having confessed this to someone. In all my life... historically, this was happening for the first time. He looked at me, shaking too, now, with an expression - this time - of great sadness and disappointment.
"You just 'Sixth Sensed' me," he said. "I must have really fried my brains, otherwise I'd have sensed that you were a ghost all along."
I stood up and walked back to the couch where he was bowing his head, his back slouched.
"I'm not a fucking ghost."
He looked up.
"Oh. I was thinking to myself that you'd given me the impression of being quite corporeal".
He sighed.
"Then I so hope you're not a fucking bad-trip hallucination either. Are you?".
"I'm a goddamn alive person, Klaus."
Our gazes locked again. And in fact, despite his questions, he'd already figured out that we shared more than a date of birth, an appeal for wacky conversation, and criminal records neatly stored side by side at The City police station.
"This is the undoubtfully the least epic of the Avengers episodes..." he stammered.
He grinned, then laughed outright, irrepressibly euphoric. Then he got up and started touching my arm, my shoulder, my crest again, this time for no other reason than to check on my materiality.
"Your power is once again so much cooler than mine."
But no sooner had he said this, than my bedroom door swung open and crashed against my wardrobe, revealing the dressing-gown-clad figure of my grandmother, doubtlessly alerted by the shriek Klaus had uttered. I honestly believed her eyes were going to pop out of her head, or that she was going to blow him to ashes right away.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
I thought he was going to fall over backwards, honestly.
"YOU BROKE IN?"
He gestured at my window, still open.
"Uh... yeah, I mean no. I knocked..."
"You were touching Bạch Liên's crest!"
Really? For once Granny was being protective of my crest? I think she must have seen me laughing, and I said:
"It's okay Granny. He's allowed to touch."
"Rin! You know how your mother feels about you letting anyone up that staircase!"
I shook my head.
"It's okay, I swear, he's not 'anyone'."
She sighed. Say what you want about Granny, she's always given me a form of trust, on a wide range of subjects. Beneath a thick layer of prejudice, she's more open-minded than you might think. Still, she pointed a finger at Klaus.
"You stink of weed and booze, look at yourself!"
"It's therapeutic," he managed to claim. I think he was still unaware about who he was dealing with, and Granny walked up to him to point her finger under his nose.
"Alcohol won't solve your problems."
He stuck his swamp-green gaze on her, looking down at her firmly from his 6' height.
"Neither will water. Besides, you know nothing."
They scrutinized each other for a moment. Like in the Western movies, can you picture it? She took in everything about him: his fishnet tank-top, his absurd coat, his tattoos, even his bare feet on the wooden floor, whose nails were painted purple.
"Get out of here," she told him, literally radiating that she was about to kick his ass out the window by herself if he didn't do it willingly.
He saw that I wasn't over-dramatizing the situation, but I shook my head to let him know there was no need to push his luck any further today. He stepped back, almost tripped over the carpet, then picked up his shoes and climbed onto the stickers-covered window sill, without even putting them back on his feet.
"If I ever catch you buzzing here again, I'll make you swallow the intercom," she interjected as he gazed at me one last time and waved me a gentle 'Goodbye' with his left hand.
I smiled, I tapped Granny on the shoulder who was fuming. And as he disappeared down the fire escape and into the chilly night air, I said to my grandmother who - after all - was only trying to protect me:
"It's okay, I swear. He didn't try to sell me any fake calendars."
Notes:
Rin probably hadn't expected it that night. But certain things were said that needed to be said. It saddens me a little to see the way in which Klaus constantly expects to be rejected. Tough luck: it's Granny's favorite pastime.
If you've read 'A bend in space-time', you'll know that Klaus and Rin's relationship is no longer this. I find it interesting to see the stages they've moved through.
Any comment will make my day!