Title: Flowers of Yesterday
Summary: War. An era of bloodshed when to lie is to live and trust is for the foolish. Unable to cope with this madness, one boy runs away from his destiny...only to land straight in the hands of fate. SxS AU
Disclaimer: Lalala, blahblahblah, yadayadayada. Only the plot is mine.
Chapter Two: People Tell Stories, Cameras Show Truth
Enjoy!
Sakura rubbed the jade rabbit around her neck, its surface already beginning to dull from the old habit. If only you were here to see this too…
Yukito wrapped his arms around her waist, accidentally interrupting her reverie and inciting a small "oh!" from her lips. "I'm sorry, did I startle you?"
She shifted slightly in her position so that she could smile at him properly. "I thought you were still asleep."
"Well, I was, but then the bed got cold. It's much warmer here," he burrowed his face into her thick auburn hair to prove his point. "Mmm… I'm in a forest of cherry blossom trees."
Sakura laughed and pushed him away, "It's called perfume, dear. Ever heard of it?"
He poked her elbow, "Well then, be sure to put some more on before we go to the conference tonight."
She raised her eyebrow. "We? Last time I checked, only one of us was Lieutenant General of the entire Japanese army."
He laughed, "No, what we're going to this evening is more of a press conference. The type you women dress all pretty and give sugarcoated answers to money-hungry newspaper reporters."
"Ah, that kind." She tapped a manicured finger to her chin, "A kimono then?"
"Mm-hm. Not too fancy, though. Maybe the light blue one that you wore to the General's banquet a few weeks ago?"
"That one is rather pretty," she agreed and then sighed. "One of these days your fashion sense is going to be even better than mine."
Yukito laughingly began pushing her towards the bathroom, "Go change; I'll pretend that was a compliment." He opened the door and stuck his head into the corridor, "Mizuki, can you come help your mistress change please?"
Sakura sputtered, "I can put on clothes by myself, thank you very much."
Yukito gave her a lopsided grin and retorted, "What's the point of having money if you can't enjoy it?" He pretended to knead her shoulders. "Relax, honey."
Sakura swatted his hands away before stalking off towards the bathroom, accompanied by a shy maid who was struggling to carry all the pieces of the elaborate kimono. "You are so infuriating sometimes."
"Love you too!" He yelled across the room and was responded with a loud slam of the door.
Yukito chuckled.
-
Sakura leaned against the wooden doors and reached up to feel her cheeks. They burned under her cool touch. Damn it, he probably saw. Yet she could feel the corners of her mouth pulling into a reluctant smile, as she remembered his unnecessary -yet also very adorable - declaration of affection. Damn it.
"Excuse me miss?" Mizuki attempted to gesture toward the fabrics that she was struggling under.
"Um, just leave those on the table of there. I'll call you if I need any help," Sakura saw a glimpse of herself in the mirror. "On second thought, come back in around ten minutes to do my hair, please."
Glad to relieve her tired arms from the heavy kimono, her maid dropped the clothing in a very unorganized lump on said chair and fled the room. Sakura smiled, I remember when I used to be intimidated by the people who seemed to be better than me.
And yet, the only thing different from the two of us is the gold wedding band circling my fourth finger. Do you know that, Mizuki?
Are you aware of how close I avoided the fate that you cry every night about?
--
Just a few feet away, Mizuki Daidouji gazed admiringly at the beautiful tapestries that she could never dream to own.
Screw it all, she frowned. It just isn't fair. Why must she have the perfect life? What's wrong with me? Catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror, the answer stared back at her.
It certainly was a cruel world.
--
Meiling carefully placed her right hand on the heavily adorned chair in front of her before bending her left knee a little to lean her weight to the side. Then promptly shifted again. Discovering that this did practically nothing to alleviate the pain caused by her "stylish" shoes, she straightened up and let out a sigh. Who ever invented shoes with a heel in the middle should go to hell.
"Stop fidgeting," her aunt hissed into her ear. Somehow, Yelan managed to convey a dangerous tone whilst still smiling charmingly at the cameraman.
