Pairing: Domeki, Watanuki
Summary: Because somewhere along the way you know you've slipped away and you feel nothing, absolutely nothing. Angst!
A/N: Lots of angst and character death. One of the ten fics I have yet to type down in my computer because I'm just too tired to do so.
Sometimes you forget that Shizuka no longer comes to the shop.
You wait by the door, patiently, without complaint, sometimes falling asleep on the porch. Waiting.
More often than not you will the door to open to reveal a stoic-faced man with dark, short-cropped hair and piercing, piercing amber eyes. But it never does. Not since that day and perhaps never again.
You let it slip through your fingers as usual. You realize too late. And now all you have is gaping hole in your chest and a lightness of being. Like death.
And you wish so fervently, hoping, praying to a deity to hear you, heed you.
But it is futile. A wish granter you are, yes. But you're human too.
And you wish for something you know you can never have.
You bicker softly as you drink yourselves to oblivion—to forget.
Your bottles accumulating by the dozen but you couldn't care—not today—not when you feel so raw as if your insides have been ripped apart, nipped ad burned with acid. You feel bile rushing up to your throat but you force it down. Not in front of him—you just can't.
Your glasses clink as you toast to another fruitful year—for him, never for you. You're cursed.
His silent presence soothes you and all you want is to grab him by his collar and kiss him senseless and have him ravish you then and there but you can't.
He's married. His golden band set firmly in place on his ring finger.
You drink another cup.
You gaze at the angles of his face, he's older than you remember but still handsome and you see wrinkles starting to form on his forehead. He's thirty-four and you're still seventeen. You're still seventeen. You'll be seventeen forever and he'll grow old and die and he'll leave you behind—just like your parents, like Yuko.
You don't know when you've started caressing his left hand, the gold band on his finger burns yours—his gaze on yours burning intently and you know you're probably too wasted for you to be as uninhibited as this but you find yourself not caring. It is then that you see a thimble on his left pinky. A familiar thimble made of peach and you feel yourself crying.
"Why…" you manage to choke out, hands still gripping his.
He lifts your chin up to meet his gaze and you feel your heart clench. You start to wish again and again. Over and over. The vicious cycle repeating itself indefinitely.
"It's always been yours Kimihiro" he tells you quietly, his strength and sincerity seeping into his words. And you swear you saw a red string just there before it disappears.
He brushes light kisses on your fingertips and you feel yourself shudder.
And for the first time you wish so hard you feel yourself melting into his touch. That this. That you, that you could be happy.
His hair is starting to grey, wrinkles forming around his eyes.
But as age kisses him tenderly so do you. an expanse of flesh visible, yours still firm and adolescent. He unravels your kimono layer by layer with practiced ease, your expanse of flesh still firm and adolescent. His eyes drinking you in with such wanton desire and fire you feel yourself shudder. So you cup his cheeks and bring his face closer to yours.
"Yours, Shizuka" you whisper, not trusting your voice to go any louder.
And when he makes love to you its desperate, passionate and heartfelt—always like it's the last time you'll see each other again.
Because the uncertainty kills you so you say his name over and over like a mantra as if it could convey your deepest wishes. When you both climax he pulls out tired and spent, wrapping his strong arms around your torso, head atop your chest and you hum with satisfaction.
"Kimihiro" he says, his voice reverent and your name a prayer.
"Shizuka" is all you reply.
And you feel so sinful, so disgusted with yourself. That you seduced a married man; chained him to your side.
And when he lays his head next to yours and lopes an arm around your waist you find yourself questioning his motives.
A lovely wife, a promising career, children so why—
So you tell yourself, this time I'll tell him to leave, this time I'll make it so that he can't come back this time.
But your resolve shatters as he plants kisses on your cheek, your jaw, your forehead, your eyelashes; ghosting over your lips and you cup his face looking straight into amber eyes.
You wish and wish.
So you kiss him chastely at first, smiling into it until it spirals into something more passionate. And you know that he wants you despite how his actions may show. Always you.
And you start to forget that sharp pang in your chest for a moment more, bury the guilt eating away at you for taking something you're not meant to have anymore as you lose yourself in pure unadulterated bliss.
"Shizuka, your daughter is here to pick you up" you say softly as he sleeps on your lap.
He opens one wrinkled amber eye, his gaze is deep, face a ghostly trace of a once youthful but still handsome face.
And yours is—you shake your head, stymieing the thoughts. Not now.
"Who is coming?" he asks.
"No, your daughter", he knits his brows in confusion and you smile a bitter, happy smile. "You married Kohane-chan remember?"
And he nods in understanding and grasps your hand in a feeble grip.
And you smile as you lean down to kiss him on the lips. You breathe his scent, clutching his kimono tightly.
Because this. This is enough.
He dies the day after your birthday.
His daughter says that he dies in his sleep clutching a box with an egg inside—his thimble still in place. You hold her as she cries in your arms and you feel your chest heaving—not now, later.
And when all is said and done, you retreat to your chambers and close the shoji door.
And you cannot seem to hate him—hate him for leaving you because he spent seventy years by your side.
Your body convulses with the intensity of your grief your tears—bitter with regret.
I've been dead a long time, you remember Yuko saying.
And you finally understand.
Because when Shizuka died you felt everything and then nothing.
Nothing at all.
A/N: /wrist. Hit that review button down there guys and make a writer happy today.