A word from the Author:

Well. Here we are. My Valentine's Day offering to anyone willing to read this. =P To all those who have been waiting patiently and in eager anticipation for chapter updates to my other stories, I apologise. That is why I also offer this one-shot as a sort of compensation while you wait for the updates for my other stories. It is the least I can do for those who have kindly reviewed and encouraged me to continue on with my stories.

I've always wanted to write an ending. Yes, you heard me right. An ending. This desire was growing more fervent by each day as I agonised over my three incomplete stories. I already have my endings planned, but the middle parts are driving me crazy. Thus, this story evolved, where I could have an ending without having to write a beginning.

*pauses*

Am I making sense to you?

*Moans*

If thoughts could be recorded, I would be able to have an entire story played out in a movie without having to lift a pen. Sigh.

Anyway, I have Tin's "Faux Naïf" to thank for as one of my inspirations for writing this. Do note, however, that this is purely a one-shot and I have no intentions of further digging a deeper hole (and a grave) for myself by trying to expand on this. Use your imagination if you must, on certain vagaries in the story, but all I hope for is that you will enjoy reading this.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong solely to CLAMP. However, anyone wishing to illegitimately lift any part of this plot without my permission will be inflicted with serious bodily harm. You have been warned.

And now, on with the show…

Dream Alone No More

The tips of her fingers brush against the soft, delicate fabrics with the merest of contact. She has always had impeccable and exquisite taste in clothes, gifted with an inborn innate ability to see the beauty in clothes and be able to match them perfectly to a person. She does not even have to exert any effort in deciding which one to choose; it comes to her as naturally as breathing comes to a living being. She never has difficulty in choosing her clothes. Years of dressing up and designing has sharply honed this particular sense of hers, so that she merely has to look and she'll find her perfect outfit for the day. This gift has served her well, but she has become accustomed to it, and no longer questions the intricate "whys" and "hows". It has become second nature to her, and questions would only be a waste of time; time that would be better spent on other activities.

She plucks a hanger, on which a long, flowing dress is draped upon, slipping her arm underneath the long form to prevent it from touching the floor. She steps into her outfit, the soft, silky dress gliding along her skin with the smoothest of ease, and conforms naturally to the curves of her body, the cloth so light it becomes her second skin. It is beautiful, without a doubt, and she feels sensuous and elegant. A fine set of amethyst jewels adorn the base of her smooth, creamy neck, and her long, wavy locks of hair accentuate the graceful, swan-like arch of her neck. She does not question why she chooses the most beautiful of her dresses. She does not question why she chooses to let her jet-black locks flow luxuriantly over her shoulders, instead of an elegant chignon – her usual practice. She does not question, for she has released herself to her instincts, and has let her senses dictate her actions instead of her mind. All this she does unconsciously. She blurs the line between dream and reality, yet she goes on casually.

Yet, it is inevitable that this reverie be broken permanently.

"Mistress Daidouji?" The voice, schooled in the art of polite and reverential address, calls out to her. "Madame is asking for you. It is time for your appearance."

She finally snaps out of her pleasantly induced reverie, and is slightly alarmed at what she has done, but she decides to leave her work untouched. She acknowledges the maid's statement, and nods to bid her away.

She casts one, long look at her vanity mirror. Her face is sculpted into one exuding calm and serenity, and as much as she would like to believe that her expression is reflected by her emotions, the slightest of flutters in her stomach reminds her otherwise.

Tonight is the night.

She descends down the circular winding steps, unperturbed by the numerous awed stares directed at her.

She smiles beguilingly at the crowd, but in truth, her eyes seek out through the throngs of gathered people for the one person she has waited so long to see. Unconsciously, she holds her breath.

She does not see him.

And her smile threatens to what her heart does – fall. But she consoles herself, saying internally for her own self-assurance, 'The night is still young. He could always come later.'

"Tomoyo-chan!"

A sweet, melodic voice calls out from somewhere off to her right, and she whirls around.

"You look as beautiful as always, Tomoyo-chan!"

Her face breaks into genuine elation upon recognition of the voice which had just produced that delighted squeal. "Sakura-chan!" They embrace, and start chatting with each other, but the emerald-eyed young woman, in one of those few and rare times in her life where she is extremely perceptive, sees in her best friend's eyes hidden emotions.