Meiling bit back a sharp retort and instead tried to divert her attention away from the bruises that were slowly starting to form on her ungainly feet. They, as in the whole royal family, were standing in a corner of the imperial garden. The scenery was rather picturesque that afternoon ,what with large willow trees fanning over a glittering pond and a clear, cloudless sky to complete the picture. A perfect day to run barefoot through the grass, Meiling gazed at the pretty surroundings blissfully. If only I didn't have to take this stupid picture.
Unfortunately the nature, however beautiful, didn't make up for the pitiful company. Not to say that they weren't good-looking people. Truth be told all of them were rather gorgeous, and even if they weren't born with it, some powder to conceal the blemishes always did the trick. Personalities, Meiling realized, were slightly harder to conceal.
The most important women of the family were surrounding the chair on which the king was currently lounging on, in order from the highest status to the least. The king decided who was the most important of course. It was only by a small stroke of luck (or cruel twist of fate?) that Meiling was even in the picture at all.
There was the king's mother, Ci Xi the Empress Dowager, who obviously stood to the left of the king. Yelan had snagged the spot to the right, much to the dismay of Mistress Zi Wei. She didn't make much effort to hide her disgust, judging by the sides of her kimono brushing by Yelan's every few seconds as she tried her best to stand as close as possible to the Emperor. Pathetic. Then there were the other less favored wives all crowding behind the throne.
Meiling watched her aunts have a nonverbal battle of insults in the corner of her eye. Translation of the glares probably went something along these lines:
"Excuse me, I believe you're in my spot."
"Oh really? Funny, I didn't see King Li go to your bedroom last night. Or the night before. In fact, when was the last time he came again?" A fake smile.
Strangely however, Queen Yelan was uncharacteristically aloof from this. Pfft. Meiling didn't want to think about the queen- thinking about things like this always made her head hurt. Like I care, I'm not even important. She stared at a gate just a few meters away from where they were standing. It would only take her ten seconds to walk over to the door, another fifteen minutes to weave through the intricate palace (give or take a few depending on which guard was patrolling), to arrive at the secret east entrance. Not even half an hour and she would be free.
The thought was so tempting that she had to restrain her feet from kicking off the instruments of torture and sprinting like crazy towards freedom. As if she could read her mind, Yelan turned slightly to the right and frowned.
The message in her eyes was clear: "move one step, and I'll make sure a certain someone's vacation will be over will be over before you can say 'Paris.'"
Meiling sighed. The things I do for love. She continued to gaze into the distance, and her mind drifted off to a better place where women were equal to men, sons didn't have the entire fate of the family on their shoulders, and the nation's economy didn't depend on how many shipments of opium came in per day.
The camera saw a bunch of men and women trying desperately to fawn over an overweight stern aristocrat sitting in the middle. Yet to the side, there stood a young girl in her early twenties. Her hair was arranged into an elegant bun, with an ornate hairpiece to complete the oriental effect. White hands clasped themselves delicately in front of her kimono which, although certainly not as elaborate as the other ones that adorned the older women, seemed to suit the princess in its modest simplicity. Thick layers of makeup hid her face, but a pair of determined bright eyes stared into the distant horizon, dreaming of a place where she belonged.
The shutter clicked.
--
After a short exchange of pleasantries the mailman turned away, leaving a bit richer than when he arrived. His pockets jingled with change as he sauntered jauntily to the stairs of the apartment complex.
"Is it from your cousin?"
Syaoran just smiled before lifting an eyebrow at Eriol. "I thought you were busy pouting somewhere."
Eriol pretended to sigh dejectedly and flopped onto a couch, "The bars were closed. The wine in the cupboard had an undeniable attraction to me, pulling me closer and closer to this filthy room."
Syaoran scoffed, "It wouldn't be this dirty if you didn't clean your half once in a while, you know. Haven't you noticed that the side next to the window, namely my territory, is perfect and immaculate in all its organized glory? You could eat off of my floors."
"Just because you're a sissy little housewife doesn't mean you should be ragging on us real men," Eriol puffed his chest out and managed to keep a straight face while poking himself decisively in the abdomen.
"Real men?" Startled, Syaoran looked around the room. "Where?"
