Author's note: The teaching I've borrowed are by a man called Bun-en.
Disclaimer: I do not own xxxHolic.
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Each Day
By letmeupme
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Each day, a good day.
Each day, a treasure indeed.
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Watanuki pondered these words, on what would become the first day of days that would bring change to his life. Day One, he would come to call it.
His current customer had been- no, was an old acquaintance of Yuuko's.
Speech patterns were so easily influenced, Watanuki was still wary of them.
"Ah, Yuuko's youngling, eh?"
Despite his youthful demeanor, the hermit's crackling voice belied his longevity.
When given the words, the advice, Watanuki made sure to thank the old man with glowing eyes.
"Think on it for fifteen days; it might do you some good, Wish Granter."
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After the hermit had left his dreamscape, Watanuki woke to silence, and warm sunlight.
He was alone.
He felt the most unusual hankering for plum wine.
Why not?
The birds borrowing the shop's eaves were silent.
His hands were deft in the pouring of the liqueur, and his sipping delicate.
Only a close watcher would have noticed the faint expression of distaste crossing his face.
Perhaps it was the plum wine itself; perhaps it was the lack of company.
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Day Two.
Each day, a treasure...
With little prompting, Mokona had regaled him with a somewhat fantastic tale of one Bun-en and his disciples, which had lead to the teaching of that particular adage.
The tale itself might or might not have been accurate- but the words rang true.
/ Each day should be treasured, each passing moment.
/ Time waits for no one, and the morrow is so uncertain.
Watanuki smiled ruefully.
This was certainly true, even for- no, especially for those who dealt by the rules of fate.
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Day Three.
Watanuki woke that morning pleased, for he knew that Kohane-chan would be visiting.
When she did come, she was staggering with heavy bags of green plums and rock sugar.
"Grandmother said you would already have the liquor."
"That I do!"
Mokona cheered in anticipation of good liqueur.
Watanuki grinned.
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Day Four.
There had been so many plums; Kohane had agreed to come by and help Watanuki and Mokona this day as well.
Carefully picking the stems, Kohane-chan had asked him.
"Are we going to make jam, too?"
Jam was a good idea. They did have some bergamot lying around…
"What a wonderful suggestion, Kohane-chan!"
The air smelled fresh and sweet with the fruit.
"It is good to have variety, Grandmother says."
The day was a balmy one, with soft, fluffy clouds and a whisper of wind. Light-hearted chatter infiltrated the garden, infusing the space with warm protection.
The birds, still silent, chased each other playfully, weaving delicate patterns against the sky.
Before going home, Kohane-chan told him.
"Variety is good, Kimihiro-kun, because sometimes it is easy to forget."
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Day Five.
Variety is good, Kimihiro-kun, because sometimes it is easy to forget.
Each day a treasure.
Fate, it seemed, was throwing him puzzles and hints so conspicuous even his younger self would have been incapable of ignoring them.
Standing in the treasury, Watanuki wondered if it had been Yuuko who had come to assume Fate's mannerisms over time, or Fate that had adopted Yuuko's.
She was gone, yes.
But the presence he felt in the air he breathed, in the sounds he heard...
The two seemed so alike in that moment, so familiar; Watanuki could have sworn he heard her tinkling laughter on the wind.
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Day Six.
Mokona and he were having an impromptu drinking party on the porch.
The not-quite-delicious plum wine made good compote combined with the fresh plums, served with Chantilly cream and shots of brandy.
"Watanuki, when is Doumeki coming home?"
Mokona posed the question the same way he would have asked about Kohane, or the fox child.
Still, Watanuki's heartbeat slowed painfully in his chest.
He wished that- he wished that Doumeki wouldn't. It would be better.
How he would love to brush his fingers along Doumeki's skin, lure him into a life where Doumeki need not leave him to the tender mercies of time,
where Doumeki need not worry of the risks Watanuki ran every time he greeted another customer, for Doumeki's world would by then be wrought
of his most perfect dreams by the Dreamer himself-
No. It was... unacceptable.
To avoid such an occurrence, he would soon have to make a choice.
And oh, what a choice it would be.
The windless day was bright and uncomfortable, and without wind the smoke from his pipe made his eyes water ever so slightly.