Sakura takes her hands and clasps them in hers. "He will come, Tomoyo-chan." Four simple words are all that she utters, yet somehow, it is enough to calm her emotions and give her hope. Tomoyo thanks her, and is caught by surprise when Sakura grabs her into a fierce hug. As they break away, Tomoyo notices the slight movement to Sakura's left, and she remembers that her best friend was not alone.

Tomoyo looks up into the handsome face of Sakura's fiancé, and her closest friend – second only to Sakura.

Li Syaoran does not speak. That is, he does not utter any words, because for him, his eyes, deep and expressive, has always been his best form of communication. Tomoyo looks into his eyes…and she is greatly comforted. A soft, gentle smile is her answer to the couple. Such is the nature of their friendship; so close are they that few words need be exchanged in order to convey the intended message. Tomoyo is heartened at the knowledge that she is possessor of a truly wonderful bond with two remarkable individuals, and it is this knowledge that keeps her through her lonely nights.

"Go and enjoy yourself! I'll be fine." She laughs when Syaoran's brows knit into a frown and he eyes her warily. "I'll be all right, Syaoran. Really, you don't have to worry about me," she reassures him, her eyes still dancing with mirth; but she is truly touched when she sees the genuine concern in his eyes. He hesitates, his eyes darting from her to the crowd and back to her, but finally, he makes his decision. A warm hand comes to rest upon her shoulder, and gives her a small, but firm squeeze. His lips forms a small, rare smile, his mahogany eyes softens; then, he turns away to walk towards his fiancée.

She watches the happy couple for a while, but when a strange bitterness begins to rise within her, she quickly turns away.

Time passes, but she does not notice, for she has been engaged in several conversations she is obliged to participate in, given her status as the heiress to a business empire. She welcomes her role, however, as it keeps her mind off her troubled heart, but after several conversations, she begins to tire, and she cannot help but feel somewhat out of place. All around her the party is in full swing, but she cannot bring herself to indulge and engage herself in the revelry around her. It becomes suffocating, this atmosphere; this happiness which she does not feel like she's a part of. With a polite smile, she excuses herself from her guest, and slips away to somewhere more private, hoping that she is not seen by anyone.

She steps out, and immediately the cold winter air washes smoothly over her, the chill diffusing through her exposed skin, striking subtly into her very bones like thousands of tiny ice-picks upon sensitive glass. In a futile effort to warm her body, she draws her shawl tighter around her arms, but it does not bring her warmth anymore than the chill lessens.

Already, she feels calmer, now that her thoughts are not drowned out by the noise of the crowd inside. Yet, this solitude is a double-edged sword, for it reminds her that he has yet to arrive. She had constantly cast surreptious glances at the door, but even until the moment she had stepped out, she had not seen him, or anyone even resembling him, come in. It is at this moment, a stray memory comes unbidden to her mind…

"I would have you smile again, my lady, and not look upon the world with grief in your eyes."

She remembers the words…Oh how she remembers them. She remembers the gentle warmth that emanated from his hand as he caressed her cheek, the tenderness with which he held her as she stood enveloped in his arms, releasing her tears upon his shoulder. But now, the words seem to echo from a distant land, of which she is forever barred from entering.

Too long has she been devoid of his touch. Too long has she kept her emotions at bay. However, she does not cry. She is not easily given to tears, for tears have never been deemed by her to be a worthy companion.

"Why do you weep, my lady? Why do you stand here forlorn and alone, when there's so much joy to be had within the four walls of your house?"

He had asked her that once, when she was engulfed in the sorrows of another different matter; but if the same thing were to happen now, if she were to cry again…

She would not speak, for her eyes would say it all.

Because you're not here with me.

Suddenly, she starts; her senses are alerted to a shuffling movement behind her. She whirls around, and her breath catches in her throat. She sees a figure, standing in the refuge of the darkness, but she does not need to see the face to know that it is him.

He steps forward, a silent wraith in the night, from beyond the shadows that smothered him in its depths. His midnight blue hair obscures his eyes; beautiful orbs that she longs so much to cast her gaze upon again. A pale vision in the night; an achingly beautiful sight to behold. She does not realise that at that very moment, the other echoes those last few thoughts.

"I was ready to resign myself to the thought that you were not coming at all."

Silence.

