A/N: Yatta! I finally finished Kingdom Hearts, and I got the secret ending too!! Woo! Riku is so bloody gorgeous in the ending (*snort* ain't he always?)... and it's a teaser too.. *goes starry eyed* I think I'm in heaven..
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Chapter 8: Allegro
Allegro: n. music, in a lively, brisk, rapid manner.
'I think I'm in heaven...' thought Sakura dreamily, sighing in contentment.
Sir Syaoran had his strong arms wrapped around her, the embrace warm and comfortable, sending a thrill to run across her skin. She liked having him so close, it was both exiting and dangerous. Tomoyo said some enlightening things, but were they true? Sakura doubted that; she, despite everything that she was taught, wanted to believe that love was not just a myth. And here, encircled by Syaoran's – and here she blushed a fair shade of pink; she hadn't been so forward with a man before, hadn't had much experience with them – arms she desperately wanted it to be true.
For a moment, Sakura became oblivious to her surroundings. Syaoran's eyes on her were intense, piercing and yielding at the same time. Everything stopped for an instant and she had a sensation of drowning or falling; just lost in a surreal landscape but never wanting to find the way out. Maybe for the first time in a long while, Sakura felt safe and comfortable; such pleasures were not allowed to her.
She wished that the dream would not end, she didn't want to wake up and find herself without the proverbial carriage and glass slippers; a maid. In truth, Sakura wasn't one of the rich, ostentatious snobs surrounding her. No, she shook her head bitterly. The petit girl worked as an attendant to Tomoyo, have been doing it since she was five, that was why the two were so close. Together through the tough and the pain, a saying went. At this moment, Sakura hated this more than anything. Why couldn't she be one of them? Why did she have to be born the way she was? How could she ever find happiness like this?
And still, Syaoran's arms were warm and strong, dusting away her questions and smoothing out the frown that threatened to grace her lips. The blonde sighed softly, leaning into the embrace.
"I find it ironic that my friend is quite taken by your friend," Syaoran said casually, though his throat was oddly tight.
Sakura giggled melodiously, bringing a delicate hand to cover her mouth. "I've noticed. He's quite besotted, I must say."
"You haven't seen the worst of it," said Syaoran with an annoyed huff and a glare at a mental picture of his friend (Sakura thought this made the youth look ridiculously cute and stifled another giggle). "Everywhere he goes, everything he does, Tomoyo this, Tomoyo that. Any worse and he'd be painting her name across the sky. It's bloody sick-making."
"Oh? I think it's rather cute!" The girl squealed, smiling softly. "Just what Tomoyo needs."
Syaoran snorted. "Unless he scares her away first. He'd been known to show lunatic tendencies."
"You're cruel!" Sakura laughed heartily, playfully slapping his upper arm.
The Little Wolf blushed a deep red, praying that the brim of his feathered hat and the golden lights in the room would conceal the hue. Gasping, Syaoran tightened his hold around her waist when her fingers instinctually laced through his chestnut locks, twiddling with the fair hairs on his nape. He shivered and fought down the crimson that spread along his cheeks – unsuccessfully. 'Gods she's beautiful...' he thought distractedly.
"Hey, you!"
A voice broke through the thick fog that somehow settled on his brain. Looking up, Syaoran saw a dark, menacing shape approach them.
"What do you think you're doing?!" The tall man boomed, furious, coming to stand between the two.
Blinking back a scathing remark, the younger man said, "I'm having a dance with a pretty lady."
The other growled deep in his throat, spitting out "Why you!" and aiming his fist toward the befuddled viscount. Before it could touch Syaoran's nose and do some heavy damage a pale, delicate hand stopped it.
"Don't, Touya! He hasn't done anything wrong," Sakura said, crossing her arms over her chest, irritated.
"But he's —"
"Just dancing with me!"
"Well I don't want him to!"
"And who are you to tell me that?" Sakura asked, anger staining her cheeks. "I will dance with whomever I please, thank you very much. And I never asked you, Touya, what you wanted and not."
"Sakura, be reasonable..."
