Disclaimer: You know the usual. Title of fic and lyrics taken from the song 'Hanging by a Moment' by Lifehouse, because I am unoriginal and uncreative and I like stealing titles from songs.
Reen's ramblings: An attempt to write ET after a long, long time. xD This is for Kyte-chan, because I think I owe you an ET fic. If I don't…well,this is still for you :)
And for Ace, because this fic was based on his original short and very moving and touching story. Labyoo dude!
Hanging by a Moment
He was dreaming, deeply asleep, with his mouth hanging slightly open, when the phone on his bedside rang. For a moment he thought the ringing was part of his dream; and he lay still on his bed, thinking if the phone was really ringing or maybe he was just imagining it in his head, before floating back to consciousness.
He haphazardly reached for the receiver, knocking his eyeglasses off the table in the process. Muttering curses under his breath, he groped around as the ringing seemed to become insistent. He began feeling a bit anxious, as people rarely—if not never—called him at this hour—what time was it anyway? Finally his hand closed around the receiver. He yanked it off, hearing the phone crash to the floor. The racket he was causing was now giving him a headache.
"Hello?" he said, his voice husky from sleep.
And before the person on the other line said, "It's me" he already knew who it was. Must be a benefit of beingthe reincarnation of one of the world's most powerful mages. Or was it pure instinct? When it comes to her, he just seems to always know...
"What is it?" he asked hurriedly. "Did something happen?"
"No…" A pause. Then, "Can we meet up?"
"Right now?" He glanced at the clock. The numbers were blurry, and his glasses were somewhere on the floor. Thankfully it was digital, and he was sure he could see a four and two zeros. "Tomoyo-san, it's four o' clock in the morning, if I'm not mistaken."
"Yes, well…later at seven?" It wasn't a question, or even a suggestion. "Same place. Alright?"
She hung up right away.
The busy signal resounded in his head as he gingerly felt for the phone on the floor, half-slipping off his bed. Feeling for his glasses after putting the phone back to order, he slipped them on his nose and arranged himself under the sheets, lying straight on his back, staring at the ceiling.
He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep after her call.
He couldn't remember why he always gave in to her demands, or maybe he just couldn't remember right now because he was, reasonably (or perhaps not) sleepy. And he really couldn't understand why she liked meeting with him in that little café situated on the other side of the town. She herself said that the coffee they served tasted like mud. Plus the place was small, cramped, and generally smelled of cooking oil. Yet it became their point of rendezvous, and he knew it was because nobody else they know knew about it.
She arrived right after he did, sliding next to him in the tiny booth instead of opposite him, taking his hand immediately in hers and leaning her head on his shoulder. He shifted to give her more room, placing an arm around her waist loosely. He looked down; trying to catch her eyes, but all he could see at the moment was her hair, shimmering even in the dim light of the café.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, cuddling closer to him. "Nothing."
"Tomoyo."
"Really, it's nothing."
"Right," he replied, and he couldn't keep the sarcasm from dripping into his voice a bit.
A waiter approached them and placed a menu on their table. They both ignored it.
She spoke up. "I actually feel pretty happy right now."
"Do you?"
"Yes." They fell silent. She stared at his hand, so soft and smooth with his long fingers, yet strong. "Don't you want to know why, Eriol-kun?"
He obliged her. "Why?"
"Because," she began, now turning his hand over her lap and tracing the lines of his palm with one finger, "I can wake you up in the middle of the night, ask you to meet me in this God-awful place, and hold your hand."
His throat suddenly felt tight, but the feeling was not unpleasant at all. Now he couldn't say he minded the clanging of spoons and forks and knives against plates, the noisy chatter of the diners around them, the stomach-turning smell of unknown fried food, the cramped space of their booth. "Why?" he managed to ask, again.
"Because when I hold your hand…" She looked up at him, giving him a bright smile. "…I remember I have someone to hold on to."
He smiled back and interlaced his fingers with hers, holding her hand tight, feeling himself falling into something he didn't exactly know what, but he welcomed it.
Fin.