Author's Notes:
I am very, very new to Cardcaptor Sakura fanfiction. Please, I have not had a chance to read a lot of the stories posted here on FF.net, and there is a good possibility this plot closely resembles another author's fanfiction. I apologize in advance if this is the case, and ask that someone notify me immediately. I will either alter the plot or wipe this story from FF.net.
BUT, if by any chance this plot is original, please take into account that this IS my first posted fanfiction here on FF.net. I hope you enjoy it.
~~~~
She had had enough. In a whirlwind she departed from her office building, waving a quick good-bye to the receptionist. She needed a break. She needed to drown out her sorrows. She figured that in the morning, she would not only be willing to accept the truth, but able.
....
"Another scotch, bartender."
The man behind the bar again pushed her hand with the money away. "I think you've had enough, miss."
She didn't need the bartender to tell her when she was drunk; she could feel the adrenaline rush. Or was it mostly the alcohol, really? Alcohol killed brain cells. What good will a brain do me now? she thought. None whatsoever. Even after weeks of knowing it would not come, her ears had still been tuned at night for the sound of his key in the lock of their apartment. Her lips had still ached, ready to welcome the hot, encompassing kisses.
"Please, you don't understand," she pleaded miserably. Her head was spinning. "I need this." She reached for her purse. She retrieved her leather wallet, slid a photograph across the bar for his inspection, and sighed. "That's my boyfriend and me. I think--well, it's over between us."
"As of tonight?"
"As of two months ago." It wasn't a lie. They had never really been in a relationship since he had begun his night shift at the hospital. The early morning phone calls from young women, the lipstick smudges on his shirts. He even smelled like exotic perfumes, ones she didn't wear.
"That's too bad," said the bartender. "You two make a fine couple." He returned the photograph. His smile was dry but sympathetic. "Here." He gave her the scotch and refused her money. She was grateful. She eagerly downed the drink, feeling it burn in her chest. It was her seventh. Her head would feel split in half tomorrow.
The noise and the music of the bar created a bustling environment. If it hadn't been for her sitting down, she didn't doubt she would have fallen over. She closed her eyes. It was all she could do to prevent openly sobbing. Dimly it occurred to her that she hadn't cried in six years.
When she opened her eyes, she saw blurs of color. The colors swirled and mixed, and warm, wet crocodile tears were soon rolling down her cheeks. Suddenly she felt infinitely weary and the nausea she'd experienced earlier was coming back. Dear God, she thought. I'm forever stuck to him. I can't get away. But cool fingertips were on her chin, tilting her head up to meet a gentle face.
"Hey," he said, "don't get yourself down. He doesn't deserve you." The thick glasses the bartender wore magnified his brown eyes. It was as though she were jumping head-first into waves of deep, dark amber.
She tried to silence her sniffling, honest. A faint tremor swept through her, staring into those compassionate eyes. They were the eyes of a man with whom she could envision spending the rest of her life. A fierce anxiety stabbed her because they reminded her of Keibin's eyes.
Without words, she distanced herself from the bar. Knowing he had done something to cause her instinctive withdrawal, the bartender removed his hands from her. They fell to his sides. In the moments of uneasy silence between them, she felt she had to say something, an apology.
"I'm sorry, it's just..."
"I understand. And I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have touched you."
"No!" she cried. "I'm not myself. I need time to think. But you-- you're right. He doesn't deserve me and he doesn't deserve his daughter." She thought she caught the question in his eyes. A daughter?
She felt a smile lifting her lips despite herself. "Our daughter...her name's Tamura. She's two years old this month." Somehow Tamura could brighten her day no matter what, could make her think there was still some good in the world. Tamura was the lonely North star, and she was the weary traveler. Three months ago she had depended upon Keibin and Tamura as the two main people in her life. Since the time Keibin had abandoned her, Tamura had become her everything, her one and only North star.
"Tamura," he said. "It has a nice ring to it."
Sakura knew he was trying to be light and courteous with his words. His subtle friendliness was oddly pleasing to her. His voice had a soothing quality to it, not unlike a consistent hum that lulls one to sleep. Even when they were a foot apart, they both felt the magnetic force urging them to be closer.
This man, he's being so kind, Sakura thought. He doesn't have to listen to my problems. "My name's Sakura." She held out a delicate hand for him to shake. He clasped it briefly.
