A/N: I'm sorry if you think that the chapters are coming out too slowly, I think so, too. But it's almost the end of the school year and I have a) exams coming up b) two huge murals due in two weeks (that are barely even begun) and c) a whole bunch of essays. Seriously, I'll try to write faster, I'll even force myself to go to sleep at hellish hours of the night if I have to...
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Chapter 11: Fugue
Fugue: n. musical composition in which a theme is repeated in different parts.
Syaoran watched as his friend moved farther and farther away from him, disappearing behind a sea of people. He could see the awkward stiffness in Eriol's back, a clear indication of either nervousness or barely masked fear. He grinned mentally. It was rare to see the dark-haired viscount as anything but his usual composed self. For him to be acting so out of character the world must have changed axes and the sky became green. And why? Because of a single entity that was capable of breaking down every wall one erected with a mere glance, a touch and a soft word. In other words, a girl. Everything changed when a girl came into the equation.
Despite the smirk, Syaoran was a bit envious, too. He was glad that Eriol was finally moving on, leaving his past and striding toward the future. The Little Wolf was elated that his friend found his pool of happiness, granted that he made it through the barriers intact. But a little part of him, a tiny, squeal-y voice in the back of his head said that he was jealous. How come it was Eriol and not himself that found that "special one"? Why was Eriol always with the best of luck – concerning everything from looks, to fortune, to women? For once, he wanted it. He wanted to be the one to walk out of that room and to a secret rendezvous with a female consort and he wanted that freedom, too.
Immediately after thinking this, Syaoran felt ashamed and ducked his head to stare at his pointed-toed boots. What right did he have to think that way? Eriol was his friend, had been since forever. Friends did not feel envious of each other, especially not over something as trivial as this. Which made him wonder, what kind of a friend was he? 'Besides which,' he opined, 'from what I've heard of the conversation between Sakura and him, I should not be wanting to be in his shoes. I just hope he can manage through it with no less than his heart intact.'
"I wish them all the best, don't you?"
A soft voice inquired from his side. Startled, he looked up to a sweetly smiling Sakura dressed in rich emerald dress, a golden crown adorning her head. At his attention, the corners of the girl's lips quirked up, completing the smile. Syaoran turned hastily away, an embarrassed flush tinting his ears and spreading to his cheeks. He didn't even hear her approach – and he was known for his excellent hearing and observation skills – which meant that she must have either appeared from nothing or walked on air.
"Yes, I do," he replied, though after a well deserved pause (he needed it to put the blush under control).
"I hope she'll be okay," Sakura intoned. "I want for her to be happy, and I know that your friend, Sir Eriol, will be able to give her that happiness."
Syaoran glanced at her, his eyes concealed by his chestnut mane, studying her face. Her smile had faded, became dull, but the effect still lingered. Looking at her, he could tell that she wore her heart on her sleeve – it was a very big, beautiful heart. Instinctively, Syaoran knew that Sakura was the type of person who cared more about others than herself. Somehow, he thought, that added to that certain something she seemed to exude, made her... so much more special than he could fathom.
She shrugged, as if trying to ignore something nagging at her side. "Tomoyo has lived such a hard life... seen and been through so much, I guess she deserves this bit of joy."
"Hn." Syaoran grunted in reply.
By now, he seized a hold of her hand and was steering her toward the dance floor. She didn't protest in the slightest, in fact, the motion seemed so very natural to her. To be with him, so share the same air as he, brought a sense of security to her. The music was a nice soft orchestral piece, the murmur of the other guests adding a pleasant lull. His hand snaked to her slim waist, the other holding her gloved hand. Sakura placed her free hand on his shoulder, sealing a bond that neither knew was there.
There was something warm and squishy in Syaoran's stomach. He swallowed past a ball forming in his throat. "Do you think it's selfish to want something – someone – so badly, but knowing you can't have it and then purposely withholding, or hiding, your desire from that someone?"
"No, I don't think that's selfish." Sakura replied with a shake of her head. "If you want something, then you should do anything, everything, you possibly can to get it. If you're afraid to get it, then that doesn't make you selfish, only cowardly."
The knot tightened. Syaoran felt a bit dizzy from her proximity, from the welcome heat seeping off her and to him, from the music and lights and colours. He still had questions though; they were crowding his head.
"Every time I see you, all you talk about is Tomoyo. She is everything to you. Why?" Syaoran was ecstatic when Eriol told him about Touya, but now that he thought more deeply about it, other things began nagging at him.