Eriol deflated. "Har-har."
Syaoran laughed and sat down next to his friend, "You know I was only joking, Eriol. Did I bruise your precious ego?"
"It's already been bruised enough for one day, thank you very much. Split in half, pounded, and stomped on repeatedly actually."
"Another bad run-in with the boss?"
"Hardly. That's the worst part. You should've seen the way he looked at me, it gave me goosebumps." Eriol shuddered and closed his eyes in an effort to block out the memory.
"I'm lost."
He cracked open an eyelid. "He threatened to relocate me."
Syaoran laughed. "And here I thought it was something big. Where did he say he was going to send you this time? South Africa?"
"Japan."
"What?! That's crazy!" Syaoran dropped the envelope that he was holding. "There's practically a war going on over there! Hell, the ship that you sail to get there could be attacked by enemy missiles!"
"You don't have to tell me that." Eriol groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Maybe that's why he's sending me there."
"You mean to be killed? I doubt it. Mr. Danvers is an old fart, but he doesn't seem like the cruel sadistic type." He gave Eriol a light punch in the shoulder. "Don't worry about it."
"No, I meant the first part of what you said. It would make sense since I'm the best¾" A funny look came across Eriol's face, and he stopped in the middle of his sentence.
"Best…? Best what?" Eriol's face had turned white, and he suddenly couldn't seem to control the fingers that had decided to start tapping against his thigh. "Why are you fidgeting all of a sudden?"
"Wha-? I'm not fidgeting." This earned him a blank stare.
Eriol pointed at the envelope on the table and cleared his throat. "So, who's that from?"
Deciding to drop the previous topic, Syaoran grinned. "No one in particular."
"This no one must be pretty important if it's what's making his best friend so happy all of a sudden. What'd Mei Ling write?" He attempted to snatch the manilla packet up, but it disappeared from the table just as Eriol's hand shot forward.
"Nuh-uh," Syaoran shook a finger at him with another smile. "Private. And besides she didn't write much, just a short 'how are you doing' type of thing."
"Right."
"No, seriously! Look," he took something out of the envelope, " 'blah blah blah, hope you're having fun in Europe, blah blah blah.' Nothing worth reading." To emphasize his point, he placed it on the coffee table and propped his feet up in a relaxed manner.
"Oh, really? What were all those blah-blah-blahs then?"
"Nothing of importance." Syaoran began to hum a tune that they had heard in a nightclub a few days earlier.
BAM! Two hands slammed on the envelope, one slightly slower than the other, making the innocent mahogany table shudder under the combined weight. Syaoran's feet dropped to the floor and dug into the carpet as the two men engaged into an intense game of tug-of-war. "WHAT THE HELL, ERIOL?"
"Oh-kay, so that didn't work too well." Eriol muttered through gritted teeth as he attempted to wrestle the envelope from Syaoran's iron grip. "It's just some letter! Damn it, why won't you let me see it?" At first he'd just wanted to get his attention away from Mr. Danvers, but now with Syaoran acting all weird…
Eriol was a bit curious.
Syaoran glared at him heatedly. "Why won't you mind your own fucking business?"
They were now standing up, each trying to get the upper hand in the situation. Finally unable to stand it any longer, Eriol lifted his right leg and kicked Syaoran as hard as he could in the shin, making him yelp and release the letter. "Thank you." He wiped the sweat from his forehead and began to calmly open the package as if the immature fight had never taken place.
Syaoran promptly appeared in front of him to snatch it away. Eriol sputtered.
"H-how did you-?" He grabbed his hair exasperatedly. "Forget it."
"Martial arts, my dear friend. Years and years of it," Syaoran patted him on the back sympathetically, his anger and the envelope having mysteriously disappeared. "Well," he began to whistle cheerfully as he made his way to the door, "now that that's over with, I have somewhere I need to be. Later, man."
Eriol narrowed his eyes at his friend's retreating back. "What are you hiding from me, Syaoran Li?" Processing what he'd just muttered under his breath, he almost laughed. I'm such a hypocrite.
On the other side of the door, Syaoran slumped dejectedly against the solid frame.