"Nice to meet you, Sakura-san."
"Call me Sakura, please."
"Sakura," he said, "nice to meet you."
She liked her name on his lips. It occurred to her that he probably rarely dropped formalities. He appeared the brooding type with too many concerns and burdens for his own good. Just like her. But he seemed ever- alert, his senses keen and sharp and absorbing every detail of every little thing, whereas she was tired, just straining to stay awake. She didn't get much sleep because she didn't need it, but the past week had definitely taken its toll on her. She felt like too little butter spread too thin over too big a piece of bread. Her eyelids were drooping rapidly. Resting her forehead on the bar, she wondered what would happen if she didn't get home soon.
"Tired?"
"I am."
"Here." A minute later, something snugly-warm was draped over her shoulders. It was the bartender's jacket. Light glanced off of his glasses, behind which brown eyes stared down at her. "Come on, I'll take you home," he said.
"But--"
"You're drunk and tired and emotionally unstable. I'll take you home." Then he turned and called to an unseen person, "Jimmy! I'm taking the rest of the night off! Call me in the morning!"
A voice answered, distant, nearly drown out by the drone of voices and music and dancing: "See you tomorrow, Syaoran!"
Syaoran. His name. Absent-mindedly she thought it suited him--him, dark and amber-eyed and strangely invigorating. He led her outside. The night was still. Had she not adorned Syaoran's jacket, the spring air would have nipped at her bare arms.
Her escort signaled for a cab. She watched the radiant moon, past which few stars were visible, hang in the velvet sky. When the cab arrived, Syaoran opened the door wide for her like a gentleman. She slid across the upholstered seat. He climbed in beside her, shutting the door. As the car lurched away from the curb, a steady rain began to fall.
In the front seat the cab driver asked, "Where to?"
"513, Anderson Road," Sakura answered.
"Fancy place, eh?"
Heat crept from her neck to her cheeks. "I-I suppose." She didn't want Syaoran to think she was a snobbish rich woman, but he made no indication of noticing. She knew she wouldn't be able to see his expression through the dim lighting of the back seat.
She grew more and more sleepy.
....
By the time they reached her apartment complex, the woman was leaning against Syaoran's shoulder, her palms pressing into his shirt, her breathing low and even. She was out like a light.
Syaoran contemplated how he would wake her. This sweet but troubled woman whom he had just met, asleep on him in a cab in front of her apartment building. He sighed and gently shook her. She didn't stir. He wondered if he should let her sleep, carry her inside and deposit her safely in her room. But he didn't know her room number and certainly wasn't going to dig through her purse for a key.
"Sakura-san," he said, "we're here."
Her eyelashes fluttered. She struggled a little in lifting her heavy head to meet his gaze. It was dark and he couldn't see well, but Syaoran thought her irises were darker, cloudy, and that the whites of her eyes were tinged slightly red.
....
She was shook but ignored it, too content to be shrouded in the inky darkness that was sleep. Then she heard a faint sigh, and a masculine voice said, "Sakura-san, we're here."
No! she thought. I want sleep. Please, let me sleep.
But she wriggled in her half-sitting, half-laying position in order to take in the barely creased brow and sparkling eyes of the man beside her. She found her voice enough to say, "Oh, I apologize. I...must have fallen asleep."
Syaoran nodded. Quickly regaining feeling in her limbs, she got out of the car and into the rain, him following. She turned to pay the cab driver and discovered Syaoran already handing him the money. His money. "Wait, I--"
But the cab sped away. The man who had been so kind to her up until that point turned to her. She smiled. Something hot and painful squeezed tight around her heart. "Thank you," she murmured, not knowing what to say. "Thank you very much." She received a smile in reply.
Together they entered the building. Sakura hugged his jacket to her arms. Inside, it was warmer, brighter. On the elevator ride up, Sakura was comfortably quiet. Upon reaching her apartment on the fifth floor, they stopped. Fumbling with her keys, the door finally swung open.
"Please, come in."
He paused. "I re--"
"I insist," she interrupted and waved him in. He obliged her, although Sakura saw his lips tighten in uncertainty. She flicked on the lights and observed him survey her home. His eyes never lingered in any one spot for too long--in doing this, he was trying to be respectful of her privacy. Eventually he said, "You have a nice place here."
