The Odds of the Game - Chapter One
Title: The Odds of the Game
Characters: Kurogane, Fye
Genre: Slice-of-life, AU
Notes: A short multi-chapter (well compared to my usual standards); will eventually turn R-rated in certain chapters as a warning
Rating: PG
Summary: Fye is drawn to numbers and Kurogane to sport. Childhood friends, their love blossomed over time and is re-sparked when they meet for a second time as adults with unusual occupations. Could chance have truly brought them there and, with money in the mix, where will it lead them?
Disclaimer: Fanmade Fanfiction
a/n: Americans and those who use American spelling and terms - Whenever I say football please think soccer!
- - -
Together
Come home with me, he’d told him as a child, snatching at his wrist, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet and protective frown.
Dusting the dirt from the scrape in his knees, Fye gives a reassuring smile. It’s fine.
It’s not fine, Kurogane declared, tugging him to his feet. There’s blood on it!
Stop worrying! Fye moaned, allowing himself to be dragged by the wrist through the park, smaller feet stumbling and stick thin legs wavering through the cut grass, treading heavily and unsteadily on soft daisies. It’s fine!
Tch! Liar! his friend spat with a glance behind him and another sharper, more curious glance as Fye started to giggle at his annoyance.
What’s so funny? he whined, grabbing Fye’s other wrist, shaking it in aggravation, finding himself smiling too as Fye laughed, young and soft, sweet and bright.
- - -
Fye (7) tripping over in a game - 0.38251
Kurogane (21) tripping over in a game - 0.10978
---
He could hear the cheers, resounding chants and drones building and ringing in his ears within the darkened tunnels, under in the strip-lighted corridors, through the grey and hard-worn walls and echoing about the stadium, even boring into the changing rooms. And it made him sick with himself. Shoes falling with a violent clatter to the ground as he discarded them; for such apparent potential there had seemed to be so much lacking in his performance. He could feel the sting where his limbs had scraped along the pitch, hard worn ground and trimmed grass, felt the dirt faintly clinging to his skin, a sticky texture as he pressed a hand against it. There was a faint throb in his ankle, a tiny glimmer of pain, but none of this mattered. His pride had taken the fiercest blow of the fall, bleeding slightly as he changed, as the footsteps and the shouts faded into the background, leaking away. He showered quickly, something burning and lingering in his expressions and movements, fierce and blunt, something dangerous in that heavy glower sharp on his brows and shining in his eyes as he buttoned his shirt, carelessly threw his bag over his shoulders and clattered through the doors.
He stomped down the corridor, footsteps echoing darkly about the dim corridor, strip light flickering in the grey and mottled recesses. They shone meekly and chemically, a faint synthetic blear about the cement brick walls that boxed in and threw the resounding thud of his own embittered footsteps down through the tunnel, clacking and clicking with obvious resentment.
“Kurogane…” came a far softer noise, drifting from along the corridor, floating into his ear and curling there strangely, intriguing and yet homely.
Kurogane smirks loosely, a damp sort of cheer, before carrying on, lifting his eyes to gaze towards him, the faint glow from the lighting against his pale hair, the elegant and slender shape of his form against the empty and hollow interior of the stadium, the sly smile lying sleek on his lips, a bag in his hands, fingers wrapped tightly about the worn and dirtied strap… That rucksack he’d taken to school. It was still marked with pen, faint scribbles and doodles, it was still stained with grass, vibrant streaks across the grey, it was still mottled with faint pin pricks from badges, an ink stain where his pen had leaked… it was begrimed and deformed with the slight rips and tears at the seams. Faintly, he remembers throwing it into a tree… to what means he does not know.
And Fye smiles, deep and knowing in front of him, slick and cunning, mistrustful and dark in a sense but still beautifully gleeful, a dreaming and contented edge in its faint curve. His eyes glimmer and he steps forward, pressing the bag into Kurogane’s hands as they both draw closer, gaze digging into him challengingly with that same smooth perk to his lips…
He draws the zip open and all he sees is cash. It betrays the concept of depth, it seems to well up from beneath, lies there like a matted pool within its worn and flimsy casing.
Fye’s smile glows warmly towards him under the bleached lighting, his hair shining in a golden halo around the edges, illuminated by the light shining bright at the other end of the tunnel.
“How much?” Kurogane asks though the question seems stuck in his throat.
Fye’s eyes glimmer, sparkling like precious diamonds before him as he answers, a beautiful whisper, a suspenseful breath, “A million.”*
Kurogane nearly chokes, emits a smothered laugh, frowning in disbelief towards the bag, heavy in his hands as Fye explains, his voice seeming unreal as it echoed and slipped about the bleak corridor, “That’s not all of it… that’s just so I can get used to the idea and figure out what to do from now on…” He purses his lips, thoughtfully shifts them to the side as his eyes slink and lower. And then he blinks, smiles tightly and happily, runs his hand along the side of Kurogane’s face and pulls himself closer, brings their bodies into contact.