"Did you encounter any delays?"

He looks off to somewhere in the distance.

"Will you not at least speak to me?" She says out in desperation. She doesn't care what he might think upon hearing the plea in her voice; she just needs to hear his voice for reassurance…

When he makes no effort to answer, she speaks again, "Hiiragizawa-kun, I –"

She stops abruptly when she sees him shaking his head. He raises his head, and for the first time that night, she sees those brilliant sapphire gems that have haunted many a dream.

"Please." The word seems to bear the weight of a thousand. "We have been through too…much, that the need for formalities has long been disregarded, Tomoyo-san." He says this without spite or bitterness; only soul-aching weariness.

Eriol. The One Who Dreams Alone. She recalls that she once commented on his name, remarking on how sad it sounded to her, while she silently wondered what kind of parents would give their son such a name. But now, she also wonders – was it loneliness or remarkable foresight that eventually led them to choose that name? She doesn't know which is worse – the parent's apparent state of mind or the accuracy of their insight.

"Eriol, please. Listen to me."

She notices the distance between them. It is as if there is already a barrier erected in between them; she notes bitterly that she may have already destroyed any chances she thought she might have.

"I'm sorry." The two words brim with emotions, but his eyes remain hooded. "I was wrong, Eriol. I never realised the truth until yesterday, and when I did, it all became so clear. I…I care about you, Eriol. More than a friend. I was scared to admit the truth, but when I thought about losing you…" She abruptly breaks off, and the thought of never seeing him again haunts her.

"No…"

Her eyes widen as he begins to shake his head, and she frantically tries to understand where she went wrong.

"You are confused. That must be so…" He says this with his voice nary a volume higher than a whisper; yet, his anguish is all too clear. She cries a silent cry, but when she reaches out to him, he flinches most imperceptibly. She stays her hand, but her eyes now will him to look upon her, to meet her own dark violet orbs at a level gaze.

"No Eriol! I really am sincere." She pauses to allow him to let her words sink in. "Please. I need you to give me a second chance, Eriol."

His face is expressionless, and he lowers his eyes, preventing her from reading them. And then, lifting carefully masked eyes to her, he uttered the words.

"I'm sorry. It is too late." He does not even wait to see her expression, and turns his back on her to walk away.

"I will dream with you, Eriol!"

For a moment, she is utterly stunned with what she has just done, but the resolve hardens in her eyes, and she does not back down. She looks earnestly at him, hoping her last ditch attempt at making him stay has the desired effect.

It does.

He stops. His body is rigidly straight and unerringly still.

Her eyes plead with him, shining with unshed tears.

"If you will let me, I will dream with you."

He turns his head slightly to the side, and it appears as though he might not leave after all. Her heart beats a bit faster, and her hopes start to rise.

But then…

He walks away. In one swift movement, her soul is brutally crushed. The darkness swallows him once more, and this time, no matter how much she wishes it, he does not return...

She is left alone, standing in the garden. She feels strangely calm, and the inside of her head is so still and quiet – as though all her thoughts have shushed themselves and granted her temporary serenity of the mind.

Vacantness begins to creep into her eyes.

She vaguely feels something on her face, but at the moment, it's not the most important concern in the world, is it?

A crystalline drop of liquid slides along the plane of a pale cheek as white as snow.

She doesn't realise that the tear is hers.

*******************

Tomoyo walked through the empty hallway, each footstep resonating loudly within the hollow of her surroundings. Dust motes danced merrily in the streams of sunlight that poured through cracks and windows, and in the darkest corners of the bare, empty house were silvery spider webs – signs that it had been quite some time since the house had been inhabited.

She sighed deeply; painfully. There was once a time when she was a frequent visitor not only to this passageway, but also to the house. It was a period of much merriment and laughter, where her then new-found companions banished away her heartaches and sorrows and revealed to her anew the beauty of life around her. It was a happy time.

There was once a time – a time now sealed in the past.

Her eyes passed briefly over the walls, her brain faintly registering the peeling of the paint. This house didn't deserve to be in this state… even if it did contain painful memories.

Now, her footsteps, guided and influenced by memory, led her down the passageway to a room located in the far-flung corner of the mansion – her most favourite room in the entire house. She stopped before the closed door, her hand hesitating above the knob. Should she risk tearing open healing wounds by awaking old memories? Instinct and logic battled one another, but in the end, instinct won out.