"I try to keep it tidy."
"You do a good job."
"Thanks. Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you. I really should be going."
In the bar and in the cab Sakura hadn't been able to see Syaoran, really *see* him, but now she could. He had spiky chocolate hair that topped a big forehead and a thin, unsmiling face. He had a small nose and probing dark eyes. His movements, despite how slim he was, were swift, and he gave the impression of a man who carried himself well. He had a quick, jolly grin that disguised what he was actually thinking. It was one of those things she didn't like about him. She thought he was intelligent but secretive, and she wanted to get to know him.
Sakura felt the same hot, painful emotion grip her, suffocate her. She was suddenly panicked. She didn't want to be alone. Keibin was working his night shift, Tamura was sleeping in her crib in the other room. She felt sick and frightened. She didn't want to be alone. "Please," she said unexpectedly, shocking even herself. Her voice sounded a little more desperate than she would have liked to reveal. "Please stay with me."
....
Syaoran was startled. His mind was reeling. He knew she was just vulnerable--vulnerable emotionally, vulnerable mentally, vulnerable all around. This woman wasn't thinking clearly. She was intoxicated. But he hadn't expected her to ask him to spend the night.
"Sakura, you need to get some rest," he said gently. He didn't want to offend her. People tended to take things to heart when they were drunk.
"No!" she exclaimed and rushed to his side. She clung to his arm and chest for dear life. His eyes locked with her teary ones.
....
She felt like she was drowning. The memories that raced through her head were ones she wanted--and yet didn't want--to revisit. Keibin caressing her cheek. Keibin running his strong fingers through her hair. Keibin making love to her. Keibin's warmth.
She needed someone. The sense of cold isolation was overpowering. She was dying on the inside and she knew if Syaoran didn't stay there with her, if she had no one to bring her back to reality and her sanity, she'd never see morning.
When Syaoran told her she needed rest, she exclaimed a protest and rushed to him. Dark amber flooded her senses as she stared into Syaoran's eyes. "Please," she breathed. Her face was so, so close to his, their lips nearly touching. "Please..."
....
Standing there, her slim hands gripping the fabric of his wet shirt, Syaoran thought she looked almost too perfect to be real. Her ivory skin was flawless and her emerald eyes were aglow, expecting something of him, depending upon him.
Desiring him.
She was beautiful. Beautiful. He had registered that the instant he had met her. Her short brown hair framed her cheeky, jovial face--and Syaoran felt a pang of indirect guilt because, while Sakura appeared naturally cheerful and loving, she radiated sadness. Some feeling welled up within him and, oddly enough, he wanted her to want him to stay. He wanted her to desire him. With that wild feeling--which he guessed was masculinity hormone--rushing to his head, driving him on, he closed the space between them.
....
The kiss was long, and deep, and perfect, releasing all of the tension and stress of both their lives in one breath. Syaoran smelled of a rainy garden of roses. She was undoubtedly trapped in a dream. Overwhelmed by juices fountaining up within her, she acted with all the energy she had. Touching him, caressing him, inhaling his scent. But for now, she seemed particularly satisfied with kissing. She whined in her throat. She wanted this...no, she *needed* this so badly every inch of her was screaming for it.
Her rational side--which was diminished partly because of alcohol and partly because of the situation in its entirety--warned her that after a good two minutes of kissing, she needed to come up for air. But flagrantly she disregarded any thought other than Syaoran, other than this stranger to whom she was pouring her heart out.
And somehow, their hands still roaming, their kisses unwavering, they were heading in the direction of her bedroom.
....
He felt her pouring herself out to him, everything she could muster. He tried to parallel her fervor, but whatever he put forth always seemed pale and small in comparison. For some reason, they were drawn in one direction--probably to Sakura's bedroom--and he didn't protest. Everything was drown out by her kisses. Every thought, every shred of dignity he'd thought he'd possessed, and all rationality...it went down the drain. Later, perhaps, he would regret not thinking ahead. He would regret not considering the consequences of such a night, alone, with a woman he had encountered in a bar and who wasn't fair game.
Without words, he pushed her into her room, his elbow accidentally hitting the hard wood of the door on the way. The door clicked shut behind them.
