Title: Kitchen-scape
Pairing: Well, nothing obvious, but KuroxFai, or eventual KuroxFai implied
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU. Fai is a writer with stalker tendencies. Kurogane has no idea what's about to hit him.
Notes: I sit down on a kitchen stool one day and notice the fact that I can perfectly see this nice little house outside my window. It has a balcony. I wonder what it would be like to see someone walking /out/ that balcony all of a sudden. The plot-bunny bites me. Also of note, this fic is saved in my computer as "OMG OMG OMG AU" Uh-huh.
PS: please ignore the fact that no such house could ever exist in Japan… errr… oh yeah, they're in an alternate universe where houses like this one exist, /and/ honorifics are still used! /shifty eyes/
Each morning, Fai would have his breakfast in the kitchen. The fridge was loud and the room itself small, but, like the rest of the old house, it was cool and well lit. He liked to have his coffee there, perched on a four-legged stool and leaning on the white-tiled wall, with eyes lost in the distance. The only window was large, tall and wide alike, and it led towards another house, cream walled, red roofed and old (such was the neighbourhood, old and peaceful), and with a little garden up in front.
It was a lovely house, which had, expectedly, founds its way into Fai's current fbook, a short, sudden idea going nowhere, but riveted on that image he saw outside his kitchen window while perched on a stool; and Fai stared at it every morning, waiting for inspiration to pick up where it had last left off.
Today he was studying the potted plants hung up against the wall and nestled in their quaint little holders set in the wrought-iron balcony. The house was unlived in now, and no onfe but the owner, a kind, good-humoured old lady, was left to water them, every few days.
They looked small from the distance, and rose up flowerless now that autumn had come. Not long from now, they'd have to be moved down in the cellar to keep them from the cold, and Fai could just imagine them clustered together in the dark, waiting for each day to pass by, and how-
The balcony doors opened and Fai gave a start. There was a boarder now?
A tall man walked out, dark haired and lean, a mug of something in his hands. He stood out in the sun for a few moments, waiting, staring perhaps, then took a step back to rest against a corner; a potted plant hid his face from view.
Fai remembered to breathe.
Well, he thought, that was unexpected.
When had the man moved in? Fai worked at home – he would have noticed the moving truck for sure. The airing of the house, he added, the cleaning, windows opening, the flurry of movement. There had been nothing of the sort.
Fai was intrigued.
xxxxf
He got his answer two days later (on a Saturday morning, early in) when the tug and pull between the house and its new boarder began. A truck arrived (smallish, if Fai could say so, and he could), and boxes were hauled in; windows were opened, bags were brought out and disposed of, faint noises of furious cleaning could be heard in the air. He moved in on a Thursday, Fai counted, and waited for the weekend to do the bulk of the work; must have no time during the weekdays. The house was clean enough anyway, Fai figured, and with it fully furnished there were little more things needing to be brought in, so it had made sense for the man to wait. One mystery solved, Fai thought, and smiled as he sat down to write.
xxxx
On Monday morning Fai perched down on his stool again and stared out at the house. He focused on the roof this time, watched how sunlight fell down on it, how the red tiles stood out against the autumn sky, high, clear and blue, and how-
The balcony doors opened and the boarder walked out, still with a mug of something in his hands. He was wearing all black again, and Fai quirked a smile at the feeling of deja-vu. The man leaned once again against the wall, but something must have changed because now Fai could see his face – well, no; he was too far away to make out any feature. But at least now there was a head attached to that torso – and what a long torso it was, and long legs too (crossed, a knee bent), Fai noted; the man really was tall, taller perhaps than Fai was tall, and Fai was tall enough. He wondered how the boarder moved, whether it was flowing, or rough, or even gangly (somehow, Fai doubted it was the latter) and was somewhat sorry that the balcony wasn't large enough to take a stroll in.
After some time the man (Fai really should think up a name) went back into the house. Oh well, thought Fai, and moved towards the sink to wash his cup.
xxxx
Two days later the man came out again, holding his mug, and interrupted Fai's study of the two small trees that stretched up by the gate. So Fai decided to study him instead – this way he might even settle on a distinctive feature and stop thinking of him as "the boarder" or "the man" – that was a little boring.
So he settled back and watched. The… other, Fai supplied, was now leaning against the balcony itself, bracing an arm above the flowerpots (and what, Fai wondered, did he feel about those?) His back was bent and slightly curved, making the man look menacing. Like a wild dog, Fai thought, strong shouldered, light of foot, racing among the trees, or (an eyebrow quirked) set loose in the city, cutting corners at full speed and then passing a house, and from the house…
Fai grinned and left his half-drunk coffee on the table as he ran towards his room. The book awaits!
xxxx
The next day the man (Wild Dog? Wolfie? A snicker Puppy?) was out again and Fai happily stopped his study of the windows. He braced against the balcony again and Fai watched the curve of his shoulders and the set of his legs. He must do well in sports, Fai thought. Is he competitive? A team player? A loner? From the look of him, all three seemed somehow right.