"Yes," Sakura answered in a breathy voice, "Tomoyo is everything to me. She's practically the only thing I've known while growing up. She's always been there for me; when I needed protection, she offered it to me; when I needed to cry, she gave me her shoulder and her lace kerchief. She was the sister I needed while growing up, so I guess this is my way of repaying her. I don't have much else to offer her, so I'll make sure she at least has joy in her life."
Syaoran nodded; he knew without a doubt that she told the truth. He had no words to describe how he felt at that moment, blinded by something he couldn't quite discern – maybe Sakura's own light.
The music was changing to a fast number now, the couples on the floor disbanding and finding each other again. Sakura removed her hand from where it previously lay dormant, grazing over his nape once in a while. She tugged on her other hand, still trapped in Syaoran's.
A goofy grin spread across his lips. "I grow jealous, you know. You've spent nearly entire day with Eriol, and yet you cannot spare a moment for me? Why are you so eager to leave my side?"
The girl squawked when out of a sudden he brought their bodies flush against each other. "S-sir..."
Her eyes were impossibly huge; 'green,' he thought bemusedly, 'a very startling green.' The lord gazed at her almost tenderly, which made her stomach feel like jelly; his eyes became darker when he looked like that, nearly a chocolate colour. Syaoran knew that she was probably going to say something stupid, as he had a tendency to whenever there wasn't a black-on-white speech prepared beforehand, but at that moment he didn't really care.
"No, please, don't leave me yet Sakura. Tell me, are you afraid of me?" His voice was throaty, almost husky with plea.
"No, of course not!"
"Then why do you abhor my company?"
She looked away, a dusty rose staining her cheeks. "I... I don't think I'm enough for you."
The youth brought a hand to her face, gently tracing her cheek. "Why?" Did he really sound hurt? Was that truly pain lingering in his eyes?
"Because... because I'm just a servant. I'm not rich, or famous, or anything. I clean houses and serve food and mend clothes, I don't hold parties like these –" she spread her arms wide to indicate the lavish room "– and I don't have enough money even if I did wanted to have a ball. I have to rely on my good friend for such expensive treatment, and that's only because we're nearly sisters. My brother has to work two or three jobs at a time so he can get enough money to give me schooling. I'm ... I'm just a no-body...
"And you..." she sighed, "... you are like a god. You have everything. You have money and connections and can hold parties and wear expensive clothes. You can wear masks made of precious jewels and pretend to be some one else because you can afford it – I can't. I need to have these types of jobs or I'll be spending my life on the streets. Do you understand now, Sir Syaoran? You, a count from a distant, beautiful land, and me, a handmaid without a proper name, without anything... the two do not go together well."
Sakura's voice was frantic-sounding and maybe just a bit destitute, and he noted that she must have had a ball lodged somewhere there, too. Her hands shook slightly, so he grasped them in his own, holding them still.
"You didn't have to tell me, I already knew," he said. "Eriol told me. But — is that all? You being a common worker, I mean?"
Uncertainly biting her lip, she nodded.
"You honestly thought that I would care about your monetary status? You thought that I only cared about money and looks and having a - a- a wife I could buy? No, Sakura, no. I don't care what you are; I don't care where you stand in society as long as you stand by me." With his thumb, the boy wiped off the tears that were beginning to gather in the corners of her mind. "Besides, I already know that you are a very beautiful person. You don't care about yourself, you'd do everything for those you love, you're wonderful and generous and kind and... everything. God, I would gladly die for you, would give away all my fortune for the opportunity to spend a lifetime drawing you, being with you, sharing your breath..."
The tears, though he tried to wipe them away, escaped anyway, the fine crystal-like blobs sliding over her cheeks and lips. Again, using his thumb, Syaoran brushed the tears away, the digit stalling on her lush bottom lip.
"...May I?" He breathed out, seeing everything as if through a dream and yet too vividly for it to be so.
The girl shivered as his warm breath brushed against her lips. Wordlessly, Sakura nodded. And daringly, Syaoran brought his lips to hers. He had the distinct impression of something – a door perhaps, or a key – being sealed. 'This,' he thought when her lips started to move against his own, the acting sending a pleasant tingling sensation down his back, 'is how things should be, forever.' And oddly enough, he no longer had a reason to be jealous of his friend.