~~~~
I am very, very new to Cardcaptor Sakura fanfiction. Please, I have not had a chance to read a lot of the stories posted here on FF.net, and there is a good possibility this plot closely resembles another author's fanfiction. I apologize in advance if this is the case, and ask that someone notify me immediately. I will either alter the plot or wipe this story from FF.net.
BUT, if by any chance this plot is original, please take into account that this IS my first posted fanfiction here on FF.net. I hope you enjoy it.
~~~~
She had had enough. In a whirlwind she departed from her office building, waving a quick good-bye to the receptionist. She needed a break. She needed to drown out her sorrows. She figured that in the morning, she would not only be willing to accept the truth, but able.
....
"Another scotch, bartender."
The man behind the bar again pushed her hand with the money away. "I think you've had enough, miss."
She didn't need the bartender to tell her when she was drunk; she could feel the adrenaline rush. Or was it mostly the alcohol, really? Alcohol killed brain cells. What good will a brain do me now? she thought. None whatsoever. Even after weeks of knowing it would not come, her ears had still been tuned at night for the sound of his key in the lock of their apartment. Her lips had still ached, ready to welcome the hot, encompassing kisses.
"Please, you don't understand," she pleaded miserably. Her head was spinning. "I need this." She reached for her purse. She retrieved her leather wallet, slid a photograph across the bar for his inspection, and sighed. "That's my boyfriend and me. I think--well, it's over between us."
"As of tonight?"
"As of two months ago." It wasn't a lie. They had never really been in a relationship since he had begun his night shift at the hospital. The early morning phone calls from young women, the lipstick smudges on his shirts. He even smelled like exotic perfumes, ones she didn't wear.
"That's too bad," said the bartender. "You two make a fine couple." He returned the photograph. His smile was dry but sympathetic. "Here." He gave her the scotch and refused her money. She was grateful. She eagerly downed the drink, feeling it burn in her chest. It was her seventh. Her head would feel split in half tomorrow.
The noise and the music of the bar created a bustling environment. If it hadn't been for her sitting down, she didn't doubt she would have fallen over. She closed her eyes. It was all she could do to prevent openly sobbing. Dimly it occurred to her that she hadn't cried in six years.
When she opened her eyes, she saw blurs of color. The colors swirled and mixed, and warm, wet crocodile tears were soon rolling down her cheeks. Suddenly she felt infinitely weary and the nausea she'd experienced earlier was coming back. Dear God, she thought. I'm forever stuck to him. I can't get away. But cool fingertips were on her chin, tilting her head up to meet a gentle face.
"Hey," he said, "don't get yourself down. He doesn't deserve you." The thick glasses the bartender wore magnified his brown eyes. It was as though she were jumping head-first into waves of deep, dark amber.
She tried to silence her sniffling, honest. A faint tremor swept through her, staring into those compassionate eyes. They were the eyes of a man with whom she could envision spending the rest of her life. A fierce anxiety stabbed her because they reminded her of Keibin's eyes.
Without words, she distanced herself from the bar. Knowing he had done something to cause her instinctive withdrawal, the bartender removed his hands from her. They fell to his sides. In the moments of uneasy silence between them, she felt she had to say something, an apology.
"I'm sorry, it's just..."
"I understand. And I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have touched you."
"No!" she cried. "I'm not myself. I need time to think. But you-- you're right. He doesn't deserve me and he doesn't deserve his daughter." She thought she caught the question in his eyes. A daughter?
She felt a smile lifting her lips despite herself. "Our daughter...her name's Tamura. She's two years old this month." Somehow Tamura could brighten her day no matter what, could make her think there was still some good in the world. Tamura was the lonely North star, and she was the weary traveler. Three months ago she had depended upon Keibin and Tamura as the two main people in her life. Since the time Keibin had abandoned her, Tamura had become her everything, her one and only North star.
"Tamura," he said. "It has a nice ring to it."
Sakura knew he was trying to be light and courteous with his words. His subtle friendliness was oddly pleasing to her. His voice had a soothing quality to it, not unlike a consistent hum that lulls one to sleep. Even when they were a foot apart, they both felt the magnetic force urging them to be closer.
This man, he's being so kind, Sakura thought. He doesn't have to listen to my problems. "My name's Sakura." She held out a delicate hand for him to shake. He clasped it briefly.