Kurogane can feel his breath against his face, his other hand slipping and clutching tightly to his shoulder, his fingers pressing endearingly into the skin under his shirt, giving a hesitant smirk as Fye holds himself firm against him, arms wrapping about him is in a delicate embrace.
His lips drift over to his ear. And they whisper preciously in a breath so warm and light, Kurogane’s spine draws tight at the sound drawn carefully and thoughtfully from Fye’s mouth - “Come home with me…”
He closes his eyes, drops both bags, draws his arms around Fye’s back…
- - -
I can put on my own plaster! he cried, swatting the hand away from his knee, insultingly, clawing to rip the plaster from the other’s fingers, one just as stubborn as the other.
Hold still! Kurogane had snapped, struggling against Fye’s hands with a single arm, dangling a plaster over his scraped and bloody knee propped up on the kitchen worktop. Eventually, with a small and concentrating pout and frown, he accurately pressed the plaster to Fye’s knee, running over it firmly with his palm to ensure it was stuck while Fye childishly swung his legs. Stop it! Kurogane yelled, shoving his legs against the drawers with a clatter, holding them there in a bitter huff.
Okay! Fye chirped with an immature ring to his tone, a pout held firm on his lips as his raises his leg up to the countertop, inspecting the plaster fully, running his thumb about the ages. Kurogane?
What? the other boy huffed, snapping the plastic box shut, placing it back in its corner within the drawer and slamming it shut again.
Fye’s eyes ran over to him, smiled with a sickly sweet taint that mismatched the question. If I died would you miss me?
Kurogane stared into him, youthful eyes narrowing uncertainly, suspicious of the question. It’d be your own fault, he eventually moaned, clambering on top of the counter next to Fye, heels clattering against the cabinet door. He pulled himself over to sit comfortably, watched carefully and thoughtfully.
But would you miss me? Fye asked again, his small and anxious smile revealing tiny and rounded teeth, a few missing, causing that distinctly childish and innocent lisp - would you miissssth me - as he started swinging his legs again perched between the cooking utensils and the sugar jar.
Kurogane’s eyes glared hard into him as though boring into his skin before he flicked his head away, lowered his gaze embarrassedly. Maybe…
Fye smiled again, this time mouth shut, lips tracing a shy pink arc on his mouth, tainted with sprinkles from lollipops and chocolate from cookies.
I just said maybe! Kurogane snapped, cheeks tainted and blushed, shoving his shoulder in aggravation, unable to dissolve the widening grin in front of him.
- - -
He breathes in the scent of his hair, so soft and familiar, finds his lips drifting down the side of his head, nose buried in fine, smooth locks, shifting silkily beneath his skin, running along to meet the side of his face. He holds him there, clasps him in his arms, planting small and tender kisses into the tip of his ear, feeling his hands shift to softly stroke the back of his neck, loving and adoring, something long lost.
“I missed you,” Fye mumbles into his chest, head nestled there with a blissful smile against his lips, fingers curling contentedly above Kurogane’s shirt.
He never responded, merely taking a large breath, pulling Fye tighter to his chest as though to permanently link them together, never to be separated. His fingers sift softly through his hair, breathing in every trace of him before dropping his lips to Fye’s, pressing against them gently and disbelieving. Today their lips brushed, something beautifully delicate and precious in their hold.
And when they finally drew apart, separating as hesitantly and tenderly as they’d come together, Kurogane smirked, something physical and real between them, grounding them once more as his voice skimmed and rumbled pleasantly, “What do you do with a pile of cash then?”
“I don’t know,” Fye sighed, resting his head against his chest once more, his breath spilling warmly over Kurogane’s shirt, tapping his fingers lightly against it in thought. “It barely feels real to me yet…”
Next Chapter >>
- - -
a/n: This entire fanfiction came out of one thing my friend said pretty much and that was something about there should be a Kurofye football fanfiction. And I think she meant crack but I was instantly reminded of Sigur Rós' video for 'Viðrar vel til loftárása' and then I kept daydreaming about little Kurogane and Fye so things started going down an childhood romance tangent and then didn't stop. Another inspiration was the song 'Seven' by Fever Ray if you're interested. Mostly though this was the fanfiction where I did whatever the hell I wanted regardless of how it sounded and I definitely had fun writing it =) But please tell me what you think because I'd be really curious about how it comes out.