The door creaked open, and taking in a deep breath, she stepped in.

The shock – like a thunderous blast of cold air that struck her savagely to the very core of her being. So sudden, so rapid, it violently ripped her of her voice, and her breath was frozen in her passage. Her eyes remained where they first settled upon opening the door, and nothing she felt or thought could tear her eyes away from that blasted spot.

He had whipped about in surprise, but when he saw that it was her, his expression softened. Tomoyo, surprisingly, didn't think to question that, but now that he faced her, she had a clear view of his face.

He looked…different. His usually neat hair was now tousled and unkempt, as though a hand had raked through over and over again. His face was leaner, thinner, and if it was possible, he looked paler – which only highlighted the dark shadows beneath his eyes and his five o'clock shadow. For a moment, she entertained the thought that she was the cause for his current appearance, but she swiftly dismissed it. It couldn't have been that.

"I thought you'd returned to England." She finally uttered in a quiet whisper, while inside, her emotions were all a-roar; the semblance of normality her life had finally gained back was wiped away in the instant she saw him. She stifled the urge to run towards him, to desperately see and feel that he was truly living flesh and not a mirage her tormented mind had made up.

"I thought I would too," he said matter-of-factly, with just a touch of wistfulness playing beneath his words. "And yet, I cannot bring myself to do so…"

Tension clung thick and heavy in the air, and deafening silence reigned for the next few moments before a voice, weak and unsteady, emerged.

"How…How long…have…you been…here?" Her voice trembled as she spoke, her voice barely raised above a whisper.

He cast a long, lingering look at her.

"Six months," he announced quietly. His eyes remained steadily on her face, as though awaiting her reaction.

"Six months?" It was like another bolt of lightning streaking down from the heavens to brutally assault her mind. The words seemed unreal, even to herself, faintly echoing her incredulity.

"Six…months?" She laughed. It was a dry, hoarse sound – unpleasant to hear at all. There was no real joy in that laugh; only bitterness. Those fascinating deep purple eyes shone brilliantly, though there was a subtly terrifying manic quality behind them. Perhaps it was the feelings and old memories the house had invoked in her, or maybe it was seeing him, standing right before her, as though all her prayers for the past six months had finally been answered. Or it could have been that she had finally lost all strength in the restraint of her emotions. Whatever the reason was, the dam was now broken, and the emotions slammed into her with full force. Anger, bitterness, rage, sadness – all the negativity she had battled and suppressed ever since his departure now built into a deafening crescendo and unleashed themselves with unbridled ferocity, consuming her in a glorious red haze, flinging her into a state in which she saw nothing but what she felt.

"How dare you."

Her voice was low and soft, but there was no mistaking the coldness with which she said the words. She advanced towards him, while he made no attempts to move. He knew what was to come – he recognised it clear enough – and he braced himself. If her eyes and mind were clearer, maybe she would have seen the words in his shadowed eyes – I'm sorry.

"How dare you do this to me!"

With a scream that seemed to be ripped from very soul, she punched him.

          POW!

          It was such a powerful punch, despite her size, that his head was knocked back and he staggered back a few steps.

And with that blow, it seemed she had exhausted all her negative emotions. She had poured all her unhappiness and grievances into that one blow, and now that the deed was done, she was sapped dry of the energy behind that punch. She felt the effects acutely; she felt intensely weak, and crippling waves of weariness were slowly overwhelming her. In that instant, her mental faculties returned to her, and it didn't take long before she recognised what she had just done.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. A pang of guilt assaulted her, and she unconsciously took a step back.

"I –" She stopped short of saying 'sorry'. No, she wouldn't apologise. He deserved it; he deserved it for the hell he put her through for six long months. She felt tired. Very tired. And a dull, throbbing pain was beginning to grow in her knuckles. She averted her eyes from him, and her decision was made; she had to leave.

Her back turned to Eriol, she made her way to the door, when his voice called out from across the room.

"Why did you buy my house, Tomoyo?"

She froze. How had he known about it? Her agent swore to her no one, especially the owner, would know about it, and they had completed the transaction with utmost secrecy, but somehow, somewhere, they had apparently slipped – because right now, the owner knew about it.

"I…"

He watched her patiently, those cat-like, cobalt blue eyes just waiting to measure her answer.