"Nice to meet you, Sakura-san."
"Call me Sakura, please."
"Sakura," he said, "nice to meet you."
She liked her name on his lips. It occurred to her that he probably rarely dropped formalities. He appeared the brooding type with too many concerns and burdens for his own good. Just like her. But he seemed ever- alert, his senses keen and sharp and absorbing every detail of every little thing, whereas she was tired, just straining to stay awake. She didn't get much sleep because she didn't need it, but the past week had definitely taken its toll on her. She felt like too little butter spread too thin over too big a piece of bread. Her eyelids were drooping rapidly. Resting her forehead on the bar, she wondered what would happen if she didn't get home soon.
"Tired?"
"I am."
"Here." A minute later, something snugly-warm was draped over her shoulders. It was the bartender's jacket. Light glanced off of his glasses, behind which brown eyes stared down at her. "Come on, I'll take you home," he said.
"But--"
"You're drunk and tired and emotionally unstable. I'll take you home." Then he turned and called to an unseen person, "Jimmy! I'm taking the rest of the night off! Call me in the morning!"
A voice answered, distant, nearly drown out by the drone of voices and music and dancing: "See you tomorrow, Syaoran!"
Syaoran. His name. Absent-mindedly she thought it suited him--him, dark and amber-eyed and strangely invigorating. He led her outside. The night was still. Had she not adorned Syaoran's jacket, the spring air would have nipped at her bare arms.
Her escort signaled for a cab. She watched the radiant moon, past which few stars were visible, hang in the velvet sky. When the cab arrived, Syaoran opened the door wide for her like a gentleman. She slid across the upholstered seat. He climbed in beside her, shutting the door. As the car lurched away from the curb, a steady rain began to fall.
In the front seat the cab driver asked, "Where to?"
"513, Anderson Road," Sakura answered.
"Fancy place, eh?"
Heat crept from her neck to her cheeks. "I-I suppose." She didn't want Syaoran to think she was a snobbish rich woman, but he made no indication of noticing. She knew she wouldn't be able to see his expression through the dim lighting of the back seat.
She grew more and more sleepy.
....
By the time they reached her apartment complex, the woman was leaning against Syaoran's shoulder, her palms pressing into his shirt, her breathing low and even. She was out like a light.
Syaoran contemplated how he would wake her. This sweet but troubled woman whom he had just met, asleep on him in a cab in front of her apartment building. He sighed and gently shook her. She didn't stir. He wondered if he should let her sleep, carry her inside and deposit her safely in her room. But he didn't know her room number and certainly wasn't going to dig through her purse for a key.
"Sakura-san," he said, "we're here."
Her eyelashes fluttered. She struggled a little in lifting her heavy head to meet his gaze. It was dark and he couldn't see well, but Syaoran thought her irises were darker, cloudy, and that the whites of her eyes were tinged slightly red.
....
She was shook but ignored it, too content to be shrouded in the inky darkness that was sleep. Then she heard a faint sigh, and a masculine voice said, "Sakura-san, we're here."
No! she thought. I want sleep. Please, let me sleep.
But she wriggled in her half-sitting, half-laying position in order to take in the barely creased brow and sparkling eyes of the man beside her. She found her voice enough to say, "Oh, I apologize. I...must have fallen asleep."
Syaoran nodded. Quickly regaining feeling in her limbs, she got out of the car and into the rain, him following. She turned to pay the cab driver and discovered Syaoran already handing him the money. His money. "Wait, I--"
But the cab sped away. The man who had been so kind to her up until that point turned to her. She smiled. Something hot and painful squeezed tight around her heart. "Thank you," she murmured, not knowing what to say. "Thank you very much." She received a smile in reply.
Together they entered the building. Sakura hugged his jacket to her arms. Inside, it was warmer, brighter. On the elevator ride up, Sakura was comfortably quiet. Upon reaching her apartment on the fifth floor, they stopped. Fumbling with her keys, the door finally swung open.
"Please, come in."
He paused. "I re--"
"I insist," she interrupted and waved him in. He obliged her, although Sakura saw his lips tighten in uncertainty. She flicked on the lights and observed him survey her home. His eyes never lingered in any one spot for too long--in doing this, he was trying to be respectful of her privacy. Eventually he said, "You have a nice place here."
