so I've made someone of a resurrection of myself. A little. I made wonderful friends with a corner. I'm going to return to it as soon as I finish posting this, because my sulkfest is so far from over it reminds me a little of a Chocobo race.
xxxHolic doesn't belong to me. It's better that way.
Theme 42 (on the table) : Underneath the Underneath
It lies there on the table, innocuous and urgent like poison. It's whispering things into the still air of a boy's apartment. (It's not because he's spending too much time at work, really.)
'Open me. Tear into the paper like it's his flesh. Maul me; rip and shred everything, ignore all the tape. You know, he probably got some girl at the mall to do it for him.'
He wants to unwrap it (god knows he doesn't get nearly enough of those 'acts of giving' since his parents--). He wants to unwrap it, but he doesn't want to open it.
Last time, it was a plain white apron; a direct, if overly blunt and not at all sentimental, acknowledgment of his supreme mastery of kitchen godhood.
Manners, common sense, parents with any kind of moral code, the unwritten laws of the universe... they all say you can't give someone the same--
(It's from Doumeki, let's not forget, and he really doesn't want to open it.)
He found it in his grandfather's study. It was under a favorite picture in the yellow kimono. (He vaguely recalls being pronounced a healthy young man soon after that was taken.) Grandfather hadn't needed to resort to Chinese superstitions for little Shizuka.
But for Watanuki... (He needs all the help he can get.)
He puts it back in its box, and wonders if he should bother wrapping it.
It's watching him from its vantage point on the table. Silent and unmoving and obvious and annoying by its mere existence. (It must have taken lessons from someone.)
Its mentor had 'escorted' him home earlier, letting him stumble inside and begin to think that so close to the end of the day, things would remain tolerable. (Oh ye cruel gods.)
He'd barely gotten his shoes off when the jerk tossed him the box with that insufferable air that was so obnoxious Watanuki didn't even have words for it. His awesome athletic skill had kicked in and he'd caught it before remembering it was from Doumeki, and he didn't want it.
(The arrogant prick had disappeared somewhere between the thoughts of 'Ha! Witness my superiority!' and 'Why the hell did he throw it at me?')
He'd put it on the table and hoped somehow a hungry, vegetarian spirit would get into the apartment, and in an act of selflessness, he'd be able to feed it whatever-the-hell was in the box and maybe finally someone more than half his height would give him an actual 'thank you'. (The box didn't count. At least it couldn't ask for food.)
It'd be almost too easy to wager that the box was untouched, possibly on fire. But Doumeki has a little faith in him. (Just enough to guess that since it didn't try to do him bodily harm in the first ten seconds, he wouldn't get rid of it.)
He's not naive enough to put a time limit on when it'll be open. (Speculation is much more interesting than history, though.)
He can't concentrate on anything but how annoying it is. (He does draw a line at screaming at a wrapped box.)
When-IF he opens it, then maybe yes, he might get a little vocal with his displeasure. But for now... (It's taunting him, dammit!)
He picks at the tape, noting despite himself that unless the salesgirl happened to be missing an arm and an eye, only Doumeki could have been responsible for the mess under the smooth white face of it.
He slides the top off, half hoping it will attack him. (It would prove to everyone what a cad he was, but Watanuki is out of luck tonight. Yet again.)
It doesn't do anything but gleam a little in the light.
He wracks his brain for a few minutes, but can't come up with a reason to hate it on sight. The cold perfect roundness doesn't remind him of anything, painful or bittersweet. (Well, maybe geometry, but math class is always forgettable.)
He finds no fault in the mottled white green. No hint of Mokona's mischief, Yuuko's impossibility or the bastard's almost reptilian gaze. (He swears it's like he's just waiting for an opportunity to have him halfway down his throat.)
It's just a circle of jade on a dark cord.
He wonders if killing the moron and incurring that unpleasant fate would be worth it. (He really doesn't want to have to tell Doumeki Shizuka 'Thank you for thinking of me'.)