Disclaimer: I don't own Card Captor Sakura. Clamp does.

Author's Note: This fanfic is about Kero-chan confronting Suppi-chan in his own way. Edited as of 04-04-13. I'm rewriting/editing some of my old stuff, so I apologize in advance for that.

You think that you're a more powerful, more advanced, and a way cooler version of the original sun guardian—of me. Yet no matter how high you think of yourself, Suppi, you will never be as good as me. For starters, the one-and-only sun guardian that is I is the only one that can comprehend the magnificence of the pudding.

I even did some research for you, Suppi, just in case you didn't know about this delicacy. While I was throwing a tantrum after losing Super Smash Brothers: Melee, I took a break. I cajoled Sakura-chan into bringing me a cup of pudding, 'cause it was my body's lack of creamy, sugary, and scrumptious pudding that made me lose thrice. And guess what? I beat Tomoyo-chan five times in a row! Pudding is at the pinnacle of success—it is the food of champions! Ah, second-rate sun guardian, I bet you do not even know what pudding is. Am I right?

I could give you my own bombastic definition of pudding (-the food of the gods and powerful sun guardians. Those, whose intake is over a gallon a day, are known for their wizardry in video games and divine good looks.) and a myriad of synonyms—deliciousness, gracefulness, delicacy, the lion's ambrosia (I think that's a bit fanciful…), and even sugar (the list goes on and on…)! Like I said, I could give you my definition (like I just did…oops!), but I rather give you the impartial and terse definition for "pudding."

Pudding— (noun)

1) (British) the dessert course of a meal ('pud' is used informally)

2) Any of various soft thick unsweetened baked dishes

3) Any of various soft sweet desserts thickened usually with flour and baked or boiled or steamed

Ah ha! Look at the third definition: "any of various soft sweet desserts…" See, I was right! Hmm… what's up with that second definition? "Unsweetened?" Ha! How oxymoronic! That's like… cake without icing! … or Poptarts without the fruit filling! The second definition should be sent to hell, along with Zelda (that chick is kicking my ASCII on Super Smash Brothers: Melee).

Back to the topic: Suppi, why are you mentally incapable of grasping the pudding's godliness? Oh, that's right. You can't eat sweets… You're: 1) pesky, 2) pompous, 3) a sloth, 4) ugly-looking, and 5) anti-sugar, or dare I say "glucose-intolerant?" or "fructose-intolerant?" Can you be any more hapless than that? Ah, but you are… You do like sugar. Remember the bake sale, how you went insane and consumed two tons of candy, molasses-covered cakes, and dried sweetened fruits? I knew you would. I remember the demonic sparkle I saw in your eyes… like huge faceted sugar crystals reflecting summer in their vitreous faces. You are not anti-sugar, my friend. You are anti-temptation.

I rather not continue to rub that fact in your face. I'm not like you. I am the epitome of empathy and you, of apathy. I bet Eriol never taught you or Ruby Moon compassion (that's why you two are such snobby butt-holes). That's because he is a flawed version of Clow Reed. I only wish that Yue would see that, too.

I have another thing I wanna talk about—no, tell you about. Stay away from Tomoyo-chan! Tomoyo-chan and I go way back, to the days of the unsealed Clow cards, of us five —Sakura, Tomoyo, the gaki, his fake girlfriend slash stalker slash Meiling, and me— capturing them. Sakura-chan and I were the stars of her videos. She used to make outfits for the two of us. Did she ever make one for you? Noooo…. Not ever. She calls me "kawaii." I bet no one has ever called you that, Suppi. She would purchase whole strawberry shortcakes just for me and would fawn over me as I ate. So, in short, get your own camera girl! She's M-I-N-E. MINE! I can't stand you lapping up a piece of takoyaki from her hand. Ugh… the germs. Your germs!

Speaking of takoyaki, you owe me, Suppi, dearly... I shall not forget that dreaded playdate our masters set us up on, having to share a heap of those delicious fried goodies with you was just plain terrible and cruel. As if an afternoon forced to tolerate each other's company could make us friends. You don't like playing video games and I don't like reading books by dead British writers. Takoyaki and the sun are our only common ground. Face it, Suppi-chan, you and I were destined to be rivals. Nakuru Akizuki and Yukito Tsukishiro may pretend to be civilized, but deep down, even the snow rabbit must have some contempt for that (almost) home-wrecking twit you call your sister.

But there's something that I've been wondering since we met, and shall continue to wonder for epochs if I don't get an answer from you, Suppi.

Just who do you think you are?

The cat-like guardian stirs in his sleep. Not only has he been dormant for forty-two minutes, he has fallen asleep in a stranger's bed- Keroberos' bed inside the open drawer. Before the doll-size mattress, a yellow-gold guardian glowers with his arms crossed and beady eyes focused on the napping trespasser.

"Who do you think you are?" the golden sun guardian asks in an acrimonious manner. A black paw reaches for the sun-festooned blanket, causing the guardian to topple backwards and land on his bum. He growls as the intruder nuzzles under the blanket his friend, Tomoyo, gave him.

Keroberos crawls toward him, gripping a small packet of sugar with his teeth. Spinel Sun's mouth is wide open and there is a snot bubble expanding and deflating out of one nostril. Ripping open the sugar packet, he takes in Suppi's sane and relaxed form. The dreadful specter of remorse slowly takes over him, as he scrutinizes once more his adversary's features. The smirk on his countenance vanishes, and the packet falls. The sugar crystals escape and skid down the sloping ends of the pillow.

The gold sun guardian slumps down next to him, flummoxed by what has happened.

You butterfly freak, why do you have to look so damn cute as you sleep? he inquires mentally, yet the question seems to chime beyond the confinement of his mind.

Keroberos exits quietly, shaking his head and asking himself "why?" But he already knows why. It is the fear of "how" that keeps him from answering his own question.

There is a fine line between love and hate, and he wishes he knew that sooner.