"I try to keep it tidy."
"You do a good job."
"Thanks. Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you. I really should be going."
In the bar and in the cab Sakura hadn't been able to see Syaoran, really *see* him, but now she could. He had spiky chocolate hair that topped a big forehead and a thin, unsmiling face. He had a small nose and probing dark eyes. His movements, despite how slim he was, were swift, and he gave the impression of a man who carried himself well. He had a quick, jolly grin that disguised what he was actually thinking. It was one of those things she didn't like about him. She thought he was intelligent but secretive, and she wanted to get to know him.
Sakura felt the same hot, painful emotion grip her, suffocate her. She was suddenly panicked. She didn't want to be alone. Keibin was working his night shift, Tamura was sleeping in her crib in the other room. She felt sick and frightened. She didn't want to be alone. "Please," she said unexpectedly, shocking even herself. Her voice sounded a little more desperate than she would have liked to reveal. "Please stay with me."
....
Syaoran was startled. His mind was reeling. He knew she was just vulnerable--vulnerable emotionally, vulnerable mentally, vulnerable all around. This woman wasn't thinking clearly. She was intoxicated. But he hadn't expected her to ask him to spend the night.
"Sakura, you need to get some rest," he said gently. He didn't want to offend her. People tended to take things to heart when they were drunk.
"No!" she exclaimed and rushed to his side. She clung to his arm and chest for dear life. His eyes locked with her teary ones.
....
She felt like she was drowning. The memories that raced through her head were ones she wanted--and yet didn't want--to revisit. Keibin caressing her cheek. Keibin running his strong fingers through her hair. Keibin making love to her. Keibin's warmth.
She needed someone. The sense of cold isolation was overpowering. She was dying on the inside and she knew if Syaoran didn't stay there with her, if she had no one to bring her back to reality and her sanity, she'd never see morning.
When Syaoran told her she needed rest, she exclaimed a protest and rushed to him. Dark amber flooded her senses as she stared into Syaoran's eyes. "Please," she breathed. Her face was so, so close to his, their lips nearly touching. "Please..."
....
Standing there, her slim hands gripping the fabric of his wet shirt, Syaoran thought she looked almost too perfect to be real. Her ivory skin was flawless and her emerald eyes were aglow, expecting something of him, depending upon him.
Desiring him.
She was beautiful. Beautiful. He had registered that the instant he had met her. Her short brown hair framed her cheeky, jovial face--and Syaoran felt a pang of indirect guilt because, while Sakura appeared naturally cheerful and loving, she radiated sadness. Some feeling welled up within him and, oddly enough, he wanted her to want him to stay. He wanted her to desire him. With that wild feeling--which he guessed was masculinity hormone--rushing to his head, driving him on, he closed the space between them.
....
The kiss was long, and deep, and perfect, releasing all of the tension and stress of both their lives in one breath. Syaoran smelled of a rainy garden of roses. She was undoubtedly trapped in a dream. Overwhelmed by juices fountaining up within her, she acted with all the energy she had. Touching him, caressing him, inhaling his scent. But for now, she seemed particularly satisfied with kissing. She whined in her throat. She wanted this...no, she *needed* this so badly every inch of her was screaming for it.
Her rational side--which was diminished partly because of alcohol and partly because of the situation in its entirety--warned her that after a good two minutes of kissing, she needed to come up for air. But flagrantly she disregarded any thought other than Syaoran, other than this stranger to whom she was pouring her heart out.
And somehow, their hands still roaming, their kisses unwavering, they were heading in the direction of her bedroom.
....
He felt her pouring herself out to him, everything she could muster. He tried to parallel her fervor, but whatever he put forth always seemed pale and small in comparison. For some reason, they were drawn in one direction--probably to Sakura's bedroom--and he didn't protest. Everything was drown out by her kisses. Every thought, every shred of dignity he'd thought he'd possessed, and all rationality...it went down the drain. Later, perhaps, he would regret not thinking ahead. He would regret not considering the consequences of such a night, alone, with a woman he had encountered in a bar and who wasn't fair game.
Without words, he pushed her into her room, his elbow accidentally hitting the hard wood of the door on the way. The door clicked shut behind them.
~~~~