* All money in this fanfiction is in British Pounds since I'm writing this in the UK and the exact value isn't really vital (I was only choosing a million because it was so rounded, unusual and had a fairytale ring to it) but here are some references:
UK Pounds/GBP - £1 000 000.00
US Dollars/USD - $1 651 693.52
Euros/EUR - €1 156 945,69
through xe.com on 28/07/09
Characters: Kurogane, Fye
Genre: Slice-of-life, AU
Notes: A short multi-chapter (well compared to my usual standards); will eventually turn R-rated in certain chapters as a warning
Rating: PG
Summary: Fye is drawn to numbers and Kurogane to sport. Childhood friends, their love blossomed over time and is re-sparked when they meet for a second time as adults with unusual occupations. Could chance have truly brought them there and, with money in the mix, where will it lead them?
Disclaimer: Fanmade Fanfiction
a/n: Americans and those who use American spelling and terms - Whenever I say football please think soccer!
- - -
Together
Come home with me, he’d told him as a child, snatching at his wrist, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet and protective frown.
Dusting the dirt from the scrape in his knees, Fye gives a reassuring smile. It’s fine.
It’s not fine, Kurogane declared, tugging him to his feet. There’s blood on it!
Stop worrying! Fye moaned, allowing himself to be dragged by the wrist through the park, smaller feet stumbling and stick thin legs wavering through the cut grass, treading heavily and unsteadily on soft daisies. It’s fine!
Tch! Liar! his friend spat with a glance behind him and another sharper, more curious glance as Fye started to giggle at his annoyance.
What’s so funny? he whined, grabbing Fye’s other wrist, shaking it in aggravation, finding himself smiling too as Fye laughed, young and soft, sweet and bright.
- - -
Fye (7) tripping over in a game - 0.38251
Kurogane (21) tripping over in a game - 0.10978
---
He could hear the cheers, resounding chants and drones building and ringing in his ears within the darkened tunnels, under in the strip-lighted corridors, through the grey and hard-worn walls and echoing about the stadium, even boring into the changing rooms. And it made him sick with himself. Shoes falling with a violent clatter to the ground as he discarded them; for such apparent potential there had seemed to be so much lacking in his performance. He could feel the sting where his limbs had scraped along the pitch, hard worn ground and trimmed grass, felt the dirt faintly clinging to his skin, a sticky texture as he pressed a hand against it. There was a faint throb in his ankle, a tiny glimmer of pain, but none of this mattered. His pride had taken the fiercest blow of the fall, bleeding slightly as he changed, as the footsteps and the shouts faded into the background, leaking away. He showered quickly, something burning and lingering in his expressions and movements, fierce and blunt, something dangerous in that heavy glower sharp on his brows and shining in his eyes as he buttoned his shirt, carelessly threw his bag over his shoulders and clattered through the doors.
He stomped down the corridor, footsteps echoing darkly about the dim corridor, strip light flickering in the grey and mottled recesses. They shone meekly and chemically, a faint synthetic blear about the cement brick walls that boxed in and threw the resounding thud of his own embittered footsteps down through the tunnel, clacking and clicking with obvious resentment.
“Kurogane…” came a far softer noise, drifting from along the corridor, floating into his ear and curling there strangely, intriguing and yet homely.
Kurogane smirks loosely, a damp sort of cheer, before carrying on, lifting his eyes to gaze towards him, the faint glow from the lighting against his pale hair, the elegant and slender shape of his form against the empty and hollow interior of the stadium, the sly smile lying sleek on his lips, a bag in his hands, fingers wrapped tightly about the worn and dirtied strap… That rucksack he’d taken to school. It was still marked with pen, faint scribbles and doodles, it was still stained with grass, vibrant streaks across the grey, it was still mottled with faint pin pricks from badges, an ink stain where his pen had leaked… it was begrimed and deformed with the slight rips and tears at the seams. Faintly, he remembers throwing it into a tree… to what means he does not know.
And Fye smiles, deep and knowing in front of him, slick and cunning, mistrustful and dark in a sense but still beautifully gleeful, a dreaming and contented edge in its faint curve. His eyes glimmer and he steps forward, pressing the bag into Kurogane’s hands as they both draw closer, gaze digging into him challengingly with that same smooth perk to his lips…
He draws the zip open and all he sees is cash. It betrays the concept of depth, it seems to well up from beneath, lies there like a matted pool within its worn and flimsy casing.
Fye’s smile glows warmly towards him under the bleached lighting, his hair shining in a golden halo around the edges, illuminated by the light shining bright at the other end of the tunnel.
“How much?” Kurogane asks though the question seems stuck in his throat.
Fye’s eyes glimmer, sparkling like precious diamonds before him as he answers, a beautiful whisper, a suspenseful breath, “A million.”*
Kurogane nearly chokes, emits a smothered laugh, frowning in disbelief towards the bag, heavy in his hands as Fye explains, his voice seeming unreal as it echoed and slipped about the bleak corridor, “That’s not all of it… that’s just so I can get used to the idea and figure out what to do from now on…” He purses his lips, thoughtfully shifts them to the side as his eyes slink and lower. And then he blinks, smiles tightly and happily, runs his hand along the side of Kurogane’s face and pulls himself closer, brings their bodies into contact.
