Title: Almost Armistice
Day/Theme: 9/7) the light of our armistice
A/N: comment_fic: Clow/Yuuko, he always makes the chocolate on Valentine's
Just when she feels as if her patience has frayed enough that she wants to wish a million painful ailments on him, he brings her rum and chocolate. Invariably, every February fourteenth when young girls make chocolate for their sweethearts, he brings her some of her own, as if he too were a young girl very much in love.
She doesn't doubt the young part, for often she questions his maturity, or at least the maturity he displays around her which seems to fall into the category of seven-year-old-dropping-bugs-into-the-shirt-of-the-girl-he-likes.
She's explained that White Day exists for such reasons. He just smiles and says we both know that White Day is a thank you, and that you're never going to make chocolate for me.
And he is right. Chocolate and rum (or sake, or wine, or whiskey) is always the one thing that will make her forgive his smugness, his teasing, or the sheer fact that she is more affected by him than she wishes to be affected by anyone.
He often doesn't simply wait once a year, but whenever the mood strikes him. Still, he does manage to make each one special. They are circular and patterned, not heart shaped. They're made with alcohol and she feels herself slip into that same milky glory of drunkenness. She floats in it, and everything melts away.
So now will you forgive me? he says, watching her in that intimate, self-satisfied way.
She glances at him appraisingly. If she pushes it, she just might get seconds. Besides, he has been insufferable lately..
I'll think about it, she says and slips another piece of chocolate into her mouth.