The Whys and Wherefores of Wanting
by Ekai Ungson
ze title is from.... I forgot. Tin, I think? Anyway, arigato to anyone who had thought up of this in one of her fic summaries.
for Chelle-san, and Varon, in gratitude for sanctuary.
thanks to Sakura-san, Tin-san, Kit-san, and Wen-san, whose works have inspired bits and pieces of this, especially Tin and Wen, for "Turn 3: Eriol's Cut", and "Creak of Dawn".
legality: CLAMP made it. hail them.
She wraps her love around herself like a blanket, keeps it within her closed fists lest a dulcet drop spill, and scorch him, and awake him. She keeps her love close to her heart, deep within her, even as she towers above him. She restrains it with ropes made of thorns, so it cannot escape, before it falls into the abyss, down, before it touches his skin, before he discovers her.
The whys and wherefores of wanting were such, these rules she set down on herself. She could watch but never touch, stare but never feel. Not even when he was close, so close, not even when he stood next to her; because once she touched him a sliver of her feelings would escape from her fingertips, and betray her.
In this, she kept her skin cold.
He sleeps, secure in his world of ignorance. Twilight creeps in from the west to the east, and is taken for granted, just like the pain that seeps into her heart, just as she takes it for granted. Twilight, after all, is such a part of life that no one notices its very passing, just as this pain is such a part of her life such that she noticed its passing no more. For as long as he existed, as long as she lived, he would cause her pain, unkowingly.
He caused her pain by not knowing.
It was true that she was mostly numbed to the pain, but she could never escape it (of course, you cannot teach a heart to simply stop feeling, can you, can you?). The thing called jealousy is volatile, unstable, and it creeps from behind her, veiling her eyes and her heart with a gray colored sheet. She feels each new sting, recoils from each new gash, winces. She bleeds, bleeds, until she has bled herself inside-out. Only then can she be rebuild, only then can she be reborn.
Perhaps it is best, she muses, that this hidden desire (such a cliche, is it not? a cliche) remain hidden.
Touch him she cannot, so how would he feel, how would he feel? In any case, she was afraid of rejection, and he wouldn't look at her. He never would. He was surrounded by too much beauty from all directions, and he needed not look her way. She was nothing to him.
But he was everything to her, and this was the tragedy of her life.
Tomoyo looks up into the dead black night, and asks her questions, burning from deep in her throat. They fall into the abyss, unheard, just as her love remains unseen.
He stands, secure in his world where she is not included. She does not exist in his circle, but everyone else does. But that is her paranoia, her fear. He knows that she exists, somehow, but through his glasses she is nothing but a blur.
It breaks her heart, but her heart is already broken. To be so nonexistential to him frustrates her, when she knew that half the school's population, both male AND female, would fall in over their heads with one flick of her hand. They were all in love with her, madly in love with her, and all she had to do was pick one.
But she couldn't lie to herself. She knew that no matter how many men she picked up and disposed of, they would never compare to who he was.
She is not like those other girls who are bold enough to drop notes at his locker or are brave enough to call him out. She knows they love him for his dark hair, and his deep eyes. They love him for his humor and his intellect. But not her.
She loves him for who he was in full, and not simple parts of him.
But touch him she could never, never do.
She turns and walks away from the unanswering sky, the wind in her hair, leaves cracking beneath her feet.
Suddenly, as if by magic, a familiar voice softly utters, "what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
He claims he'd been walking around these parts since sunset. Tomoyo fiddles with the skirt of her immaculate white dress.
"What were you doing out here?" he asks, and she looks up.
"Just walking," she replies, looking away. "I was just asking the stars." She realizes she sounds very, very demented.
He doesn't seem to notice. "I could tell," he said.
She turns her head sharply to look at him.
"I saw you," he continues. "Looking up at the sky as if lamenting something." He turns to her. "If you don't mind my asking, what was it?"
".... What was what?"
"What you were asking the stars."
Ignorance was bliss. She could feel her heart attempt to spring forward.
She was THIS close. But her cowardice got the best of her. He sleeps, and if a drop of her love awakened him, she would disappear forever.
She stands and gathers her skirts, turns to him with a soft, sad smile. "I won't tell you the question."
She turns and walks two steps away from him, leaving him there with an unreadable expression on his face.
Suddenly, she turns to him again, from a short distance away.
"But the answer is you."
With that said, she walked away, the wind in her hair, leaves cracking from beneath her feet, into the cold darkness.
She wraps her love around herself like a blanket, keeps it within her closed fists lest a dulcet drop spill.
And the day he learns to unwrap her, the day he awakens, will be the day she will be free.
-The reply to "He Who Dreams Alone". If you'll notice, they're both obssessing over each other, ne? ^_^
-Kaho does not exist in this universe. (hee hee, Chelle.)