Kurogane can feel his breath against his face, his other hand slipping and clutching tightly to his shoulder, his fingers pressing endearingly into the skin under his shirt, giving a hesitant smirk as Fye holds himself firm against him, arms wrapping about him is in a delicate embrace.
His lips drift over to his ear. And they whisper preciously in a breath so warm and light, Kurogane’s spine draws tight at the sound drawn carefully and thoughtfully from Fye’s mouth - “Come home with me…”
He closes his eyes, drops both bags, draws his arms around Fye’s back…
- - -
I can put on my own plaster! he cried, swatting the hand away from his knee, insultingly, clawing to rip the plaster from the other’s fingers, one just as stubborn as the other.
Hold still! Kurogane had snapped, struggling against Fye’s hands with a single arm, dangling a plaster over his scraped and bloody knee propped up on the kitchen worktop. Eventually, with a small and concentrating pout and frown, he accurately pressed the plaster to Fye’s knee, running over it firmly with his palm to ensure it was stuck while Fye childishly swung his legs. Stop it! Kurogane yelled, shoving his legs against the drawers with a clatter, holding them there in a bitter huff.
Okay! Fye chirped with an immature ring to his tone, a pout held firm on his lips as his raises his leg up to the countertop, inspecting the plaster fully, running his thumb about the ages. Kurogane?
What? the other boy huffed, snapping the plastic box shut, placing it back in its corner within the drawer and slamming it shut again.
Fye’s eyes ran over to him, smiled with a sickly sweet taint that mismatched the question. If I died would you miss me?
Kurogane stared into him, youthful eyes narrowing uncertainly, suspicious of the question. It’d be your own fault, he eventually moaned, clambering on top of the counter next to Fye, heels clattering against the cabinet door. He pulled himself over to sit comfortably, watched carefully and thoughtfully.
But would you miss me? Fye asked again, his small and anxious smile revealing tiny and rounded teeth, a few missing, causing that distinctly childish and innocent lisp - would you miissssth me - as he started swinging his legs again perched between the cooking utensils and the sugar jar.
Kurogane’s eyes glared hard into him as though boring into his skin before he flicked his head away, lowered his gaze embarrassedly. Maybe…
Fye smiled again, this time mouth shut, lips tracing a shy pink arc on his mouth, tainted with sprinkles from lollipops and chocolate from cookies.
I just said maybe! Kurogane snapped, cheeks tainted and blushed, shoving his shoulder in aggravation, unable to dissolve the widening grin in front of him.
- - -
He breathes in the scent of his hair, so soft and familiar, finds his lips drifting down the side of his head, nose buried in fine, smooth locks, shifting silkily beneath his skin, running along to meet the side of his face. He holds him there, clasps him in his arms, planting small and tender kisses into the tip of his ear, feeling his hands shift to softly stroke the back of his neck, loving and adoring, something long lost.
“I missed you,” Fye mumbles into his chest, head nestled there with a blissful smile against his lips, fingers curling contentedly above Kurogane’s shirt.
He never responded, merely taking a large breath, pulling Fye tighter to his chest as though to permanently link them together, never to be separated. His fingers sift softly through his hair, breathing in every trace of him before dropping his lips to Fye’s, pressing against them gently and disbelieving. Today their lips brushed, something beautifully delicate and precious in their hold.
And when they finally drew apart, separating as hesitantly and tenderly as they’d come together, Kurogane smirked, something physical and real between them, grounding them once more as his voice skimmed and rumbled pleasantly, “What do you do with a pile of cash then?”
“I don’t know,” Fye sighed, resting his head against his chest once more, his breath spilling warmly over Kurogane’s shirt, tapping his fingers lightly against it in thought. “It barely feels real to me yet…”
Next Chapter >>
- - -
a/n: This entire fanfiction came out of one thing my friend said pretty much and that was something about there should be a Kurofye football fanfiction. And I think she meant crack but I was instantly reminded of Sigur Rós' video for 'Viðrar vel til loftárása' and then I kept daydreaming about little Kurogane and Fye so things started going down an childhood romance tangent and then didn't stop. Another inspiration was the song 'Seven' by Fever Ray if you're interested. Mostly though this was the fanfiction where I did whatever the hell I wanted regardless of how it sounded and I definitely had fun writing it =) But please tell me what you think because I'd be really curious about how it comes out.
* All money in this fanfiction is in British Pounds since I'm writing this in the UK and the exact value isn't really vital (I was only choosing a million because it was so rounded, unusual and had a fairytale ring to it) but here are some references:
UK Pounds/GBP - £1 000 000.00
US Dollars/USD - $1 651 693.52
Euros/EUR - €1 156 945,69
through xe.com on 28/07/09