The man (Blackie? Another snicker) straightened, took a deep breath, and turned to walk inside. Fai was sorry to see him go – he hadn't yet picked up on much.
xxxx
For the rest of the week he watched the boarder take his morning drink and hoarded in each detail – how long he'd remain motionless before a minute change, how measured he would move his limbs, how long it took to drain his cup, or even if he did. He'd strain his eyes to make out an expression but (Shadow?) was too far away (and Fai had no intention of moving off that stool; it was part of the spell)
One time the man was on the phone and Fai noticed (or was it his imagination?) that he wouldn't do much to keep up conversation. Does he bite off his answers, then? A word here, a grumble there? He snickered once again, A growl?…
I wonder what his voice is like...
xxxx
The next week the weather turned fowl. It rained for three days straight and the winds battered at Fai's windows with depressing regularity. Thunder shook the sky in the small hours and Fai snapped awake on the second night to forlorn howls of dogs.
He buried his face in the pillow and thought about his neighbour; he hadn't seen him in four days.
xxxx
The weather straightened out towards the end of the week. There were still puddles everywhere when Fai went out for groceries on Sunday morning (Oh, the weather has stranded me and forced me into hunger!) and he walked between them merrily, half a skip in his step. The sun shone high above.
He got home loaded, with an ache in his arms (I really wish I had a car at times like these) and made a beeline for the kitchen to stock up his neglected fridge. In went the goods, out the leftovers, and when the door was shut and Fai sneaked a quick peek out the window (it was habit by now) he was surprised to see that (Woof?) was on the balcony again. Looking after the plants. And brought down by the weather, if his cough was any sign. Oh dear, Fai twitted to himself, was the doggie caught in the rain? Oh well, he doesn't look the type to be put out just by a cold, he thought; he'll mend.
Only, that didn't seem to be the case. The next morning Fai saw him cough again, and couldn't actually decide whether it had turned any worse. The next day he didn't show up. Nor the next day. Nor the day after that. By the time the weekend came around Fai ended up spending lots of time in the kitchen (cooking seemed fascinating all of a sudden), and still he couldn't see a sign of his favourite boarder. The man somehow just didn't leave the house. At all.
Fai started to get worried.
xxxx
A worried Fai was a meddling Fai, in a well-meaning sort of way, which was the reason why, the coming day, sometime round noon, he was making his way to the, quote, House Across the Street, armed with a pot of chicken soup. (He'd phoned the landlord, the good-humoured old lady, that very day; yes, she remembered him, he was the nice young man who had watered her plants for her that one time when she'd been away; oh, Suwa-san is sick? Hasn't left the house in days? Well, if he really thought he must… he did… well, then, he could drop by later today to get the key; oh, no trouble at all, and, really, he was such a nice young man…)
Chicken soup, such good pretext, Fai beamed to himself as he knocked on the door. There was no answer, as expected, and as he pulled out the loaned key it crossed his mind for the first time that (Suwa-san, there we go, half his name) might not even be in. He could have left for holiday five days ago, and I've been worrying for nothing. But, well, there was the soup, and he had got the key, might as well use it. If the man wasn't in he'd leave the pot behind with a note of some kind. If puppy's antisocial I have to make the extra effort, right?
With that settled, he turned the key and called out a hello. The door closed with a creak behind him and Fai took a moment to look around, trying to spot the differences from the last time he'd been in. He ended up walking aimlessly around, looking the white walls up and down and finding no personal touch that he could see. If not for the lack of dust, he would have sworn the house was still unlived in.
Maybe he really is on holiday, the thought began-
-and then Fai turned a corner and had something swung at his chest. He stumbled, fell, the pot flew from his hands-
(it had quite a nice arc, the pot wasn't that big… the lid wasn't secure, though…)
-and landed with an awful clang! some paces off. There were… puddles…
Fai's favourite neighbour (oops…) towered above him, wearing a severe frown, stained clothes, and clutching a defenceless bokken.
There were noodles in his hair.
"Uh… hi…" Fai said from where he was still sprawled down on the floor.
The man growled with pent-up fury, and Fai couldn't help it; he laughed.
xxxx
"And that's how Kuro-pon and I met!" Fai beamed at the children watching them with big, enchanted eyes.
"That is NOT the way we met, you fork-tongued writer!! Why do have to make some story up each time-"
"But Kuro-growl, I barely changed the details here and there, to make it more enjoyable!"
"Barely my a--… barely, nothing!"
"Now, now, Kuro-mine, you'll blow a fuse; and who will teach Syaoran-kun kendo then? Or mind the dojo?"
"That's it!"
A bokken was grabbed from the rack nearby, and Fai grinned like a madman, taking off.
"Or write those pretty tablets!" He called over his shoulder as he ran. "Or water the plants!"
Kurogane followed with bokken swinging; mysteriously, he never managed to catch up.
The children, a boy and a girl, stared after them in speechless silence. After a moment,
"Ne, Syaoran-kun," the girl began, "is class always like this?"
Errr… it wasn't actually supposed to turn into crack… shrug