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That night, Eriol got less sleep than on that fateful day nearly three years ago. It still pained him to think of what used to be, of what he used to be, and know that he was powerless to do anything edgewise. He had tossed and tuned throughout the night, eventually throwing off the silk sheets, being half sprawled on the bed, half dangling to the floor. He would feel sweat coat his body with a faint layer and he constantly needed to turn the pillow over. Looking out the window, Eriol fancied he saw the sun's morning rays tickle the still dark sky; and yet, the laugher from a night of celebration hasn't died down.
His tryst with Tomoyo was more fruitful than he expected it to be. On one hand he finally captured the Blue Bird, on the other, he had gained a powerful enemy – her mother. Eriol could still remember Tomoyo's body, so small and fragile-like as it clung to him, her hands twined in his hair and shirt, sobbing quietly. He vividly remembered her fright; the pain he saw in her eyes that he felt sure was mirrored in his. He still felt white-hot rage boil through his veins, he still wanted to go out and pound some bastard to the dust – but his gentlemanly manners forbade him. And he remembered how soft her skin felt against his lips.
And then Sakura ran out to them from the mansion, breathless and panicky, declaring that Daidouji Sonomi demanded her daughter's presence. Obligingly, though with a tiny strangled cry, Tomoyo followed with Sakura, holding on to his hand until he promised that they'd see each other shortly thereafter. A nervous ball decided to settle in his bowels, his muscles twitching with suppressed rage. What would that woman do to Tomoyo? The porcelain mask lay shattered on the floor; its hundred tiny pieces gleaming at him. Surely Sonomi would notice something was amiss, surely Tomoyo would be inflicted with some sort of punishment.
At the memory of what was done to his precious, Eriol gripped his sheets tighter, tearing into the soft material. No one deserved to be treated that way – like some sort of animal, not only to be viewed and purchased but also used in such a degrading manner. He didn't know what kind of a human being Daidouji Sonomi was, but at that moment, he despised her more than he could describe.
Later that evening, when the threesome consisting of Eriol, his best friend and Aunt headed home (the former two of the three were either seething or too anxious) a message was delivered to the viscount via a street rat in frayed clothes.
'Never touche my daughter again, never come near her or even think of her. She's mine, she belongs only with me and only to me.'
He didn't need the name of the sender to know it was from that ... that wretched woman (here he had to bite down on his pillow in order to contain a cry of outrage).
"Oh what have I drawn myself into?" He asked the night, and as if in answer, somebody somewhere laughed throatily.
Sighing, Eriol removed the covers and stalked to the open window. The sky was considerably lighter, which meant that he had been awake for quite some time. A dusty, ugly almost, periwinkle blended in with deep charcoal. The many roofs of the city stood out darkly against the horizon like sharply peaked mountains; a couple of windows still held light, indication of the previous night. He felt as if the world at that moment was a painting and he the artist. With one stroke of the brush, he could destroy the image, with another stroke he could add to it, make it – and himself – even more beautiful.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the heavy mahogany door. Turning slightly, he commanded the newcomer in.
"Master?" Came Spinel, looking odd dressed in his uniform so early in the morning. "You're awake, Master Eriol."
Eriol grinned lightly, glad for the portly housekeeper's company. "I can see that, Spinel."
"Is anything the matter, Master Eriol?"
"Drop the formalities, Spinel, you've known me long enough for me to consider you my father or uncle – which I do. And, no, nothing is wrong, I just needed some time to think." Never mind the fact that he could think whenever he wanted to if he so pleased.
"Well, then.. Eriol," the youth could tell the term felt awkward coming from the servant's mouth and smiled at that, "there is a young lady in the parlour. She says she's a friend of yours and has the solution to your problem. Should I let her stay and prepare tea or show her to the door?"
Eriol felt his jaw go askew. Spinel could only be referring to Sakura, he had to, there wasn't anybody he knew in Venice. Just that the declaration had come so suddenly, the lord felt a bit baffled. "Of course let her stay, and put some jasmine tea on. Oh, and tell her I'd be there shortly."
"Yes... Eriol."
With that, Spinel bowed politely and left, closing the door in the process. Eriol spared one last glance outside before reaching for his discarded shirt and trousers. He had company and a very beautiful Blue Bird to save.
(tsuzuku...)
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Note on the costumes: Tomoyo – Morgan Le Fay; Eriol – Verona lad (aka Romeo); Sakura – Lady Gwenhyfar; Syaoran – Merlin (the sexier version of).
Sorry for the lack of ExT, but I felt that SxS deserved some attention, too. (Now I just need to get back to my scheduled programming *wince*)