For now, however, he would try to enjoy what warmth the summer might bring.
Blinking slowly, his smile when he answered was genuine.
"He'll be back in a week, Mokona"
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Day Seven.
A postcard arrived from Kyoto.
The drawing on the plain postcard had been composed of simple brush strokes in shades of black and grey, the signature protected with a tiny arrow. It bore a simple message,
Keep it.
Watanuki recognized the subject despite the monochrome. A well-known Temple in Kyoto, the Golden Pavilion: the entirety of which was said to be covered in gold leaf.
Flipping the postcard, Watanuki wondered if Doumeki had visited the place, and then frowned as he caught sight of the markings set around the address. Protective spells scribed in water.
The quiet determination in the small piece of paper spoke of so much…
Each day a treasure, each passing moment.
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Day Eight.
They met in their dreams.
Darkness surrounded them, warm, threaded with the telltale smoke of consciousness.
"I thought you didn't dream."
A moment; rich and heavy like the scent of spilling blood.
"I do. It's just that the last time I dreamt was a-"
The dreamscape changed, taking with it Doumeki' words.
Lush greenery and a pond, a glimmer of gold around the bend hinted at the location.
When Doumeki asked, Watanuki was wondering what could have initiated the shift.
"Did you get the postcard?"
Watanuki knew why Doumeki barely glanced at him. The knowledge clawed at his skin, before he reigned it in.
"Oh, yes. I did. Thank you."
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Doumeki was gazing across the pond, unmoving and yet at ease.
The sight was familiar, but it was almost too much.
It would be no easy feat, but it was quite possible for the Wish Granter to reach out, to drag the edges of this particular dreamscape to weave what would be the most beautiful trap-
The taunt was no more than a whisper, but it allowed Watanuki glimpses of what he wanted so much it ached,
it ached as much as the penance he was already paying for his gradual loss of humanity and his waning control and his Sisyphean struggle against his want.
As he rose to the land of the waking, he slowly rid himself of the memories as a snake would a skin; he didn't need them to know exactly how dangerous he could be.
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Day Nine.
The next morning, Watanuki recklessly forced down his waking senses.
He was fully aware of the possible consequences.
He wouldn't have minded if he were to lose himself to the dark; he who would helplessly lure Doumeki just because he wanted, wanted so much-
Having thrown himself into his hunt, he found what the customer with Bun-en's words had initially asked for.
The following lethargy, accelerated by blood loss was almost welcome.
If only Maru and Moko wouldn't fret so…
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Day Ten.
When Maru and Moko managed to surprise him awake, Watanuki couldn't stop giggling.
He laughed and giggled, until his sides hurt and his tears ran freely.
Thank you, Maru, Moko. Thank you, Mokona, for always being there for me-
-even though I might not always be there for you.
In another world, was another fool with mismatched eyes weeping these crocodile tears?
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Himawari, Doumeki, Kohane.
He liked them.
He loved them.
He would no more harm them than he could hurt himself.
But therein lay the problem.
It was as the Spider had said. Watanuki was changing, slowly, but definitely.
Even now, he was learning beyond mortal comprehension, more than he had ever wished to.
He went through the motions every day, hoping that it would be enough to help his friends, to keep time at bay until his promise with Yuuko-san was fulfilled.
He kept his faith. He would persevere.
He was already weary, though. Would it ever be enough?
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Putting down the phone after speaking with Himawari, he settles himself near the smoking table.
He thought the pipe did not yet suit him, but his movements were as adroit as any. His need was bringing him another step closer to his memories of the previous Wish Granter.
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They should be happy, live their own lives to the full, he thinks.
It will be difficult, but he would hold strong when the time comes.
Then, he would have the decency to silence that part of himself that couldn't let them go. The part that sought to cling to his last ties with humanity.
Every day, something to be treasured.
A slight pang reminded Watanuki of what he had yet to lose.
For this moment, he would mourn its passing.
He would treasure his misery, for that, at least, was his to claim.
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Author's Note:
Thank you for reading!
The first edition was, um, crummy, I couldn't help returning to work on it before posting the second chapter. It still needs a lot of work, but I feel a bit better now.
The second chapter might be a little while in coming; do bear with me .[