While the two were bickering, Syaoran tactfully escaped, blending into the small crowd that gathered around Sakura and "Touya". The tall man was good-looking, having a dark, mysterious aura around him. Sakura was the complete opposite; light and purity mixed into one being. The two contrasted so well, the youth couldn't help but make some meaningful connections. If she had to choose between himself (given his quirks, not a favourable option) and the dark man, the Little Wolf would not be able to stand a chance.
Syaoran's chest hurt oddly, as if air had been sucked out from his lungs. He fought this sensation valorously, not understanding it, and stalked to a dark corner, where hopefully he'd be able to settle his feelings back to "cool", nonexistent. .
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"Please let go of me," Tomoyo said quietly, scathingly, nearly stiff in Eriol's arms.
Eriol looked at her. She was so cold, just like the mask on her face, unbreakable, impenetrable. He was hurt by the harsh retorts she kept sending his way every five minutes, and he was also saddened that she didn't enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers. At the same time, however, he relished her harshness, he wanted to break the cold wall and unravel what would be held within. Perhaps is was the thrill of challenge – no one had ever resisted Eriol before – or maybe it was his sheer stubbornness, but he refused to give up until she was his.
Grinning lopsidedly, Eriol said, "Never. I shall never let you go because the first moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that you would be mine, as I would be yours."
"Spare me the flowers and corn!" Tomoyo bit back, pushing back with her hands splayed along his chest. "I have no time for your lies!"
"Who said I was lying?" he whispered into her ear, pulling her toward him while she pushed away.
"That's all you men are capable of," she hissed, miffed at how nice it felt to have so close, to feel his warm breath tickling her skin.
Eriol let that one pass, he didn't want to get involved in a fight in the middle of the party; it would be in every gossip magazine by the morrow. Instinctually he felt that Tomoyo had good reason to think in such a way, and though it wounded him that she did, he wanted to show her that it wasn't true. It was like Tomoyo was buried underneath layers of self-imposed dogmas, so wrapped up in her cocoon, she couldn't see reason. 'No matter,' he thought to himself, determined, 'the harder she'll push, the harder I'll pull. I will show her the light.'
Her eyes were hooded, shielded by the mask, the orbs seeming pieces of obsidian, piercing, captivating. He suddenly wanted to remove her mask, to see and study her face. A little annoying voice in his head told him now nice it would feel to study the visage with his lips, but he shoved it aside for more appropriate time to dwell on. But the mask was firmly in place, tied with in a neat blue bow at the back of her head. Eriol wondered why the mask was full instead of the customary half. A thought struck him that her face was horribly deformed, scarred beyond human likeness. Would he still like her if the assumption was true?
Uncertainly, he brought his hands to her face. She flinched away, hissing a "Don't." The lord would have to have been deaf not to hear the hurt note in her voice. 'So there is something unusual behind that mask....'
Eriol pulled her to a nearby doorway, leading out into the garden. The sky was a voluptuous ebony and silver (for the stars) tapestry, the hubbub of the partygoers joining the soft lull of the breeze. The porcelain mask on the girl's face was a cruel rendition of the moon, a wide, grinning mouth and slanted, empty eyes. It was eerie in a prophetic sort of way.
"The music ended, now I must leave," Tomoyo stated coolly, turning away from him.
"Why do you refuse me?" asked the young lord, grabbing a hold of her delicate hand. The appendage seemed too thin, even for someone as fragile-seeming as her. 'What is going on?' he opined. 'Why does she flinch from my touch, why is she so thin and ghostly pale? Why does she hate men?' "I just want to make you feel comfortable."
"I don't even know you —" Tomoyo started imperturbably, shivering slightly.
"I told you, I am Eriol Hiiragizawa, the last remaining count in the Hiiragizawa family. I come from England, here on a getaway vacation. And am hopelessly smitten with you," he said in earnest, lacing his fingers through her oddly cold ones.
"Well I didn't ask you to be."
Eriol noticed the almost imperceptible bumps along her skin and the smothered a shiver. Tomoyo's dress was a thin cotton that draped in soft pools at her feet, bright crimson sashes were slung around her waist, her shoulders bare. Even though it was summer and nights tended to be painfully hot, a cold breeze picked up and ruffled her hair and nape. Eriol made move to wrap his arms around her – purely for warming-up, his brain stated – but she, again, flinched away.
"Aa, there you are, Tomoyo." Both youths turned their heads toward the intruder, startled.