She wrenched her eyes away from him. Should she tell him the truth or a lie?

"I couldn't let go of the memories." It was the truth.

She turned around slowly. Her head slightly bowed, she lifted sad, pained eyes, and uttered a choked, ragged whisper.

"I couldn't let you go."

In an instant of an eye, he closed the distance between them and stopped right in front of her. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat, but she couldn't help but feel a slight trill of trepidation through her body. What was he going to do with her? Worse, what was he going to do to her?

He swept her into his arms and hugged her fiercely, holding her as if she would vanish if he let go, and all the while uttering to a stunned Tomoyo, "I'm so sorry…"

She gently pulled apart, and he relented, but he firmly held on to her shoulders, and with one hand, tipped her head up to his face. Her eyes searched his visage, and discovered only a plea: Please listen to me.

She hesitated. Barely minutes ago she had been prepared to leave, and even now, a part of her was telling her, whispering urgently to her to leave…but how could she, when it felt so right standing here in his arms? Finally ignoring that voice in her head, she nodded, assenting to his request, and kept her eyes fixed on his as he began to speak in a soft but familiarly deep, velvety voice.

"I'm sorry. I thought you were confused, but in truth, it was I who was confused. That night six months ago, I had wanted to believe you, but it was just…so hard. After the way you had…refused me, I was feeling vindictive. I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me." At this, he looked so sorry and regretful that she longed to just kiss his forehead and make his pain go away. She opened her mouth to speak, but he placed a finger on her lips, his eyes sending her an unspoken message to hear him out first.

"My flight was that very night, but when it was time to enter the waiting lounge, I couldn't move. I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to leave Japan."

"I, for the life of me, couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I finally decided to stay, and sent Nakuru and Spinel ahead first. It took me two sleepless nights and five cup noodles to finally understand what the problem was."

"My thoughts strayed from Sakura to Kaho, but in the end, only one person stuck out vividly in my mind." His eyes turning graver, he swallowed inaudibly, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I couldn't forget you, Tomoyo. I loved you far too much to do so. I tried so hard, but you were all I ever saw in the mind. I just…couldn't."

"Why didn't you tell me?" The anguished cry tore itself from her throat, and her fingers tightened around his arms.

"How could I? After the abominable way I treated you?" He said with a wistful smile. "I tried to leave, but every time I got to the airport…" He trailed off. "I ended up renting an apartment a few blocks away from your house, and for six months, I lived alone. I didn't tell anyone."

"All I wanted was to be close to you," He finished quietly.

She closed her eyes, and felt hot tears gathering behind her lids. Her eyes fluttered open, and luminous indigo orbs lovingly searched his face. With a sad smile, she brushed her fingertips gently across his swollen jaw.

"You…you must hate me now, after what I just did to you." Guilt-stricken, she turned her head away and withdrew her hand, but gasped when Eriol suddenly caught her wrist.

"My dear Tomoyo…" His breathy whisper only helped to set her heart racing. "I could never hold a grudge against you, let alone set myself to hate you."

And to prove his point, he kissed her.

It was tender, so tender – she couldn't stop the tears from spilling from her closed eyes. The warmth and gentleness, so much a part of him, and she felt them as intensely as she tasted the soft passion in his lips.

Only now, she realised just how much he loved her.

When they drew apart, her eyes were glistening, and the tenderness she had just witnessed in the kiss was reflected in his eyes. Both smiling, they said nothing, and simply embraced each other in silence.

If she had ever doubted that she loved him, she knew now, for certain, that she could never love another as much as she loved him.

"I was wondering whether your offer was still open."

"My offer…?" Her head previously resting on his chest, she tilted her head up to him in inquiry.

"You said you'll dream with me, remember?" She looked up at him. His eyes held so much within them – hope, love, gentleness, desire. To refuse all these…

The softest of smiles graced her pale, pink lips.

"You won't have to dream alone anymore."

Finis

Author's note:

*exhales deeply* Wow. I am sooo tired. But happy. =)

Happy Valentine's Day.

Afterthought:

Hmmm….maybe I'll do Eriol's POV? *smiles enigmatically*

Reviews welcome. Constructive criticisms also welcome. Flames also welcome, but after all I've put into this story, the least you can do is write it in the form of a CC.