I'm sorry, Eriol. It's for your own good.
It certainly wouldn't benefit Eriol in any way to see a picture of his cousin with the royal family. Or more specifically, his sweet innocent cousin - the one that he'd constantly ramble when he got homesick - belonging to the royal family. It would cause questions, and Syaoran didn't feel like spilling the beans just yet.
I've been doing it for years; another few years is nothing.
And yet, it was getting harder and harder to keep everything under wraps. In the beginning Eriol was polite and courteous, never once trying to invade his personal space. But over the past year, or more accurately the past few weeks, Eriol had become especially suspicious of who he really was. It was only yesterday that Eriol had found an expensive jade pendant on Syaoran's dresser and upon the discovery, immediately began firing questions.
Thankfully, the take-out boy chose to ring the bell at this precise moment, allowing Syaoran to get away with a muttered response ("found it in a thrift store…it's probably fake") before rushing hurriedly to open the door.
From then on, he was especially careful to hide any traces of his secret.
Into cardboard boxes went all of his old possessions. Not there were many of them. The few things that he had managed to smuggle out with were a bundle of faded photographs, a couple of worn books, and some money. Eriol had provided everything else.
It was part of their deal after all.
That was another secret, to the outside of the world at least. Syaoran and Eriol had made a bargain: Eriol uses his connections to help him escape, gives him food and shelter, and generally provides as a support until Syaoran adapts to his new life. In return, Syaoran would work for him.
It was an odd arrangement, to say the least. For one thing no one knew about it.
Those had been Syaoran's only conditions: no one ever found whom he was, what he was doing here, or how he got here. At the time, Eriol had just accepted it without hesitation, thinking that Syaoran was just one of the many desperate students in China eager to escape the political turmoil that suffocated its inhabitants.
But when he first set eyes on Syaoran, he knew that this was no normal man. Just from the mere lift of his chin as he walked down the pier to Eriol from the ship, Syaoran was making it very clear that this was an equal relationship. Whatever Eriol had been expecting, well…
Eriol had prepared himself to see a fellow Asian man with geeky glasses shuffling shyly down the bridge, all the while giving frightened glances at the foreign surroundings. He was right about which continent Syaoran came from him, but that was pretty much where the similarities ended.
With the dignity of a king and the grace of a martial artist, Syaoran Li had sauntered haughtily over to Eriol's shocked figure, his handsome appearance already drawing an admiring crowd.
Definitely not the average Chinese nerd.
However despite his arrogant appearance, Eriol found Syaoran to be quite the opposite. For the moment that Syaoran had completed his journey across the globe and found himself standing in front of his new boss, he looked straight into Eriol's eyes and promptly bowed so low that his face was completely hidden by his newly cut bangs.
"I cannot express in words my gratitude towards you, Hiiragizawa-san."
Eriol gaped at him for a moment before coming to his senses and helping the boy straighten up. Almost letting out a sigh of relief, he grinned at Syaoran. Then without further ado, he informed him solemnly, "Here in the west we shake hands."
And with just as much severity Syaoran replied, "I know. I just felt bowing was more appropriate for the occasion."
Instead of being offended as he should by Syaoran's lack of manners, Eriol's smile seemed to grow even wider. "Then I should return the favor." He bent over, the smirk never leaving his face, and gestured for Syaoran to go first. "Please."
A startled look managed to flit itself across his face before disappearing quickly under an identical smirk to the one that Eriol was sporting. Finding his way to an apartment building that he'd never been to before in a continent he'd never set foot on? Bring it on.
Syaoran stepped forward.
That night after three hours of wandering mindlessly around the city (prolonging what should have been a half an hour taxi ride), Eriol raised his champagne glass in congratulations.
"Two hours and fifty-seven minutes to find the second most famous hotel in Paris. Well done."
"Why, thank you."
The glasses clinked.
A/N: Historical facts have been altered due to creative license. I'm not writing this story to help explain the war, but rather using the war to write my story. Capiche?
Next chapter…Sakura and Syaoran meet! -toothy grin-
Approbation is appreciated, flames are forgiven, constructive criticism is coveted, and reviewers are revered.