A chapter from the depths of Hell. Because I have died.
Yes, I did go to Hell. I read The Onion and played Close Range last summer, that merits for something.
Wow, I haven't updated all summer. I thought I'd have all the time in the world to write one or even two, OHMAHGAW THREE MAYBE chapters, but my summer reading list & assignments begged to differ. This is what I get for choosing to go into English III Honors. Also, I've been kind of writing my original fiction so that eats up my muse. So sorry this is really late and and shorter than usual and I feel like it's not even that good ''OTL It's not much but it leads into something...? I guess. I hope this satisfies you all until I get back, which may or may not be soon. Depending on whether or not I become resurrected as an amazing writer zombie. Mmm, zombies.
So have fun, enjoy, laugh, do whatever you do when you read my fanfiction. (heart)
The next few days are busy with customers here and there throughout, but somehow you and Watanuki can still find time to sneak kisses or short touches between these visits. In the hallway, in the kitchen, any time where you can be alone with him you take a chance and hope he doesn't protest too much. The two of you are being smarter in covering up your secret, seeing as Mokona and the twins are beginning to get much more observant. You sit adjacent to Watanuki at mealtimes so that you don't knock over anything when you swoop in for a kiss. Watanuki is getting better at stifling the noises he can't help but voice unless he knows you're truly alone, while you both improve on hiding your nervousness shortly afterward. You try to space out your visits to the shop and start conversations about other things, things that don't bring up intimate details or memories.
Watanuki craves your touch, just as much as you crave his light ones, as unintentional or unconscious they may be. You soon find that he doesn't care for sex, but even your mouth on his can make him fall to pieces in your arms. Watching his eyes flutter and falter while your lips glide down his neck only puts fuel on the fire. You never want to see that pale, composed complexion ever again — only a blush on his cheeks, flared or soft and light, only for you. He's never had a lot of experience, and neither have you; holding out for so long has left you nearly insatiable, the pleasure having consumed both your lives and thoughts. Every time you glance at him you wonder when your next chance will be, and, judging by the way he looks at you he's probably thinking the same. When you steal him away to the hallway, the bathroom, the bedroom, even out on the back deck, no words are exchanged. It's a silent knowing, a mutual understanding met by the handshake never spoken of, never done; a handshake made by hesitant lips and a hand questioningly slipping under the other's clothes. Your lips, your hand, asking politely.
It doesn't seem to bother you that Watanuki is never one to initiate it.
What you have is only lust, after all.
You remember your second conversation with the catgirl spirit on the morning after the first intimate night. She skips by, light and almost flying on her feet, chasing after another one of those goldfish. She sits on the fence, crouched and ready to pounce, tail twitching with anticipation. Just before she leaps, you call her out.
"...meki."
"What did you mean by 'nasty things have a habit of getting in'?"
"Aw, you made my breakfast go away!~" she whines, pouting.
The catgirl spirit is far more transparent this time around; all you can make out is a faintly colored outline, like undulating heat emanating from a sidewalk in the summer. You repeat the question, but she smiles mischievously and laughs to herself.
"What?"
"Dou...ki! Wata-chan... he's"
"A nasty thing did get in, didn't he?" She vanishes then, running in hot pursuit of another goldfish. You're left stunned and still a little confused. Are there such things as matchmaker spirits? The thought is ridiculous, but you know that she's the one who made you think that Watanuki was in danger, caused you to race to his house, and... well, everything else. You almost wish she'd stuck around so you could actually thank her.
"Doumeki."
Watanuki is leaning over you, expression a little annoyed, eyes cool and hair displaced. You can tell he's been smoking Yuuko's pipe — he's a bit more relaxed. It takes a few seconds to remember why he's up there, and why you're lying on the floor.
"Huh," you say.
"You passed out, Doumeki. Again."
The girls and Mokona sang like parrots to Watanuki's lines. Ah yes. It's been another late drinking session, this time out on the deck. You try to sit up dizzily, but he pushes you down and it doesn't take much force on his part. Your head hits the wooden floor hard, and it's slightly jarring. Lights and colors play before your eyes as they attempt to come back into focus from under all the sake. Watanuki takes a sip from his cup.
"Do you want to stay the night?"
In your alcoholic state it's difficult to lie, at least without showing it. You genuinely want to stay the night, even if nothing comes out of it. Just being around Watanuki, even if it's one-sided love for you but only physical attachment for him, is enough to make you nod sleepily. The trio chants away as they run off to set up Watanuki's bedroom for yet another sleepover. The sky, although midnight, is overcast and gray, and you blink.
"It's like the stars are hiding," you say.
Watanuki leans forward, slow and uncertain. You like that part of him, the flustered, nervous side that always seems to come out from the mask of Yuuko's tobacco. His hair brushes you gently, lips touch parted lips, your hand comes up to his ear as he opens up to you briefly. That's all. When Maru and Moro come back to tell them, "it's done, it's done~", the two of you have already parted, as if you haven't moved since they left. Your hand is still hovering where his ear had been; you let it fall to your chest. Though you know that his invitation means more, you're hesitant. For now it's enjoyable, but that's all. This kind of a relationship will not be healthy for either party, especially you. His eyes were closed, and you wonder what he was thinking behind them.
Can I, just this once, be a little selfish?
I hope you all caught the "it's like the stars are hiding" metaphor? I like to throw those things in because I'm weird. Also, metaphors rock.
Ratings, reviews and the like are welcome with open arms. Zombie arms.
