Natsukashii
This is the death of summer nights spent on rooftops - d.b.s.
Disclaimer: Not my characters - that's what makes it "FAN" fic.
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Chapter One
Soundtrack for War
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Lipgloss, neon, broken glass, eyelashes, smoke, sparkle, amaretto and coke, oh oh oh… the remains of the workday spilling furiously into their Tuesday night. She clinks the ice in her glass and thinks through a headache – what does it really matter, the flickering of fluorescent lights or the fluttering of powdered eyelids? Day becomes night in a never-ending feedback loop, people hunger for other people, and the world passes Sakura by. Nothing is how it used to be. She takes another sip on her short straw and slips off a shoe – rubbing her own sore feet, leaning on the second floor bar, with a lazy glance down at the milling and smiling below. Sakura, the cherry blossom girl, feels the changing of the seasons – even inside this closed, pressing club, even inside the store all day long – the cherry blossom knows that spring is fleeting.
A beautiful boy in eyeliner croons from the stage, a familiar song, as a kick drum beat reverberates through the soles of Sakura's aching feet. Tomoyo is below, with the others, watching the stage and shouting, laughing – the top of her glossy head gleams under the lights, watched from above. A sigh, a glance at the time – 10:57 – Sakura's head droops down onto her crossed arms. Too tired to dance. The boy on the stage howls into his microphone. One two. Toniiight….
Just then, she feels a touch on her shoulder and starts with surprise, shooting upright to meet a friendly gaze. A warm gaze. "Ha, sorry. I just wanted to see what was going on up here. You okay?" Eriol smiles gently, shrugs his shoulders. Neatly gelled hair and the sweet smell of aftershave. Sakura looks back over the railing, twirling a piece of hair between two fingers.
"Yeah, no worries. Just tired from work." Pause. Beautiful Tomoyo is holding hands with Chiharu down on the floor, swinging long, glossy hair from side to side.
Eriol's voice, yelling over the beat. "I was just gonna grab another drink. Do you want anything?"
"Um…" Sakura shakes the ice in the bottom of her glass, ponderously. Clink clink – this is one moment in time. "Do I want anything…" Eriol is a photograph of togetherness, the lights flash brightly around them… and a split-second shudder chills her like a spasm of guilt, like a cold tongue licking at her heart – shudder. She had almost forgotten herself… But now the day comes flooding back – ink blots on receipt backs, seven cups of coffee with stir sticks and sugar, clock hands moving slowly, the chiming, atonal bell of the phone ringing, ringing, ringing, and underneath it all… nothing. Nothing? Air conditioning, the smell of carpet, dust, computer screens and milling customers, yellow fluorescent flicker and nothing, stale, vitamin-deprived, etiolated nothing. The emptiness like a pang in her heart. Checking the clock and keeping score.
Back in the darkened, close air, a change plays across her face, Eriol catching it briefly. Sakura's eyes narrow and flash, almost feral. "You know what? Yes. Yes, for sure. Let me get yours too – what are you drinking?" Reaching into her purse with a determined motion – Eriol's liquid smile does not waver as he follows her to the bar, and down the stairs to the floor.
Four drinks. Five. Six. Sweet amaretto, then whiskey sour. Sakura is swinging her head and her hips to the overpowering bass, shoes in her hands and bare feet on the floor. She sings along to all the songs she knows and some she doesn't, Tomoyo and Sakura with voices raised to the flashing lights, arms around each other. This is freedom – Sakura swinging her head with eyes closed, an uncontrollable feeling welling inside her, the urge and compulsion to move. To shake off the emptiness of the clock, to shake and dance and run and run – pain melting away along with memory. Numb, forgetful feelings, melting like a balm so that even the ache of nostalgia for older days begins to subside. Sakura is somebody else, Sakura is nobody, running so fast that not even the change of seasons can catch her. In this dance, spring never ends, the petals never wither…
"Sakura…" It's Tomoyo's voice, lost in the music. Sakura is running away inside, as she holds her head with both hands and raises her face to the ceiling in ecstasy, opening her eyes to watch the changing coloured lights. "Sakura?" A gentle hand on her arm, but Sakura cannot feel it amidst the other bodies moving around her. There are beads of sweat like pearls on her bare skin. She is still dancing beautiful oblivion, until…
"Oh my God Sakura, did you see who's here!" Chiharu comes bounding through the crowd and shakes Sakura excitedly with both hands. Sakura blinks twice, as if waking from a dream. The faces of her friends come into focus softly, one pained with gentle care and worry, the other eager and hungry. "Sakura, you'll never guess who's back! He just walked in! You are gonna be so excited…"
"Sakura…" murmurs Tomoyo tentatively, reaching for her hands, but Sakura's eyes are already darting through the sea of heads. In spinning confusion, hope and fear collide – could it be? He's here. Him. No. He's here He's here He's here. Eyes and heart darting furious and reckless with fear tight in her throat, afraid to find what she searches for, trembling from the dancing, the drinking and now… Darting and catching on Eriol's face across the room, in conversation with a back-view of a familiar head and shoulders. Intake of breath. Shaggy dark hair above an expensive, impeccably pressed collar. Leather jacket. Foreign eloquence reading on a pair of stiff, shrugging shoulders. He's here.
Part of Sakura's waking mind is turning to run but she walks toward the pair as if someone else controls her body, knocking against the arms of good-looking club-goers, gliding toward the magnetic pull of memory. Emotion builds behind her soaked eyes, her numb lips, moving closer. Bapesta sneakers, hand in the pocket of his designer denim, money speaking despite his shrugged shoulders and casual gait. How many years has it been? Three, four? She was sixteen…
Sakura stumbles and gasps, an empty glass in one hand. Eyes meet as he turns, and a dizzy blackness swallows them both.
Sakura crumples halfway to the sticky floor as Syaoran lurches forward instinctively to catch her. The creak of leather. He inhales, with his arms around her wilting form. Instantly they are surrounded – Eriol, Tomoyo, others cluster to help or to see what is causing the fuss. Face flushed from alcohol, head on a too-familiar shoulder, Sakura whispers "Syaoran…"
The first cherry blossom petal of spring falls softly to the ground.
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A/N: And so begins my first-ever attempt at fan fic. Wah! This is rather un-Japanese AU based heavily on the city of Vancouver, especially the scenery and the music. Chapters are named after songs by local bands that inspired this fic, notably d.b.s, You Say Party? We Say Die, and Billy and the Lost Boys - I don't own any of their lyrics and apologize for associating them with my uber-nerdiness!
