STANDARD DISCLAIMERS: I am here with another fic. And the second chapter of Through a Camera Lens is still in the works. I still got a project waiting for me. Bah. Just shoot me.
NOTES: As usual, ExT. Complain and perish. This is just a random fic. Meaning, it may make sense. Take note: MAY.
Bah. I won't babble on any longer. Just read it.
What's That in Your Glass?
-Carelle
Tomoyo was late. Come to think if it, she has been always late these past few days. Eriol brushed imaginary dust from his expensive new shirt. Nakuru almost laughed her brains out the moment she learned that he bought a new and expensive shirt just for this occasion. Eriol looked outside the huge window and looked around the restaurant again. He frowned. The maitre d', the snob of the century, was so damn superior that Eriol wanted to kick him.
His palms sweated under the wine list. After chewing off his lower lip, Eriol decided on a Chablis. For the price of a bottle you could finance a revolution in a small country. Oh, well, you only propose once--unless you had a thick hide, and Eriol didn't. Nothing about him was thick, not his waistline, and not his ego. Besides, he was reasonably sure that Tomoyo would marry him. He was also quite certain that if he didn't ask her soon, she would wither waiting, hardcore courage only comes once in a blue moon for Eriol Hiiragizawa.
He felt the bulge in his trousers. There was nearly three month's food budget in that little black box-- a stone the size of a small pimple. If only Nakuru knew why Eriol cut-down their four-meals-a-day (snack included) to two-meals-a-day, she would burst an artery.
Everything had been rehearsed in his mind many times. Eriol never did anything at the spur of the moment. Nothing was too trivial to permit him a good night's sleep. The evening at hand had been plotted and replotted in his mind. He would act nonchalant all throughout dinner, and then he would order champagne. He would divert her attention from their glasses, and then he would slip the ring into her drink. "What's that in your glass?" he would say, with the cool panache of a Cary Grant. She would turn pale, well, paler, then her eyes would widen with surprise and delight, overflow with admiration for him...
No, something wasn't quite right... He sat bolt upright in his chair. Good God, suppose she fainted? He wouldn't put it past Tomoyo, naturally.
He was sweating now, droplets systematically running down his neck. How could he survive dinner half-expecting her to keel over and land in her salad? No! Doubts flooded his formerly neat magician's brain. What if for some bizaare reason she refused him? What if he forgot to ask her what was in her drink and she swallowed the bleeping ring? What if he forgot to put the ring in, and then asked? What if, suppose, assuming that?
The waiter arrived with the wine and two glasses. No sign of Tomoyo. He waved the waiter and poured himself a glass. He gulped it down so fast he had no time to taste it.
He had to do it now. Before he could digest anything he had to know her answer. He had to. Eriol reached into his pocket, opened the box, took out the ring, dropped it in the other glass, and poured a second glass of wine.
Tomoyo rushed into the restaurant. Several specks of snowflakes still clung to her hair. Several pairs of eyes turned in her direction. She bowed before him and muttered an apology then smiled. Ah yes, that smile that made him succumb to love together with her unfaltering attitude. Ah, romance...
Tomoyo deftly took off her cashmere coat after Eriol pulled a chair for her. "I'm so sorry, Eriol. My boss decided on an emergency meeting which should've lasted for only twenty minutes but we promptly sat there, burning our bums for three-fourths of an hour. I swear she's positively sadistic. If it weren't for this, I would've gone on the brink of shriveling up. So, thank you for inviting me," she smiled.
"You're welcome," he said.
"You sounded so mysterious on the phone. What's the occasion?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing..." He had planned on a seductive drawl, and was unprepared for the squeak he emitted.
"Oh, really," Tomoyo grinned. She was not bent on believing him.
Something snapped in his brain. Soon she would reach out for her glass. He would have to ask the question. Then he would have to marry her. AND HAVE KIDS. His heart instantly pounded faster. Pumping more oxygen into his now very dim, malfunctioning brain. He forced himself to look at her. She was smiling at him, and he could feel his strength and courage waning. They were still young, right? They could still wait, right? The future is still bleak at the moment, he rationalized. He wouldn't want to see her conceive a child whose future will most probably consist of a genderless nanny, a glucose intolerant, TALKING plushie, a Chinese godfather and an impossibly genki godmother. Oh, dear, their poor child.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
"Is something wrong?" she was saying.
"No!" he replied, too loudly. NO! said his mind, so loudly that the people at the next table seemed to hear.
"Some wine?" he croaked, handing her his glass and taking her glass with his free hand so that their arms entwine on the table.
Tomoyo looked confused. "What are you getting at?" whispered Tomoyo, but he didn't hear. He drained her glass, swallowing hard. Suppose he choked? Suffocated! Smothered to death!
He took a deep breath. He was breathing! Alive!
"What was that in your glass?" she said.
"What?" he murmured.
"I thought I saw something in your glass."
"OH, uh, it was a... a grape."
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes, so he didn't get to propose. And didn't I tell you that this just MIGHT make sense? Apparently?
So, what do you think? Weird enough? Funny, maybe?
Review then, if you please!
No, really. Please leave a review?