AN: This is only the prologue, future chapters will be longer. I would love some constructive critism, and well, praise is always wonderful. So read and enjoy, if boyxboy is not your cup of tea it would be best for all parties involved if you did not continue passed this point.
Warnings: Slash, yelling, cursing, complaining and Yuuko-san's uncanny ablity to screw up Watanuki's life while ultimately making it better.
Disclaimer: I don't own xxxHolic or any other CLAMP works that may be mentioned in future chapters.
And now on to the Prelude!
Watanuki steeled himself with a deep sigh and clenched his basket with white-knuckles. Of course he ended up in the line with the new cashier, who probably didn't know how to tie her own shoes much less scan store items. The glasses clad man of twenty three turned his attention to the magazine rack, he couldn't stand to watch either his food spoiling or the clerk struggling. He skimmed passed the fashion and dieting, the make-up and beauty, but paused at the tabloids. The figure on the cover looked familiar so Watanuki scanned the title:
Doumeki fires eighteenth assistant!
What is he hiding?
What did his previous assistants find out?
Watanuki Kimihiro had to wonder why it was even news. He repeated the name in his head a few times hoping it would eventually ring a bell. Was that man Doumeki Shizuka? That stoic jerk from high school? Watanuki studied the blurry, low-quality photograph that was trademark tabloid. It was difficult to tell. Kimihiro cycled through some of his former classmate's characteristics. Doumeki Shizuka had dark hair, but that was all too common in Japan. He had been very athletic, but mainly focused on kyudo. The Doumeki in the picture had a sleek muscular look about him. The man and Doumeki Shizuka both appeared quite tanned as well. Watanuki couldn't say for sure they were one in the same. A positive identification of the famous, or quasi-famous, man from such a low-resolution photo like that was nigh impossible.
The hairs on the back of Watanuki's neck stood up, forcing him to snap out of his reverie. The cashier was staring at him as though he were certifiable before clearing her throat.
"Excuse me, sir, I can scan your items now." She said in forced politeness. Watanuki flushed and hastily offered up his groceries. He watched the teenage girl in front of him. Her hair was done like the women on the cover of those feminine magazines and her make-up was flawless. She most likely knew her share of pop culture, unlike Watanuki who didn't own a TV.
"Who is 'Doumeki'?" Kimihiro found himself asking and pointing to the fake newspaper. She gave him a shocked look, and opened her mouth as though the very question offended her.
"He's only the hottest actor ever! He's so serious and he never smiles, he's so sexy!" She shrieked. Watanuki cringed, he wasn't prepared for fan-girling of this magnitude. The cashier continued though.
"He stared in a couple of CLAMP's films and is now working on one called 'The District' that's being produced by Clow Reed. It's going to start shooting here next month, but no one knows exactly where, but definitely in Tokyo!" Her voice got too high pitched for Watanuki to understand after that. He began to regret asking.
"Thank you," He said and handed her cash. He didn't use credit cards, unless it was a big purchase, or an emergency, in short he never used one. He was somewhat paranoid about the whole thing. The companies were out to get him and any other poor soul that paid in plastic. Not to mention the interest on the cards would kill him. Money was tight, it always had been, which is why he owned no TV or actual furniture. Watanuki had a little trouble in the area of keeping jobs. Something about his temper…
Plus, he had no real idea of what he wanted to do with his life. He loved cooking but was terribly afraid that becoming a chef would snuff out any passion for it. Cooking was the sole hobby he had, and one of the best connections he'd had with his father. Watanuki couldn't risk it. Currently he was running a cleaning service, but he lost a great deal of clientele by calling them various degrading names and then lauching into his lectures on overall tidiness.
Watanuki took his receipt and plastic bags, which were ever so harmful to the environment, in hand as he headed for his bicycle. The twenty-three-year-old liked to believe he did it for the sake of the planet rather than the sake of monetary constraints. He put his bags in the basket and swung his leg over the worn vinyl seat. He sent out a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening that his rusty bike chain would hold out, at least until he arrived home. Watanuki then set off on his dingy bike for his dingy apartment building.
Thank you and have a lovely day!