A tall, graceful Cleopatra stood in the doorway leading to the ballroom. She was donned in gold but resembled a frigid ice crystal. She glanced at the way his hand was interloped with Tomoyo's and he could swear he saw her nostrils flare in rage.
"Come, we must leave," the woman said harshly, sneering at the young man from atop her angular nose.
"Yes, Mother," Tomoyo almost whispered, lowering her head and hastily removing Eriol's hand from her own, following obediently after her mother.
Eriol watched, a bit thunderstruck, Tomoyo's retreating back. He saw her back stiffen and shoulders square off. She was a doll being led on an invisible string. Although her posture was strong and graceful, he noticed the fear, too. 'Something here is horribly wrong,' he told himself. 'For a moment, when Mrs. Daidouji looked at me, I saw hate there, raw and heedless. That woman terrified Tomoyo; I know she was, her grasp on my hand wouldn't have tightened to such an extent if it were otherwise, the fingers curling into my palm. It's like she wanted to coil into a tight little ball and pretend she wasn't really there, or for me to be the shell. What is going on?'
Eriol sighed and sat down on the grass, bringing his arms to wrap around his knees. He knew that that wasn't something a man of his standing should do, much less in public, but for the moment he didn't care what people would say. He looked at dome of the sky, so high above. He closed his eyes, and for an instant, he felt a phantom shape mould itself into his side. Tomoyo's closeness was imprinted in his memory now, and so he couldn't possibly leave matters as they were. Besides, that would go against everything that he stood for; always help a damsel in distress.
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Next day, a few minutes past midday, Eriol stood in front of the large, vacuous Daidouji manor (he'd got the directions from Nakuru, solidifying that, indeed, the grey mansion was Tomoyo's home). The youth was known for his confidence (which earned him quite a few "egotistical" remarks from Syaoran), but now, he felt his nerves plummet to his stomach where they settled in a restless goo. He didn't even know what he was doing, whether he had completely lost his mind, but he had a dream that night and when he woke up, he immediately wanted to come here.
Timidly almost, he opened the cast iron gates and walked purposely to the entrance. One, twice he knocked. Eriol waited, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. 'If no one answers in the next five minutes, I'm at liberty to run away,' he promised himself, stealing a longing glance at the street beyond the gates, where sun seemed to shine.
"May I help you?" The door opened after the fourth knock. Instead of the usual butler opening it, however, Sonomi Daidouji stood in the doorway.
"Er... hello..." Eriol began intelligently. "May I please have a word with Miss Tomoyo?"
The woman's eyes flared a steely blue; Eriol noticed how her umber-coloured hair was pulled tightly away from her forehead, tied in a bun at the back, and how her eyebrows seemed to arch menacingly over slanted eyes. She assessed for a long moment, mentally scanning his person for anything out of the ordinary, distrustful.
"I'm sorry, but no one by that name lives here," she stated coolly, beginning to close the door.
"Wait," Eriol brought his hand to stop her. "I saw Miss Tomoyo from the upstairs window a few days ago. Surely you're not telling me that that was a hallucination."
Sonomi's lips stretched in a thin line and her eyes narrowed even more, if that was possible. "I am sorry, this person does not live here. In fact, I've never heard of them before in my life. Goodbye, Sir."
With that, the heavy oak door was shut in front of his face. Eriol blinked a few times to get some reign on the situation. He was... baffled, to say the least. Clearly the woman lied through her teeth! She remembered him from last night and purposely lied! What game was she playing? Trying to hide from the rest of society – or the male population, at most? Angrily, which was also rather new to him, Eriol stalked past the gate and into the streets.
When he was about to cross a bridge across the river, a hand on his forearm stopped him.
"Sir, I need to discuss something with you."
Eriol turned to see a petit, dark blonde girl in a pale peach dress. The same girl that was with Tomoyo at the party, the one that Syaoran was ridiculously infatuated with.
"My mistress, Miss Tomoyo, needs your help."
(tsuzuku...)
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I know, I know, this chapter is ridiculously late, but I've been stuck with a whole lot of assignments that I completely *forgot* about during Easter holidays. On top of that, I'm seriously trying to change my writing style (though not in an overly dramatic extent, more lightness, and in some instances darkness).
