While he lay sealed
For the first eighty years, he mourned.
He wept bitter, angry tears for Clow, who had been everything to him. Mourned, because he would never feel those long, skilful pianist's fingers resting tenderly on his cheek. He would never hear that rich, warm laughter again. Would never play cards with him again, would never watch him shuffle the deck with a talented twist of fingers that placed every single card just so, and feel fond envy that he couldn't replicate that easy affinity for manipulation. He'd never feel that comfortable warmth again, the feel of Clow resting against his back as he dozed lazily in front of the fireplace on the coziest rug in the house; and sometimes the magician would fall asleep himself from exhaustion or relaxation, one hand clenching a handful of him until it was almost painful, but he never minded.
A part of him knew that he should pay more attention to his brother and the Cards, that they would be mourning as deeply as he he was, but he couldn't. Oh, he couldn't, because he had never loved as much as he loved Clow, and the pain of others was insignificant compared to the shattering impact of his own.
For the next ninety years, he healed.
Slowly, but surely, the pain receded. The memories were still clear – playing under the cherry trees; flying together in the moonlit sky, all three of them; indulging in pranks and good-humoured debates over the dinner table as his brother watched, unable to quite comprehend their special bond, but amused nonetheless by how stirred he could get as they argued. They were just that, though. Memories. It was time to move on. He couldn't be this way forever. He would have to learn to be happy again, and though it was a long and painful process he knew he could do it. He would have to learn to love all over again, and maybe someday he would find someone who could be what Clow was to him, and judge them worthy to be his master.
He reached out tentatively to the others in the darkness of the Book. His brother did not reply, angry that he had ignored everyone's pain to focus on his own. The Cards responded, though, and soon they were on as good terms as they had been before.
For the last thirty years, Keroberos slept.
A/N: so, how many people thought it was Yue I was talking about? giggle considering I've written, what, one CCS fanfic that doesn't have Yue in it, I suppose I misled some people at least. Everyone goes on and on about how much Yue missed Clow, but somehow Keroberos gets left behind in the angst department. This is a humble effort to make up for it.